Sucker Punch. Marc Strange

      “What colour was the suitcase with the money in it?”

      “How should I know?”

      “So you told Weed you didn’t take it?”

      “Yeah, I told him, but I don’t think he believed me, and his big lard-ass partner with the Elvis hairdo sure as shit doesn’t believe me, and I can’t say I blame them, except when they get around to checking things out they’ll come up dry because I still owe Randall Poy eighteen K and counting and he’s going to break a kneecap for me on Wednesday if I don’t make a substantial payment, which I’d be inclined to do if I had some cash to avoid getting a kneecap busted, which doesn’t sound like a lotta laughs.”

      He looks disgusted and scared — with himself and of Randall Poy, I’m guessing.

      “Want me to talk to Randall?” I ask him.

      “What could you do, boss? Randall’s just a businessman doing business. That’s how he does business. I know the rules. Shit, I should. I’ve been trying to bend them all my life.”

      “I could talk to him about a schedule of payments.”

      “Won’t work, boss. You know how it is. The only way out is forward. I can’t pay him back in installments. I couldn’t even keep up with the vig that way. I need a score. A trifecta, aces over kings and everybody calls, a small miracle.”

      “How much is the vig for Wednesday?”

      “I can keep my knee for five K.”

      “I can maybe work something out for Wednesday.”

      He looks at me, and I can see he’s grateful but still disgusted with himself, and still scared. “You think? Buy me a week. Something might turn up.”

      I pull my chair up closer to my side of the desk and lean across the blotter pad to get as close to him as I can. “Okay, we’ll work it out somehow, but you’re going to have to tell me some stuff you don’t want to tell me and probably didn’t tell Weed and his partner.”

      “Like what stuff?”

      “Like about the other apartment.”

      “What other apartment?”

      “The one on East Sixth.”

      “My mother’s place? I pay half the rent.”

      “Dan, your mother has been phoning your wife, complaining about the rent situation and asking her if she has a new refrigerator and if she has her own car. Your mother and your wife have been getting real chummy on the phone, talking about Bangkok and how to get citizenship papers and which one of them should dump you first.”

      Dan looks back up at his favourite corner in the room and shakes his head. “Aw, shit, she got so demanding.”

      “The thing is, Dan, when Weed finds out about the apartment on East Sixth, and he’s going to, because he’s a good cop, and if he doesn’t, then I’ll be telling him because I have to, then he’s going to go over there and meet the woman. What’s her name?”

      “Prana.”

      “He’s going to meet Prana and find out she isn’t your mother, that she isn’t a legal resident, and that’s she been nagging you for a car and a new refrigerator. All of that’s going to give them a whole new set of ideas of where the money is, or where it went.”

      “They won’t find it there, either, and they won’t find a new refrigerator or a new car, and if they throw her out of the country, they’ll probably be doing me a big favour because she’s not the same woman I brought over.”

      He pushes back his chair, stretches his legs, and puts his hands behind his neck. “They change so fast. Couldn’t do enough for me. Cooked me special meals, did stuff. You don’t need to know that angle, but I’m telling you, that woman could do stuff, not anymore but back then. Now all she does is complain because I’m not as rich as she thought I was.”

      “Probably not a smart move trying to keep two households going on what you make.”

      “Two years ago I was rolling in it. I was ahead fifty thousand. People owed me money. That’s when I took my trip to the Orient to check out the action. I told Doris. What’d she care? I gave her a pocketful of dough. I’m not cheap, Joe. When I have it, I spend it.”

      He gets up and goes to the window that looks out on the back street and across at Connor’s Diner and the Scientology Reading Room. “What goes up must yada yada, as they say. She’s like I brought bad luck back with me from Thailand. Two months after I get Prana set up on East Sixth, I’m scrambling to make my nut and getting deeper and deeper into Randall Poy.” He turns to look at me. “If I had the guts, Joe, I would have hit the Buznardo kid for some cash, but I know my luck too well. I know when I’m on a roll and when I can’t catch a card to save my ass. I’d never get away with it. You know it and I know it. I’m not smart enough or cool enough. Not even desperate enough, come right down to it. I’ve been here before. I’ll dodge this bus. I always do.” He sits back down and rubs his face. “That’s a pisser about Prana and Doris being in touch with each other. She’s a cool one that Doris, I tell you.”

      “She loves you, Dan.”

      “Weird, eh?”

       chapter nine

      I keep a personal stash in the hotel safe. It builds up. I don’t have a lot of expenses. I put three thousand in cash in a hotel envelope. I’ll have to liquidate a few of my accumulated paycheques to get more, but I figure it can wait a day at least. I’m sure Randall Poy will be reasonable.

      I’m on my way to the hospital with good intentions, but I really need a cup of coffee and an order of toast. I interpret feeling hungry as a positive sign that I’m not about to drop dead from my injury. Molly MacKay is in the Lobby Café, sitting at the counter and dipping a tea bag up and down in the metal pot. She glances up as I come through the lobby door and watches me without a hint of recognition as I approach.

      “Ms. MacKay?” I say. “We met last night. I’m Joe Grundy.”

      “I remember. You were warning Jake about the dangerous people in the world.”

      “I suppose you’ve had to tell the police about last night so many times you’re fed up.”

      “I’m just tired, Mr. Grundy, and I’m waiting until I can get my little suitcase and go home.”

      “Where’s home?”

      “Roberts Creek on the Sunshine Coast.”

      “I know it. It’s on the way to Sechelt. You’ve got a ferry ride ahead of you. Do you have a car?”

      “I took the bus. There’s one at noon, if they’ll let me leave.”

      “I’ll talk to the detective in charge. He’s not a bad guy.”

      “Thank you.”