Ghosted - A Novel Part 19

The table erupted into swearing, players slamming their cards on the table. Mason could see the bouncers across the Cave, busy with something in the bathroom. Chaz was out of sight. "Get the f.u.c.k out of here, lady," said the guy across from Mason.

"That's what I'm doing," said Bethany, and she tugged at the wheelchair. Mason grabbed a hold of it too. "She wants to stay," he said.

"Don't you speak for her!" said Bethany. Chaz was coming through the crowd now.

"I want to stay," said w.i.l.l.y.

Bethany still tugged, glaring at Mason. Then, "Fine!" she said. "You take care of her!" She shoved the chair forward.

w.i.l.l.y hit the table-chips, cards and drinks exploding into the air. Chaz grabbed onto Bethany. Mason got a hold of w.i.l.l.y and pulled her away from the mess. Bethany was screaming now, the players were shouting, and the bouncers were crossing the floor.

"Are you okay?" said Mason.

But w.i.l.l.y didn't answer. She didn't say anything until Bethany was gone.

Chaz tried to avoid barring people. That was how booze cans got raided-some a.s.shole, sore from being kicked out, went to the cops for revenge. But everyone agreed: wrecking a high-stakes poker game by throwing a handicapped girl at it was definitely a barring offence. But what to do with the game? Three thousand dollars in poker chips scattered across the floor? In the end they were redistributed, but to no one's satisfaction. Chaz gave the players drinks on the house then agreed to stay open for two extra hours.

While all this was happening, w.i.l.l.y smoked her dope in the bathroom stall, Mason cutting lines on the counter.

"You okay?" he said.

The smoke rose, a thin cut above the door. "You were doing so well."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does to me. I want to see you win."

"All right," he said, and did a line. "Then I guess it's time I win." They went back to the table and w.i.l.l.y sat beside him. He huffed and he puffed, and by noon there was fire on the felt.

When Soon saw the Cave he almost fled. But he spotted Mason through the crowd, and charged onward with trepidation, as only a sober, impatient artist in a midday speakeasy could do. Then he just stood there, looking at the gamblers. People started to grumble. Mason was intent on taking this pot down, and didn't even recognize Soon in a long purple coat of leather and suede, dark eyeliner beneath Buddy Holly gla.s.ses, a po' boy cap and a Fu Manchu. Even for the Cave, Soon was sporting a creepy look.

Mason glanced up. "Play or walk," he said.

"It's time for rehearsal," said the weird purple stranger. Chairs sc.r.a.ped the floor.

"Soon?"

But Soon had begun to sweat. He opened his mouth to speak and the Fu Manchu fell across his mouth. Someone yelled, "Narc!" and then, once again, things got messy.

Mason pulled Soon away from the table.

"Why the h.e.l.l are you dressed like that?"

"You wanted a representation of my representation!"

"And this is it?"

"And also a disguise-so the Soonies won't recognize me."

Mason shook his head like he was trying to get bugs out of his brain.

"I thought about it a lot!" said Soon. "And anyway, you said this place was going to be closed!"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Are you on drugs?" said Soon.

"Yes, a lot of them. But just relax, okay? I'm going to get you a drink. And then I'll round up the Saholes."

"Soonies."

"Right," said Mason. "I even made you T-s.h.i.+rts."

37. To give is a blessing.

38. I'm sure there's life on other planets.

Just after 2 p.m., Detective Flores descended from street level with two patrolmen. He'd known this place existed and wasn't going to bother with it. But now there were a.s.sault charges pending, laid by an angry girl with a pink scrunchy in her hair.

As he adjusted to the dark, Flores identified an illegal poker game, a non-licensed bar, open use of contraband narcotics and stimulants ... but that was all in the background, barely interesting compared to what was going on right in front of him.

Twenty or so people in purple T-s.h.i.+rts, with Soon has already happened Soon has already happened on the front and on the front and !!! !!! on the back, were chanting, on the back, were chanting, "Sa-ha-la. Sis-boom-bah! Sa-ha-la. Sis-boom-bah!" "Sa-ha-la. Sis-boom-bah! Sa-ha-la. Sis-boom-bah!" over and over, though apparently not quite loud enough ... For in their midst, standing on the back of an occupied wheelchair, stood a young man (who Flores thought he recognized) bellowing this same chant and waving his arms like a conductor. The rhythm improved and the young man shouted: "Cry! Now everyone start to cry!" The girl in the wheelchair beamed. over and over, though apparently not quite loud enough ... For in their midst, standing on the back of an occupied wheelchair, stood a young man (who Flores thought he recognized) bellowing this same chant and waving his arms like a conductor. The rhythm improved and the young man shouted: "Cry! Now everyone start to cry!" The girl in the wheelchair beamed.

Suddenly, above all this, rose the opening verse of "Take My Breath Away" (which Flores definitely definitely recognized from the recognized from the Top Gun Top Gun soundtrack). And into the spotlight on the stage came six stumbling men carrying a folding table, on top of which sat a bespectacled swami with a taped-on moustache. soundtrack). And into the spotlight on the stage came six stumbling men carrying a folding table, on top of which sat a bespectacled swami with a taped-on moustache.

"Sa-ha-la. Sis-boom-bah!" chanted the purple people. chanted the purple people.

"Cry!" shouted the young man on the back of the wheelchair. "You're heartbroken! Cry!"

When he finally saw Flores, Mason stopped shouting. The detective appeared to be mouthing something to him-something like, "What the h.e.l.l, Mason? It's 2 p.m. on a Wednesday!"

Then there was a crash as Soon Sahala tumbled from the stage.

42.

"It could have gone worse," said Soon.

"How exactly?"

Two of the Saholes (even Soon was now calling them this) had been arrested for outstanding warrants. Booze, drugs and poker winnings had been seized. And Soon had sprained his ankle. "Well," he said. "I could have broken it."

"True."

The cops had let them go after a cursory search. It hadn't been easy getting w.i.l.l.y up the stairs to his apartment with Soon limping like that. Once they did, she'd fallen asleep on the couch. Mason didn't want to wake her, so now here they were: out on the roof, keeping an eye on the back alley. Mason had left the wheelchair in the Dogmobile. Chaz, he a.s.sumed, was eating beans and listening to Gowan.

Soon began to sing: "First is the worst Second is the best Third is the nerd with a hairy chest."

Mason pulled out a dime bag.

"Can I try some of that?"

Mason thought about saying no, but he was high and wired and eventually he just shrugged. He poured some out on his brand new Ontario health card and pa.s.sed it to Soon with a rolled-up bill. "Plug your other nostril and draw in hard."

Soon did so, then caught his breath. "Just two more months," he said, and pointed at the downtown skyline.

"What?" said Mason.

"In two months the CN Tower will no longer be the tallest free-standing structure in the world."

"Dubai. Right?"

Soon nodded. "I had a plan, you know? To save it from second place."

"You had a plan to make the CN Tower taller?"

"No, not taller. It was about embracing things."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Art," said Soon. "Something for the entire city. I brought an idea to the lighting designer guy, and he actually liked it: 'The CN Tower of Babel'-languages not of sound, but of light." He moved his hands in the air like his fingertips were fireworks.

It occurred to Mason that Soon's third breakdown shouldn't be happening on his roof. He looked at the tower. "So what happened?"

"When 'The Wings of Hope' failed I kind of blamed everyone. The collaboration ended. Who knows? Maybe he's still working on it?"

The sun was starting to set.

"What do we do now?" said Mason.

"About what?"

"About our plans."

"I like the T-s.h.i.+rts," said Soon. "And what about that chant!"

"Well, we can't do it now. My cover's blown." Mason took a hit.

"I can still do the jump."

"We'll see. We can figure it out when we're sober."

Soon appeared to think about that. "Can I have another c.o.ke?" he said.

"That's not how you say it." Mason pa.s.sed him the baggie.

Soon tried to take a hit, but ended up sucking air. Mason took it back.

"It's rare, you know," said Soon. "People who jump off bridges."

"Not rare enough," said Mason.

"No, I mean percentage-wise. It takes a special kind of person to do it that way. Most people kill themselves in really depressing places, like garages and alleys and things like that. That's just f.u.c.king sad."

Mason looked at him, and started to laugh.

And then Soon was laughing, too. "Man," he said. "Cocaine is really good."

They looked at the skyline, laughing.

39. The night sky is blue, not black.

40. Pain is a psychic construct.

Soon was gone. w.i.l.l.y was awake. She was shaking. Mason held her in his arms.

"I'm scared," she said.

"Of what?"

"I don't know."

Sometimes everything is terrifying.

"What would help?"

"Water," she said.

"I'll get you a gla.s.s."

"No, I mean being being in water. Do you have a bathtub?" in water. Do you have a bathtub?"

He didn't answer for a moment. He wanted so much to make her all right.

"How about whisky?"

"Okay."

He stood up to fetch a bottle and stumbled a bit.

"You're all f.u.c.ked up," she said.

"Yeah."