JOHNNY SLAUGHT LOOKED up when he heard the kid say, “Put them back? You gotta be kidding.”
He’d noticed the young guy earlier, the kid maybe eighteen or so, wearing a green and black skidoo jacket. It had the head of a big cat on the back. A classic. He remembered maybe selling that jacket to the kid’s dad a few years back. Slaught was pretty sure the old man’s name had been Cooper. Had a short fuse, that Cooper. Guess his kid did too. The security guy and the kid were eye to eye now.
“Sir, I am going to ask you one more time. Return the gloves, they’re the property of Talos.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” the kid said. “I’ve been freezing out here with these crappy things.” He said it like the conversation was over, holding up both his hands to show the thin work gloves they’d all been given. A few of the guys had been complaining about them over coffee break.
Slaught thought maybe the kid was handling it wrong, sounding a bit too cheeky, the security guy starting to look seriously pissed, sort of leaning into the kid, “Those are standard issue work gloves you have, like all the workers. So quit whining. The sooner you’re back to work, the sooner you’re done.”
The kid rolled his eyes. “I’ve been loading truck after truck of your shit for the past two months, all for a lousy food voucher and heating allowance. And as far as I can see, you and your buddies are just fucking the dog. So tell you what, I’ll keep the gloves, and you can have this job, okay?”
Slaught could see the back of the security guy’s head and the kid’s face. The kid’s face was red. Slaught figured it could be the cold or the kid might just be ready to blow a gasket. The security guy was wearing the dark green Talos uniform with an army style parka and the yellow happy face badge on the sleeve. Christ, those badges.
“No. I’ll tell you what, you little shit,” the security guy said, not raising his voice but quickly sounding nasty, surprising Slaught, “put the gloves back in the box or I’ll have you arrested. Then you’ll be doing the same thing without the three squares a day plus that fuel.”
Slaught put down his wrench and moved forward so he could hear better. He looked down the platform to where most of the guys were loading crates onto a waiting truck. The truck was running, coughing out a greasy trail of grey onto the snow, sending the stink of diesel up along the cement platform. Arrested? Slaught figured the guy must be bluffing. Slaught wasn’t even sure Talos actually owned any of the shit they were taking out anyway, also not really sure whether they were a private company or some kind of government agency. What the fuck was Talos anyway? Last month the guy who owned the hardware store in town had told him that Talos had come along with official looking requisition forms, said they had the right to take what they needed and then had proceeded to empty the store. When Slaught heard that he’d moved his snowmachines out of his showroom to his hunt camp, hiding them under tarps and brush. He’d already sold off most of his stock, there’d only been a dozen or so snowmachines left, but sure as shit Talos wasn’t getting them.
Then the kid said, “Arrested, as if,” and kept moving, but the security guy was barking, “This is your last warning, put the gloves back in the crate and get back to work.”
By now several of the guys on the loading dock had stopped working and were watching. More security types were also moving forward. Slaught saw a big man with a pockmarked face approaching, also in uniform but with some sort of extra badges on it. Looked official.
“What seems to be the trouble?” It was the pockmarked guy. He was the kind of guy his ex might have found attractive if his face wasn’t blasted to shit by scars. She wouldn’t have gone for that. The security guy said, “Sir, this civilian has taken Talos property and is refusing to return it.”
“Hey, we have a right to be as warm as the next guy, none of us have proper clothing here,” started the kid by way of explanation, sensing maybe the new guy was important, but the pockmarked guy raised his hand to silence the kid.
“Your name?”
“Darren Cooper.” When the kid said his name he sort of straightened his shoulders, like he was standing to attention or something, the pockmarked guy being the boss. Slaught wondered whether if the guy asked him that same question he’d stand at attention when he said ‘Johnny Slaught’. Not fucking likely.
“Well, Mr. Cooper, I’m Ted Reitman, Talos’s man on the ground here. I’m sure you know how much we at Talos appreciate you volunteering.”
“I didn’t volunteer,” Darren Cooper said. “I was pretty much dragged out of my house.”
Slaught figured the kid wasn’t exaggerating. He’d volunteered himself, but he’d seen those recruiting teams strong-arming more than one guy. Since the government had contracted out civilian security, these Talos guys were passing through all the towns on a regular basis. It was different for Slaught; his wife had walked out on him a few years back, no kids, his business in the shitter, didn’t matter much to him. Help out the Security Services? At the time he thought why not, he was eating hamburger helper solo most nights anyway. He was seeing it a little differently right now though.
Reitman looked pissed. “Cooper, these supplies are going down to the City—there are areas down there that are desperate. You have no idea what it’s like down there.”
The kid laughed. “Hard for people down there? That’s bullshit, what about us?”
“Talos’s priorities are to ensure the rational allocation of resources and oversee public safety. You, Mr. Cooper, are getting in the way of both objectives right now. I would be well within my jurisdiction to haul you off to a security facility. If you want to avoid that, return to your work station.”
“Does rational allocation mean the City gets everything? Is that what you’re telling me, that we don’t count for shit?”
Slaught could see other guys nodding, agreeing with the kid. Things were just getting too hard in the north, lots of people had already left. It hadn’t taken long, started with the weather being way out of whack for a few years, storms, flooding, tornadoes, you name it, everyone was getting whacked with something. Then that long, hard winter that just wouldn’t let go. At the time he thought it was some lame-ass version of global warming. Crops tanked, there were food shortages, Christ, you were paying a fortune for a fucking apple.
But then the following year, there was a blistering hot summer. The government was scrounging power anywhere they could to keep things cool. In the heat of that short summer, there was no rain, and lots of bush burnt all over the north. Everyone started talking about cloud seeding, trying to get rain to the droughts that were all over the fucking place. All the scientists were saying different things, and all the governments were saying different things, and no one seemed to know what the fuck was going on.
So the government started to just let some areas burn, saying they couldn’t afford the fire-fighting costs. Rumour was that if a town didn’t have a school, it was going to burn, because the government thought it just wasn’t worth saving. People had to scramble to get south of the fire zones, and nothing was moving up the highway, no food, no gas, nothing. It was suddenly like they were living in another country.
Then the bridge on the main highway collapsed and that was pretty much it. Never really did rebuild it, just jimmy-rigged it on a temporary basis that became permanent. And the government, facing food shortages and riots in the City, put Talos in charge. Talos was some sort of corporation, had their fingers in a million pies, everything from farming and food processing right through to pharmaceuticals. They owned everything, and nothing went in or out of the north except on Talos’s trucks or buses. Folks said they even owned the highways and roads.
Next thing you know, Talos started centralizing all government services in the southern part of the region. Apparently, most of the provinces were doing the same, pulling out of the rural areas and consolidating their urban areas. And around that time, the Feds brought in the Emergency Measures Act and things started to look a whole lot different.
And then it started to snow.
That was over a year ago and it hadn’t really stopped. It just kept snowing, staying cold all the time, getting a few weeks of warming up but not enough.
That’s all it took, a few years of seriously pisspoor weather and it was all fucked up.
Now, they were shutting down the last of the government service depots. He hadn’t really thought about it, but it was Talos’s trucks that were hauling everything out, goods, people, machinery, everything on that last scrap of rat’s ass highway heading south. Guess Talos was totally in charge now—it was some bullshit.
As if reading his mind, the kid said, “I don’t give a shit about the City, or Talos. Hard to believe, eh? Fuck the City, and fuck Talos.”
“How come,” asked a thin man, talking calm, maybe trying to slow things down a bit, “all of this stuff is going down south anyway? What are we going to do when all the food and supplies are gone?” He was middle-aged, wearing bulky garage coveralls that said ‘Harv’ on the pocket. He had bushy eyebrows along with a drooping mustache and dark hair that fell over his collar in the back.
“This is none of your business,” Reitman said, but a couple of the guys laughed, probably thinking it was pretty rich that he would say it had nothing to do with them when it was their chunk of real estate that was being gutted. That was how Slaught was seeing it anyways.
The same guy in the coveralls said, “Well, it is our business, of course it is, because once everything is gone, we’ll still be here.”
Slaught, for one, was willing to take his chances up here. Talos had offered folks a relocation package, trying to get everyone out, money for moving, six months living expenses and then you were on your own down there. Slaught wasn’t buying it. A couple guys Slaught knew had actually come back up north, saying it was shitsville down there, crowded, no work, line ups for everything.
“Cut the bullshit and give the kid the gloves, come on,” said one of the workers standing near the back of the small crowd that had gathered.
The older guy with the mustache nodded, said, “Why don’t we just hand out the gloves to everyone, so we can all do our jobs better. We’ll load your stinking trucks, you can take more shit away, and everyone will be happy, how about it?”
Another security guard started to move up. Slaught counted four men in uniform plus Reitman.
One of the other guys nearby said, “C’mon, its cold, these things they got us wearing are crap.”
Slaught could feel his own hands, cracked and raw from the cold, bunched into fists and jammed down into his pockets. That guy was right, just hand them out to everybody, why not?
“Gentlemen, last warning. These supplies are the property of Talos and there will be consequences for all of you if this disturbance persists.”
“That’s it,” the kid said, “Fuck you cop wannabees, I’m taking the gloves, plus I’m going home. Just wanted to keep my hands warm by grabbing this four dollar pair of gloves, but screw you buddy, I’m out of here.”
With that the kid turned and headed for the parking lot.
“I can’t allow that,” Reitman said.
The kid was smiling, glad to be finally going home, Slaught was sure he’d been thinking about it long enough, they all had. “What are you going to do,” the kid shouted over his shoulder to Reitman, “shoot me?”
“If I have to.”
The mustache guy said, “Whoa here, I think we just need to step back for a minute and stop with that kind of talk.”
Reitman said, “Back off buddy, I’ve just about had it with you.”
Slaught’s eyes followed Darren, picturing him swinging onto the snowmachine, gunning the engine and pulling out of there, a perfect fuck you to Talos.
The mustache guy persisted, “Maybe you’re over-reacting a bit here, really, it’s just a pair of gloves.”
“Yeah, you want to see over-reacting, keep it up,” and Reitman drew a semi from inside his coat. He held it so everyone could see it, then let his hand drop to his side, just holding it loosely and pointing it downwards, like he was holding a hot dog or something. Christ, Slaught didn’t know these guys were armed.
Everybody on the platform froze. One of the young guys said, “Darren, the guy’s got a gun.” Darren glanced back over his shoulders, sort of gave his head a shake like he couldn’t believe it, and then kept going.
Reitman said, “Mr. Cooper, return the gloves to the crate and get back to work. Now.”
Slaught noticed one of the other security guys drawing his gun. Another one had his hand resting along the edge of the parka, getting ready.
Then someone said, almost as more of a question, like they couldn’t believe what was going on, “It’s just a pair of gloves.”
“Now,” Reitman said quietly.
The kid turned to face Reitman and said, “No, I won’t. I’m outta here,” seeming pretty sure the guy was bluffing. It did seem crazy, shoot someone over a pair of gloves? There was no way. Slaught figured the gloves were made in fucking China anyway.
Cooper moved to the edge of the platform, ready to jump down and head for his snowmachine. Reitman raised his gun and shot the big cat on the back of Cooper’s jacket right between the eyes.
The men on the platform watched Cooper fly forward and hit hard against the hood of his machine. He crumpled up, blood seeping out from below him and running down towards the headlights.
“The fun is over gentlemen,” Reitman said, and then to the security guard closest to him, “Get that guy out of here. And load his machine onto the truck. Hose it down first.”
More incredulous than anything, the guy with the mustache said, “What are you doing? You can’t go around shooting people.”
“This is Talos country, asshole. I just did.”
Slaught noticed the security guy who was trying to pull Cooper off the sled was struggling with the weight. Slaught himself was having a hard time breathing, watching as the security guard resorted to sliding young Darren Cooper face down off the hood and dragging him over the snow by his boots, yelling at one of the other guards to help. A security guard joined him and took hold of one leg, hauling him like that, the sound of the jacket skidding on the hard crust of the snow. He couldn’t believe they were all just standing there, watching. No one was making eye contact, just staring as Darren Cooper went by.
“Now all of you move away from here and get back to loading the truck.”
Slaught picked up his tool kit and slowly walked back inside the warehouse. He was shaking. He could hear the rest of the guys muttering, looking scared but mad too, trying to make sense of what had just happened. A few of them headed into the warehouse to tell some of the other guys working way in the back, everyone saying pretty much the same thing. Un-fuck-ing believable.
Slaught leaned up against the workbench. He was trying to slow down his breathing, think straight. Picturing them all standing there on that hard grey cement, not looking at each other. What the fuck?
He took a look around the warehouse, stacks and stacks of crap still to be loaded. Crates piled high on skids, almost reaching the roof. Quite the operation, there was everything in here anyone would need to get by. In his head he could see Darren Cooper sliding off the hood of his snowmachine. Thinking about why no one had done anything. Then thinking why he hadn’t done anything. Thinking then maybe he would.
It had taken awhile for his hands to stop shaking, but when they did, Slaught headed back out to the platform. In the fifteen minutes or so he’d been in the warehouse thinking about exactly what he could do, most of the guys had gotten back to work. Slaught was thinking that most of them were probably trying to figure out how to get the hell out of there when their shifts ended. He doubted many of them would be coming back.
He noticed the crate of gloves had been moved further down the platform so he headed that way, no one really taking any notice, not seeing the pump action he was carrying down at his side. He couldn’t see Darren Cooper anywhere, Slaught wondering what they were going to do with the body, take it down to the City? Burn it? Return it to Cooper’s girlfriend over at her shack? Were there other bodies? Slaught was beginning to wonder what the fuck Talos was that they could get away with this, and the main guy, bending his head to light a cigarette and waving away the smoke with his hand, was definitely acting like he was getting away with it.
That pissed Slaught off, the guy’s arrogance. And the shrill red smears left from dragging Darren Cooper across the snow, that pissed him off too. He hadn’t known the kid, but Christ, face down in the snow, like a slab of meat, the green eyes of the cat on the back of his jacket just staring up at them, all fierce. It was enough, he guessed, to explain why he was about to plunge himself into some major fucking mayhem.
Slaught felt the metal of the gun bumping against his leg, reminding him it was there. He took a deep breath, and reaching the boxes, slid the crowbar off the top of the crate and with his free hand pried open the lid. The screws squealed in the cold as the lid popped up. A security officer standing at the side of the truck glanced up, and then Reitman turned to look.
Grabbing a pair of gloves, Slaught said, “I think these are mine.”
Reitman rolled his eyes, looked to the security guy beside him and said, “Deal with this asshole, in fact shoot anyone you want, just leave enough to load the truck. I’m sick of this bullshit, I have a schedule, and I have clients waiting for their merchandise.”
“Sorry buddy, shop’s closed,” Slaught said evenly, pulling up the pump action up and pointing it down at the guy’s head, almost seeing himself doing it, like he was in a movie, playing a role. He hoped it had a fucking happy ending. “Just toss your semi on the ground—all of you. And then get your boys to start unloading these trucks. I think we’ll be needing some of this stuff.”
The men were all looking now. Slaught said, “Nice eh?” holding the gun up a bit higher so they could see it, “There’s a whack of them at the south end of the warehouse. If you want one, I’d get it now, there could be a fire sale on this shit,” and then to Reitman, “Are you going to listen to me or you gonna stand there waiting for me to add another crater to your face?” thinking as he said it that he was sounding a bit like he belonged in a schoolyard.
“Nobody move,” Reitman snapped. He was trying to stay calm looking, but he was facing a pump action and a couple of other guys were muttering ‘Fucking A’ and heading for the warehouse. Reitman turned to Slaught, “What’s your name?”
“Frosty the Snowman, now get your ass in gear.” Slaught was gesturing with the end of his gun to all the crates now stacked at the end of the loading dock, “All this stuff? Right back here where it belongs. Then get going and don’t ever come back.”
Reitman took a minute, tossed his cigarette down in the snow, a brief faint sizzle in the dead silence as everyone watched it extinguish itself, then said, “There is no way that is going to happen. You’re making a big mistake.”
“Yeah, well, my ex-wife said I’ve been making mistakes all my life,” said Slaught, “one more isn’t going to make much difference. So toss your weapons and start giving back all the shit that you’re stealing from us.”
“Men, hold your ground,” he said, and then to Slaught, “You are in way over your head.”
“The only thing I’ve ever shot before now was a black bear climbing in through my basement window to get at my chokecherry wine. I didn’t know jackshit about shooting a man before today, but I just got a first rate education from you.”
“Don’t do this.”
“Too late pizzaface.”
The man half turned, moving as if he was lowering his weapon, then brought it up fast. Slaught fired, spinning the guy around, thinking that the recoil on the pump action was tougher than he thought it would be. Thinking too that he hadn’t really planned this whole thing out, and his heart was pounding hard and fast, but other than that he was feeling pretty good, surprised it was so easy. He’d have to think about that later when he had some time.
There was silence for a few seconds as everyone watched Reitman fall. The snow gave underneath his weight, crumbling to outline his body that was now lying across the path, open-mouthed, eyes staring upwards. Slaught had his gun on the security guard who was standing over the body of Reitman, looking surprised more than anything.
Finally the man with the mustache said, “Okay, now what?”
“Now we take charge,” the kid standing beside him said. He was a bit stockier and with close cropped hair, but definitely the guy’s young lad.
“That’s right,” Slaught said. “First job is for you Talos boys to put down your guns and get over against this wall. Come on, move it.” And then to the man with the mustache he asked, “Who are you?”
“Harvey Larose. From V-Town.”
“Well Harvey, think you could empty them crates out, we gotta send these young men home in style.”
Larose shrugged, so Slaught tossed him a pair of gloves from the crate. Slaught could see his hands were shaking a bit too. A couple of young guys moved up to help. Some of the other young ones already had guns. Slaught asked Larose’s young fella if he and his buddies could round up the guards and their weapons and keep an eye on them till everything was ready. Sure as shit they could.
“Hey, you sure you know what you’re doing?”
It was the big native guy asking, the one who was always going on about war and history at lunchtime, had a long braid hanging down his back. One day at lunch he’d explained that he was an Algonquin, said that his people had lived in this area for over six thousand years. Six thousand years, he’d said, think about that. One of the young guys had said, shit, that’s older than Jesus, and the Algonquin guy had just said, “That’s right, and dollars to donuts we’ll be here for another six thousand years, makes no difference to us what you white guys do.” Then the young guy asked him what he was doing there, why wasn’t he on the rez, and he’d said “Trying to get you people the hell off our territory once and for all, that’s what.” Slaught put him in his early thirties, a few years younger than himself. Few inches taller too, big enough fella. He was standing with a Remington resting in his crossed arms, looking pretty comfortable with the thing. Slaught could tell the guy was sizing him up.
Slaught answered, “I’m beginning to get some idea, yeah.”
“Your name?”
“Chumboy Commando.”
Slaught gestured to the crumpled up body of the security boss down in the snow. “Okay then Chumboy, if you want to lend a hand, could you put him in the passenger seat?”
“How come I gotta handle the dead white guy? “
Slaught wasn’t sure if Chumboy was just giving him the gears so he didn’t say anything. Chumboy said, “Well, at least give me some of those precious gloves for the job, I’m not getting blood all over these mitts, my Auntie made them for me.” Slaught looked as Chumboy thrust out his hands, showing him a pair of red, purple and black knitted mitts, saying, “Maybe she’ll make you a pair, you’re a regular Dirty Harry, and my Auntie loves Clint.”
Larose said the crates were ready. Two young guys moved the guards up onto the truck and one of the other men on the platform grabbed a hammer and some nails saying he wanted to make sure they were tucked in nice and comfy. Chumboy said it was turning into a fine community project.
The security guard looked wrecked as he climbed into the driver seat. Slaught asked, “You okay to drive?” and the guy just nodded, pale eyes rimmed red and watery. Slaught said, “You’ll be alright. You got enough fuel to make it to North Bay. Now don’t be coming back here and doing anything stupid, understand?”
He slammed the door shut and the men stood watching as the truck moved off slowly, getting some traction and then headed off down the snow-packed road.
Chumboy asked, “What’s the plan Frosty?”
“We figure out a way to bury Cooper.”
Chumboy nodded, said that was fine, but he meant something a little longer term.
“Thinking of heading down to the old Fraser Hotel.”
Chumboy raised his eyebrows, “In Cobalt?”
“That’s right, it’s the old home patch, and I’ve been thinking after what’s happened here today, some of us could use a beer.”
“Hate to break it to you, but everyone’s gotten the hell out of Dodge. Talos has been through these towns like a pack of hoover vacuums, went in there with their buses and transports and hauled everyone and everything away. Old Cobie Town was one of the first to be evacuated as far as I can recall, which means they’ve already cleaned that one out.”
Slaught shook his head. “One of the security guys told me Cobalt was just a shithole, said they didn’t even bother going through the town ’cause there was nothing there worth taking, said they weren’t stopping until they got to North Bay. They’ve already pulled all their security off the Highway 11 corridor. Guess the liquor store wasn’t on their radar. I say we head on down there, have ourselves a few rounds, check into the vacated Fraser hotel, and make ourselves a plan.”
Chumboy asked, “What’s your name?”
“Johnny Slaught.”
“Well Johnny Slaught, first round’s on you.”