When I finally get the van started (the O’Toolemobile is not exactly an Aston Martin), I drive west, then south to Lake Shore. It’s not far, really. The Fifteenth Street Posse hangs at a gym on guess which street? I drove by it once with Jer when Bun was on trial.
The closer I get, the sketchier things seem: empty storefronts, a Goodwill, a muffler-repair shop, corner variety stores. I turn down Fifteenth Street. There’s a Domino’s pizza place with a sagging Christmas wreath. Next to it is the gym, a brick box with no doors or windows to the street. It’s been tagged all over, including with a striped 15. I pass an alleyway on the far side. A police cruiser is slowly rolling up it. There must be a door down there somewhere. I pull over beside a sign that says SCHOOL CROSSING 30 km. Ahead, the street is lined with matchbox-sized houses, their roof lines as saggy as the Christmas wreath. Then come a couple of low-rise apartment buildings. A few balconies are strung with Christmas lights or stars. Some are still lit. They flap and flicker in the breeze, as if they’re about to be blown out. Beyond that is the lake, gray as the pavement and sky.
I don’t get out. Maybe it’s the neighborhood, or the cops, or just the gritty light, but this feels like every gangster movie I’ve ever seen. The Posse was one of the gangs chasing AmberLea and me last summer. Even if they liked Bunny, they won’t be happy to see me. Oh, man. What would Bond do? Well, he wouldn’t wimp out. On the other hand, he’s a killing machine with a Walther PPK. I have my glasses and a wooly yellow-and-blue hat with tie strings that I left at home.
Bond might take time out to have a martini and make a plan though. It’s too early for martinis, and I’ve never had one anyway, but I could go back to the Tim Hortons I passed a ways back, have a coffee and make my own plan before I walk down that alley. The police car rolls by. One of the cops gives me a long stare that makes me feel guilty. I swing the van around and head back to Tim’s.
Inside Tim’s, before my glasses fog up, I see that it’s practically dead. I wipe my lenses while I order a triple-triple. I don’t like the taste of coffee much, but it’s manlier than hot chocolate and a whipped-cream mustache. By the time the girl behind the counter brings it to me, I can see again. I’m glad I can: she’s a total babe, even in a hairnet and a frumpy, brown Tim’s outfit. I’ve seen her before: in the visitors’ room at Creekside. She was there, wearing a green dress, one day we went to visit Bun. She was holding Bunny’s hand when we came in.
“Geez, Bun,” I’d said later.
“Yeah, I know.” He’d kind of grinned.
“Hey,” I blurt out now, “Jade, right?” This could save me a trip to the gym.
“Jane.” Her face goes blank and she points to her name tag.
“You know my brother.”
She gives me a cold look Roz would probably appreciate. I’m too excited to care. This is the first break I’ve had. “No,” I say, “you do. Bunny. Bunny O’Toole, remember? We met you one day this fall.”
She turns away.
“Wait, Jade—Jane. Have you seen him? We were skating last night and he just, like, vanished, and I have to find him before—”
She swaps coffeepots around. “Right. If you’re his brother—”
“Yeah. Spencer,” I say.
“Uh-huh. If you’re his brother, you know he’s away.” She turns back. “Next, please.”
I wait till she finishes the next order, then plead from beside the donut display, “No, he’s not away right now. He’s home for ten days on this program, and he has to report in, but he’s gone. He texted me, but I have to find him before he gets in trouble. I thought he might be here.”
She stares at me. Then her face softens, and she smiles a little. “Okay, I remember now. You’re Buffalo Boy. Your mom didn’t like me much that day.”
“Well—”
“Just sayin’. Anyway, Bunny hasn’t been here.”
“What about the gym?”
“No. I’d have heard. Too hot around there anyway.”
A chunky lady with a supervisor’s badge hustles past behind the counter. “We need fresh on five and six, Jane.”
“On it.” Jade or Jane looks at me and shrugs. “Sorry.”
“No problem.” I pick up my triple-triple, then put it down again and grab a napkin. I’ve got a pen in a pocket somewhere. “Listen, can I just give you my number? Could you call if you see him?” She nods and I scribble my number on the napkin and pass it to her.
As I turn to go, she says, “If he texted you, can you check the GPS on his phone?”
“Hey,” I say, “I never thought of that.”
“Jane!” From the supervisor.
“Thanks!” I call. She’s already gone.
The first notes of The Good, the Bad buzz from my pocket. I put down my cream and sugar with coffee again and check my phone. It’s a text from a number I don’t recognize. I’d better look, just in case. Maybe Bun’s borrowed a phone. What I read is, we got buny trade 4 musik w8 4 contact SPCA.
I think it’s time to call Deb.