Fiend’s Gold

Excerpt from Fiend’s Gold

“What the hell’s the point?” Henny said softly. “We’re grown men, not kids. Life’s pulling us apart. School’s the only thing we have in common. When we leave, we’re different people in different worlds.”

“That’s exactly it,” Pete snapped. ’We’ll defy the system, a fraternity for life. Can’t you see the irony in it? The five musketeers, the five bandidos.”

There was a resounding, “No.” It didn’t matter, friends are friends. When Mom and Dad died, they left me all the debts, bills, and people with their hands out. After the funeral, selling the house, and settling the debts I had just enough to get through school. That’s before they put the tuition fees up, before inflation, and before I learned to control spending. In fact, before I grew up. There was always old granny Hubert, but only as a last resort.

It’s funny somehow. As I looked at the guys, I had this feeling inside, like, well, you know … like after Mom’s funeral. A sort of hollow yearning, a wanting for something that’s just not there. Sometimes, when I look at the gang it makes me want to weep. I don’t know why, but it just feels depressing, a sad occasion. You could say it’s the loneliness, maybe. The gang are there in front of me, they are visible, but it’s as if I can’t touch them. They seemed to be a group of imaginary clowns in the circus of life, only there because of my imagination.

That’s enough of that melancholy crap. We were no longer kids and for me, school had finished forever.

Suddenly I said aloud, “I don’t know what the shit I’m gonna do with the rest of my life.”

It must have been the drink that made me say it, or maybe Tourette’s syndrome. Either way, the voice came from me and I guess it’s what I needed to say, though it didn’t make me feel any better. It reached my ears like it was coming from someone else.

“That’s it,” Pete said with enthusiasm. “Let’s go into business together. There’s something for all of us. What d’ yah say?”

“What the hell would we do?” I asked in full seriousness.

Pete had obviously got the itch; something had struck him. With a big grin from ear to ear, he said, “I’m not sure yet, but the idea’s gelling.”

Georgian Bay, an easterly extension of Lake Huron, is almost a lake in its own right, bordered on one side by the Bruce Peninsula and the Manitoulin Islands and wild land, giant parks, forests and smaller lakes on the eastern shore.

Making its last run of the day from South Baymouth on the Manitoulin Islands to Tobermory at the head of the Bruce Peninsula, the ferry sliced almost silently through the shimmering water. Bathed in silvery moonlight, Lake Huron sparkled like a billion jewels. Waves rippling off the bow and the rumble of the ships powerful engines gently broke the silence in an otherwise quiet night.

“Radar shows a small craft approaching off the port bow, sir,” the watchman reported.

The skipper peered out through the window, shading the green radar reflection from the glass with his right hand. “Don’t see any running lights. How far?”

“About three clicks, sir.”

“It poses no problem but keep watch on her.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

The sky lit up as a fireball rose lazily into the hot night air. Like a clap of thunder, the boom from the explosion followed only moments later. Captain Davis peered out of the window as a burning cloud enfolding itself with blackness and smoke. “What d’you make of that, number-one?”

“Another careless tourist, I shouldn’t wonder, sir. Should we heave-to for survivors?”

“See what other vessels are around first.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

The first officer gave the order and the radio operator made a call. He found that a coast guard vessel was nearby. Without any delay, the ferry continued its journey to Tobermory, with most passengers knowing nothing of the unusual event. Whatever the incident may have been, it was all over.

Now you might wonder what fireballs and ferry ships have to do with anything. Well, allow me to elucidate. You see, 1997 had been a bad year for me and 1999 seemed to be following the same downhill slope. It had been a particularly difficult time, partly as a result of me failing every course. Nobody has ever done as badly as yours truly, at least not at McMaster University in Hamilton. Well, there were good reasons, you could say. So there I was, ‘sent down’ after two years’ hard work. For the unenlightened, sent down means fired, got the boot, sacked, or otherwise no longer required. There was obviously no future for such a lowly being as myself. God, the world looked black, really black.

The gang threw a sort of party for me. First, we had a meal at the refectory. Yuck, no big success there. Then we all went over to John’s Tavern. There was me, a handsome, debonair twenty-year-old failure, Dee, Pete, Henny, and Alic. We called her Alic as in a man’s name, but she’s no guy. Her real name was Alicia. We were known as the five musketeers until my brain crashed.

Food didn’t interest me, but drowning my sorrows in booze sounded good. You have to realize it was a very sad occasion, being my last day at McMaster University. For them it meant school’s out, but for me, it’s the end. Well, I still had my job at the doughnut store, but that’s not a wage a man can live on.

Dee pushed another pint of cheap beer in front of me. “Come, me ol’ mate, drink up, eh! What yah say?” He had that typical all Canadian way of speech.

I smiled and said, “Sure, why the hell not?”

Dee was a neat kinda guy, even if he did look a bit like an undertaker. His real name’s Dizzy. Would you believe, Dizzy Spells? I guess his mom had a thing about movie stars, naming him after Dizzy Gillespie or maybe she just had a keen sense of humour. No one could be more kind-hearted or generous than Dizzy and if you had a motor that wouldn’t go, well … man, he could work magic. I swear he could get a car to go even if it was out of fuel.

“I’ve got a great idea,” Pete announced standing up and using his beer bottle more like a baton.

I sucked at the ale then wiped the froth moustache off my face with the back of my hand. “Yeah, go on, tell us, Pete. What’s this great brain wave?”

He smiled a sort of sly grin. “Let’s get school done with and have a frat meeting. We’ll all get together, say, er … how about the first Saturday after term end?”

“Sure.” We all agreed.

It was a real drag going back to my apartment in Westdale, a sort of village in the west end of Hamilton. It wouldn’t take a genius to guess that the old landlady would kick me out once she knew I was no longer a student. Sure thing; because school was out she said my stay would be limited to a month and then I would have to go. You know, being poor is the shits, as in no car, no money and no one who cares.

At least the doughnut job was only evenings, so that gave me time during daylight hours to find a position more reasonable and suited to my talents. Did you know that there are no jobs for duffers and dropouts? Hamilton is one of the biggest cities in Canada. I mean it has got industry up to your eyeballs, but no jobs. They even call it Steeltown.

It’s amazing how time passes. Before you can wink, it’s the first Saturday after term end and time for the frat meeting. I didn’t want to go. I knew they would all have jobs, cars, and money, while dickhead here had none of the above. My money supply was getting short and feeding oneself in non-subsidized nosheries costs the earth, leaving absolutely no spare change for frivolities.

I tried to put on a good show. You know, a big smile, swagger, and back slapping; ‘how are yous?’ sort of thing. Don’t think I fooled anybody though. I mean, a round of drinks just for the four of us at John’s Tavern, costs twenty bucks. Dee paid for the first round. Everybody turned up except Alic. I figured she’d be out with her boyfriend or facsimile thereof.

“So, where yah working?” Pete asked.

He looked quite dapper, even in this heat he wore a tie and looked like some kind of yuppie. Bolt upright and clean-shaven, he would pass for a councillor or a junior executive.

“I’m, er ... well.”

“Still pushing dog-nuts, eh?”

“Yeah. I guess I’m sort of between jobs. What about you?”

“There ain’t much in the arts. However, I got a neat position at the Hamilton Art Gallery: usher. You wanna job?”

I looked at him and tried hard not to show any enthusiasm. “Yeah, I guess so. You know of one?”

Peter smiled and thumped me painfully on the biceps. “Not at the gallery, dickhead.”

“Stop being a pea-brain,” Dee snapped. “Give the poor bastard a break.”

Pete punched me playfully again. “Alright, sucker. My uncle’s got a gas station in Stoney Creek. Pay’s $8.50 an hour; fifty hours a week. Interested?”

“Doing what?”

“Pumping gas, dummy,” He put on a hoity-toity voice, pretending to be English. “You know, old boy, filling people’s petrol tanks.”

I had to think about it. Stoney Creek is 10 kilometres across town. I tried to look non-committal and said, “I don’t have a car, how’ll I get there?”

“Walk,” Pete said with a big grin. Then with a serious expression he said, “Well, do you want the bloody job or not, my hesitant friend?”

I nodded in agreement. “I don’t have a choice.” I figured I’d ride the buses until I moved and the smart thing would be to move to Stoney Creek.

“Having got that shit out the way,” Dee said, “who’s buying the next round?”

“I will,” Henny volunteered.

Henny was always a quiet sort of follower, never the leader. He came from rich parents, so it didn’t matter how many times he failed at the big ‘U’, they’d pay to keep him in school till he either passed or passed away. His real name was Gavin Henderson, but he hated being called Gavin. He was a lanky dork and usually the type to be teacher’s pet. You could say he was a do-gooder, or just a creep.

Pete’s eyes sparkled and smiled when he said, “I always thought you’d make a good grease monkey. So, are you taking the job or not?”

“Sure. When do I start?” I managed to say with obvious reluctance.

He wrote the address and phone number on one of his business cards and handed it over to me. “Be there at nine, Monday morning and the job’s yours.”

Though grateful to him, it felt important not to show it, so I put on a non-committal air. It doesn’t pay to be too eager or people’ll think you’re soft.”

“Don’t worry,” Dee said. “We’ll all stick together. One for all and all for one, eh?”

“I’ve got a real brill scheme,” Pete said with a wide grin. “How about one last meeting? Say, er ... how about the first Monday in August?”

Shaking my head sadly, I replied, “I’ll be working by then, I hope.”

“No, you twit. The first Monday in August is a holiday Monday. A national day off work. We’ll meet here and drink our last farewells before we all enter the big angry world.”

“What the hell’s the point?” Henny said softly. “We’re grown men, not kids. Life’s pulling us apart. School’s the only thing we have in common. When we leave, we’re different people in different worlds.”

“That’s exactly it,” Pete snapped. “We’ll defy the system, a fraternity for life. Can’t you see the irony in it? The five musketeers, the five bandidos.”

There was a resounding, “No.” It didn’t matter, friends are friends. When Mom and Dad died, they left me all the debts, bills, and people with their hands out. After the funeral, selling the house, and settling the debts I had just enough to get through school. That’s before they put the tuition fees up, before inflation, and before I learned to control spending. In fact, before I grew up. There was always old granny Hubert, but only as a last resort.

It’s funny somehow. As I looked at the guys, I had this feeling inside, like, well, you know … like after Mom’s funeral. A sort of hollow yearning, a wanting for something that’s just not there. Sometimes, when I look at the gang it makes me want to weep. I don’t know why, but it just feels depressing, a sad occasion. You could say it’s the loneliness, maybe. The gang are there in front of me, they are visible, but it’s as if I can’t touch them. They seemed to be a group of imaginary clowns in the circus of life, only there because of my imagination.

That’s enough of that melancholy crap. We were no longer kids and for me, school had finished forever.

Suddenly I said aloud, “I don’t know what the shit I’m gonna do with the rest of my life.”

It must have been the drink that made me say it, or maybe Tourette’s syndrome. Either way, the voice came from me and I guess it’s what I needed to say, though it didn’t make me feel any better. It reached my ears like it was coming from someone else.

“That’s it,” Pete said with enthusiasm. “Let’s go into business together. There’s something for all of us. What d’ yah say?”

“What the hell would we do?” I asked in full seriousness.

Pete had obviously got the itch; something had struck him. With a big grin from ear to ear, he said, “I’m not sure yet, but the idea’s gelling. We’ve got to find something that has engines for Dee, some form of art for me. What’s your thing, Henny?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. How about something with accounting? I enjoy counting money and stuff like that. What about Alic?”

“She likes men,” Pete said. “So we’ll have to add something where a lot of men are concerned.”

“I’ve got it,” Dee said jumping up. “We’ll run a tour bus. I’ll fix the motor. Bill can pump the gasoline, Henny’ll count the cash and Pete can artistically drive it. Oh yeah, and Alic can amuse the customers by doing a striptease or something. Now, how’s that sound?”

“Alright,” I said, raising my voice. “Tell yah what we do.” I looked at their grinning faces. They were like a bunch of expectant kids, each with a large glass of beer in their hands. “Alright. We’ll all do a lot of thinking and we’ll meet here, let’s say noon first Monday in August.”

“What’ll we think about?” Dee asked with a puzzled expression on his simple face.

“We’ll think about the business. We’ll start a business. I’m out of school. I can put in full time. The rest of yah’ll do whatever you can. How’s that sound?”

“Never mind the business,” Dee joked. “Let’s get thoroughly pissed. It’s a pity Alic couldn’t make it. Man! I enjoy watching her wobble. She’s got the most fascinating front-end.”

I scowled at him. “You nut case. Are we agreed?”

“Sure.”

“Then let’s do some serious drinking. Pissed city here we come.”

Chipper as a squirrel in a bag of peanuts, I was at Pete’s uncle’s place dead on the dot of nine. The sign read: Gordon’s Gas Bar. It’s a large establishment with a café, right on the 20 Highway. I walked into the office, where a big man with hair just like Pete’s was giving some poor kid shit for just being a kid. He looked over in my direction, with no smile, no display of friendship and hardly any form of recognition at all.

“You the asshole Pete sent?” he growled through his teeth.

I nodded in the affirmative.

“Alright you got the job. You know how to pump gasoline?”

I nodded once more in the affirmative.

“Cat got your tongue, boy?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s better. Around here we communicate verbally, no bloody signalling. You get that, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright ten hours a day, five days a week, $425 gross weekly. You got that, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Piss off a customer and you walk. You got me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Start tomorrow and you’ll work Saturday this week. Clock-on time eight sharp. That’s A.M. You eat running, bring your own or buy from the café. Are we still in tune, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Never have more than fifty bucks in cash. Bung it in the holder.”

I felt about 2 centimetres tall and could feel my knees shaking. This guy could eat a fire-breathing dragon and use the tail to pick his teeth.

“What’s a holder, sir?”

“The safe, you idiot. It’s that concrete block in the corner over there. See, it’s got a slot in the top. Bung everything over fifty bucks in there. I’m the only one with a key.”

I nodded in the affirmative.

“Well, do you understand, boy?” he said raising his voice to a crackling growl.

“Yes, sir. Yes, I understand.”

“Fill this out.” He pulled some sort of employment agreement from the desk drawer and thrust it in front of me. I began to read it, not wanting to sign anything without understanding it.

“I gotta go pump,” he said and marched out of the office.

Man, I felt stupid. I thought slavery had been abolished, yet this guy thought he was God. I read the paper, filled out the details, and signed it. Then I sat and awaited his return. I couldn’t help but notice how self-reliant he was and how really sure of himself he was. I guess you’d call it intimidating. If only I could be like that.

He marched in and snatched up the paper, after humming and hawing a couple of times, he said, “William Reyner, eh? What do they call you? Bill?”

“Yes, sir.”

For the first time, he smiled a friendly smile. “Okay, Bill, see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” I lit out and felt like whooping but managed to control myself in a dignified fashion.

Mrs. Nethercot, my landlady was in the hall waiting for me to return. You’d think she could find something better to do. “I don’t want you about the house all day now the university is out,” she said in her annoying tone of voice.

God, I wonder what happened to her husband. She probably had him stuffed and mounted. I’ll bet he stands in that dark living room, with a shocked look permanently waxed on his face. She wasn’t really a dragon, least ways, not the kind St George killed. She was built like a cylinder, black dress and hair in curlers. She had a face that would grace Frankenstein’s monster.

“I’m working in Stoney Creek for the summer, Mrs. Nethercot. I just got me a good job.”

“Good. Remember, no girls and keep away long enough for me to do the housework. I don’t want you under my feet. In fact, I would like you out of here altogether.”

“Yes, Mrs. Nethercot.”

What a life, and it was going to get worse. Getting up at dawn was a new experience and taking the bus to Stoney Creek meant a transfer. I sure as hell didn’t want to be late on my first day. $425.00 was infinitely more than I got flogging doughnuts. Of course, I quit that job. Couldn’t sell coffee and treats by night and work all day.

A day pumping gas is not a pastime for wimps. Running up and down, sometimes three or even four pumps going at a time. God, some of those customers … I’d like to stick that nozzle somewhere other than in their tank and watch their eyes flood. One guy took 68 litres and then he got all pissed off, ’cause there was a slight drip when I pulled the hose out. With him, that made two drips. I tell you, if I wasn’t being paid, I’d have given him a knuckle sandwich.

Mrs. Nethercot jumped on my case as soon as I got back to the pad.

“You’re filthy. I don’t like filth like that in my clean house. See to it you don’t brush against any of my walls. The last thing I need is garage grease all over my clean house. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Nethercot.”

“Why can’t you wear overalls and take them off outside? Don’t bring that filth anywhere near my carpets and curtains.”

“I will, when I get enough money to buy some. I’ll be real careful, Mrs. Nethercot.”

“I’ll put your rent up if I see any trace of dirt or grease on any of my walls, floors, or drapes.”

I walked into my room. Jesus! You know, after a hard day’s graft you just don’t need that kind of shit. I ripped off my sweat-soaked shirt and threw myself onto the bed for a welcome rest. Lying there staring at the ceiling I just wanted to weep. Life is the shits, sometimes. I wish I was still a kid, or Mom and Dad were there to greet me home from work.

Mom was a lovely woman, kind, gentle, and understanding. Dad was an okay guy too. Sort of quiet but still a hell of a nice guy. It was 1997, just a couple of years ago when they both died. The insurance and the sale of the house just about covered the debts and the funeral. If it hadn’t been for Granny Hubert, I don’t know what would have happened to me.

I sat up and tried to shake off the bad thoughts. Tomorrow would be another grind. Holy mackerel. I gotta get me a real job. What in the hell do I want out of life, anyway?

Zelda

Chapter 2

I tell yah, slavery must have been easy compared to being a pump jockey. Mrs. Nethercot had become a continuous pain in my rear end. What with her constantly moaning about dirt and locking me out of the house, I could easily strangle her. Man! I’d had it up to my ears with that woman. This next Sunday was going to be my day of rest come hell or high water. Just to sleep-in would be a godsend. To relax and have no worries – man, that’s a laugh.

It’s surprising how many cracks you can find in a ceiling when you’ve got nothing better to do. Just lying there listening to the traffic was sweet joy and it added to the excitement of counting the cracks. No school, no work and nothing to do except count cracks in that ugly ceiling. It’s kind of funny how your mind wanders. Thoughts of that rainy day at Mom and Dad’s funeral filtered into my head. I never asked to be an orphan. I should have been in the car with them. It would have saved a whole load of pain.

Suddenly, there was a ‘bang, bang’ on my door. The sudden shock almost made me jump out of my skin.

“I’m asleep, go away.”

“Don’t you talk to me like that, young man,” Mrs. Nethercot snapped. “You have a visitor. You’d better come to the door quickly or there’ll be trouble.”

God! the last thing I needed was a visitor. “Alright, alright. I’m coming. Keep your shirt on.”

I wrapped a bed sheet around my otherwise naked body and walked to the door. It’s difficult to say who was the most surprised, Gran or me.

“Well, William, it’s half past noon, and you’re not dressed. Have you no shame?”

“Sorry, Gran. Come in. I’ve been working hard and I’m just trying to catch up on a little sleep. It’s harder to sleep around here than it is in the market, besides that, it’s hot.”

She’s a funny little woman, a mite on the heavy side and quite a bossy old gal. She eyed the devastated apartment with all my clothes scattered around. I guess if I’d smoked, the ashtrays would have been full, too. You could see the annoyance building up in her eyes and almost feel the temperature rising.

“What kind of filth do you live in?” She barked at me.

“Sorry, Gran, I’ve bin busy.”

She knocked a pile of old socks off the only chair. “I promised your mother I’d look after you. It seems to me I should begin right away. You definitely need looking after. What about school?”

“Ma’s dead, Gran, when did you speak with her? What school?”

She shook her head in disgust. “I received a letter.”

“From Mom?”

“No, silly boy. It said you have been discharged from the university and with bills outstanding. Why was I not informed?”

“Ah, well … yes, Gran.”

“So what do you intend to do about it?”

“Do you mind if I get dressed first? I kind of feel at a disadvantage like this.”

“Go.”

Somehow, she always managed to make me feel like a scalded kid. Wouldn’t matter what I did, it would still be wrong. In the bathroom, I dragged on a pair of slacks and a T-shirt – hardly Sunday best. When I emerged, she had begun to tidy up the room.

“Don’t bother, Gran, I’ll do it later.” I sat on the bed and tried to smile.

Gran sat on the chair again. Funny, the old girl was kind of nice-looking. Her hair was greying, but why not, she’d seen her sixty-second birthday, though she didn’t look it.

“I came to see you,” she said in a mellow tone of voice. “I have bad news, sad news.”

“Oh, what?”

She sighed deeply then stared out the window as if looking for inspiration. “Well, Uncle Edgar is dead.”

I shrugged my shoulders in dismay. “Uncle Edgar. I don’t recall any Uncle Edgar. So who’s he?”

“He was your father’s older brother. Surely you must remember him. He was in Australia for awhile.”

It seemed appropriate to shake my head sadly. I didn’t remember the name. “I’m sorry, but ... well, I didn’t know him. I don’t remember Mom or Dad ever mentioning him. So what’s so sad about losing someone I didn’t know?”

“There were three siblings, as I remember. The oldest child – I think her name was Jane. You remember the one who ran off to Australia with some salesman or other. Well, Edgar was a couple of years younger than her and seven years older than your father.”

“If you say so, Gran. I still don’t remember him.”

“Well, he obviously remembered you. Edgar Reyner was a playboy. He had a lot of money, and as far as I know, he spent it on fast cars, fast women, drink, and any other iniquity he could imagine.”

“So why’s this sad news to me, Gran?”

She looked at me and smiled sweetly. “My boy, you are the only survivor. My only child was your mother and you’re an only child. There is no one else. You are the end of the line, the Reyner line, that is.”

“What about aunt – whatever her name was? You know; the one in Australia. Doesn’t she count?”

“We haven’t heard from her for over thirty years. I remember your father saying something about her dying in a motor-vehicle accident.”

“Okay. Well, so what?”

“We have to look after you. There are no other descendants. I propose you come live with me in my Dundas home.”

I didn’t want to upset the old girl, but I wanted to live in Stoney Creek.

“Gran, my work’s the other end of town. It would be even harder to get to work if I lived in Dundas; it’s the opposite end of the city from the Creek.”

“I have a car. Can you drive?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Well, if you’re a good boy, I see no reason why you couldn’t have it and drive to work. Would that alleviate your problems a modicum?”

Now, the idea of owning wheels definitely appealed to me, but living with Gran didn’t.

“Well thanks, Gran. I appreciate your offer. I guess I’ll have to think about it.”

“Don’t spend too much time thinking. I’ve given your notice in at this disgusting dump.”

“You did what?” I said, trying not to get excited.

“I don’t like that Mrs. Nether-what-ever. The woman’s morose and totally unsuitable as a landlady. When you come to live with me, you’ll pay rent and abide by the rules.”

“But I have my own room here, Gran. I like it here,” I lied and winced as the words escaped my lips.

“You can have your own room at my house. Now, young William, I do not want any arguments. You are moving in with me. You’ll have a car and home-cooked meals. Other than living in decent quarters, there’ll be very little difference.”

“Yes, Gran, if you say so.”

“Now, I wish to address those debts you left at the University.”

“Do we have to?”

“Yes. I have settled them. You owe me big, young man. How are you going to repay me?”

I shrugged my shoulders. I couldn’t think of anything sensible to say. “I don’t know, Gran. What d’ you think would be best?”

“Your rent will be $100 per week; that includes meals. You do your own laundry. And I want another $100 per week repayment on your debts. Is that fair and equitable?”

I nodded in the affirmative and smiled weakly.

“Good,” she said. “The car is yours. If you take me home you can have it today.”

That was an offer I couldn’t refuse; $200 a week. That means, after taxes, I’d be up about sixty bucks a week. I wiped the sweat from my forehead. “Do you have air?”

Gran glared at me. “I’ll give you air. You can perspire in my house just as freely as you can here. Do I have air, indeed?”

“Okay, Gran. I’ll take you up on your offer. With luck, I’ll be able to find a better job when I’ve got wheels.”

“It’s a pity you’re not still at school. Don’t you have any ambition?”

I had to think about it. “Yeah, sure.”

“Well, what?”

Licking the sweat from my top lip, I thought about it some more. She sure knew how to jerk my chain and make me sit up. “I’d like to work on tricky things like solving problems. I think I’d like to be a detective. Yeah, that would be real cool, me a detective.”

She smiled and clutched her handbag to her chest then, shaking her head, said, “And what have you done about it?”

“Nothin’.”

“Exactly. Nothing. And please use the Queen’s English in my presence. Now we should put some thought into solving that problem. I suggest we consider schooling.”

I smiled at what I took to be her way of being funny. “So did this uncle leave us anything, Gran?”

Slowly, her head swung from side to side. “No,” she said softly. “Uncle Edgar was a playboy; one of the high-roller set. I never actually met him, but your father often talked of him. He made his money in some dubious way, gambling I do believe. I understand he gambled on the stock market, horses, dogs, and at casinos.”

“So was he a millionaire or something?”

“I doubt that he had two coins to rub together. The lawyer’s letter I received merely informed me that Edgar had died and he needed your address.”

“What’s he want my address for?”

“I do not know. The communication was curt and tacit.”

“Well … do you think he left me something?”

She smiled. “Work for a living, dear. Don’t build dreams of inheritances and things of that nature. Great Expectations was a novel, this is real life. Work reaps greater rewards than dreaming.”

“Well, you can’t help hoping, can you, Gran?”

Gran stood up and said, “I’ve given your notice to that Mrs. Nether-what’s-it. I told her you would be out within the week. Do you want to drive over and take a look at your new room now?”

“Room. You mean I already have one?”

“Yes, of course. You have always been welcome at my house. I told you that at the funeral.”

“What about my friends?”

“Do they stay in your room here?”

“No, of course not, Gran.”

“Then I see no complication. Do you want to take my offer or not?”

“Sure, Gran.” I walked over to her and gave her a hug. I didn’t want to admit it, but I guess she really saved my bacon. This dump and the resident dragon were fraying my nerves.”

“Get dressed in some decent clothes, then you can drive me home.”

Grabbing a few things, I walked to the bathroom and cleaned myself up. I tell you, the heat was getting to me. It was the hottest summer of my life and I’ve seen twenty of ’em. Gran seemed calm and cool, dressed in her cotton-print dress. When I emerged clad a little more like a gentleman, she handed me the keys to the car with a big smile on her sweet old face.

“I don’t understand why you’re giving me your car, Gran.”

“You have far more use for it than I. It is part of the deal. You do understand, don’t you?”

“Yes, Gran, sure.”

It wasn’t a very new model, I guess almost ten years old. There were only 50,000 clicks on the dial – barely used. She always kept it in the garage so there was more rust on last year’s models than on her neat little motor. I bet there were no more than three grains of dust on the inside. I opened the door for her, and then, chauffeur fashion, I ran round the other side and climbed in. Man! it felt good to have wheels again.

Dundas is a neat little town, sort of joined to Hamilton on the western side at the end of Lake Ontario. You can barely tell when you leave Hamilton and enter Dundas. Her house was what the realtors would call a century home. It’s over a hundred years old. A great big old Victorian brick place, with two stories and an attic. I parked out front on the street, to save backing out of the driveway. It was a nice-looking house, with big trees all around in its ample grounds.

She climbed out. “Are you coming in to see your room?”

“No, that’s okay Gran. This is my only day off. I got things to do. When do you want me to move in?”

She leaned in through the driver’s window and kissed me. “Now, you be a good boy; there aren’t many of us left, you know. I’m almost always at home. Come when you feel easy, there’s a good boy.”

“So when, Gran?”

“As soon as possible would be best. But I’ll leave it up to you, dear.”

“What if I get grease on your walls?”

“Then you’ll clean it off.”

I smiled, waved and drove off. A big deep sigh was in order. At long last I could tell Mrs. Nethercot to go stuff herself. Now, I had a job and a home. Kinda sad though, Granny Zelda Hubert, my only living relative. Kind of makes you feel lonely – humble even.

God, it was hot. Typical of old folk, no air conditioning either in the house or the car. The sweat fairly poured down my face and back like the spring melt. It was too damn hot to think clearly. Global warming and all that; still, it didn’t matter – they reckoned the world was going to end at the turn of the new millennium. At least I’d be around to see it go.

Dragon breath was waiting for me at the front door. Either she had radar or a crystal ball. “You can’t park that thing there,” she said in a shrill voice.

“Yes, Mrs. Nethercot. Where would you like me to park it?”

“Not there.”

Ignoring her instructions, I got out and slammed the door. It was a public street, with no signs to forbid parking. “Won’t be long,” I said in a singsong voice.

“You ignorant little brat. I told you not to park there. You youngsters just do not listen.”

“I’ll be leaving in a few minutes. It won’t bother you.” Paying no heed to the old bat I walked into the house. Not owning a great deal of stuff, I figured it best to take a load over to Gran’s.

“Who was that disagreeable old lady?” Nethercot asked, following me into the house.

“I’m too busy to talk, Mrs. Nethercot. Please excuse me; I’ve got things to do.”

“If that pile of rust isn’t moved, I’ll call the police and have it towed. I have the right, I’m a homeowner and a taxpayer and you’re only a tenant.”

“Oh, bugger off, you old fart,” I said under my breath, not having the courage to actually put her in her place.

As quickly as possible, I fled to my room. Somehow there was consolation there. The door kept the big old dragon at bay. I threw myself on the bed and pretended I couldn’t hear Mrs. Nethercot still grumbling on the other side of the door. God! Tomorrow is Monday and the whole bloody cycle begins again.

As I lay there sweating, imitating a porous water carrier and just looking at the familiar cracks in the ceiling, the thought struck me: How many poor bastards are trapped like me? There had to be a way of getting off this track. Go to work, come home, go to bed, sleep, get up and go to work again. Oh, to be one of the idle rich.

My stomach began grumbling; it was worse than old Mrs. Nethercot’s incessant gabble. I couldn’t ignore it for long. A quick look at my watch revealed the time. “Holy Mackinaw!” It was past two. That settled it. Packing could wait till later. Not wanting to run into the old dragon again I listened for a moment at the door – not a sound on the other side. Quick as a flash, I opened the door and fled down the hall and out the front. The dragon lady headed me off halfway across the lawn.

“Your rent was due yesterday, where is it?”

“I’ll pay when I get back.”

Somehow, I managed to dodge round her and jump into the car. With a sigh and a surge of gasoline I roared down the road. Just across the street from McMaster University was a takeout; as good a place as any. I figured I’d go there and stop the midsection grumbling. If only old Nethercot could be silenced so easily.

Gees, it didn’t work out too well. I only had three fifty and fries cost two and a quarter and a drink was one ten. It’s enough to frost you when one skimpy meal leads to bankruptcy. I sat in the car eating my repast and sweating cobs watching the happy people walk by. My life was the shits. No girl, no real friends, a shitty job and now I’ve got to live with Granny Hubert, but I do have wheels.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, but I still had to face the dragon of Westdale at least once more … and me unarmed. Christians to the lions was easier; at least they died quickly. This was more like having your hands and feet tied then being pecked to death by an old chicken, two if you count Granny Zelda Hubert.

Man, sure was nice having wheels though. I motored downtown and then to Pier Four Park. I just wanted a little breather, a little space. It’s very hard when you’ve only got yourself to talk to; looking in from the outside it seems so simple. “So what do you want to do with your life?” says Gran Hubert. Gees, those words echoed round and round in my hollow head.

I want to be a detective. No, not just a detective, a PI. Yeah, that’s it, William Reyner PI. Man! that sounds good. Say a Berretta in an underarm holster. “Listen you, Nethercot, I’ve got your angles. Grab some sky.” Oh boy! Ah-well! With a big sigh I started the engine and slowly drove back to Westdale.

The radio played a sad tune, which fitted my mood. Jumping Gemini! The sadness suddenly turned to rage when I rounded the corner. Not on the lawn, but right on the sidewalk stood all my gear. The whole lot, photo album, CD player and clothes. She’d tossed the whole kit and caboodle out. And where was the wicked witch of the west?

Jumping out of the car I reasoned she’s not stupid, not gonna hang around after waving the red flag. Gritting my teeth, I consoled myself with the thought that at least now I didn’t have to pay the back rent. “Screw you,” I shouted in the direction of her house.

After loading the car with my meagre possessions, I turned to face the dragon lady’s abode and gave old lady Nethercot the finger. I hope the old bat was peeping round the curtains. With luck it would give her a fatal heart attack or an attack of anything she used as a heart.

The Communiqué

Chapter 3

Anger still pulsed through my veins as my new wheels stopped in Gran’s driveway. My heart pounded from the encounter with the Westdale dragon. Man, it makes a person feel stupid. Just a couple of hours and here I was, lock, stock, and barrel, begging for a bed. Gran didn’t come out to greet me. I figured that maybe she was out shopping or otherwise engaged. With a deep sigh of relief, I grabbed an armful of my junk and headed for the front door. On reaching the door it opened.

“I thought you said you were too busy today,” Gran said softly, her old eyes twinkling with delight.

“Well, you know, like plans of mice and men an’ all that, Gran.”

She replied with a big smile and when I entered the hall, a strong and inviting smell of hot freshly baked cookies assailed my nose. Gran closed the door quietly behind me and said, “I’m so happy you could make it today. Please, follow me and I’ll take you to your room.”

The stairs were right there by the front door. Gran led the way up the soft carpeted steps. The place sort of reminded me of a museum. The wallpaper matched the carpet, sort of dark roses. The red colour matched the brilliantly polished walnut woodwork. My room was the first one at the top.

“I feel kinda stupid, Gran,” I said trying to apologize.

She waved her hand at the door across the upstairs hall. “The bathroom. I have my own, so you may spend all the time you wish in there. I would appreciate dry floors, though.” With a quick push she opened the door to my room. “This is your room, do as you will. Though again, I would appreciate some semblance of order.” She kissed me on the cheek and added, “You’re a good boy. We’ll get along famously.” With that, she walked off and disappeared down the stairs.

Man, the room, wow! There were two sets of drawers, a tallboy, a walk-in closet, a dresser and two bedside tables. The bed was a monster; at least twice as big as the one I had at old Nethercot’s. A big bay window with a window seat overlooked the side garden. I figure the house was at least twice the size of Mom’s. And everything seemed so clean and … well, showroom-style.

I wanted to be independent, a man on my own, like stupid me. I stood looking out the window, mentally kicking myself for being a nitwit. She offered me help two years ago when Mom and Dad died. Dumping an armful of junk on the bed, I set out to collect the rest from the car. On reaching the front door, Gran called me from another room at the end of the entrance hall.

“William, please step in here for a moment.”

With a sigh, I walked the carpeted hall to the kitchen. Again, I found a clean and well-appointed chamber. The smell of cooking was mouth-watering. A modern chrome and plastic dining set with six chairs stood near the back window. “Yes, Gran?”

“Please sit, William.”

I sat on one of the chairs and she perched on the edge of another. Her eyes seemed sad. “What is it, Gran?”

She took one of my hands gently in hers. “William, I believe a relationship should begin the way it intends to continue.”

“Yeah?”

“The one thing I believe in is honesty. That is, honesty between us. I solemnly swear never to lie to you, and you must reciprocate.”

I shrugged, feeling a little stupid. “Sure, I swear.”

“We are the last of the line, William. I do wish you had come to me earlier. Still, never mind that now. This house is now your home. I want you to treat it as such. Please have respect and treat both me and this dwelling with courtesy and civility.” She pulled a key from her pinafore pocket and handed it to me. “This is the key to my … to our house. Come and go as you please.”

I nodded in the affirmative.

She stared directly into my eyes and said, “I don’t want you to waste your life. We will have to collude and devise a plan for your future. What do you want to do?”

Shrugging my shoulders, I looked round the room for inspiration. “Dunno.”

“Surely, William, you have an ambition?”

Somehow, I couldn’t say it. Man, it would make me look a right berk, and she seemed such a sweet old lady. “I don’t know, maybe … I don’t know.”

“What did you take at Mac?”

“Well, law, and –”

She cut me short. “Why law?”

With a big sigh, I raised my eyebrows and said, “I want to be a detective, I guess.”

She smiled. “There you are then, that didn’t hurt a bit. Did it?”

“No, I guess not.”

Gran stood up, leaned over, and kissed me. “Silly boy. Honesty, remember; honesty is always the best policy, at least it is with me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll make inquiries. There must be a course you can take somewhere. You finish your moving in. Supper will be at six.”

Man, what a funny old girl. Somehow, she could pluck your heart out painlessly. I guess I’d been a real fool. I should have moved in with her in the first place. Mom would have approved, but you gotta realize, there’s a generation gap between me and Mom, and a chasm between me and Gran.

Having got all my junk into my room, I bounced on the bed, flat on my back. Nice bed, soft and springy. Another thing I noticed, this house didn’t have a furnace-like atmosphere. It was cool and less overwhelming than old Nethercot’s. Great leaping lizards … and no cracks in the ceiling. That had to be an omen for the good.

The one worrying point – none of the interior doors had locks. Who the hell cares? You know, that was an amazing ceiling. A house that old and no cracks in the ceiling. I bet the mice even wear slippers. I was suddenly jolted back to reality with a knock on my door. “Who is it?” I yelled.

A soft and gentle reply, “Who do you think, dear?”

“Oh, Gran.” I jumped up and ran over to the door and opened it. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I guess I was sort of daydreaming.”

She shook her head. “Who is it? indeed! You don’t have to lie on that bed all day. There’s a TV in the living room and another in the playroom. I can’t watch two at a time. I came to tell you that we have a perfectly nice sitting room. You can do your homework there.”

“When?”

Again, she shook her head. “Anytime you wish, dear.”

“Oh, gees. Thanks, Gran.”

I took a gentle stroll around the house. Gran didn’t follow as she was doing something in the sitting room. It’s ridiculous when I think of it. How could I have been such a fool? Gran had everything, and I do mean everything, and me a crummy pump jockey. It kinda makes you feel conspicuous, like a duck in a puppy farm.

Living in a house that had everything, made work even harder. The soft luxury of living with Gran then ten hours of sweat … and I do mean sweat. The weather was the hottest I could remember. Monday was a killer, but I had a car to drive home in. Gran was an angel and supper was ready when I walked in the house after work.

On entering, the aroma of fresh baking filled my lungs, yet it was still cool and no air conditioning. After a quick cleanup and a change of clothes I reported to the dining room. Gran was seated. I looked at her and smiled weakly. “Sorry, Gran.”

“What for, dear?”

“Well, I’m a little late.”

“It’s your supper, William. If you prefer it cold then that’s your choice. You have the freedom to do as you wish.”

“I am sorry, Gran.”

“Eat up and shut up.”

“Yes, Gran.”

The meal was great. Soup followed by steak and home fries, with some cake-like stuff that she called Yorkshire pudding. Then would you believe, dessert? I ate my fill and kissed her, thanking her for the meal. “I’ll do the washing-up for you. Gran.”

“No you won’t. The dishwasher will do it. Go do whatever young men do.”

“Gee, thanks, Gran.”

Talk about falling on your feet. The pure luxury of living with the old girl erased the sweat and tears of a day’s labour. I think it was Thursday when things changed. Well, they didn’t really change; it was more of a start to things happening. I went home as usual. Rushed to clean up and put on some clean clothes. Supper was ready and Gran was seated. I sat and said, “Hi, Gran, how was your day?”

She didn’t smile, instead, just handed me a letter. “What’s this?”

“Read it, dear.”

It was from Purvis and Pringle Law Partners. Carefully opening it, I pulled out the neatly typed letter. “I don’t understand it, Gran. What’s it all about?”

She sighed. “I have one as well, dear. Mine says I have to be in their law office at 9 a.m. next Tuesday, the twenty-second.”

“That’s what mine says. What’s it all about, Gran?”

She pouted her lips and her eyes twinkled. Then she said, “Could be ‘great expectations’ after all.”

“Really. You mean … not Uncle Edgar?”

“It’s the same law firm, dear.”

“What’ll we do?”

“Did you read it?”

“Yes, Gran.”

“It says that my presence is imperative. Sounds very melodramatic. It doesn’t say what the alternatives are.”

I had to think about it for a few moments. “Do you think he’s left us some money or property or something?”

“It says, 9 a.m. prompt. I’ll phone tomorrow during business hours. This has to be a practical joke. Did you note the address?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know where that is; up north, I guess.”

“I’ll find out what I can. Don’t worry about it, dear.”

“That’s great, Gran. What do you know about Uncle Edgar? I mean … well, like, who was he? What happened to him?”

She took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling for inspiration. It was several seconds before she replied.

“Well, he was about seven years older than your dad. Robert, your father, had very little to do with his brother. I think he disapproved of his lifestyle: gambling, fast cars, and fast women. As far as I know, Edgar never broke the law and there was never any mention of fame or riches. I suppose he could have had a house or something.”

“So how much money do you think he had?”

“Millions, but he spent it all. I remember shortly before your parents died your father went to see Edgar. I don’t know what it was all about. Robert was furious. I thought it had to be something to do with money. It seemed to me that Edgar was in some kind of trouble. Your dad wouldn’t discuss it.”

“How much do you think he’s left us then?”

She shook her head again. “Nothing. I would hazard a guess there are debts to be settled and we’ll be responsible for them. If we are named in the will, then we’ll have to sort out whatever mess he left.”

“So are we going?”

Gran stroked her chin thoughtfully for a moment. “I don’t know – I really don’t know. What’s your thoughts on the matter, dear?”

I mean, wow! Fancy throwing the ball in my court. Edgar was totally unknown to me. I can’t remember Dad ever mentioning him. “I don’t think they’d contact us for debts, would they?”

She shrugged. “Who knows? If you want to go, well, then … I’ll go with you. I have been summoned, too.”

“That’s great, Gran, we’ll make it an adventure, a day out. How’s that sound?”

“All right. A day out, up north.”

“There was a third one, a sister, wasn’t there, Gran?”

“Yes. Aunt Jane. She married some beryl miner or something from Australia; or was he a salesman? Either way, she ran away against her parent’s wishes. You know, Edgar had also been to Australia?”

“So what happened to her? Aunt Jane that is.”

Gran shook her head slowly. “I don’t think anyone ever knew, except I do remember your father saying something to the effect that she had died. Though I can’t imagine how he knew. Perhaps Edgar told him.”

“I thought they didn’t speak?”

“Well, I’ve no idea. We’ll get this episode out of the way then concentrate on your new career. All right?”

“Sure, Gran.”

It’s a funny thing, my life had been sort of dull since my parents died, but at Gran’s house things never stop moving. That night I didn’t sleep too well at all. The thought that Uncle Edgar may have left me a fortune bugged me. When I did get to sleep I had nightmares. Demons came after me looking for gold. Gees, I’d wake sweating like a pig and shaking like a leaf.

You know, it’s kind of nice to have someone to talk too. At breakfast, Gran and I hashed it all over again. The drive to work was boring, the job was boring, and above all, the customers were boring. Several times, I made mistakes with the change. I couldn’t concentrate as thoughts of Uncle Edgar haunted my every conscious moment. I’m not one to worry, but this was different. The mysterious way we were summoned to this lawyer’s place intrigued me. One of the maps in the office said that Parry Sound was two hundred and seventy kilometres from Hamilton. That’s a good drive; even at the legal speed limit that’s about three hours.

At supper that night, Gran said we had two choices, either go the day before or start about five in the morning. Getting up early these days seems to be my thing; besides that, I didn’t want to miss two days’ work. There and back in a day would have to be the call. My days off were Thursday and Sunday.

On Friday, I managed to corner the boss in the office. For a few minutes at least, I had no customers. “Excuse me, boss.”

“What?” he growled in his usual unpleasant way.

“I need Tuesday off.”

He blinked furiously for a few seconds, staring at me as though I’d suddenly turned purple. “Are my ears playing tricks, boy?”

“No boss. I need Tuesday off. It’s very important.”

He slowly rose to his feet. Man, you’d think I just asked him for a ten grand sub. He pointed his finger at me and said in a growling tone, “Listen, boy. We work our own shift. You work Tuesday or bugger off. Is that clear?”

“I have an appointment with a lawyer I have –”

He interrupted. “No Tuesday, no job. Comprendez?”

That really pissed me off; I guess I lost my rag. “You stupid slave-driving shit head,” I shouted. “You can’t fire me.”

“Oh no, and why’s that, boy?”

“’cause I quit. You can stick this job where the sun don’t shine. Find some other asshole to work your Tuesday.”

“You’re fired, boy.”

“No, I quit, dummy.”

I walked out before I really got mad and thumped him, which I probably would have. Gran says I’m as big as I am obtuse – whatever that means. Stupid slave-driver, what the hell does he take me for? Oh boy! Now I’ve got to face Gran. What’s she gonna say when I tell her? I looked at my watch – it was only mid-afternoon. Well, there’s only one way to face the music and that’s with honesty, right?

When I parked the car in the drive, Gran was working in the side garden. “Hi,” I said slamming the car door.

She stopped work and smiled. “You’re home early, dear.”

“Gran, I. Well … Gran …” I couldn’t think how to put it. “I’ve … that is ...”

“For heaven’s sake, William, spit it out. What are you trying to say?”

“I quit my job; well, actually, I guess I was fired.”

“Did you quit, William, or were you fired?”

“I quit.”

“Why?”

“The boss is an ass … I mean, he’s an idiot.”

“So what was the reason you quit?”

“The man’s a fool. I wanted Tuesday off. He wouldn’t co-operate in any way. The man’s an idiot. I would’ve worked another shift to make up.”

“All bosses are idiots; that’s why they are bosses, dear. What about your salary?”

I pulled a silly face and shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know, Gran. What do you think is best?”

“Let’s go have a cup of tea and consider our options,” she said with a sigh.

I couldn’t believe how well she took the news. One would have thought she would rant and rave, after all, how would I pay the rent? It was at least ten degrees cooler in the house than outdoors. “Why is it so cool in here, Gran, you don’t have air?”

“Trees, William, trees. Nature’s own air conditioning.”

We walked into the kitchen and she put the kettle on. “Tea will be served in moments.” She sat at the dining table opposite me. “I’m glad you’ve quit that awful job, dear. It’s not fitting labour for a smart boy of your calibre. I’ve contacted Mohawk College and we can get you in on a law course.”

“A law course?”

“Yes, it’s the beginning of a career in detective work.”

“Detective work?” I echoed like a parrot.

“Yes. How does ‘Grantham and Reyner Private Detectives’ sound?”

“Who’s Grantham?”

“Me, dear.”

“I thought your name was Hubert. Oh, I get it, it’s your maiden name.”

“My maiden name is Harris.”

I had to think for a few moments. “So, who’s Grantham?”

She smiled sweetly and avoided an answer. “The kettle’s boiling. I’ll make the tea.”

“What about Tuesday? When’ll we leave?”

“Well, if you’re not working, we could go Monday, but on the other hand if you’re not working, we can’t afford the hotel. I think we’ll leave the plans exactly the way they are, don’t you think, dear?”