The rented run-down half duplex was located in the upscale neighbourhood of New Edinburgh, a twenty-minute walk into Sandy Hill or a five-minute drive to Rockcliffe Park. The main entrance was not accessible from the front door because two male lovers rented the lower half. Visitors were required to enter the second story of the duplex by walking around the left hand side of the house and taking the rickety, wood stairs at back. One particularly frigid winter had covered the stairs in a thin layer of undetectable ice and to the upper tenants' great amusement a visitor took a spill down the steps, one buttock cheek at a time, hitting the wood steps with a solid, plopping sound of pain, until all twenty steps had been descended.
Samuel took special care whenever using the stairs by avoiding resting his hand on the wobbly railing, seconds away from tipping over. He knocked on the glass, screen door, peering into the kitchen, seeing two blackened and burned knives inserted into the stove's main element, bright red and raging hot. Beside the element was a serving plate turned upside down with tiny pieces of cut up marijuana. The Coffey boys were active or at least one of them was alive.
“Hey man,” said Kevin, opening the door, and shooting his hand out to greet.
“You're at it already. Pressing knives at mid-day?”
“P'ing some k's is merely my good morning greeting to the world,” said Kevin as he reached over to turn off the element.
“Technically speaking it's past noon, so the morning has come and gone but fuck, Kev, I've got to know how the hell can you handle the blasted heat in summer when the element's blazing?” asked Samuel.
“It's pretty steamy…lemme tell ya… a man's gotta have his herb, though.”
“You speak the truth.”
Samuel chose not to pass comment on the disheveled state of their apartment. He feared Magdalene would suffer a heart attack if so much as one of her toes had stepped into their living quarters. The kitchen sink brimmed with encrusted dishes, soaking in stale, days-old water and where the sink edge ended, the dishes spilled onto the counter, crawling like hungry vines, creating a growing, thriving colony of precariously balanced ceramics. The cupboards were barren of food and glasses. The ‘50s throwback retrograde table, situated in the middle of the kitchen under the main window, had no chairs for sitting; the table's surface was piled high with yellowed newspapers. Natural light barely managed to break through the black tarp strung across the window. Under the table, stacks of beer cases were over stuffed with extra empty bottles; their necks punched downward between the standing bottles. Kevin made a run to the Beer Store three times a week, hauling a minimum of five to six empty cases in his arms at once. He adamantly argued the ordeal gave his biceps a good workout and the return deposit was generously reinvested into his drinking fund.
“Care for a pint, man?” asked Kevin.
“Sure, why not… thanks,” said Samuel. He took the frosty offering and saw the cavernous insides of the fridge as Kevin opened the door to pull out a bottle; not one stitch of food, only beer, one jar of Dijon mustard, and a carton of cigarettes, kept in the fridge to retain tobacco freshness. Pizza boxes and cellophane wrappers cluttered the floor beside the table, next to the garbage can, overflowing with cigarette butts and bottle caps. And this was only the kitchen, Samuel thought to himself.
“Where shall we sit?” he asked.
“In the living room, Sam,” replied Kevin. “Make yourself at home. I haven't tidied up…there's some shit and stuff lying about.”
“Really?” said Samuel. “I'm shocked there would be clutter.”Kevin snickered as he walked ahead of Samuel, through the tiny hallway. The single main bathroom was yet another disaster area in need of a scouring to scrape off mold from the toilet base, and the bathtub and the yellow stained bowl. The sink's single faucet emitted a constant monotonous drip, slowly oxidizing the white porcelain and eroding its colour. A cloth wrapped around the tap to muffle the dripping was useless.
Samuel would only pee in their washroom. If he had to complete other official business, he preferred to wait until returning home to his spotless washroom. The cleanliness of his home made him that much more grateful for the compatible relationship he enjoyed with Magdalene.
“How 'bout you park your keister on the couch and I'll take the main chair…you don't mind a little dust, eh?”
“No, not at all, although I could write my name on the table and I bet it would stay there forever,” laughed Samuel.
“Yeah, man. No women 'round to clean up. Gotta love freedom… a bachelor's pad, no issues, no nagging, no nothing, man.”
“Where's Derek?” asked Samuel.
“His lazy arse is racked out. I'll get him. He was up late watching porn, before I passed out…wait two seconds, Sam, and watch some videos or news.”
Kevin clicked on the large, flat-picture screen with its monster speakers built into the TV, ejecting outward on both sides like eagle wings; the volume turned to obliterate made their walls shudder and the boys below furious.
Samuel made himself comfortable, observing the minimalist artwork hung on their brown-tinged walls; one Itchy and Scratchy poster torn out of a Simpson's comic book because, as Kevin rightly pointed out, The Simpson's had contributed more to the sociological understanding of our fucked-up world than any 24-hour news station. He took a large gulp of beer and waited for Kevin to return, hearing him yelling at Derek to haul his butt out of bed. Samuel laughed again. His weed runners were the archetype of Irishness; direct in dialogue yet masterful at lying, unkempt in living quarters yet particular about personal hygiene, loyal in business relationships, yet hesitant in areas of co-committed love, and perhaps most significant of all was their penchant for escaping trouble as though a plastic protective bubble was drawn around their bodies to prevent foul play from destroying them. Samuel believed the Coffey boys were born with that rare ability to walk between the raindrops.
“Here he is,” said Samuel, looking at Derek, barely dressed in jeans and boots with no shirt, his stubble four days old, smiling and happy to see him.
“Hey Sam, awesome you've dropped by, man,” said Derek, sticking out his hand for Samuel, whose handshake was firm and strong even in a sitting position.
“Kevin offered you a pint, man?” he asked.
“Yes, got it here, thanks, cold and tasty,” replied Samuel. “I won't ask for a bite to eat. I'm terrified you'll offer me a cardboard slice of week-old pizza. I'm here about business, of course. We're ready to start up. How about you two?” he asked.
“Of course, man, you just say the word.”
“Maggie has re-planted. All we need do is set up the generator and lights.”
“Cool, no problem…fuck man that was fast… we just talked the other week when you said it might be a couple of months and now, man you're here…OK, man, we'll bring the equipment around this afternoon or tonight if you want,” said Kevin.
“But we've got tickets to a hockey game,” reminded Derek to Kevin.
“Oh yeah, mind if we do it tomorrow, Sam?” asked Kevin.
“Not at all, that would be fine. I'll tell Maggie tonight.”
“Awesome,” said Kevin, slapping Samuel on the shoulder. “Ready for another pint?” he asked. Kevin tilted his head backward, opened his large jaws and poured in the entire contents of one bottle, his throat veins contracting. The liquid disappeared magically into one of his two empty legs.
“I'm nursing this one,” said Samuel. “Do you two eat or are you strictly on the Canadian beer diet plan?” Both boys laughed.
“Sometimes we even work, too… you wanna order out for food?”
“I have Maggie and her phenomenal cooking at home awaiting me.”
“Lucky bugger…might there be a dinner invite for us?” asked Kevin sheepishly.
“Cheeky bastard!” said Samuel. "A wise man includes his lady in the decision-making process. I do not invite anyone to dinner without checking with Maggie.”
“God, Maggie is an angel. That what she is a bloody, first-rate, top of the line angel. She’s gotta have a sister or cousin. Where did you find her?” asked Kevin.
“Never mind about our love story,” said Samuel. “What about your love life?”
“Maxine, my black honey, dumped my flat-arse three weeks ago. Her sister, Tessa, is available and she's a hotsy totsy,” Kevin answered jokingly.
“Yup,” said Derek laughing. “She's a total raving babe, sweet.”
Samuel rarely ventured into the subject of Kevin and Derek's extra-curricular female activities. He came with the intention of closing the matter of JP, realizing it required delicacy and care; the actual information about his death could never be revealed; the news had to remain contained to the current four: Magdalene, Tina, Kitty and Pussy. Why add more people in the know?
“Tell me straight up, did you two blow the money I gave you the other week?”
“The five dimes, man?”
“Yes,” said Samuel. “What did you think I was talking about?”
“Just checking,” answered Kevin. Derek pushed the newspapers off the couch onto the floor and sat beside Samuel, pulling the bulging ashtray closer as he lit up, his free hand reaching for the remote, switching the channel to the Playboy station. The Coffee boys shelled out $250 a month for specialty cable services.
“What the fuck did you do with the cash?” asked Samuel.
“There were expenses and things,” said Kevin.
Samuel began laughing. “You mean you took a visit to the racetrack or the casino and went nuts.”
“It kept coming up fucking red, man. I laid it down black and it had to go black eventually… the fucking ball kept landing on red, man. I couldn't believe it. There was something like fourteen passes. Never seen it before in my life, man. The table was packed, no elbow room and when I finally switched to red out of total desperation, then the fucking thing went black. I was fucking robbed, man! Somebody was operating foot pedals below the table…I tell you, man.”
Samuel shook his head, knowing he should have understood the larger fish called No Impulse Control would swallow up the smaller fish called Control. The money would have been better off being stuffed into a mattress. The potential allure of besting the house was too much of a temptation for the Coffey boys and their desires.
“Say no more,” said Samuel, raising his hand to stop Kevin from continuing with his explanation. “Does that mean as well that the plants weren't tossed out?”
“Most of it was tossed,” said Kevin.
“Most?” asked Samuel for clarification.
“It broke my fucking heart, man… almost most of it. Some was kept by us…only just a little to keep us sane while we waited for you.”
“OK,” answered Samuel, realizing at that moment that he had asked too much of the boys, to throw away a fine crop of organic herb; the lesson would be filed away for future. “Listen up, I had a visit from Sandrine.”
“Oh yeah?” said Kevin delighted the subject was re-directed.
“She confessed…you're not going to believe this… she ratted out JP.”
“Fucking witch,” said Derek. “I tried to tell him, man, that broad would bring him a snoot-full of trouble. He wouldn't listen.” Derek went to the fridge, pulling out a fresh beer, handing one to Kevin.
“Did she say why?” asked Kevin.
“She said he clipped her one time too many… and that's a direct quote from her own mouth,” answered Samuel.
“That I believe. He got a firecracker temper, JP,” noted Kevin. “So, what did you do with her?”
Samuel flashed back to the scene of Sandrine on the couch in his office, the sun coming through the bay windows; the stunning backdrop of the Parliament Buildings, as her legs were upright, pointing toward the ceiling, as her split cunt was open for his lustful, greedy eyes, before he plunged his tongue into her red vagina and sucked out her blood. He could feel the saliva drenching his tongue as the image replayed in his head. He smiled to himself, recalling their last encounter, only a day prior and he mentally counted the number of days before Magdalene would menstruate. Weeks felt like months to him in waiting for her blood to arrive.
“I chatted with her calmly on the couch after I threw her onto it. The little vixen started yelling at me. She thinks I had something to do with his disappearance, until she admitted that she had ratted him out.”
“Fucking bitches,” interceded Derek.
“They're not ALL bitches, some are like men, not all bastards, just some,” qualified Samuel.
“Whatever,” said Derek, “that's like saying that all cops are not assholes, just some.”
“Well, it's true,” said Samuel. “Not all cops are corrupt, just some.”
“Most of the fucking cops I know are rat, fucking, corrupt bastards,” said Derek.
“They have a thankless job,” countered Samuel. “Everyone lies to them."
“Yeah man, well I'm not lying when I say that if Sandrine tried to rat me out, I'd fucking…” Derek stopped short.
“Don't even think in those terms,” said Samuel. “She said he never mentioned anything to her, even though he knew she had called the police. She thinks he took off.”
“Man, that's fucking smart because if he so much as talks one bit about you or me or my brother, I won't be held responsible for what I'd do to him,” said Kevin, as his look turned stone cold, he grabbed the neck of the beer bottle and twisted it, to mimic breaking her neck.
“You know how I feel about rats, man,” said Kevin. “There's a reason why in prison they're the first to get crushed. There gotta be standards of morality in business.”
“And I'd stomp his fucking head with these boots,” added Derek.
“Say no more,” said Samuel. The day was moving along. He had one meeting in the afternoon to set up a new LAN network for the Department of Defence, which meant walking from his office to the Mackenzie King Bridge. Afterward, he could head down Rideau Street to Magdalene's favourite chocolatier to purchase more goodies before returning home for their night's session. He had not forgotten about her fantasy and wanting to learn how it ended.
“She didn't stay long. I told her to stop worrying about him, and then I gave her some cash for rent.”
“That's fucking awesome of you, Sam,” said Kevin. “Anything you need and I'm there, man. You want me to watch over Sandrine so she doesn't make trouble? I've got some boys on the street in Little Mogadishu who would do me a solid in a second.”
“Don't do anything for now…I'll stay in touch with her by phone.”
“OK, man, you're the boss,” said Kevin. He got up from the chair and walked to a large, ceramic beer mug, encrusted with dust, sitting on a bookshelf covered with CDs strewn about outside the plastic cases. He reached into the beer mug and pulled out a set of keys.
“Here…these are JP's keys to his place. He left them if ever I needed to get in.”
“Excellent,” said Samuel, thinking he now had easy access to set up surveillance in her apartment. The idea was a sound and smart one; it would allow him an inside view of her actions to observe any dealings Sandrine might engage in with the police, but also, equally important, to observe her private sexual activities.
“OK, lads, I'm off…got a meeting. Let's connect tomorrow when you bring over the equipment. I'll give you a call first with a good time to drop by.”
“Right on, man.”
“Where are your seats for tonight's game?”
“In the three hundreds…nose bleed… the perfect place to spark up a cracker without some fucking security bullshit up your ass.”
“Of course,” said Samuel. He placed his empty beer bottle on the table, on top of the half-inch thick dust. “I'll leave you two to your beer business.”
“Right on, man,” both boys replied.
Samuel turned back just before he exited out their kitchen door and stepped on a towel. “What's this?” he asked.
“To stop the lovely aroma of herb from escaping under the door. The guys below get pissed if they smell it.”
“Of course,” said Samuel, shaking his head, laughing, and pulling his keys out of his pocket. “I suppose my life would be in jeopardy if I went into your bedroom.”
“I change my sheets every year,” replied Kevin.
Samuel laughed, put on his sunglasses and departed.