Maiden Lane. Michael Januska
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open again, slapping the clapboard.
“Look at this.” Lapointe was running toward them, holding one of the lapels from Jigsaw’s overcoat. He and Three Fingers had been holding some of the larger pieces of the coat over the wood stove. “Feel it … there’s something in there.” He handed it to Shorty and Shorty massaged the fabric between his fingers.
“Gimme that knife.”
Thom gave it to him and Shorty started sawing the folds open.
“What is it?” said Lapointe.
“Well, well, well.” It was a key, an old fashioned-looking one, slightly longer than Shorty’s palm, with a couple big teeth on one end and a few loop-dee-loops filled with coloured glass on the other. He rubbed some of the grit off it. It looked like a dull brass.
“See,” said Gorski, “this proves it.”
“It proves nothing,” said Mud.
“But it must be important,” said Shorty, “otherwise why go to the trouble of hiding it like that?” The reality of the thing suddenly opened up possibilities. The sun was rising over the trees now. Shorty turned and studied the object closely in the morning light. “It’s an answer,” he said. “What we’re looking for now is the question.”
Mud couldn’t believe how easily Shorty could sometimes get sold.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Lapointe.
“It seems obvious to me; all we need to do now is find the lock that fits the key.”
“Obvious, maybe,” said Gorski, “but not easy.”
“So we’re going on a treasure hunt?” said Mud. “Don’t forget, we just lost half a grand worth of rye. I don’t imagine those boys in Rouge are too happy with us right now. We made them pay us half up front, remember? They’ll be looking for some sort of compensation, some gesture to put us back in good faith.”
“And if we find this fortune, or whatever it is, we won’t need them,” said Shorty.
“Waste of time,” said Mud. “We should be pulling jobs.”
It was like watching your parents fighting. No one wanted to risk losing Mud. He had a level head, and when he set his mind to something, it got done. But he was always testing Shorty’s leadership. Shorty knew that. He knew he would always have to prove himself. He felt they might have a real chance here. If they found the money, it would not only prove something about his instincts and leadership, it would also set everyone up real nice, maybe even for good. And they’d remember him well for that.
“Tell you what,” said Shorty, looking for a compromise, “why don’t we give ourselves until the end of the week? Five days. If we don’t find anything, we drop it and move on, get back to regular business, reach out to the group in Rouge again.”
“We should be reaching out to them right now,” said Mud, “before they decide to reach out to us, if you know what I mean.” Three Fingers had just joined them. He smelled of smoke and was still naked except for his boots and blanket. Mud considered the rest of the crew: Lapointe in his dungarees and heavy plaid coat, looking every bit the corn and radish farmer; Irish Thom in his threadbare hunting gear; Gorski and Shorty, the city boys in their suits and long overcoats tailored to conceal a variety of weapons and contraband substances. Mud himself was from the city too, but with one foot still in the factory. His hand, arm, and leg were throbbing. He knew it was his own fault for trying to make a repair on the assembly line while it was still moving. Hit by a car. Stupid.
“All right,” said Mud, “until midnight Friday.”
The others smiled while Shorty kept a straight face. He knew they hadn’t really won Mud over or convinced him of anything. This was all against his better judgment. It was a compromise that, unless Shorty played it well, might not even last the week.
“Agreed, Friday at midnight.”
“And what about the Guard?” said Gorski.
Ah, shit, thought Shorty.
The regulars stayed quiet while the boys from the county started again with the questions. It was going to be like discussing religion or politics, or a little bit of both.
Thom seemed agitated. “Are we talking about the provincial cops? Because if we are —”
“Did you have to go there?” said Shorty. He glanced over at Mud, who he could tell was trying to hold his tongue. “There was no Guard, remember?”
“The Guard is real,” said Gorski. “Just ask the folks who ran into them.”
“Bogeymen,” said Mud.
“Drop it about the Guard,” said Shorty, trying to regain control of the group. “All the same, we’ll be keeping our mouths shut about our activities, right?”
“Okay,” said Thom, “but who the hell is the Guard?”
Shorty looked over his shoulder. The sun was becoming lost in the cloud cover that was rolling in. He was imagining that farmhouse again, with the big table in the kitchen and all the warm food smells. He did this while he listened to Gorski and felt Mud’s annoyance with the man he referred to as the Polack.
“After the boss — Davies — got killed,” said Gorski, “there were these guys who come down from Montreal looking for his money.”
Mud was absent-mindedly kicking a small rut in the packed snow. Some of it loosened and hit Gorski. He ignored it.
“I’m telling you it’s true,” said Gorski. “People I know seen them.”
“Your people are either drunks or idiots or both,” said Mud.
Gorski decided to take the hit and continued. “They’d corner guys in stairwells, in alleyways; they’d appear in guy’s bedrooms at night and ask them questions about Davies, Jigsaw, and Jack McCloskey. They were deadly.”
“Maybe we should toss the key,” said Lapointe. “We don’t need trouble like that.” Suddenly, for Lapointe at least, the key had the potential to unlock the bad as well as the good.
“What do you think it could be for?” asked Thom. Shorty was holding it out again in the palm of his hand, for all to see. “It doesn’t look like it’s for a storage box.”
“Looks like a trunk key,” said Gorski.
“Na,” said Lapointe, “it’s a door key. You can tell.”
“Where would we even begin to look?” wondered Thom.
“Riverside.”
“The Prince Edward.”
“The pool hall.”
“We might need help,” said Thom.
“You feel like splitting it a few more ways?” said Shorty, incredulous.
“People are bound to find out,” said Thom.
“Are you saying you got a big mouth?” said Mud.
“We’re all of us going to keep our mouths shut,” Shorty repeated. “Got it? If we don’t, this could bring a whole heap of trouble on us. All kinds of trouble.”
“Or a fortune,” muttered Gorski.
As far as Mud was concerned, he had already spoken his piece. At the same time, he told himself he would have to do a little bit better than just go along for the ride. This was going to be an all-or-nothing affair. While the other boys speculated, he took Shorty aside.
“Are you going to tell him?”
They were standing close.
“Yeah,” said Shorty, looking around again for that farmhouse. “I’ll tell him. I’m supposed to meet with him anyway.”
“What