Chapter 8
(Normie)
“Daddy, do you know where there’s a building that says ‘Vince’ on it?” I was at Daddy’s house after school on Thursday.
“Vince?”
“Yeah. Or, wait . . .” I closed my eyes and tried to bring the picture back into my mind. “Vincent.”
He looked at me for a while, then said: “Do you mean Mount St. Vincent, the big university we see up on the hill when we drive out the Bedford Highway?”
“The place where I played piano in the music festival?”
“Right.”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Maybe you’re thinking of the building on Windsor Street. St. Vincent’s Guest House.”
“Is that it?”
“Um, I don’t know, sweetheart. Why are you asking about a building?”
“Because I saw one in my, you know, dreams.”
“Would you recognize it, do you think, if you saw it?”
“I think so.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
I was scared then. “We’re going there?”
“You don’t want to?”
“Not with all that scary stuff going on! They might do something to us!”
“Who, dolly?”
“Those people I saw, in the robes.”
He was staring at me. “That vision you had, or that dream, about the people in the robes, and the . . . baby dying, did that happen at this Vincent place?”
I nodded my head. “And the other little kid screaming and crying.” Daddy looked as if he was mixed up. But he said we were going. “Tell you what. We’ll drive by in the car, have a quick look, and keep driving. Would that be all right?”
No, I didn’t think so. But I didn’t want to say it. Anyway, he took me by the hand and we walked to the car, and went for a drive. We drove around the Armdale Rodeo. That’s what we call it, but it’s really called the Armdale Rotary, for cars to go around. And then we were on Quinpool Road going towards downtown. We went past some stores and restaurants and the movie theatre. He turned and went up some street and then turned again later. Pretty soon we saw the sign for Windsor Street, and we turned again. He slowed the car down, but I just looked at my hands. I didn’t want to see it.
“There’s nobody around, Normie. Just look up, over to your right. Is that the building?”
I peeked over and looked at the place. It was a big, wide brick building, not very tall, and it had a round porch or something in front, with a white cross sticking up from it. There’s no way it was the same building.
“That’s not it! Not even close!”
Daddy looked as if he was glad.
“What is that place?” I asked him.
“It’s a nursing home. For old folks.”
“Well, it’s not the place I dreamed about.”
“What did the building look like in your dream?”
“It was made of bricks. But it wasn’t a new building like the one we just saw.”
“What colour were they, the bricks?”
“They were brick colour, Daddy!”
“Okay. Reddish brown, were they?”
“Duh! That’s what colour bricks are.”
“Right. How big was the place?”
“Kind of big. And more old-fashioned than this one. It had churchy-type windows.”
“Why don’t you draw a picture of the windows for me?”
“Okay.” I always had a scribbler and a box of coloured pencils in the car, so I drew a picture of the building and shoved the paper at Daddy. He took a quick glance, then kept his eyes on the road. We were on Quinpool again, heading back to his house.
“Gothic windows, those are called.”
“Oh.”
“Was the place a church?”
“No! How could it be, if it said ‘asylum’ on it?”
“Asylum!”
Oh no, I thought. I went and blurted out that the sign said “asylum.” Now he’d say something about mental patients, and get the idea all over again that I was crazy. I was stupid to mention it.
But he just said: “So this was a red-brick building with Gothic windows like the one you just drew, and it had the word ‘asylum’ on it?”
I had to admit it now. “Yeah.”
“You have a really good memory, Normie.”
Hmm. Yes, I do have a good memory. Maybe that means there’s nothing wrong with you, if you have a good memory.
“And you said the name ‘Vincent’ was on it too, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, I’ll ask around. In the meantime, how about a drive out to Bedford for a chicken burger and a milkshake?”
“Really? Great!”
I hoped Daddy would forget all about the old building, the asylum, but he didn’t. He and Mummy brought up the subject that night when we went to a movie and came home afterwards. And they went on about doctors and psychiatrists again. They tried not to sound mean but they kept telling me I needed “help” to get over my dreams and visions. Sometimes “help” is a bad word, like “going on the couch.” They say that stuff in movies, and it means going to a psychiatrist. I thought I had made them believe I wasn’t crazy; now it was happening all over again.
I got really upset and hollered at them: “You guys think I’m nuts! Well, guess what? You guys are nuts for not being able to see the kinds of things I see. It’s your fault because you can’t see it. All you know is what’s in front of your eyes, when they’re open, and you don’t know anything else. But you make it sound like I’m loony! If you really loved me, you wouldn’t think that!”
I ran upstairs to get away from them, and I slammed the door of my room, and shoved my chair up against it so they wouldn’t be able to open it. But Daddy opened it anyway, and I yelled at him to go away and leave me alone. Finally, he left and went downstairs. I could just imagine the rotten things they were saying about me down there.
It took me a long time to fall asleep, I was so mad. The next morning, Daddy was there when I went down for breakfast. He must have snuck in early from his own house to catch me being crazy again. I would show him! I didn’t even talk to him, or to Mum. They pretended to be really nice and they talked about the concert our school was having that night on TV. I just kept my mouth shut the whole time, till they dumped me off at school. Then I said: “I bet you’re glad to get rid of me!”
They didn’t even hear me. Or maybe they just didn’t care.
I was still upset all through school that day, even though we spent most of the day practising for the concert and skipped all kinds of hard classes because of it, so it should have been one of the best days ever. How would you like it if your own parents thought you were crazy and maybe wanted to put you in a mental hospital? What if they put me in there, and some dangerous mental patient killed me? Mum and Dad would be sorry then! Or if I ran away, and they didn’t know where I was. If they really loved me, they would be worried to death. It would serve them right.
We didn’t have Four-Four Time after school that day because it was Friday, but Jenny came by anyway. She said she wanted to hang around with me and then go to the concert. Her aunt said it was okay. So we hung out in the music room, and played the pianos. She played the G and D major scales, practising what she had learned the day before. I wasn’t in the mood for major scales. So I played the sad ones, the minor ones. When I finished them, Jenny came over. She looked sad too. “Daddy came for a visit last night, but he was mad at me.”
“Because of the Hells Angels?” I blurted out, then wished I had shut up instead.
“I don’t know why. He didn’t say anything, just kept giving me weird looks. Like he wanted to say something but changed his mind.”
“Oh, don’t worry then.”
“Why did you ask about the Hells Angels?”
“No reason,” I said.
“You didn’t tell anybody, did you?”
“No,” I lied. Then I remembered: “But Father Burke knows! We asked him that time.”
“Oh, yeah. I hope he didn’t tell my dad.”
“You never know!”
Then I said: “I’m mad at my parents.”
“Why? What did they do?”
“They think I’m crazy. They may try to lock me up.”
“No!”
“Yeah.”
“Are they coming to your concert tonight?”
“I guess so. It would be too bad for them if I didn’t sing in the concert. If I wasn’t even there!”
“You mean you’re going to hide?”
“Yeah, but more than that.”
I thought of something, a plan. Jenny’s mother had talked about the Hells Angels. And I always had a secret wish to see what a Hells Angel really looked like, close up and not just speeding by on a motorbike. How could you be good enough to want to call yourself an angel, but bad enough to say you belong in hell? Why would you brag about it by pasting that name on your jacket? Would you look good and evil at the same time? Well, now was my chance to find out!
I said to Jenny: “Let’s do something that will make everyone appreciate us for how smart we are.”
“Like what?”
“Let’s solve the Mystery of the Hells Angels!”
“How can we do that?”
“I know where they live. I’ve been out for drives with Tom and Lexie. She’s my brother’s girlfriend. On the way to her place there’s a big house with all these motorcycles outside it, and Tommy always slows down to gawk at them. And Lexie always teases him by singing this song about motorcycles, ‘Born To Be Wild.’ That place is the Hells Angels clubhouse, ever since their other place burnt down. Tommy told me. Let’s go there, and find out if they had something to do with your mum and how she died!”
“But they won’t tell us if they did. They’ll kill us!”
“No they won’t. Because we’ll tell them our parents know where we are and if we don’t show up at home, they’ll know where to find us.”
“They won’t believe our parents let us go there!”
“Okay, we won’t say that exactly. We’ll say our parents let us go for a walk in that neighbourhood because our friend — no, our babysitter! — lives near there. It’s not completely a lie because Lexie lives near there, and I would be allowed to go for a walk. And if they think our parents will be driving all around there looking for us, they’ll be scared of getting caught if they do anything bad to us.”
“I don’t know . . . How are we going to ask them about Mum?”
“I’ll think of something. Let’s sneak out of here and get a taxi.”
“A taxi!”
“I have some money. It’s supposed to be a donation for the poor at the concert tonight, but I’ll give them some later.”
So when the teachers weren’t looking, me and Jenny snuck out and started walking towards downtown. A couple of taxis came by and we waved at them, but they kept going. Then one circled around and came back.
“You looking for a cab, girls?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do your parents know where you are?”
“Yes, they want us to meet them. That’s why we need a taxi. My dad broke his leg and can’t drive. So he can’t come pick us up.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Take us to St. Malachy’s church.”
Jenny looked at me as if I really was crazy, but I wasn’t. Lexie was the choir director at her church, St. Malachy’s, and she lived really close to it. So finally the driver let us in, and drove us away from downtown, out to where Lexie lives. When we got to St. Malachy’s church, there was nobody around, and the taxi driver gave us a weird look.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Dad will be here.”
“How’s he going to get here, with that busted leg?”
“My mum is really big. He’ll lean on her and they’ll both hobble over here. It will take them a while.”
“What are your names, girls?”
“I’m Cindy and this is Alicia.”
“Uh-huh.”
“How much is it?”
“It’s thirteen dollars.”
Uh-oh. I only had ten. “I don’t have that much.”
“Have you got ten?”
“Yeah.”
“Give me that. And here, take a couple of quarters back in case you need a pay phone.”
“Thank you!”
So there we were, in Lexie’s and the Hells Angels’ neighbourhood. When the taxi disappeared, I told Jenny: “Let’s go.”
We had to walk around a bit till we found it. But you couldn’t miss it once you got the right street. There were a whole lot of motorcycles and there was loud music blaring out of the house.
“I don’t think we should go in there, Normie.”
“It’s okay. Did you ever hear of a biker doing anything bad to a kid? No! They ride around on motorcycles and sell drugs. We won’t take any if they try to get us to buy some.”
“We don’t have any money.”
“Right. So they won’t give us drugs for free and they won’t rob us, because we don’t have anything.”
Just then a motorcycle rumbled up with a really loud motor noise. A huge guy got off it. I thought Jenny’s dad was big, but this guy was a giant. With long straggly black and grey hair and a scary face. He had on a leather jacket that said Hells Angels on the back.
“You steal that bike, girlie, and you’re dead meat!” he said to us, then laughed and started to go inside the house.
“Can we come in?” I said, and he turned around and stared.
“Say what?”
“Can we come in?”
“Want to sign up?”
“No! Not really.”
“Why not? You got something against motorcycles?”
“No! I think they’re cool.”
“Good answer. So whaddya want? You selling Girl Guide cookies or somethin’? How ’bout you bring the cookies in, we’ll add a special ingredient, and you go out on the street again tonight and sell them for a higher price. That sound good?”
“We don’t have any cookies. We’d just like to talk.”
“Fuck!” (The only way to tell this story is to use bad language. That’s just the way it is.) After the F-word, he said: “I don’t believe this. Excuse my French, ladies. Okay, why don’t you come in to Big Daddy’s house? Never too young to learn the facts of life, eh?” He laughed again.
Jenny and I were scared but we didn’t want him to know, so we smiled and went into the house with him.
“Hey, Axe, what the fuck?” This other guy was looking at us. He was sprawled on a couch in front of the television. It was loud. He had all his hair shaved off and had a devilish-looking beard on his chin. “You said you were running a couple new girls, but we didn’t think you meant this new. Tap into a whole new market with these two! Hey, kids, what’s your names? Lemme guess. You’re Misty, and this here’s” — the guy turned and looked at the television, and there were two girls dancing and they hardly had any clothes on! — “Candy! That’s it, Misty and Candy! Just like the two, uh, exotic dancers in this movie! Would you like to dance like that, girls?”
We didn’t know what to say. But the guy who brought us in, Axe, told the guy: “Turn that off, asshole. There’s kids in the house.”
“But I was just getting into it, you know what I mean?”
“I said turn it off.”
“I just rented it, and I’m dubbing a copy. If I turn it off, I’ll have to . . .”
Then I couldn’t believe what happened. Axe walked over to the television and lifted up his foot, and drove it right through the TV screen. The glass smashed and there was a big noise, and that was the end of the TV! “Next time I tell you to turn something off, Pratt, you turn it off. Understand?”
“Okay, Axe, okay, chill out, man!”
Two other guys came in then, with one girl. She was tough-looking. She said: “Hey, Axe, some of your long-lost kids are finally turning up to cash in, eh?”
“Yeah, looks like it.”
“So, kiddies, would you like a brownie?” the girl asked.
“Sure!” Jenny said.
But Axe said: “Don’t give them any, you dipshit.”
“I wasn’t going to!”
I wanted to say we’d like to have a brownie, but it’s rude to ask for food at other people’s houses.
“Smoke a little weed, girls, help you relax?” That was the guy on the couch.
“We don’t smoke,” I said, “but thanks anyways.”
“So what can we do for you, girls?” That was Axe.
I figured I’d better think of a way to ask them about Mrs. Delaney, without really asking whether they killed her or hung around outside their house. So I made something up.
“Somebody lost a wallet with some money in it, outside her house.” I pointed at Jenny.
“Oh yeah?”
“It’s mine!” one of the guys said. “Hand it over!”
“We don’t have it with us.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because we were scared someone would steal it from us. Someone who didn’t really own it.”
“You’re not saying we’re thieves, are you, ladies?” Axe said.
“No! We meant anybody, not you guys!”
“So why did you think one of us lost a wallet?”
“Uh, because it had a picture of a big motorcycle in the photo holder. And because . . .”
“Because my mum said your name before she died!” That was Jenny, obviously. We weren’t supposed to sound like we thought they were around when she died, but Jenny blurted it out anyway.
“Let me get this straight. Your mother died, and you’re here because you think we had something to do with it?”
“No, no, not really,” I said. “It’s just that her mum said the words ‘Hells Angels’ before she died, but we know you weren’t there at the time because, well, there was nobody there . . .” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Sounds to me like there was somebody there. Sounds to me like maybe her old man should be sat down with a strong light shining in his face and questioned about this death himself, and not bringing our name into it!” Axe again.
“Oh, my dad didn’t do it!” Jenny said then.
“If you say so.”
“It’s true.”
“Back to this wallet,” another guy said.
I answered: “Yeah, like I was saying, somebody lost a wallet with a bike picture in it, outside the house, so we were just wondering. That’s all.”
“And this wallet got picked up right around the time of this death, is that it?”
“Yeah.”
Axe looked at all the Hells Angels in the clubhouse, and said: “Anybody here lose their wallet when they were killing somebody lately?”
“It wasn’t lately; it was a long time ago,” I explained.
“Long time ago? Anybody?”
One guy said: “I can’t remember all the people I knocked off, but I’d sure as hell remember if I lost my wallet.”
They all made jokes like that. Of course it was a dumb idea for me to say the wallet was at Jenny’s; they wouldn’t confess that they were there, even if there really was a wallet with money in it. It didn’t make any sense. But that’s all I could think of. I had never tried to do anything like this before. Being a sleuth looked a lot easier in the Nancy Drew books.
Then Axe said to Jenny: “This is bullshit about your mother dying, right, kid?”
“No! She really died.”
He looked as if he felt bad for making a joke about it. But he didn’t say he was sorry. Then I wondered: Now what?
“So, is anybody coming to pick you girls up? Or should we set two more places for supper?”
I realized we couldn’t call Daddy and get him to pick us up at the Hells Angels’ house. He’d kill us. And besides, I was still mad at him and Mum, so it served them right if their daughter was hiding out with a biker gang! And we sure couldn’t tell Jenny’s dad about this. So we didn’t know what to do.
“What do you girls want to do? Watch a movie?”
“Yeah, that would be great!” I said.
Pratt twisted around on the couch and gawked at Axe. “You’re lettin’ them stay here? You got a death wish or somethin’?”
“Nah. Should be fun to see who turns up to get them, after they get bored and call home. It will be worth it to see Daddy’s face when he comes to the door. So put a movie on for them, Pratt. How about Hansel and Gretel? Or Easy Rider. Oh, that’s right. We don’t have a TV!”
“You had a little accident with the TV, Axe.”
“Right. So go get them another one.”
“What?”
“Get off your ass and get a TV for them.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“You’re trying out for membership in this club, aren’t you, Pratt? So make your bones! Hoist a TV set somewhere, and get back here. I’ll give you half an hour.”
“What the fuck?”
“Get moving. Now!”
Then Axe got on the phone. “It’s me. Bring the kids over. Yeah, I know it’s not my day. Bring them over on your day, and I’ll let you have them on my day. Is that rocket science? Okay, good.” And he hung up. He said to us: “I got kids around your age. They’re coming over. Now we’ve got some business to take care of in the back room, some product we gotta move, so make yourselves at home. There’s pizza in the fridge. Phone’s there if you need it.”
“We won’t,” I said.
“Have it your way.”
So they all went into another room and shut the door. Jenny and I sat down, then got up and looked around, but there wasn’t much to see. There were some posters on the walls with pictures of motorcycles, and there was a really old leather jacket with the Hells Angels sign, hanging up with some guy’s picture underneath it. There was also an old-fashioned picture in the brown colours the cameras used to do. It showed a bunch of men sitting on top of an old airplane with Hells Angels written on it. There were words on the picture that said: “The Original Hells Angels: 303rd Bombardment Group of World War II.” I couldn’t believe they let the Hells Angels fight in the war. But maybe they were really good at it, so they put them in to fight the Nazis.
That was all I saw. The bad stuff must have been in the other room. They said we could have pizza, so we got it out of the fridge, along with a couple of cans of pop, and we sat down to eat. Pratt came in and, sure enough, he had a TV. The wires were hanging down from it, as if he just yanked it out of a wall some place and brought it to the clubhouse. He hooked it up, and didn’t talk to us the whole time. He knocked on the door to the other room, and they let him in.
Then we heard people coming in from outside. A woman shooed two kids into the house, told them to call for a lift later, and left. One was a boy about grade-three age, with short hair and kind of a skinny tail of hair at the back of his neck; the other one was a girl older than us. She had long, wild, curly brown hair. They sat down and had some pizza and didn’t talk to us.
Jenny and I went to the couch and clicked through a whole bunch of TV channels. The boy said “Gimme that,” and tried to grab the clicker, but his sister whacked him on the side of the head, and he fell over. He got up, went across the room to a table, and opened up a drawer; he pulled out some kind of game that looked like a small computer. He sat in the corner and played it by himself. The girl went to the phone and called her friend. She started talking to her and ignored us.
So we went back to switching TV channels. We saw a choir singing on the cable channel. The concert! Then I felt really bad. Mum and Dad would be at the concert wondering where I was. And I hadn’t gone home for supper. They would be really worried. I wanted them to worry, to pay them back for thinking I was crazy. But now I didn’t feel so good about it. We watched as the choir finished their song. It was another school and they weren’t very good, especially their diction. And they went flat a couple of times. The guy in charge of the show thanked them and asked people to call in with donations for the poor. Then he introduced the next performer: Father Brennan Burke, director of the Schola Cantorum Sancta Bernadetta, and music director of St. Bernadette’s Choir School. The man thanked Father Burke for having the show at the choir school; then Father came on to sing. He was in his priest collar and black suit, and he looked nervous. Which he never is. No, he looked as if something was bothering him. Was he worrying about me, or mad at me for missing the concert? I would be in so much trouble! Then he was singing La Rondine, all about someone who flew away like a little bird, and wouldn’t fly over the mountains and the sea to come back.
It seemed like he was talking and looking right at me. He probably wasn’t, but it seemed like it. And I started to cry. Jenny started too.
So I got up and hammered at the door to the next room. It took a few minutes, but Axe opened it.
“Can we go home?” I begged.
“We’re not keeping you here, girls. I thought you didn’t want to go home.”
“We do now. Can you call a taxi and we’ll pay you back . . . some day? My dad will kill us if he has to . . . come here to get us.”
“No shit!” He was laughing. I just waited. What else could I do? “So, you want a taxi, or you want a ride home on a big Harley hog?”
“Is that a motorcycle?”
“Is that a motorcycle, she asks me! Is anything else a motorcycle? Let’s roll.”
“Really?”
“Up to you.”
“Are you fuckin’ nuts, Axe?” Pratt called out from the room. “Anybody sees you with these little pieces of jailbait, we’ll end up behind bars with a bunch of kiddie diddlers!”
“Watch your mouth, fuckhead! Show some respect!”
“Well, what do you think their old man’s gonna do when two of us pull up with these little fender bunnies on the back of our bikes?”
“They won’t say anything bad about us, will you, girls?”
“No! Because you didn’t do anything bad. Not that you would, I mean . . .”
“Right. You were just here watching TV with my kids. Pratt, get them a couple helmets. Me and Arnason are going to take ’em home in style.”
It was unbelievable. It was really fun! They gave us helmets to put on. And I got on the back of Axe’s motorcycle, and Jenny got on with the other guy, and we hung on to them, and roared away down the street. We were just flying when we got into the real part of Halifax, and people gawked at us as we went by. I hoped I would be out of trouble with Mum and Dad by the time I got to be sixteen or whatever the age is, when you can get your own motorcycle. Because that’s the only thing I wanted in the whole world.
We stopped at a red light, and Axe turned around to ask me what my address was. I realized the concert was still going on, so I said: “St. Bernadette’s Choir School,” and told him where it was. He said: “Choir school! Whoo-ooo, twilight zone!” And just shook his head, but he drove there.
It was great when we got there, because Father Burke was out on the steps of the choir school with Daddy. They looked like they were arguing, and were going to hit each other. You could tell by the way they were standing, and talking into each other’s faces. Then they heard the bike motors and turned around together, and gawked as if they couldn’t believe their eyes. Father Burke always has the same expression on his face even if something weird or awful happens. But this time his mouth dropped open and his eyes were huge. And Daddy grabbed the railing and looked as if he was going to faint.
Axe and the other guy turned the bikes around and skidded to a stop. They took the helmets off us, and peeled away on their motorcycles before Daddy and Father Burke could even get down the stairs.
(Monty)
The less said about Normie’s disappearance from the school and the concert, and the anguish and recriminations that resulted, the better. She and Jenny staged a triumphant and never-to-be-forgotten return, and we had to move on from there. The first stop was the Hells Angels clubhouse in Fairview. Burke and I, dressed down for the occasion, headed out there the next day in my quiet little four-wheeled vehicle. Quiet too was Father Burke, who perhaps hadn’t quite put behind him the threats and accusations I had launched at him when my daughter went missing from his school.
I broke the silence. “Who knew, Brennan? How, in my wildest dreams, could I ever have imagined that my little girl and her friend would end up in the clubhouse of the Hells Angels? That they went there on their own? I’m just, to borrow a word from you, gobsmacked. She said she would explain later — you got that right, sweetheart — but all she was trying to do was ‘help solve the case.’ And she was exhausted and needed to sleep. She also made me swear — and here again I’m a sucker for a pretty face — not to tell Beau Delaney that Jenny was there. So it’s possible he’ll never know she was missing, given that you didn’t even call him!”
Burke responded with some acerbity: “I didn’t call him because Friday is not a day for the Four-Four Time program. Jenny would not normally be at the school on a Friday. And she was not scheduled to be in the concert. So I didn’t know there was anything amiss with Jenny at all.”
“All right, all right. I’m sorry.”
“The decision to go see the Hells Angels may not have come completely out of the blue, though.”
I turned to look at him. “What?”
“I didn’t attach much significance to this at the time, but —”
“Never mind that. Get on with it.”
“A week or two ago, Normie’s catechism class was studying the concept of sin. Apparently, the kids were codding each other about it after school, and Jenny heard them. Normie and Jenny came to me and asked me about swearing, specifically whether it was swearing if you said ‘Hells Angels.’ God love them, the dear little things, I tried not to laugh, and I asked why they were worrying about it. Jenny said her mother had uttered the words ‘Hells Angels’ one night at the house. In a loud voice, which she thought might have added to the sin! I assured the girls it wasn’t swearing, there was no sin, and Peggy Delaney is with God and the saints and the holy angels in heaven.”
“And you didn’t tell me this before because . . . what, you couldn’t breach the seal of confession?”
“It was not a confession, or I wouldn’t be telling you now.”
“Well, I should count myself fortunate that I’m hearing it as we approach the precincts of the Hells Angels chapter in Halifax.”
“It didn’t seem significant at the time. And then, when it came up with Delaney, Normie asked me not to tell you. Being a man who’s used to keeping confidences, I kept it.”
“What do you mean, it came up with Delaney?”
I looked over, and he gave me a wary look. “The time Beau was at, em, the MacNeil residence.”
That made me yank the car right off the street and squeal to a stop at the curb. I turned in my seat and faced Burke head-on. “What are you saying now? Are you telling me Beau Delaney was in my family’s house?”
“It had to do with, well . . . Herself needed a bit of legal advice.”
“She’s a lawyer and so am I!”
“She knows this isn’t your favourite subject.”
“The baby.”
“Right.”
“What? The boyfriend wants access?”
“Ex-boyfriend.”
“Oh?”
“He’s back living in Italy.”
“He wants visitation in Italy? She’ll never see the child again!”
“That’s where Delaney comes in.”
“I can’t be hearing this, Burke. How does Delaney come into it?”
“Ask him. Ask her. Don’t ask me. I’d as lief be talking about the latest outbreak of contagious disease as talking about this.”
He did look uncomfortable. He wasn’t one to tell tales out of school, and I suspected Maura wanted to keep all this from me to spare me any more aggravation on the subject. But I was aggravated now, for several reasons. My wife’s other child, her other man, and, oh yes, my daughter’s dalliance with the Hells Angels. And now my client, charged with the murder of his wife, was lolling about in my wife’s house.
The hell with Burke’s discomfort. “Brennan. How did Delaney get involved in this?”
He sighed. “The MacNeil wanted some advice, or legal services, from one of Delaney’s law partners. A woman who deals with, em, domestic disputes.”
“Val Tanner! The dispute must be nasty, if she was calling in the big guns.”
“Well, it turns out Val Tanner is on sick leave. Delaney got wind of Maura’s request, and wanted to do something for the family. Offered his services free of charge. That’s why he was there.”
“He was planning to appear in court with the murder of his wife still hanging over his head?”
“I think he saw his role as being more of a behind-the-scenes effort.”
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s doing whatever you lawyers do, I imagine.” Burke was holding out on me. I didn’t like it, but then, I didn’t like any of the circumstances surrounding my wife’s third child. I didn’t like the little bit I thought I knew, and I didn’t even want to think of how much I didn’t know. I couldn’t really blame Burke for his reticence, though. He was caught in the middle. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Very well. Delaney will save the day for Maura. While he waits for me to save the day for him.”
“I think his heart’s in the right place. You’re helping him; he’s helping, well, herself.”
“Okay, okay. Then somehow the Hells Angels came up in conversation. Why do I feel I’m playing a part in some great big cosmic joke?”
“Ah now, the Hells Angels. That’s where Normie enters the picture.”
“Of course! Little Normie and the HAs. Go on.”
“There was the Hells Angels swearing flap at school.”
“Yeah. The girls asked you whether it was a sin, or it was swearing, to say the name of the organization. Because Jenny had heard her mother utter the phrase at some point, in a loud voice.”
“Right. Well, Normie came downstairs at the house when Delaney was there, and told us she’d been studying her catechism.”
“Ha!”
“I know. It must have been a lead-in to what she really wanted to do, namely, reassure Delaney that his wife’s outburst didn’t set her on the road to eternal damnation.”
“And?”
“His reaction was . . . disturbing.”
“Jesus Christ! He knows my little girl knows something about his wife and about some concern, or even a possible connection, with a motorcycle gang!” I realized I sounded as if I thought my client was dangerous, and Burke wouldn’t miss the inference of guilt, but that was the least of my problems at the moment.
“Delaney stared at Normie in horror. Fear, more like. And then he looked at me, enraged.”
“God almighty! I only wish I’d been there. To head it off.”
“It came out of left field, Monty. She just blurted it out. I tried to downplay the whole thing, calm Delaney down. But he left in a state.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Said little Jenny has nightmares. Must have dreamt it. Couldn’t imagine his wife talking about the Hells Angels.”
“His reaction suggests otherwise. If there was nothing to it, he would have laughed it off.”
“I suppose he would have, yes.”
“So Normie and Jenny think there was something to it, and cooked up some hare-brained scheme to investigate on their own. The mind of a nine-year-old! Frightening, isn’t it? But maybe the children are ahead of us on this. I wonder if we should be looking at some kind of connection between Peggy — or more likely Beau himself — and the bikers.”
“How convenient, then, that we’re on our way to their place now, Monty. Was Delaney involved with the bikers? Was he their lawyer?”
“No, I don’t recall him ever appearing on their behalf. They have other counsel.”
“Maybe he was in trouble with them, crossed them somehow.”
“Or represented a client with interests adverse to theirs. And something got Peggy worked up . . .”
“So, get going. We’re not learning anything sitting here.”
“You’re the dads, I take it.”
“Well, you’re half right.”
Burke and I were in front of the bikers’ clubhouse, speaking to an enormous man wearing Hells Angels colours. When the introductions were made, he said everybody called him Axe.
“Nothin’ happened,” Axe said. “They must have told you that much.”
“Why don’t you tell us?”
“Two kids show up at the door in plaid skirts — uniforms — like Catholic schoolgirls or something. ‘Dear Penthouse . . .’ I’m like, where are the hidden cameras? Is this a sting operation? Anyway, they had some story about one of their mothers dying, and she had said something about us. I didn’t get it.”
“You’re not the only one. Then what happened?”
“I called my ex and got her to bring my own kids over. They ate pizza and watched TV. I told them to use the phone whenever they wanted to call their parents. Thought it would be a good laugh to see Hockey Dad and Soccer Mum pulling up to the clubhouse here in their Volvo and coming to the door looking for their kids. The other guys thought I was nuts to let them hang around. So I’m nuts. Not the first time, won’t be the last. Sometimes life is too fucking weird, know what I’m saying? And you have to go with it and see how it plays out.”
“So then you got them on the motorcycles . . .”
“They wanted to go home, but they wouldn’t make the phone call, you know? Guess they couldn’t picture the scene either. So I told them to hop on and we flew them home Air Harley. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any weirder, the carrot top said to drive her to a choir school! Fuck! Then we pull up and see a priest standing there. I thought all that stuff about acid flashbacks was bullshit, but now I gotta wonder. Hey!” He peered at Brennan. “Was that you?”
“It was.”
“What did you say your name was?”
“Brennan.”
“You don’t look like the kind of guy who’s gonna kneel down and kiss the Pope’s ring.”
“Oh, but I am.”
“Well, the Pope’s not looking at you now. Wanna smoke a little weed?”
“Thanks, but I had to give it up.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“I was getting way too mellow in the confession box. People would come in and tell me they killed somebody or had impure thoughts, and I’d just say: ‘Hey, if it felt good at the time . . .’”
“Everybody’s a comedian these days. So, have I answered all your questions?”
“Do you know of any reason Beau Delaney might have been out of favour with your organization?”
“Delaney! The lawyer? What’s this got to do with him?”
“It was his —”
“No! Don’t tell me that was his kid. And it was his woman they were talking about.”
“It was.”
“I thought the cops were just trying to fuck Delaney around, and the charges were bogus. That she just died from an accident.”
“True. But she seemed to be worried about you guys for some reason.”
“You mean like those times when we’re looking for somebody to kill and can’t make up our minds who, and are saying ‘Who should it be? Who should it be?’ If it was one of those nights where nobody could make an executive decision, why would it be Beau’s old lady? We might need him to defend us. And he wouldn’t if we killed his wife. See what I’m saying?”
“Nobody’s suggesting you had anything to do with her death. The question was whether Beau had done something to piss off any of the members of your, uh, club. Something like that, which might have got her worried.”
“Hey, can’t hold us responsible for the things people worry about. They shouldn’t read the papers if they’re that sensitive. But I never heard anything about Delaney pissing anyone off. Or his wife either.”
“Well, all right then.”
“Only murder they’re trying to connect us to is that one in Truro. They’re putting heat on one of our guys, who didn’t do it! He’s sitting in Dorchester on another bogus charge, and they keep looking at him for this killing. It’s bullshit.”
“How do you know he didn’t do it?”
“I know, okay? It wasn’t him. The victim was a psycho and got taken out by another psycho. World of freaks out there.”
“Right. Well, the victim of that killing was Delaney’s client.”
“Come again?”
“Delaney represented him at some point.”
“For what?”
“Criminal charges. I don’t know what they were.”
“There you go. Delaney thinks we blew away his client. Next time you see him, tell him we didn’t do it. End of story. Too late for the wife, if that’s what got her wrapped around the axle. She was worried for nothing.”
“All right. Well, thanks for your time, Axe. And thanks for bringing the girls home.”
“So, did they get in shit or what?”
“We suggested that they not do it again any time soon.”
I turned to leave but Brennan didn’t. Axe noticed. “Hey, Brennan. You ever ride one of these?”
“Never.”
“But you want to.”
“Wouldn’t mind.”
“Your car a stick shift?”
“Yeah.”
“So you know about gears.”
“That much I know.”
“Okay, look. This is the throttle. Right hand. And that’s the front brake. Rear brake is here, right foot. Clutch is this one. Left hand. And you shift with your left foot. Take it for a spin.”
There were a couple of false starts but it didn’t take long before Brennan got the hang of it, and he was off like a bat out of hell.
“Let’s hope nothing goes wrong,” I remarked.
Axe laughed. “No sweat off my ass if he dumps it.”
“You’re not worried about your bike getting wrecked?”
“Do I look like a fuckin’ retard? Nobody touches my machine. Nobody.”
“Whose bike is it?”
“Belongs to a young up-and-coming guy named Pratt, whose only role in life right now is to make me happy. Good test for his attitude if your buddy fucks up.”
We followed Burke’s progress by the sound of the engine, as he made his way around the neighbourhood. He was gone for ten minutes and he was a happy man when he returned. He brought the bike to a halt and dismounted, a little smile on his face.
“Had a good time out there, did you?”
“Fellow could get used to that.”
“Nothing like it.”
“Thanks.”
“Any time.”
We said our goodbyes, and got into my sedate little vehicle for the drive home.
“So, Brennan, branching out in your ministry? Chaplain to the Hells Angels? You’d have your work cut out for you there.”
“It would be worth it, to ride the bike and wear the jacket, pulling up to St. Bernadette’s for Sunday Mass. But even if I never get to do that, there is independent evidence of my biker days.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of evidence?”
“I didn’t know young Lexie lived so close to the clubhouse.”
“You saw her?”
“Her and Tom.”
“Yeah, I knew he was spending the day there.”
“I pulled up beside them and said: ‘Hey babe, hop on.’ The face on her was priceless. She was rooted to the earth. And Tom, well, he was gobsmacked. I just blasted off and left them in my dust.”
“Well done! So, Brennan, what do you make of Axe’s plea of innocence?”
His head whipped around to face me. “About the girls, you mean?”
“No, no. Nothing happened there. I mean that killing. The guy in Truro.”
“Seemed to me he was telling the truth. I could be wrong.”
“Could be, but that was my impression too.”
“Now what?”
“Now, I don’t know. Our defence is that Peggy simply fell. Beau hasn’t made an effort to claim that somebody else came in and killed her. But if at some point she had been concerned about the Hells Angels, well, how can we overlook it? It’s a loose end I want to tie off, so we can move on. I’d like to see whether Axe’s claim of no Angels involvement in the murder of Beau’s old client stands up when presented to someone who’s intimately familiar with the bikers and all their works. I know just the guy. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
(Normie)
I was scared to death about the trouble I’d be in after going to the Hells Angels’ house. I wanted to solve the mystery and prove to my mum and dad I was smart and not crazy. Plus, if they thought I was dead or I ran away, they would feel guilty. And it would serve them right!
But afterwards, I found out they were really upset when they learned that Jenny and I ran away from the school, and then didn’t come back for the choir concert. It turns out Mummy was crying the whole time, and had to leave the concert. Daddy was worried too and he was ready to kill Father Burke because the school shouldn’t have let me and Jenny get away without the teachers seeing us. Except Jenny wasn’t even supposed to be there on Friday, but she came early to see the concert. When I saw Father Burke singing on the TV, I knew there was something wrong with him.
Then they all must have got together after Axe brought me back and I was put to bed, and talked about the biker visit and about my dreams and the fact that I said I wouldn’t go to any more doctors about them. I know they talked about it because of what they said when Father Burke had dinner with us all the next day. Normally Mum doesn’t discuss private family stuff with other people but this was just Father Burke, so it was okay. He knew everything about us anyway.
Daddy said: “I know you’re really worried about those dreams and the Delaney kids, Normie, and this is working on your mind. The doctors can help you, sweetheart.”
“No, they can’t! And I’m not going to that doctor you guys picked out! There were scary people in there. That guy was going to go after the nurse, and you had to push him down on the floor. He said he’d been going to that doctor for two years, and look how he turned out! She can’t be a very good doctor if she couldn’t cure him. So I’m not going.”
“But some people have very serious problems, Normie, and they can’t be cured right away. That’s not the case with you. You could just talk to her, tell her what’s been happening —”
“I’m not going! I’d rather run away and join the Hells Angels, and I just might do that if you guys don’t stop bugging me!” I didn’t mean to scream, but it ended up that way. Then I started crying.
“Aw, sweetheart,” Daddy said, “we didn’t mean to upset you.” He got up and put his arms around me and gave me a kiss.
“Normie,” Father Burke said, “do you remember my brother Patrick in New York? I know you met so many of my family that you might not be able to keep them all straight!”
“I remember him.” I tried not to sniffle too much. “He’s Deirdre’s dad.”
“Right. You know he’s a doctor.”
“Yeah. He’s really nice.”
“He’s a psychiatrist. Did you know that?”
“I think so.”
“Would you like to talk to him?”
“But he’s not here.”
“I could make him appear.”
“You can do that?”
“I’m his big brother, and a man of God. My wish is his command.”
I could tell he was just kidding. He was always joking about the good old days, saying that in those days priests used to run everybody’s life and things were grand. Mum always told him he was “full of it.” She didn’t say full of what, but I know and I’m not going to say it here. But it was all just a joke, like now.
“We can’t very well expect Patrick —” Mum started to say, but Dad interrupted.
“What are the chances he could get away?”
“Only one way to find out. I’ll give him a ring tonight.”
I thought he would be too busy. Everyone is, in New York. And he was, but only till the next Friday, then he was free. More bad luck for me. A psychiatrist! Coming all the way from New York! He’s really friendly, I remembered that. But I kept thinking: what is he going to do to me? Maybe they thought I was more crazy after the Hells Angels visit than I was before, even though I wanted them to think the other way around. What were they going to do? Maybe lock me away in the mental hospital, and leave me there! I saw this movie where a guy was put in a hospital and tied down to his bed, and they give him electric shocks in his head. Then all these really dangerous people kept coming around him. Now it might be me! Or they might yell at me and make me answer questions! I worried all that Friday in school and kept getting answers wrong in every class. So now the teachers thought there was something wrong with me too! I worried all through supper and hardly ate any of my chowder even though it was my favourite with bits of lobster in it.
That night after I went to bed, there was a knock on my door. I could hardly talk out loud, I was so scared, but I said to come in. It was Dr. Burke! He doesn’t look all that much like Father Burke. He has light-coloured hair and bright blue eyes.
“Hi, Normie. May I come in for a minute?”
“Okay.” I was shaking.
He kind of squatted down a little ways from my bed. “You remember me, don’t you, Normie? From the wedding in New York?” He had a softer voice than Father Burke, but it still sounded a little bit Irish too.
“Yes, you’re Dr. Burke. Deirdre’s dad. I remember how you and Father Burke and your brothers sang for the bride at the wedding party.”
“That’s right. Did you like our singing at the reception?”
“Yeah! You guys all kneeled down and did those old-fashioned songs, and sang from your hearts! I told Daddy I wanted somebody to sing for me like that at my wedding. When I grow up.”
“Why wait? We could give you a song now! Sing you to sleep.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Hold on for two minutes.”
He went out, and down the stairs. Maybe they weren’t going to punish me or lock me up in the mental hospital. He wouldn’t trick me, I didn’t think. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps on the stairs, a knock on the door, and there were four men in my room. If you include my brother Tom, who’s a teenager. So it was Tom, Daddy, and the two Burkes.
“Ready, Normie?” Dr. Burke asked.
“Ready!” I said.
They stood together, put one hand on their hearts and the other hand out to the side, and Father Burke went “one, two, three,” and they started to sing a song called “Goodnight, My Love.” It was a really sweet song. There was something about having no fear. And there was lots of love in it. Tommy had a cheat sheet with the words; the older guys all knew it. Halfway through, they all got down on their knees and continued to sing. It was so great, I asked them to do it again. I got really sleepy and never heard the end of it. But I woke up safe in my own bed.