Face/Mask (3 page)

As those in the crowd who’d bet on the underdog roared their approval, Michael stepped carefully into the ring and grabbed his dog by the back of the neck. Janus was amazed at how quickly he got the muzzle back on, although the dog tried to bite his master’s throat. Obviously the man had been doing this for years, and had the scars on his forearms to prove it.

Once Michael chained the winning dog and dragged it out of the ring, two young men jumped in and picked up Big Sam by his front and rear legs, carrying him off to be dumped Janus knew not where.

Old toothless paid the eighteen hundred he owed, while a steward watched over the exchange to claim the house’s ten percent. Janus’s head was spinning from how quickly things had gone. The part of him that wanted to rush home and take an hour-long shower faded away.
He knew he could enjoy some much needed release here. He and Normand watched six more fights that night, both betting heavily, winning more often than they lost.

Later, in the cab, he told Leblanc that if it would always be this much fun, and if winning would be so easy, he’d definitely be joining him there every week.

Chapter two

Canadian Environment Service Fact-sheet, published October 12, 2027:
Ozone used to be mainly present in the stratosphere, which reaches 30 miles above the Earth. The sun’s rays were absorbed by the ozone in the stratosphere which prevented the harmful rays from reaching the Earth. When found on the surface of the planet, ozone is considered a dangerous pollutant and is one substance responsible for producing the greenhouse effect. The highest regions of the stratosphere used to contain about 90% of all ozone…Since the mid-2020’s an as-yet unquantified percentage of that ozone has been found on the Earth’s surface, causing incalculable damage to wildlife in forests and jungles. The main cause of ozone depletion from the stratosphere is the release of CFCs, or chlorofluorocarbons.

August 28, 2037:

Months went by and Janus joined Leblanc at the dogfights nearly every Friday. He should have been disgusted by the whole experience, but felt that it allowed him to revolt, at least in secret, against his staid existence. With this new outlet to release his frustration it was easier for him to face the daily monotony of his job, and he lost his temper with his family much less often than he used to. The fact that he’d been losing money heavily for most of those months didn’t even bother him; it was just another way for him to show his disdain for the conventions by which he was expected to live.

Maybe his newfound cheerfulness made it easier for Terry to approach him about her idea for an addition to their family. Janus, feeling uncharacteristically generous, had agreed, but it turned out not to be a welcome event.

The addition came in the person of Giuseppe “Joe” Pizzi, Terry’s uncle from Italy. Barely five feet tall and with a fair-sized belly, he was seventy-three years old, but still healthy and active after a lifetime of physical work.

Back when he’d had hair it had been a light brown. That, and his clear blue eyes, indicated that his origins were from the northern part of Italy, just south of the border with Switzerland.

Terry’s father had died when she was five and his older brother, Giuseppe, had stepped in to help raise his “
Principessa Teresa.
” Then, when Terry was 16, her mother decided to move the children to Montreal, where her brothers operated a modest chain of clothing boutiques
.

Terry had recounted to Janus how her Uncle Joe cried when he’d accompanied her family to the airport, and how she felt like she was losing her father for a second time. When her own mother had died of lung cancer many years later she got it into her head that Joe could only be happy if he was reunited with his remaining family in Canada. For five months every com-call and every e-message between Terry and her uncle included several pleas for him to join them in their spacious home.

He finally agreed in the summer of 2037, selling the small piece of land he owned in his native village of Miramare. This was after the third coup in a seven year span had installed yet another military regime in Rome. There was no reason why he should continue living under a permanent state of emergency rule, he told friends, when “
Teresa, la preferita della mia famiglia
,” was willing to sponsor his immigration to Canada.

He’d imagined that Canada was still America’s friendlier neighbour that Europeans had so long heard about.
Well, too bad if we’re not as friendly as he’d expected
, Janus found himself thinking within a few weeks of the old man’s arrival..

He had honestly tried to make Joe feel welcome at first, but Joe’s constant paternalistic interference with every aspect of Janus and Terry’s life quickly soured the relationship. After those first few weeks it was all Janus could do to maintain a cool civility toward him, mostly by spending as little time as possible around the family when Joe was there. His cheerfulness, which had been so welcome in their home, quickly turned to silent brooding and hours spent alone in his home office. Terry complained that Janus was avoiding her and their boys, but he thought she should be grateful to have a peaceful household.

Considering how little Janus had to do with Joe, it came as a surprise to him that the old man was the only one who understood about the dog-fighting, and the huge losses that he was running up on a weekly basis. Joe had been with them three weeks when Janus found himself having an unexpected late night conversation with his houseguest. He never would have considered this newly arrived immigrant and virtual stranger in his home to be someone he would take into his confidence, especially about something so potentially damaging as the dog-fighting. But Joe was there when Janus needed a sympathetic ear.

They had cock-fights in his native village, he told Janus that night; not quite as bloody as dogs, but brutally violent nonetheless. And the betting? Joe knew how important that was; even the losing.

“When you want feel angry at whole world,” he’d said in his thick accent, “you lose even more money. Like you no care. Nothing important. Fuck with everyone, yes?”

Joe was right. That’s what it really was: a big “fuck everyone” to the crappy world they were all trapped in. The more Janus had bet, the more he lost, leading to ever bigger bets in the hope of getting even. After a while, Janus knew his salary wasn’t enough to fund these losses as well as cover the family expenses. But he needed some way to recoup his money.

That was when Leblanc, ever-helpful, had directed Janus toward their host, Michael. The man was more than willing to lend Janus all the money he needed to show up every week and try to win his money back. So Janus had bet more and more, and lost more and more often, until the day he woke up to realize he was fifty-two thousand dollars in debt to the city’s biggest dog breeder. Janus made a good living at a time when the unemployment rate hovered near twelve percent, but he didn’t have fifty-two thousand dollars lying around.

His house was appropriately large for someone in his position, and the mortgage he was carrying matched its size. Add the cost of private school for his three boys and it was a struggle to put money aside for a rainy day. Now he was faced with a deluge, and with interest on his gambling debt going up at an impossible ten percent a month there was no way he’d ever be able to pay it.

Janus needed a source of quick money. With his crushing debt-load getting a loan would have been difficult. Besides, the bank had to report any loan over five thousand dollars, and his superiors would want to know why he needed the money, as would Terry.

Janus sat up late into the night in the living room, drinking a fifth of rum, slowly convincing himself that diverting funds from the employee payroll at work was a viable solution to his problem. Enough alcohol could have convinced him of anything.

He knew that the down-to-the-last-penny municipal auditors would uncover the loss in no time at all, and trace it back to him soon after that. But what other choice did he have? He’d heard that some fighting dogs practised their attacking skills on gamblers who reneged on their bets, so Department auditors were nothing to fear in comparison.

Losing my job and going to jail, or dying a slow nasty death. Some choices!

It was at this point in Janus’s fevered planning that Uncle Joe, still having difficulty falling asleep in his new home, shuffled through the living room on his way to the kitchen to make some warm milk. They were both surprised to find themselves looking into each other’s dimly-lit faces.

“Allen? You do not sleep?”

“I...I guess not, Joe. Did I wake you?”

“No, no. You know I never sleep. You too?”

Janus opened his mouth to answer, but had to shut it quickly to stifle a sob. The old man must have sensed that he was upset, and came to sit on the sofa next to him.

“You are not happy, Allen.”

Janus resisted the impulse to respond sarcastically to the obvious. He knew Joe was trying to comfort him, and his limited English wasn’t his fault.

“I guess not, Joe. No, I’m not happy.”

“You need money, yes?”

Janus was stunned at Joe’s insight. Was there some way the old man could have known? He wanted to ask, but wasn’t ready to admit to his financial straits unless he was sure there was no use keeping it a secret. So he turned and stared wordlessly into Joe’s face, until the latter reached across and slapped him lightly on the back of his hand.

“Is obvious, yes? What make a man not happy? Woman? No. Terry and you love each other very much. This I see. Health? I don’t think. Everybody seem good. Not like living in village with fresh air, but better than
Madame Brière
next door with respirator all the time. So, only money keep man awake when he must go to work early in morning. Yes?”

Janus smiled at Joe’s simple logic and its uncanny accuracy. “Yes,” he answered softly, feeling innately that this man could be trusted.

“How much you need?”

“A lot.”

“I help.”

“No thanks, Joe. I mean really a lot.”

“So, how much is a lot?”

Janus paused. Was he really about to confide in him? He surprised himself by answering Joe’s question.

“Fifty-two. Thousand.”

“Dollars?”

Again Janus stopped himself from responding sarcastically. Surely Joe didn’t think Janus owed fifty-two thousand Neo-Euros, whatever that came out to. But he held back from replying to the man’s compassion with arrogance.

“Yes. About fifty-two thousand dollars.”

“To who you owe so much?”

“I-I’d rather not get into it.”

“Bad people, yes?”

“How...?”

“If not so bad then maybe you tell to me. Maybe you tell to your wife.”

“She...You can never tell her about this.”

“I do not tell to her, Allen.”

“Then again, maybe she has a right to know how much trouble I’m in.”

“Big trouble, yes?”

“Yes, Joe.”

Janus took a deep breath, and in a few short phrases told Joe about betting on the dog-fighting and the losses he’d incurred. He’d needed to get the truth out as much as he needed a source of quick cash.

When he finished Joe nodded solemnly before saying: “I give money to you.”

“What? Where would you come up with that kind of money?”

“What you think, in Italy I live in street? I sell house. I sell car. I sell table and chairs. I come to Canada with only small bag of clothes and my money.”

“How…how much do you have?” Janus hated himself for asking, but at the same time was curious to know just what kind of kitty the old man had.

“A small less than fifty-five. Thousand. Dollars,” Joe finished with a knowing smile.

“I…I couldn’t take it. It’s almost all your money. You need it to start your new life. I couldn’t.”

“
Stupido
! Oh, sorry, sorry. I get angry. But you and Teresa; the children.
This
is my new life. Do I need money to live this life? You give me home here. So, this money I must give to you.”

“Terry would never accept it.”

“Allen! You know you must never speak of this to Teresa. Money is problem of men.”