Blood Sports (21 page)

They lifted him onto the butcher’s block in the middle of a kitchen straight from the seventies – avocado appliances, orange counters, and dark-stained cupboards. The curtains were drawn even though the outside shutters were closed. The only lighting came from a block of fluorescent lights humming above them.

Leo rested his hand on the revolver he had tucked in the waistband of his pants. He moved close, trying to stare Tom down. Firebug rummaged through the cupboards and pulled down clear plastic tumblers. He put them on the counter and then took a Brita water filter from the fridge.

Tom looked down at himself and realized he was still naked. Pain crept back into his body, biting through his haze. Paulie and Mel had to be in the house, maybe in a backroom or the basement. Glock Man must be with them, he thought. He wondered how close they were and if they could hear him if he shouted for them. Adrenalin woke him the rest of the way up. The kitchen opened to the hallway and across from the hallway was the living room. He hadn’t been paying attention enough to notice a staircase or other rooms in the back. He could say he needed to use the can and check out the backrooms. Leo’s revolver looked like it had come out of a cereal box. If they were alone, Tom would
gouge Leo’s eyes before he introduced the cast-iron frying pan on the stove to the bastard’s skull.

Tom touched the patch above his belly button. He knew how much it was going to hurt when the drugs wore off. He wasn’t interested in suffering, but he couldn’t do anything if he couldn’t think. If they had any hope of getting out of this, he had to have his brains back. Tom pretended to scratch, peeling off the patch and letting it drop to the floor.

“He took something off,” Leo said, pulling his revolver out and aiming at Tom. “Look, he threw it on the floor.”

Firebug sipped his water.

“Did you hear me?” Leo said. He half-turned to face Firebug.

Firebug placed the tumbler on the counter. He turned in a smear of motion, punching Leo so hard he folded as he flew back against the butcher’s block and his revolver clattered to the hardwood floor. Leo gasped for air, staggering.

“You agreed to do what I say,” Firebug said. “Do you want to quit the crew?”

Leo sullenly shook his head.

“Good,” Firebug said.

Firebug picked up another tumbler and brought it to Tom. He held it up in offering and Tom took it. Water sloshed over his hands as he tried to bring the cup to his face and Firebug patiently steadied Tom and helped him drink. Leo hesitated before he tucked his revolver back in his pants.

“When you’re tempted to shoot Tom,” Firebug said. “Imagine yourself in a beachfront hotel in tropical Aruba as you and two nubile whores frolic in a bed full of money.”

Leo’s expression went slack, his mouth opening just slightly in wonderment as if an angel or a
UFO
had landed in front of him.

“Tom alive gets you to Aruba,” Firebug said. “Tom dead means you keep knocking over snack shacks. We’ll let Jer take care of him. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Get my tackle box out of the back of the truck.”

“Sure,” Leo said.

“I have money,” Tom said. “I have seventy thousand dollars and three keys of coke. They’re yours if –”

“How’d a grimy little shit like you get that kind of money?” Leo said.

“Leo,” Firebug said. “Don’t get distracted by the quarter on the sidewalk when you’re holding up a bank.”

“Money’s money,” Leo said. “How much is the coke stepped on?”

Firebug slapped Leo upside the head. “Get my tackle box out of the truck, fuck-wit. Now. Goddamn Jesus fucking Christ in a sidecar. You make gum look smart.”

Firebug stood in front of him, talking, but Tom found himself straining to catch Paulie and Mel noises. Then his legs cramped and there was a long, long time he thought he was going to throw up on Firebug again, but he came back to himself to find Firebug holding his arms so he didn’t fall off the butcher’s block. Leo did not seem to be in a rush to return with the tackle box, and Tom hoped he had fallen off the steps and broken both legs.

“Goddamn useless no-brain dickskinning fuck-up,” Firebug said. “Christ. It’d be faster sending a monkey.”

Tom could feel the promise of the needle punctures now, the twinges in his side, the pinch in his thighs, and the throb in his left nipple. He looked down. The nipple had stopped bleeding,
and the blood had crusted on his chest. The burn looked wet and the hole gaped. The needle marks between his ribs were closed and puffy, sticky with a clear fluid like sap. The ache in the small of his back was new. Thankfully, Leo had been wearing socks or the shit-kicking would have been worse.

“I need to use the bathroom,” Tom said.

Firebug slung one of Tom’s arms over his shoulder and helped him off the block and across the kitchen into the hallway. No stairs going up to an attic or down to a basement. Two rooms in the back, one with the door open, the other closed.

“Did you have a good cry?” Firebug said, swinging Tom around to face Leo, who carried the tackle box and the reek of cigarette smoke. “Did you phone your mommy and say I was being mean?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Leo said.

“Should I make your part less complicated? Here. Take Tom to the bathroom.”

“I didn’t sign up to ass-wipe Gomer.”

“Gomer beat a biker to death with a toilet-tank lid,” Firebug said. “Which is less impressive than it sounds because he is a dumb fuck like you.”

“Stop calling me stupid.”

“Go to town on him, Tom,” Firebug said, patting his shoulder as he handed him off to Leo.

It was tempting to reach over and pull the revolver’s trigger. But Firebug’s trash talk was just that, and it wouldn’t get Tom closer to Paulie and Mel. Firebug in a mood was something to avoid.

Tom expected the open room to be a bathroom, but it was a master bedroom, wide and dark, lit by four
TVS
lined up on the dresser to the left. The camera to the far left showed the logging road behind the wall of cedars. The two middle cameras slowly
surveyed the front and back yards. The camera to the far right stopped Tom cold.

Paulie was bent over, finger-walking Mel across a room with a mural of a grassy hillside filled with bunnies and puppies and rainbows. One wall of the room had been replaced by bars. Glock Man sat on a chair on the other side of the bars and read a book. Paulie wore a yellow summer dress with spaghetti straps and her mouth was moving, but there was no sound. Mel strained forward, trying to go faster.

“Paulie!” Tom shouted. “Paulie!”

Paulie didn’t react.

“Move it,” Leo said.

“Paulie!” Tom screamed.

“She can’t hear you,” Leo said. “It’s soundproofed, dumb-ass.”

“Paulie! Mel! Paulie! Paulie!”

Leo yanked him past the
TVS
and dragged him to a bathroom on the far side of the bedroom. He flipped the light on and tossed Tom in.

“Where’s Paulie?” Tom said. “Where’s –”

Leo pulled his revolver and aimed at Tom’s groin. “Finish your business.”

Tom sat on the toilet and Leo sat on the edge of the tub. Leo pressed the gun against one of the needle punctures on Tom’s ribs.

“Where’s your stash?” he whispered.

Tom could still see the
TV
screen from the open bathroom door. Paulie lifted Mel onto her hip and brought her over to the bed in the corner. Leo used the gun to turn Tom’s face.

“Neil watches them in the day,” Leo said. “And I watch them at night. Do you want me pissed off, Gomer? Where’s your stash?”

“In The Regina,” Tom said. “In the washroom on the third floor. Five feet above the bathtub. In the wall above the end of the
tub away from – away from the faucets. In a stainless-steel briefcase hanging on a hook.”

“Motherfucking son of a bitch,” he said, shaking his head and chuckling. “Hiding coke in a crack palace.” Leo stopped chuckling and forced the tip of the revolver into Tom’s mouth. “If it’s not there, I’m going to take it out on your bitch and your baby.”

The sound of Tom urinating was loud in the bathroom.

“Our little secret,” Leo said.

Tom sat on the wingback armchair. Firebug struggled to hook the
VCR
to the ancient
TV
. Leo was in the hallway. Tom could hear him pacing. The flowery polyester furniture was shrink-wrapped in heavy plastic that squeaked against Tom’s bare skin whenever he moved. The grandfather clock ticked in the corner. The room was air-conditioned cold but Tom was sweating.

Paulie and Mel were in a large room. Tom couldn’t be sure, but it looked too large to be the room at the end of the hall. The basement then. He’d have to find the staircase. Maybe it was in the closed room. Maybe it was outside.

“Got it,” Firebug said. He went and sat kitty-corner to Tom on the couch.

Tom recognized Grandview Park, himself and Mel sitting on a bench with Mike and his girlfriend nearby. They were all smiling.

“Spot the cop,” Firebug said.

“Mike’s not a cop,” Tom said. “He’s a friend from high school. We just bumped into each other.”

“Constable Greer Johnson,” Firebug said. “I hear grumblings she’s on the promotional fast track. Daddy’s an old street cop calling in favours from every rookie he’s trained in the last twenty years.”

“I don’t even know Greer,” Tom said.

The video jumped to Tom and Mike framed by the living-room window. Celine Dion belted out “The Power of Love” as they laughed and talked.

“Loose lips sink ships,” Firebug said.

Tom rubbed his arms, wishing he had a blanket or some clothes. “I haven’t said anything.”

“Why isn’t Rieger all over you? If you know where the bodies are, why doesn’t he just whack you? What have you got on him?”

“Nothing. We’re family, that’s all.”

“Rieger owes me a lot of money,” Firebug said.

“I’ve got money,” Tom said. “You can have it.”

Firebug tapped his knee. “Do you think I’m a pooch?”

“No, no, man,” Tom said.

“We’re talking hundreds of thousands of dollars, Tom. Rieger thinks I’m a pooch.”

“He doesn’t. I don’t. No one does.”

“You’ve got people hunting through your garbage, people asking for wiretaps. Ambitious young things trying to be your friend. You could make a deal for Rusty. Self-defence. What would you be able to give them if Jer comes after Paulie and Mel?”

Tom closed his eyes. He wanted to lie down. He couldn’t sit any way that gave him relief. He heard the snap of locks and opened his eyes in time to see Firebug pulling a patch out of the small plastic bag.

“I’m okay,” Tom said. “I don’t want –”

“Leave this one on,” Firebug said. “Or we go back to the needles.”