Quiet

36. Quiet

Stretch sucked on the cold evening air as if he had a cigarette in his mouth. He walked in small circles. Occasionally he peeked out into Bloor Street and across the street where the van had disappeared. He looked over at the Canadiana Restaurant.

“I say we go right over there and find out what the fuck is going on.”

Ship shook his head, occasionally blocking Stretch’s access to the telephone. “Can’t do that, man. Junior is working things out. The waitress is still in the restaurant. A cab should be here any minute to pick her up.”

Stretch stopped walking in circles in front of Jackson Shipley. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re not telling me something, Ship?”

“What do you mean, Stretch?”

“You were on the phone for a long fucking time, Ship. Junior must have said more. It’s not like Junior to just hang up. He would have had a plan. Especially since we’re stranded out here in Siberia.”

“Just that the waitress is all banged up. Pregnant, I mean. Baker’s half dozen. Houston, we have a problem.” Ship laughed.

“What the fuck…” Stretch cried then walked away from Ship and banged his hand on the telephone booth. He hated it when Ship was trying to be cute. He was never cute. “Ship, don’t start thinking now.” Stretch knew there was more to the tale than his friend was telling him. Ship knew something that he wasn’t saying and now he had decided to mull it over in his mind before releasing the information.

Ship laughed. “Do you think this snow will ever stop falling? My old man was listening to the radio tonight, after the TV cable got knocked out, and they were saying that there was a break in the weather pattern. When the snow stops falling the temperatures are going to drop. Or rise. I can’t remember which. It’s like December all over again. What happened to August, eh?”

Stretch did not respond.

“You think that this is the new ice age, Stretch?” Ship didn’t expect an answer. What would Junior do? “Hell, we might all have to move to Jamaica.”

Stretch turned and looked at Ship. The guy is a moron.

“Ship, listen to me.” Stretch stepped closer to his friend. His voice was low and measured. He did not want Ship to think that he was judging his intelligence. That would lead to a confrontation. “Junior is in that restaurant with the waitress who works there. She is not supposed to be there now. There are bank robbers on the roof of the building breaking into the restaurant. They may be in the restaurant already. There not supposed to be there. Bank robbers carry guns. Our buddy talked to you. He knows all of these facts. He would not have hung up the phone without giving you some instructions.”

Ship was quiet. Stretch waited patiently.

Finally Ship spoke. “You think I’m stupid, Stretch. That’s it. You think I’m stupid.”

***

Margaret took Junior’s hand and put it on her belly. Junior felt uneasy. Before Margaret had become pregnant, Junior and his friends had hung out in the Canadiana. Margaret had become the symbol of all the older women the boys had fantasized about, all those sexually deprived women in the world who were searching for boy toys. They had speculated amongst themselves what they would do with Margaret if they were alone with her. Now Junior felt guilty about all those thoughts. He liked Margaret. With all that had happened to his family, she had never treated him like a leper. She had been kind. Always telling him to help himself to the donuts in the morning. Sometimes she would make him a sandwich before he left work for home. And she had listened to him, laughed with him when he talked about his friends, held his hands when he spoke about the loneliness of his sister. And now he was touching her body. Not in a sexual way but like her protector.

“Do you feel him?” There were tears of sweat appearing on Margaret’s forehead.

Junior shook his head.

“There,” she said.

“Ya.” Junior smiled. It felt like her belly was having muscle spasms.

“We’re thinking about calling him Sam. That’s what I want to call him. Sam disagrees. He says that he’ll just end up being called…”

Junior pulled his hand away. “Your husband is right. Don’t call him Sam.”

Margaret smiled. “I like the name Junior. Maybe we’ll just call my husband, Senior.” Margaret tried to laugh. “Senor Kelly like he was Spanish.”

Junior smiled. Margaret grimaced. Another contraction. She bit down on her lip so she wouldn’t cry out. Her hand reached for Junior’s and squeezed it. The contraction passed. Margaret looked at Junior, their faces only inches apart.

“Little Sam isn’t going to wait. He wants to meet you, Junior.”

“I don’t think that’s a good…”

Margaret squeezed Junior’s hand. “This baby isn’t going to wait. You’re going to have to deliver it.”

Someone in the back of the restaurant cried out.

***

Guy climbed down the ladder into the closet of the restaurant. He stepped into the pail of water.

“Fuck!” He kicked the pail to one side.

From above, Jimmy Higgs looked down into the closet. “Watch out for the pail of water on the floor, lad.”

Guy glared up at Jimmy but said nothing. He carried most of the equipment down the ladder into the restaurant. The place was pitch dark. He grabbed one of the flashlights and looked around for the lights.

“Don’t turn on the lights, Wheels,” Jimmy said as he reached the bottom of the ladder. “You spilt water all over the floor.”

“Sorry, Mr. Higgs.” Fuck calling you Ocean. Guy was becoming increasingly tired of Jimmy’s condescending voice.

“Been a long time since I was in this place,” Jimmy said glancing around. “Can’t remember where the door to the basement is. You take a look at the front of the restaurant. I’ll poke around here in the back.”

Guy moved down the hall. He was careful this time. He didn’t want any more accidents. Who knows what these people left on the floor? He recalled one job where he had stepped on a mousetrap. It had broken a toe and scared the life out of him. He opened the door to the front of the restaurant. The restaurant itself was lit up by the snow outside the front window. He had to be careful not to let anyone see his flashlight from the outside. That was one of Jimmy’s orders. Fuck him. Who the hell would be out on a night like this?

Making his way amongst the tables he flashed his light along the walls. He checked out one door. It was a closet filled with napkins and tablecloths. He looked across the room toward the kitchen. Must be back there. Stepping across the room he noticed how quiet it was. When he’d been in the restaurant before, the place had been filled with noise, customers, music, food cooking. The stillness gave him the creeps. He opened the kitchen door. He flashed his light around the room.

“Wheels,” a cry came out from the back of the restaurant.

Guy turned. Mr. Higgs stood in the open door. “I found it, Wheels.”

Guy moved back towards Jimmy.

“Where the hell is Crack?” he asked. “Didn’t I tell you to go and get her.”

Before Guy could say anything, Montgomery appeared out of the closet.

“Anyone got a light?” she asked, glancing at Guy. “I need a smoke.”

***

Mustafa banged on the door. He was exhausted. He had managed to hobble on one leg across the hydro field and then the block to the house. Lois opened the door.

“Thank God, you’re…” she began. “What the hell happened to you?”

Mustafa pushed his way passed Lois and limped into the kitchen. He fell onto the couch, grabbing his legs and wincing.

“Get me some ice,” he cried out.

Lois disappeared. Mustafa pulled up his pant leg and looked at his knee. Jesus!. It’s all blown up like a balloon. Lois returned with a paper towel wrapped around some ice cubes. Mustafa grabbed it and put it on his aching knee.

“It’s time, Mustafa.”

“I don’t want to lose my leg,” Mustafa cried with a wince. Tears ran down his cheek. “It hurts like hell. Burning inside, honey.”

Mustafa opened his eyes and looked at Lois standing in front of him. She had her coat and boots on.

“You’ve got to drive me.”

“You’ve got to drive me to the hospital,” Mustafa insisted. “I can’t drive with this pain.”

“Mustafa, our baby is coming. How did that happen?”

“It’s a long story,” Mustafa responded. “God, it hurts like hell. Where’s your mother? Why couldn’t she take us?”

“She hasn’t driven a car in years. I don’t even know if she has a license anymore. Besides mom passed out”

“Drunk?”

“Does that matter? She can’t drive.”

“Is there anything left?” Mustafa asked. “I could use a drink.”

Lois searched around the sofa. The bottle was laying on its side. She picked it up and handed it to Mustafa. He raised the bottle to his mouth.

“Fuck, the cow drank it all.” The bottle fell out of his hand and rolled across the floor.

“It’s just as well,” Lois cried. “I don’t want a drunk driving my baby to the hospital.”

“Couldn’t we call an ambulance?”

“I tried that. The lines are out.”

“I can’t,” Mustafa said.

Lois leaned over and slapped Mustafa across the face. “That’s enough, Mustafa. Act like a man and get in that car and drive us to the hospital.”