The Man Game (74 page)

Where are Furry and Daggett? Why aren't they here?

Boyd said: Forget that. Any time you see Furry or Daggett you got to be prepared to play them the man game, eh.

I heard they challenged George Black.

Yeah, said Campbell, and the butcher declined like a mink. That going to be you?

Twenty-seven years old and two hundred seventy pounds, Smith had the wisdom of a dog. If you tested his loyalty to Furry and Daggett his revenge knew no boundaries; the man was known to kick down homesteads. His audience of intent young men had everything to prove. Okay, he said slowly, Litz did a Corker. Furry did a Hatched Back. Then he did a Rook Takes Pawn, that was his second point. The Litz was Furry's fourth move, I'm sure a that, because I remember it caused a big uproar. Just before Litz did the Medical Breakthrough, and that's what won him the game. A Medical Breakthrough won him it, because there was no denying he meant to do that. That was his plan all along, to finish him off with the Medical. Damn. Litz, ah, let's see, his third point was a Point and Click. I remember now. That's where instead a landing flat on top a Furry, he flipped it wrong so he was landing on his belly, eh. You can call that an easy point but you see how fast Litz moves; for Furry to get in there and
gutpunch him like he did,
that's
what deserves the point. I don't care what you say.

But man, that was some Totoosh Twister Moe Dee pulled earlier, eh? said a fan. Woo, can't wait to see that again.

And Campbell, directing his stern glare to the corner table by the bronze bust of the Queen where the cowboy RD Pitt and the Knights of Labour sat in the seventh moon of a crapulent bender, said: And
then
, because a some stupid shit aboot a riot, someone called in the Victoria po-lice. All the way over on the ferry just to put an end to our game. Fucking swear to you, just when you think we get the po-lice back on our side, some dry turd from Alberta's got to roll in and ruin everything for everyone.

Nothing changes, said Pitt, recognizing that Campbell put all the blame on him. You're all still in his pocket as usual.

No, we're not.

Look, all your guys's playing your fucking man game
right there
on the man's goddamn porch, for Chrissakes. Hassings Mill, fuck, eh. You think this is rebellion. I'm rebellion. You're all vaudeville, thassall.

Your fault the whole thing—

Don't go blaming me for changing things, said Pitt. If you weren't around I'd a had
thousands
a men down there to really change some fucking things. You do your fellow men a disservice not joining the labour movement. You do yourself a disservice. Who you think's going to take care a you when industry hits hard? You think RH's going to have a sudden change a heart? Fuck, eh, you can't be indolent aboot this. Alls you guys, said Pitt, sweeping his hands across the room, do a disservice to yourselfs.

You do a disservice to the labour movement, said Meier.

Why I oughtta … said Pitt, trying ingloriously to stand.

Pisk would a taken Daggett, said Vicars to Campbell. Would a beat him something stealthy.

That's yet to be decided, said Meier, eager to change the subject.

Campbell took the deep breath that Clough advised for situations such as this (Take a deep breath and go privately punch the ground as soon as you can, was his precise advice), when he wanted to crack someone's head in.

Pisk would've taken both him and Furry. No doubt. Maybe Furry gets two points on him. After what I saw. Even with no toes, Pisk would a taken him. Daggett the same treatment only worse.

Get the fuck out a this bar, said Meier. I never want to see your face in here again.

What, I—

The losers drank in private with their coach, Clough, who knew where to get the best bootleg. They sat around the light of a single candle, gripping their tumblers and repouring skinfuls. The wax melted down one side of the stick and solidified again as layers of dribble and a smooth elliptical gobbet on the tin plate. They drank ruminatively. The loss at the man game the other week had not dampened their rage. Their breath provoked the candle's flame, and shadows palpitated on their faces.

Calling out Pisk is a good plan, said Clough. Pisk might accept the wager as meaning you and all your men will leave town if you—

Who said anything aboot losing? said Daggett. Not going to lose. And I know Pisk. Guy, he'll take the bet. I'm not worried aboot that cripple.

If there's chickamin to be made in this game, said Furry, then I want it in our pockets. We got to take out the competition, and rule this city.

Then we better practise our hearts oot, said Clough. You got to be top shape if you're going to win this for sure. Daggett, are you listening to me, man? I want to be coaching you every day, morning, noon, and night. Are you with me?

Furry raised an eyebrow to his partner, and they nodded to each other. I'm with you, said Daggett. They clinked glasses and swigged back.

When Clough left Furry & Daggett's logging camp, heading home to his shack, he was stopped at knifepoint by a figure draped in black. A great steel blade flickered at him. Black hood, black jacket, black pants, like an adder with a steel tongue, leaping from the grey ferns.

The mugger.

Well, I'll be, you're real after all, said Clough. Can't believe I didn't sight you sooner.

Shh, said the mugger.

The blade cut through the moonlight. Clough raised his arm. He couldn't take his eyes off the blade.

Okay, my arms are up, he said. How did you elude me so long?

The mugger backed him against the wall of Red & Rosy's and frisked him. Clough held still. The knife came close enough. Took his fob watch and moneypurse before he even noticed. Waiting for his moment. In order to check his jacket pockets, the mugger had to very slightly adjust his balance, and that's when Clough saw his chance and socked the mugger on the top of his head with an elbow, stepped on his hand and retrieved the blade, pulled off the mugger's headscarf to reveal the face of a Chinaman.

And me with one arm, said Clough. You rat … Pulling the mugger by the collar back into the street. Come on now. Now what have we here … what's that, eh?

When he saw the mugger in better light, he realized that his prisoner was only a boy. Nine years old, according to his uncle, who came to see him in the prison mews. He regarded the boy sullenly, as if only annoyed by something that should be more horrible. The mayor himself visited Clough to thank him for capturing the mugger.

You're welcome, Mister Mayor, said Clough.

Shaking his hand, Mayor McLean whispered in Clough's ear: Shut the fuck up, you lying no good … make a
big deal out a this and you and all your kind are through, you hear?

The following day the
Daily Advertiser
's headline read: A DEMENTED CHINAMAN; LOCAL HERO CAPTURES WANTED MAN; ACCEPTS NO REWARD IN RETURN FOR VANCOUVER'S NOTORIOUS MUGGER;
WISHES NAME BE WITHHELD FROM PRINT
… What is yet another example of the scourge of the Orient upon our civilized society, or what we nobly attempt to be civilized … it was confirmed that the mugger who has been terrorizing our streets was indeed, as long suspected, a Chinaman … The mugger, when apprehended, turned out to be nothing more than a greedy Chinaman, his face well-known among the denizens of the many disreputable businesses whose entrances are found in Chinatown's many sulphuric and unGodly alleyways … The mugger is but a symptom of what ails our city.
The increase in Asiatics has seen an increase in crime, disease, and poverty. He will be hanged to the death next Sunday at the first strike of noon.

The first strike of noon. I read that scrap back to everyone in the basement. What ails our city, I quoted. Asiatics.

We have information here, said Ken. We have a serious amount of bookkeeping and news clippings and illegible scraps. And there's also my great-great grandfather's diaries. Samuel Erwagen. Nothing after summer 1907, Vancouver's second riot.

That's when you think the man game ended?

The man game never ended, said Cedric, using his gross fingers to ramp up the crooked stairs and climb perilously hand over foot to the landing. At the kitchen he called for me to start my ascent.

Due to my gangliness, I found the hoist from the basement sofa to the staircase undemanding, and my long legs and enviable reach propelled me up to the landing in what felt like no more than two steps. I met Cedric at the top and called down to Minna that I could help her if she needed a hand. I kept my arm outstretched for her, kind of spotting her. But she didn't need any help. Ken and Silas followed her with ease. After years
of living here, it wasn't surprising they got up the staircase so quickly, but I wondered how long it had taken them to master it. To keep themselves busy while we talked, Ken and Silas tried to see which of them could jump to a seated position on top of the fridge first, no-handed. From Ken's first leap it was obvious this wasn't going to take up much time. He wasn't tall, and the game hadn't occurred to them before now, but after Silas managed to get the exact right height on his first jump, Ken's second attempt got him sitting on the fridge, but just barely, shaking the appliance as he landed. It finally tossed him off, unpuckering the door and rattling the condiments, leaving it to Silas to make the win.

Damn, said Ken.

Yeah, that's aboot what we figure, Cedric was saying to me and Minna. Looking through these records downstairs? What we can tell is that nothing has happened with the man game since the summer a 1907 till now. When we started playing it last fall. That was probably the first time it'd been played since.

Cool, I said, noncommittally.

The day a the riot in '87 there was a major game. There was a few major games that were documented. That one, and the one on Dominion Day in 1887, too.

What happened at the riot? I asked.

Guess we should be going, said Minna.

Say what? I said. I'm just starting to admit I'm interested in this.

Look at him, said Cedric to Minna, pointing to me. He's all ears. He wants to know if he can join up.

Squeaking and stretching out her arms, baring her midriff. All us men peeked. Smiles on, hoping to be the first face to meet her eyes when they opened again. The other boys were unlucky, but not me.

P'raps you're right, I said. It's almost three o'clock.

Okay, said Silas, kind of drooping his head to talk to us on the landing, where I already had our coats on.

Sounds good, said Ken. Yeah, you should definitely come back and check it oot again.

You should practise sometime, Cedric said and pointed at me. We could use a fourth to really get this going.

I laughed along with Minna and waved goodbye. I said: It was really cool to meet you guys, thanks.

Yeah, let me give you my email, said Silas who got a pen and paper.

When we got back to the car, I saw there was a strandy tangle of what I thought was torn stocking but turned out to be human hair wrapped around the muffler pipe and the rear axle of my Dynasty. I walked up and bent down on my knees and inspected.