Flood (10 page)

IN SPITE OF HIS PROMISE and his good intentions, Vinny continued with his “business” until all the cigarettes were gone. “I meant that I'd stop as soon as the present supply ran out,” he explained to Andy. “I couldn't leave them about the place. There will be no more after this, I promise.”

In the days that followed, Andy felt stronger and, most important of all, was happy to be with his dad, who would soon get a proper job, and then their lives would be normal; it was simply a matter of time. When he inspected himself in the bathroom mirror, though it was covered in mildew and the light was small and dim, he saw that the bruises were just about gone from his face. His eyes seemed brighter. But his dark hair, unbrushed and uncombed, was longer and wilder. He didn't look too clean. In Vancouver they'd had three bathrooms with plenty of hot water and shampoo and hair conditioner and body lotion and he could shower whenever he wanted. But here…

There was also the problem of his soiled socks and underwear. He had only the one set and needed extras badly. His mother and Clay were not here to nag him. Dad wouldn't nag him. Dad didn't even seem to care if he went to school. Dad was great.

But it would be useful to own an extra pair of underpants.

They were going out, closing the door behind them, when Vinny remembered something and went back into the room. He grabbed the saucer that sat permanently in the center of the table and poured into it a teaspoonful of raisins from the new packet.

“Why are you doing that?”

“Because it's the first place they look.”

“Who?”

“The Sheehogue, of course. They love raisins. It's their favorite food.”

Andy remembered. How could he have forgotten? His father left food for the Little People. “So they will leave us alone and not pester us with their pishogues,” Vinny explained, surprised that any explanation was needed.

Vinny usually forgot to give him pocket money unless he asked for it, a few dollars at a time. Vinny was on welfare, but most of his money, Andy guessed, came from the stale cigarettes. “You can't take care of me from a prison cell,
Father”
Andy reminded him, in case he had forgotten his promise to find a job.

The end of the second week seemed to come quickly. When Andy looked back on it, he realized how little he'd done. He had been rising late, about the same time as Vinny, breakfasting on tea and a doughnut from the fridge — Vinny seldom ate them — and spending the afternoons, while Vinny was out looking for a job, in empty idleness, sitting out on the creaky fire escape if it wasn't raining, or wandering about the neighborhood, buying himself a chocolate bar if he was hungry. He saw a crowd of kids one afternoon playing, yelling, running in a nearby schoolyard and stood and watched them through the iron railing until the bell summoned them back inside.

He missed his friends in Vancouver.

And his feet itched to kick a soccer ball.

He got an extra key made for the apartment — his father had kept meaning to get it done but always forgot, so Andy took care of it himself.

One morning, just as Andy was leaving the apartment — Vinny hadn't come home the night before, so Andy hadn't slept much — two men, one big, the other small, in black trench coats, came up the stairs and stopped him in the hallway. The small man carried a notebook. The big man was very big and wore sunglasses.

“You're Vinny Flynn's kid, am I right?” asked the small man.

“Maybe I am and maybe I'm not. Who wants to know?” The man, not much taller than himself, reminded Andy of a Chihuahua dog.

“Is Vinny in?”

“No, he's out.”

“Didn't come out the front door,” said the small man. “We been waitin'. You sure he's out?”

“Sure I'm sure.”

The man checked his wristwatch and made a note in his book. “Do you know when he be back?”

“No idea. He's on tour. He coaches the Canadian soccer team.”

“Funny,” said the man. “Tell him Fingers Agostino dropped by. Tell him we be back.”

The big man cracked his knuckles. Fingers nodded at the big man. They turned and swaggered to the stairs. Just as they started down, Fingers tripped, falling into his sidekick, and they both tumbled, cursing and swearing, down the stairs.

“You okay?” Andy called down after them, trying to keep his face straight.

So that was why Vinny used the fire escape: not only the police but the Halifax Mafia were after him. Something else to worry about: those men looked mean.

His father came home just after midnight smelling of the pub. He had been away twenty-eight hours. Andy said nothing about spending a sleepless night of worry and waiting. When he told him about the two men, Vinny shrugged, unconcerned.

“He said to tell you his name, Fingers Agostino.”

“Don't bother your head about Fingers Agostino. He used to be a pickpocket. But now he likes to terrorize good, lawful, hardworking folk like your poor father, but we
Flynns are not so easily intimidated, are we, Andy?” He laughed.

The next afternoon, while Vinny searched for work, Andy was bored with nothing to do. He went out, locking the door behind him, and walked around the shops in the downtown, looking into the faces of the women, hoping to see his mother. He thought he saw her once, in a crowd — something about the tilt of her head and the way she walked — and hurried after her, but it turned out to be someone else, a much younger woman. After a couple of hours his feet were sore. It started to rain, so he dodged into a coffee shop. He helped himself to a mug of hot chocolate at the self-serve bar, and sat at a table near the door where he could keep watch for a break in the weather. The place became crowded with others sheltering from the rain. School was out. A crowd of kids came in. Two high school girls in ski jackets and jeans asked if they could share his table, and without waiting for an answer sat down and began talking and giggling together. They were drinking bottles of pop. One girl had brown hair and glasses, and the other girl's hair was a gingery red. Andy thought again of his friends in Vancouver. Having a best friend was important. He really missed Ben. After a while, the girl with the brown hair turned to Andy and said, “You don't go to St. Dominic's, do you?”

Andy shook his head.

She looked him over. “You're a street kid, right?” Andy didn't understand what she meant, so said nothing.

The two girls stared at him with distaste, sneers on their faces, and then moved their chairs, turning away from him to resume their giggling chatter.

The door of the coffee shop suddenly blew open and a powerful wind toppled coffee cups and whirled napkins into the air. The two girls at Andy's table screamed as their pop exploded out of the bottles and hosed their clothes while, at the same time, the wind tangled their hair and blew their unzipped ski jackets so they flapped wildly. They danced and screamed in terrified confusion, pulling futilely at their jackets. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the wind ceased.

Andy made his way home. The rain had stopped. He had never experienced anything quite like that coffee shop wind before. Halifax weather was certainly quite unpredictably different.

Vinny came home late, smelling of the pub as usual. Andy had stayed awake, waiting for him.

“You find a job, Dad?”

His father sighed. “There isn't one job to be had in the length and breadth of Nova Scotia.” He threw himself into the easy chair. “You should be in bed, my lad.”

“I was just going.” Andy wanted to talk. Alone all day, he had felt cut off; he needed to talk — about anything, it didn't matter what so long as he didn't feel so cut off. “How come the raisins are still always there when we get home?” he asked. “I thought you said raisins are their favorite.”

His father swiveled his head and glanced at the saucer.

“What you see, Andy, is not the same raisins, not at all.”

“What's different about them?”

His father stood. “The Sheehogue have taken what they need, which is the heart or the essence of the raisins. Raisin-ness is all they require, what you might call the life force of the fruit. What they leave wouldn't nourish a fly.” He started for his room. “In fact, if you were to eat them you could sicken and die.”

“Maybe we should leave some on the floor for the cockroaches,” Andy called after him as the bedroom door closed.

“Those men. The ones in the black coats. Did they fall or were they pushed?” asked the Old One.

“What do you think?” giggled a Young One.

“It is not proper to cause hurt unless they wished harm on the boy,” the Old One reminded them patiently.

“We could not admire their attitude,” said one of the others. “Nor did we enjoy those mean schoolgirls. As you sow, so shall you reap.”

“You get what's coming to you,” a Very Young One growled, translating the ancient tongue into American-accented English.

“Which in your case,” said the Old One, “is the first watch. Wake me if anything occurs.”

THE THIRD WEEK PASSED without Vinny finding a job. He stayed out all night again, and got home at noon the next day, bleary-eyed and stinking of cigarettes and liquor. Then he slept till evening and went out again. Andy worried about him.

On the Monday afternoon of the fourth week, Andy looked out the window to see a pale sun emerge from gray clouds and shimmer brightly in the pothole puddles. Vinny got up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and made for the kitchen. Andy heard the clink of a bottle. Then his father returned to his room and dressed.

Andy, now sick and tired of so much freedom every day, and mindful of the two girls in the coffee shop — the looks of disgust on their faces — told his father that he was ready to go shopping for clothes. He was starting to smell. And he was cold most of the time. It seemed bizarre to be telling his father, an adult, what needed to be done, but in some ways, Andy was beginning to realize, Vinny was like a child. Andy would have to be the one to get things started.

“I need a warm jacket,” he told Vinny. “And some socks and shirts and underclothes, that's all. And my own towel. And you need clothes, too, Vinny.”

“Don't I wish I could, but I can't go with you, Andy. I've too much to do. If I give you the money, could you go on your own, d'you think?” He took out a handful of crumpled bills from his pocket.

“No, Vinny, I won't go on my own. You're coming with me whether you like it or not. So get ready and let's go. If you don't, then I'll walk through Dan Noonan's naked and I'll tell everyone you're not taking proper care of me.”

Vinny laughed. “You've the great spirit, Andy, so you have. But you're right. I'm no kind of father to you at all. Naked in Noonan's! Ha! Wouldn't that give them something to talk about!” He threw his arms about Andy enthusiastically and whiskey-stubble-kissed his cheek. “Give me a few minutes to throw something on and we'll go together. We'll get the things you need and then we'll have something to drink down on the waterfront, how would that be?”

Vinny shaved. Andy knew his habits by now: he shaved only once a week, if that, and had to be reminded sometimes to brush his teeth.

They shopped in Eaton's children's department for a warm winter jacket. Andy had been wearing the thin nylon jacket ever since he left the hospital in Vancouver. The new one was a green-and-black parka that came down warmly over his thighs. Vinny's stock of coins and crumpled bills — he didn't seem to use a wallet — grew smaller
as he let Andy pick out whatever else he needed, socks and pants and T-shirts and a pair of comfortable walking boots. Andy said, “I could use an extra blanket, too. A thick one. I get cold at night.”

Vinny carried the new blanket in a bag; Andy wore his new jacket and boots, carrying his other new things in a shopping bag.

“Now it's your turn; let's get you some new cords and a sweater,” said Andy.

“Ah! Not today, Andy darlin'. It's getting late. We'll come another time when I'm more in the mood to try things on.”