An Ordinary Decent Criminal Part 30

For a while it was touch and go. Walsh's story of an unprovoked ambush made for some interesting moments as the cops tried to separate me from my lawyer in the little room they had me in. But eventually Claire reached McMillan-Fowler and Atismak and they both saw the tape.

Outside the room with Thompson, maybe thirty cops had gathered. Through the door I could hear them talking, whispering, growling. Thompson and I could both feel the rage growing and he fished out his flask and drained it without offering me anything.

"Jesus. They're going to lynch you."

"Yep. The fixes you get me in ..."

Thompson stared at me and strangled a laugh and outside the voices went on.

"... popped his eye right out of his ..."

"... we go in there and drag the liar out and then we SHOOT the motherf.u.c.ker ..."

"Walsh, man, who could believe that some little punk ..."

"... heard he ambushed him. Got him with a bat and then heel stomped his face into ..."

"f.u.c.k that! We protect our own!"

Eventually, though, McMillan-Fowler's voice cut through.

"All of you! Watch this. Before you do anything truly stupid."

Then she led me out while the tape was still playing on a big TV/VCR combination in the front of the room.

"Do any of you see an ambush?"

None of the cops said a word.

"Do any of you see a fair fight?"

No one said anything but some of them fidgeted. White men with mustaches and testosterone, rage and indignation.

"I see a fight between an armed man and an unarmed man. If I showed this same tape to a jury, they'd have Walsh doing five years."

She watched the cops fidget some more.

"Do any of you see anything here to protect?"

No one answered that one, and she and Atismak led me out with Thompson following.

47.

Time pa.s.sed.

Eventually the press forgot. Eventually the public forgot. I held my tongue and waited for the flames to die down. Against Thompson's advice, I dropped the suit against the city and the city responded with an apology. We did, however, start a case against Walsh in the civic court and in time even the police union got tired of defending him and he faded away into humiliation, forced retirement, and a court-recommended psychiatric review.

In any case, he was gone and I was where I wanted to be.

"You know this isn't fair, right?"

Claire smiled and nodded and then laughed out loud. "Of course not, dear. It's not fair at all."

I stood at the edge of the living room door and glowered at her until she laughed again.

"You look adorable, though."

I was wearing a shapeless and baggy track suit. It had been clean half an hour ago and now it was already more than slightly stained. Behind me on the rug were three children aged from eleven months to two years, fighting with grim determination over possession of various toys, and I was doing my best to ignore them. My hand unconsciously became a fist and I gestured towards the children over my shoulder.

"You can't do this. Only one of those is mine."

Claire was putting on a new pair of pumps and admiring them in the mirror she'd mounted by the hall closet. "This is true. Consider it your contribution to the war effort."

She smiled and kissed me gently on the cheek. I could swear she was mocking me. Anyone else and I'd club them down and jump all over them but from her I'd take it and grin.

Outside, a car honked twice and Claire peered out through the drapes.

"She's here. Can't be late, it being my first day and all."

Over her shoulder I could see a battered Saturn sedan with the sign on the side with Rose and Haaviko Realty. Claire said it was a small lie, just until she could get her real estate licence, which might take her another month or two. Until then she could rent houses and manage them but not sell them and that was fine by her, although she'd told me that the real money was in sales.

"Wish me luck."

She stared at me until I smiled and kissed her hard. She didn't need luck because she had talent, even Vanessa had seen that when her boss had finally quit, due to stress and ulcers. She'd been at loose ends for about a day until she'd made up her mind and called. With a little help from each other, they'd both do fine.

"Good luck, doll. But I'll get you for this."

She didn't answer but pulled on her raincoat and walked out into the rain. From the window, I watched her move down the walk with a good stride, leggy and confident. I watched her get into the car, and then I let the drapes fall. The children were watching me with wide eyes. Somehow they'd managed to pull all the books off the nearest shelf and were using them as building blocks in the center of the room.

"s.h.i.t."

Renfield whimpered from the corner and I shook my head at him. "Big dog like you and you can't even control three little kids."

He whimpered again and I noticed that someone had tied a big pink bow around his neck. The ends trailed down onto the floor and I wondered where the kids had found the ribbon.

"Well. Well. Well."

The three kids looked at me. Fred, with his spa.r.s.e hair all disheveled and the beginnings of a big mouse under his right eye. Beside him was a girl in a pink jumper with blond hair in two long braids. Her name was Rachel and she was the granddaughter of the next-door neighbors. Her mother was erratic, to put it kindly, and a s.l.u.t, to put it unkindly, and the grandparents were raising Rachel and they'd jumped at the offer of me babysitting her for twenty dollars a day. The last child was from the Ramirezes, a beautiful, golden-skinned boy just a little older than Fred. He was the wickedest of the lot by a long shot. Unfortunately he was also the most charming and what I thought had been quiet was, in fact, a tendency to devious plotting.

The doorbell rang and, like a starting bell, the three children used it as a sign and started to fight again. I sighed and turned to open the door, where a pink-faced girl in her late teens was holding a small, black-haired baby, who peered at me myopically through his fingers, which were laced across his eyes. Over one shoulder the woman carried a bag just slightly smaller than the kind used by hockey players to carry their gear from game to game.

"Hi!" She was incredibly chipper for 7:00 a.m.

"Good morning."

I was slightly more reserved and considerably less cheerful.

"Well, Mr. Haaviko, I read in the local paper that you were available to babysit during the day ... ?"

I started to nod and then reconsidered. "You read?"

"Yes. It was in the Work Wanted section of the North End Sentinel North End Sentinel. Now, I was just wondering ..."

Claire. It had to be Claire. Or Elena, or maybe even Frank, he'd surely find it amusing just as long as I could still make it down to his place on Wednesdays to do the hard work. When I found out who, I'd ...

"Um, Mr. Haaviko ... ?"

Actually, it was kind of funny.

"Mr. Haaviko?"

I mean, really. I'd killed, burned, looted, stolen, pillaged, smuggled, conned, all that and more. Considering that background, ending up as a babysitter was kind of funny.

"Ha."

"Mr. Haaviko!"

The teenybopper in front of me was really p.i.s.sed now and she stomped her foot in rage.

"I'm sorry, please do come in."

I took the child and ushered the young woman into the house. The children had stopped fighting and were trying to surround the dog, who looked at me imploringly for aid. I ignored him and turned to the young woman. "Would you like some coffee?"

She did and we went into the kitchen, where she dropped her bag to the floor with a sigh of relief.

"Now, Mr. Haaviko. It says you charge twenty dollars a day per child and that includes a snack and lunch?"

I nodded and handed her a cup of coffee, and took a sip out of mine. The smell filled my nose and the heat warmed me and I smiled again. This, the children, the house, the rain, the haggling over small sums of money, these things were all nice. These things, things I'd never wanted and never had before, these things were good and important and real. I took another sip and added a little milk to cool the mixture.

"Yes."

She stared at me and took a tiny sip of her coffee and made a face. "Well, I hope it's healthy food, Mr. Haaviko?"

It was, so I nodded and she just stood there and sighed again. "I work at Perkins, Mr. Haaviko."

That just didn't make sense but I nodded anyway. I suppose it was small talk, bad small talk, but small talk nonetheless.

"So, can you take care of my son, Mr. Haaviko?"

I finished my coffee and felt it burn down into my belly. "Sure thing, call me Monty, though. Mr. Haaviko sounds awfully formal."

I'd like to acknowledge the support and aid of the Manitoba Arts Council. Also thanks to Wayne Tefs for his superb and instructive editing and to Todd Besant for his advice and support. More thanks goes to David Neufeld, William, Lois, and Alison, Seanin, Morgan, Erik, Robert and T, and others too numerous to mention. Also, my thanks to those in the shadows. You know who you are.