“Malabarista.” Mladen studied Lane’s reaction.
“Malabarista?”
“He was trained in Spain at a school for jugglers. Over there he was called a malabarista.” Leo looked at Mladen to see if he’d said too much. Mladen allowed no visible reaction.
“Before or after the accident?” Lane pointed at Mladen’s artificial leg.
“No accident,” Mladen said.
“He lost it in a war.” Leo shifted in his chair. “How come you’re asking us about this Andelko guy?”
“I was told that Andelko was afraid of a juggler who works at Eau Claire, so I came to take a look around.” Lane watched Mladen.
“Malabarista.” Mladen smiled.
“So,” Leo said, “who sent you after two dangerous one-legged street performers?”
Quick, before this becomes one big joke! “The victim may have gone by another name: Borislav Goran.”
Mladen’s face went white. His shoulders and head sagged. “Pinche bastard!”
Lane, stunned by the reaction, leaned back in his chair.
“Pinche pendejo!” Mladen said.
“Who was Goran?” Lane asked.
“Murderer! Rapist! Laughing! Laughing! All the time laughing! Él mató a mi padre! Drunken pig!” Mladen stood, lifted the table with its umbrella, and threw it over Lane and Leo’s heads, showering them with what remained of the coffee, then picked up his bag and unicycle and stomped away.
Leo looked at Lane after they got untangled from the table, chairs, and umbrella. “Man, you sure know how to screw up a beautiful day.”
Lane picked up his spilled coffee cup. “Last name?”
“What?” Leo picked up his crutch.
“Mladen’s last name?” Lane tossed the cup into a nearby garbage can.
Leo shook his head. “Why?”
“Because this isn’t over.”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” Leo tucked the crutch under his arm.
Lane waited.
“Asshole.” Leo turned his back and walked away.
“You okay?” Matt asked.
Lane turned.
“We came to take a look around,” Christine said.
“And keep an eye on you,” Arthur said with a smile.
“We should have brought you a change of clothes,” Matt said.
“Join us for a cup of coffee?” Arthur asked.
Matt and Christine righted the table.
Unaccountably, Lane found himself on the verge of tears.
“You never said why those street performers acted the way they did.” Christine stood next to the closet across from the front door.
Lane caught the scent of strawberries and noticed Christine’s hair braided at the back of her neck and her low-cut white T-shirt and lipstick. “Where are you off to?”
She eased past him. “I’m gonna meet some friends from school. A couple of them have the same class with me in the fall. Now answer my question.”
“I asked him something that made him angry,” Lane said.
“Whatever.” Christine shook her head and shut the door behind her.
Lane kicked his shoes off and stepped into the kitchen. Arthur was in the backyard with Roz. Both were digging in separate flowerbeds.
Lane went upstairs to change clothes, then downstairs to throw his coffee-stained shirt, pants, and socks in the wash. Matt’s room was across from the laundry room. He could hear snoring through the closed door.
The phone rang after Lane turned on the washing machine. He ran upstairs, searched the kitchen for his cell phone, and found it where he’d left it, under the newspaper. “Hello.”
“Colin Weaver here. I have some updates on the remains of Andelko Branimir.”
Lane thought he heard some emotion breaking through Fibre’s usual monotone. You’ve become a man of surprises, Lane thought. “Go ahead.”
“A fractured skull and the resultant blunt force trauma to the brain is the most likely cause of death. After we measured the remains, we found that the height matched that of Branimir. And we will try a computer-generated image of the victim’s face to see if it matches the picture on the driver’s license. So far, that’s what we have.” Fibre waited.
“You’re being very thorough with this one,” Lane said.
“I like to be exact.” Fibre hung up.
Lane leaned his head back on the couch and listened to the hum of the washing machine and Matt’s snoring.
Lane closed his eyes. I feel like a nap.
“Uncle?” Matt asked.
Lane opened his eyes. Matt was leaning over him and shaking his shoulder.
“After I get home from work tomorrow, can we take the dog for a walk down by the river?”
“What time is it?” Lane asked.
“After seven. Uncle Arthur saved some supper for you.” Matt turned and went upstairs. Lane followed. He found Arthur asleep in the living room armchair.
Dinner was on a plate wrapped in tinfoil in the oven. The chicken, rice, and corn were still edible, but Lane found he’d lost his ability to taste or enjoy food.
After supper, he scraped most of the food into the garbage and put the dishes into the dishwasher. Might just as well go to bed, he thought. Just then, he heard a key in the lock of the back door. The hinges creaked as the door opened. Christine stepped inside. There was a red mark under her left eye. The eye was well on its way to becoming swollen shut.
“What happened to you?” Lane moved closer to her.
“Nothin’.” She looked at the floor. She was favouring her right arm.
“I’ll get some ice.”
“I just want to go to my room.” Christine tried to push past him.
“After we get some ice on the eye and I take a look at your arm.” He hugged her close when she began to cry.
“I told you I don’t want to be here! I’m fine!” Christine turned to Lane. They sat side by side at the Foothills Medical Centre Emergency waiting room.
“We’ll get you checked out, just to be on the safe side. And after it’s documented, I’ll find out who did this, and I’ll hunt him down.”
“Look, he was drunk. I told him I didn’t want to ride home with him. He grabbed me by the arm, I told him to let go, then he hit me in the face.” Christine took the bag of ice away from her face and gingerly touched the skin around her eye. “I keep telling you it’s taken care of.”
A woman’s voice reached out to the entire room full of waiting people. “I still don’t understand how you could go out for a cup of coffee with friends and end up getting drunk and being assaulted!”
Lane and Christine turned to witness the drama, just like everyone else.
The mother was just over five feet and weighed maybe one hundred and forty pounds. The son was over six feet. His brown hair was frosted, and he wore a tight mauve T-shirt. The front of his shirt was stained with blood. He was using crutches. There were stitches in his lower lip, which was swollen to at least three times its normal size. “I told you,” he said. “I fell down, hit my face on a curb, and then Rob drove me to the hospital.”
Christine developed a sudden interest in looking at her toes and holding the bag of ice against her nose.
“Don’t lie to me! I can tell when you’re lying to me!” the mother said.
The son looked around the waiting room as if checking to see if he knew anyone. His eyes focused on Christine. He halted.
Lane felt emotion toss good judgment aside. He stood. Christine grabbed his arm. The mother and son went out the sliding glass doors. Lane broke Christine’s grip. He followed the mother and son outside.
“What’s your name?” Lane waited for the pair to turn around.
“What’s it to you?” the son asked.
“Christine is my niece. You assaulted her!” Lane stepped closer.
The son looked over Lane’s shoulder and spotted Christine. “She did this to me!” He looked pleadingly at his mother.