The Missing Boatman Part 18

Danny shook his head. "I can't, man. Not angry now. It's one of those things I can summon up only when I'm mad or something. And I'm drivin' here. Drivin' always relaxes me out."

Crew allowed him that. The big man seemed nothing but relaxed behind the wheel. He liked that.

"Anyway, this guy throws off my hand and gets to his feet. Sticks his hands out like they're knives or somethin'. The music goes off, and he tells me to back off. 'Back off, motherf.u.c.ker!' he goes. 'Just back the f.u.c.k off!' and on and on about how'll he f.u.c.k me up and yada yada yada. So he's gone in my book. Now, it's a question when, where or if he wakes up."

Danny paused then, caught up in the recollection of his story. He shook his head, remembering how it went, and smiled. "We should stop somewhere and pick up something to drink. Snacks, too. You like beef jerky?"

"Yeah, I do."

"We'll get some of that. I love that stuff. Anyway, where was I?"

"Where and when and-"

"Oh, yeah," Danny nodded. "So, I tell him to step outside, but he's pretty much s.h.i.+tfaced and a Tyke Ki Doer. He's already got his leg c.o.c.ked back, and I know he's gonna kick, but I'm wonderin' if he's just f.u.c.kin' stupid enough to try, and guess what?"

"He's stupid enough?" Crew ventured.

"Yup," Danny replied. "Saw the foot comin' in slow motion, man. I mean, I had time to think 'He's really going for it,' as he's doing it. The foot's coming around the mountain, gathering steam. He's even hollerin' that KEEYAH s.h.i.+t they shout to release the extra energy or scare the guy or whatever. He's f.u.c.kin' KEEYAHIN' like he walked into a hen house and forgot the axe. And the foot's still in the air, coming round, and his eyes are all lit up, looking at me, going even wider when I step back. He goes over the table. And I'll give the little b.a.s.t.a.r.d this: he was a nimble little squirrel f.u.c.ker. He lands on both feet and brings up his fists, and he's still Keeyahin' like he's the f.u.c.kin' originator of the Keeyah. And he's got plenty of room cuz there ain't no one around him, so he flips over a table and urges me on. It was a parody of f.u.c.kin' Bloodsport, I tell ya."

Crew was smiling. "So, what'd you do?"

"Well, he flips the table, still Keeyahin' like he's got bionic lungs or something, and he does this little focusing thing in the air with his fingers. Like making little triangles. So, I let him. I'd have to pay money to be this f.u.c.kin' entertained any other time. Little Stevie does his finger focusing thing, slaps both of his hands together and slaps his thighs, bends over like a golfer and f.u.c.kin' spins on me! But by this time, I ain't entertained no more. I step back, dodge the foot and step in. Popped him square in the nosethe off switch-and he crumpled. Boomer comes around and picks him up and throws him outside into the dumpster. I guess little Stevie upchucked on himself, too, so Boom has to flip him on his belly, so the little moron doesn't choke to death on his own vomit. Nasty s.h.i.+t, that part."

"That is nasty," Crew laughed. "Funny s.h.i.+t, though."

"Yeah," Danny agreed. "Funny s.h.i.+t." The big man paused for a moment, letting the remembered time play itself out in his mind. Crew did not disturb him. That was good of him, sensing when not to break a silence, when a silence was the best thing to hold.

"Anyway," Danny started after a while, "that follows what you were sayin'. About a decent boxer being able to take a not so good Tyke Ki Doer."

"Martial artist."

"Right."

"But he was drunk," Crew noted. "He could have been better sober."

Danny made a sour face. "Nah. That one was all wind and a.s.shole. You get 'em. All shapes and sizes. I just hope to gawd I never hurt the dumb b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

This interested Crew. "Really? You? A bouncer afraid of hurting someone?"

"Oh, yeah," Danny stressed. "Don't need that on my conscience. Now, there are some that get off on that, but Boom and I never did. And we hated working with the ones that do. They were the ones you had to be careful about."

"You ever think about being a cop?"

That brought a smile to Danny's dark face. "Don't got the grades. Got everything else but the grades. Might have a chance these days, though. I hear that the RCMP are looking for folks with life experience. I got that," he rolled his eyes with comic effect. "But, nah. I think they get even less respect than a bouncer. Where I am is okay for now."

Was okay, but Crew did not say this.

It was on Danny's mind, however. Where would he go after this? Gary had no family. Boomer did, but they were in PEI. A mother and a father. The idea hung in his head like a flickering exit sign on its last leg. What would he do if those guys didn't pull through?

The silence returned, and Crew honoured it this time, staring out at the snowy scenery rus.h.i.+ng by. He hoped he would spot a blue Mustang soon.

Chapter 25.

They were driving. Tony told himself that. They were driving and talking. He was driving and glancing out ever so casually, checking his mirrors, his blind spots, switching lanes and stealing looks in Lucy's direction whenever he felt she wasn't watching. Sometimes, he would look anyway, just to make eye contact. To let her know that he was becoming more and more interested in what she had to say. He was very interested in what she had to say. Extremely interested.

The only trouble was that Lucy was being so G.o.dd.a.m.n boring.

She would not say a word about her past or why in h.e.l.l's name she was on the highway at night in winter when they-he, (Tony corrected himself. Freak show could go f.u.c.k himself with a telephone pole)-picked her up. She offered no explanation of any events leading up to that particular junction in time. Nor did she talk about any family. Tony couldn't recall anyone, not one person, ever engaging him in conversation and not mentioning something about someone.

The news on the radio interested her, however, and she became pensive at times as the radio spewed out reports on the hour. It all concerned miracles, people surviving some terrible mishap or accident and living to talk about it. There was a report on someone's 100th birthday, and Lucy speculated aloud what it must be like to be a hundred years old, to see one's family grow up and even die while the centenarian lived on. Tony knew the news could be morbid, but with Lucy, it became even more depressing. Two people had their legs crushed when their van went off a highway and smashed into a tree. A swimmer off some Florida beach was run over by a speedboat and lived despite being shredded by the craft's fibergla.s.s hull. A local Ontario man slipped and fallen on his chainsaw. A university student playing Russian roulette blew away a chunk of his skull and then walked into a hospital.

"Amazing," Lucy breathed. "There must be something left over from Christmas. They all should have died."

"Yeah," Tony rumbled. He hoped to G.o.d above that something perky in the way of music came on soon. He'd even listen to French pop music right now.

The music did finally come on, and sensing a real need for more quiet, Lucy did just that. She sat there on the pa.s.senger side with her bee bottom's toque on, black jacket jeans and white boots. She began humming in tune with the music on the radio. Highway signs cautioning them went by. Towns pa.s.sed by. Cities pa.s.sed by. Faceless shapes that might have been people blurred by the Mustang's window, and Tony paid them scant attention. Time seemed to stretch, and the weirdest sensation of movement began to overtake him. He compared it to deja vu, except it wasn't. He knew he had never driven this far outside of Nova Scotia before, and yet, something was going on here. Something was transpiring. He glanced over at Lucy. She was still humming. More signs flashed by, green streaks in the air, reminding Tony of a superhero's fist before the impact. Low flying meteors just outside his stars.h.i.+p. White supernovas.

Then, it hit him. He felt as if he was warping ahead, and everything outside of the Mustang was being stretched into a featureless flat band before disappearing behind him. And for the life of him, he could not remember the last sign he pa.s.sed. He couldn't recall the last town, the last city. Tony's eyes squinted together in concentration.

What province was he in?

Had they stopped in Quebec? Or had they driven on through to Ontario?

"Lucy?"

"Yes?"

"Do you feel... I don't know... funny?"

"No. Why? You?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sick?" Alarm in her voice. Probably thinking he was about to puke.

"No."

"Are you sure? Pull over if you think you're going to throw up."

"No, I'm fine. I'm not sick. Just..." he trailed off, and even the f.u.c.king music on the radio seemed to echo to Tony now as if he were hauling a.s.s in the opposite direction of the concert, except the concert was still right before him. Puzzlement flooded his person. Trippy.

His eyes suddenly went wide. Was he high?

He looked at the dash clock. It read 3:25.

Was it that late?

Wasn't it morning a moment ago?

"Anthony? What's wrong?" Lucy's voice seemed to come from miles away.

"Nothing," Tony lied, and his voice sounded slurred to him. "Just sleepy."

The sun was dropping in the sky now like a blazing ball, like someone filmed its descent and later sped the footage up. But it was dropping towards the east.

The clock said 3:25.

No f.u.c.king way, Tony's mind stated in a truly awed tone. This was some serious f.u.c.ked up highway hypnosis. But he was looking all around now. And Lucy seemed fine to him though she was looking worried. Sweet. He really wanted to see her naked.

Then, he felt sick in his stomach. A cold sweat popped out on his forehead, and he felt the colour drain from his face. A tide welled up within his stomach, and Tony had been a drinker long enough to know that feeling.

"Lucy," he gasped, and hunched over the wheel.

"Yes?" A voice came from over hills.

"I have... to... pull over."

"Okay."

He decelerated, feeling what pilots might have called G's pulling at his seatbelt, cutting across his gut. There was a Comfort Inn sitting brightly below the highway, just off ramp. Tony aimed for it, knowing he was going to barf well before he got anywhere near it. And he knew he was going to spray all over the interior of the beast, in front of this angel. Blank white that was formless before slowed and became ramparts of snow piled higher than the car. The white had a soothing effect on Tony's eyes and his stomach. The feeling of nausea lessened. Hills appeared. Lines fattened themselves and became long plains. Icicle trees sporadically spotted the frozen stretches of ground.

Open plains?

The Mustang pulled into the parking lot. A wind battered the sides, and Tony could feel the force through the steering column. Then there was nothing. Tony clawed at his seatbelt, released himself and flung the door open. He fell out onto the ground, mouth yawning and popping his ears like skin stretched too tight over a drum. The frigid air made his nostrils dry out immediately, and on his hands and knees and facing icy asphalt, he gulped down purifying lungfuls.

And he did not empty his stomach onto the ground.

His senses returned. He felt hands on his back, rubbing it. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Tony said. He felt the returning rush of wellness you feel after ejecting whatever foreign substance had made you ill in the first place. He looked at the ground. Nothing. He switched his attention to his a.s.s. Nothing. Didn't s.h.i.+t or p.i.s.s himself. That was all good. He dropped to the ground. The cold seeped into his chest and body. He was on ice. Just like a beer. It felt wonderful.

"You okay?" Lucy's hands continued to rub his back. When did she get out of the car?

"Feel strange, but better," Tony whispered in a weak voice. "Queasy."

"You gonna throw up?"

He thought about it again and shook his head.

"All I need is fresh air."

"No more driving," Lucy informed him.

"Okay."

"You can pay for the rooms, again, too." There was a smile wrapped around her words. That, alone, made Tony feel immensely better. He rolled over and stared up at her.

She was beautiful.

"You're too G.o.dd.a.m.n perky for your own good," he said to her.

Lucy smiled and snow blew about her face. "Okay. I'll pay for my room. You pay for yours. But I will pay for dinner if you can manage to eat something. That okay with you?"

Tony smiled back. It was.

They signed in, in different rooms, and had dinner in the motel's small restaurant area. Tony had forgotten about his early sickness. He had a hot turkey sandwich which he wolfed down, silently asking his mother for forgiveness. Lucy picked at a lasagne and took much longer. In the end, she offered the remaining half of it to Tony. He discovered, with only a margin of guilt, he had no trouble with downing that as well.

Lucy paid for the entire meal. A white clock hanging on the restaurant wall stated it was 8:40. She gazed at the clock for a moment, and then turned her attention to Tony.

"There's a bar here, you know. Care for a drink?"

"Sounds good. Let's go."

They made their way down a brown corridor that seemed to have carpet growing up its sides to knee height. The road of carpet ended at a door with a neon sign that read in white letters "Da Double". Tony liked the name and wondered how the bar got it. He let Lucy go in first, entering into a lounge almost the same size as the Beacon back in Nova Scotia. Centred in the area was the bar itself, a dark bastion of sparkling spirits encased in s.h.i.+ny hardwood and trimmed with armrests of dark leather. A single bartender stood underneath a ceiling of crystal beer mugs, and he gave them both an affable nod. Tony noted how his eyes lingered on Lucy just a second longer and felt a stab of jealousy. He realized it was jealousy, as well, and the notion made him set his jaw. He was getting too attached to this woman. Christ almighty. How long had he known her?

"We're early," Tony said, keeping his eyes on the barkeep until he dropped his stare.

Lucy walked ahead, turned and wriggled a finger for Tony to follow. They moved past the bar, and avoided the many tables surrounding the glittering fortress of alcoholic merriment. They chose a more private booth near the back where the walls were padded with great black plumes of vinyl. They looked fine from afar, but up close, Tony could see that they were worn. The seats were exceptionally comfortable, and he sighed when he made contact with the cus.h.i.+on. Lucy sat across from him and turned down a paper pyramid adorning the table. The pyramid displayed the bar's specials for the month. She gave it a quick look and hid it from Tony.

"My treat. If you see the price you might feel like you might want to chip in. Can't have that."

"I'm not going to argue if you really want to pay. I love it when the lady foots the bill," Tony said and flexed his eyebrows.

They ordered a pitcher of beer and talked only now and then. Tony sensed Lucy was waiting for something, but he could not guess what. She watched him drink from over the rim of her tall-necked gla.s.s. Asked him if he had ever been this far west before. Tony believed she had asked him the same question earlier, but answered her anyway. He found those dark eyes of hers mesmerizing, and he caught himself twice staring into them for too long a time. Lucy did not seem to mind, and she eventually shrugged out of her coat. Tony averted her eyes while she did so. When he looked back, she locked onto his gaze like a current of electricity.

The bartender put on some soft rock. They listened and the conversation became even quieter. Time flowed as easily as the beer. Tony glanced at his gla.s.s. It was his fourth now and the second pitcher. He was beginning to feel pleasantly buzzed. Lucy was on her fourth as well and seemed just as relaxed. She looked in the direction of the bartender. The man was cleaning gla.s.ses. He worked with his head down, each movement in time with the music. She looked back to Tony and smiled softly.

"How do you feel now?"

"Better. Weird, but I feel much better now. Must be the beer."

"Must be. And the company."

Tony smiled. "Probably has something to do with it."

She smiled back. "You gave me a scare back at the car. I thought you were really sick."

"I feel fine now. And I'll sleep fine tonight."

"Me, too."