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Tuesday September 24, 11:30 a.m.
“You look like crap, Donny. What the hell’s wrong?” Tony and I were sitting at what was now starting to feel like “our” table at Tim Hortons. I wouldn’t have made even a mediocre spy; CSIS need only sit and wait for me each day at the coffee shop.
“Hangover. I drank a few last night. I’m drowning in my own lies.” I took a shaky breath. “Allison left me. Last night.”
“Shit!” He bolted upright in his chair, flames in his eyes, passion boiling his blood. I remembered the old Tony, the angry Tony, his long black hair jiggling on his shoulders like menacing snakes.
It was starting to rain outside, and a dark grey pall pressed through the windows. I felt an incredible sadness fill me up. There’s nothing like seeing someone else react to your bad news to make you realize just how bad it really is.
I sat in a trance for a moment, half-listening to Tony’s angry, distressed rant. Then I pulled myself out of it.
“Listen, Tony, we’ve gotta find Steven. I-I’m thinking that we could hire a private detective. Or we could investigate his ... criminal record, or something.” My idea sounded pathetic, even to my ears. I wasn’t equipped for this stuff—too much Magnum P.I. and other bad detective shows during my formative years or something.
Tony, who had suddenly calmed down, looked at me with disgust. “He didn’t have a criminal record, you knob.”
“Well, maybe he has one by now?”
Tony’s mouth curved down in consternation at that one.
Suddenly Reingruber’s reedy voice cut in. He was standing beside our table, his big stomach almost blocking my view of Tony. “You should try Directory Assistance. Hey, I didn’t get a call that we were going to have a meeting this morning. Does Pappas know? I could give him a call.”
Tony was staring at him. “Reingruber, you’re a bloody genius.”
Norbert looked suspiciously at us, scanning us for signs of sarcasm.
Tony shook his head at me. “We’re a couple of idiots, Love. How does anyone find anyone these days? 411. Goddam genius.”
Reingruber was already on his cell phone to Pappas. Apparently, I couldn’t meet one without meeting the other two. It was just like being eleven again. The politics of friendship, I thought cynically.
Tony caught my eye and smiled conspiratorially. “One for all and all for one, man.” I felt a pang of shame that I would immediately interpret what was clearly Reingruber’s act of friendship as some kind of jealous kid trick. It struck me once again that I didn’t want my old friends as much as they seemed to want me. Tony, Reingruber, and Pappas were still buds, and they’d changed together, and they seemed quite willing to add me to their circle. I knew that I was using them. If I hadn’t gotten my life into such a mess, I probably wouldn’t have given them the time of day. Real nice, Donny. You’d make a terrific father, wouldn’t you? Bet you’d teach your child to be an excellent friend to others. I was suddenly afraid to meet Tony’s eyes, and he knew why, I think. That made me feel worse.
So, to compensate, I went into Generalissimo mode. By the time Pappas arrived, we were a well-oiled machine, ready to solve the dilemma at hand. Reingruber had been given the honours, since it had been his idea in the first place. With a face like a six-year-old on Christmas morning, he carefully dialled 411.
“Nothing? What about under a different spelling, like M-a-c-K-? Oh. Are you able to check everywhere, like, in the world? Sorry, this is my first time calling—OK. Thanks anyway.”
Peripherally, I could see everyone at the table sag.
Then Brilliant Idea Number Two came from an unexpected source. Pappas suddenly said, “Wait just a doggone minute. My Auntie Kiki researches our family tree all the time. She’s located a bunch of relatives that we never even knew we had! Shit! I gotta ask her how she does that.” He was on his cellphone in a flash. Auntie Kiki turned out to be a big talker. We heard far more than we wanted to know about Johnny’s dad, the restaurant, his plantar warts, his lack of love life, etc. as he responded to her grilling. But it was all worth it. She was thrilled when she discovered that her nephew wanted to learn the joys of genealogical research.
“Just a little trip to the public library, my friends, and the quest is done,” he proudly announced.
We were all elated. In retrospect, we should have known that nothing is ever that simple. Auntie Kiki should have warned us.
