— I know, Mom. I know what I am. Lee told me.
When at last she spoke there was a tremor in her voice: You don’t know anything.
— Yes, I do. I do. But it’s not your fault. How can it be?
— … Peter … Oh Jesus. Would you just come home?
— I can’t do that yet. I can’t. I’ll call you tomorrow.
The call ended.
He passed Caroline as he was coming out of the office. Caroline said his name. She looked like she was weighing her words.
— Are you good to work Christmas Eve?
— Yeah.
— Noon till close. Maybe eleven or midnight, depending.
— Okay.
— Good.
They were busy for the next hour. When finally there was a lull, Duane ambled over, drawing tobacco out of his chew tin.
— Do you want some of this?
— Have I ever? said Pete.
But he took a pinch of tobacco out of the tin. He saw Duane’s eyebrows lift under his toque. Pete tucked the chew behind his lip. The flavour of burnt cherry was not unpleasant but instantly his head was spinning like it would lift off his shoulders. His mouth filled with juices. Duane offered a Styrofoam cup for him to spit into. Pete tried to hold his head steady.
— Don’t whatever you do swallow it, said Duane. Let it do its work for you. Anyway, man, your face.
There were fresh bruises on Pete’s face from the night before. His ear was a little swollen. Nobody had said anything yet.
— I fell down the stairs.
— Look, if you got trouble with anybody, don’t be too proud, right? Let me know.
Pete spat again. All the colours and sounds were too vivid.
— Thanks.
— Don’t be too proud, Pete.
Over the next two days, he made himself somewhat comfortable at the Shamrock. Down in the tavern the food was not bad. He ordered a steak. He ordered a beer as well but the barman just laughed and poured him a ginger ale. Pete sat eating his steak. The only Christmas decoration in the tavern was a plastic Santa Claus in the corner. There were six or seven other people at the bar or at tables, keeping to themselves, smoking. There was an older woman who reminded him of a thinner version of Lee’s lady friend, with the red-painted lips and big hair, and Pete wondered what it would be like to take her up to his room and do things with her.
In the late evening he watched the television until he fell asleep. It was the only thing that could really dull his thoughts.
On Monday morning Pete stood in the shower before he went to work. Parts of his head and face still hurt. His work clothes were piled on the vanity. They’d need to be laundered soon. Somebody came into the bathroom and used the urinal and went back out. Pete didn’t give that much thought until he’d dried off and dressed and was heading downstairs to pay the clerk for another night. He discovered his wallet wasn’t in his pocket. He went back up and checked the room, checked the few possessions he had with him. His wallet wasn’t up there either.
He found that fury and helplessness were almost indistinguishable. All the more so for the desk clerk’s impassivity.
— Did you get a look at the guy through the shower curtain? So should I call the cops to just turn the whole place upside down? I feel for you, kid, but what do you want me to do?
— God fucking dammit, said Pete. All the cash I had was in my wallet.
At least he still had his car key. He sat in his car in the small lot next to the hotel. He felt like crying.
At lunch, Caroline sat at her desk. Pete stood across from her. Caroline nodded slowly. She said: Well, I can’t say I’m real surprised. But can we talk about it again after New Year’s? Fix a date then?
— Yeah, said Pete. We can do that.
— You work hard, Pete. It’ll be a shame.
She made motions to signify that their business was concluded, but he stayed.
— Was there something else, Pete?
— I just wondered if I could use the phone for a second.
— Yeah, of course you can.
She left him to it. He called home and was mildly surprised that it was Barry who answered.
— Peter?
— Hi, Barry.
— Peter, it’s good to hear your voice. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I thought about Colossians, and how it says if anyone has a quarrel against anyone else, as Christ forgave so should we. I’ve been thinking about that.
— Oh yeah?
— There’s an open door here for you, Brother Pete. You know that. Your mother-
— Barry, I know. Look. I’ll be home tonight.
He’d been out on one of his town walkabouts. He’d stopped at the Brewers’ Retail and picked up a case of beer and he’d bought smokes as well and had come up the stairs with the beer under his arm. He put his key into the lock only to find his door already open.
Gilmore was sitting on the corner of the pullout, watching the television. He looked up, smiled.
— Lee. Don’t block up the doorway, pal.
Lee heard his toilet flushing. Maurice came out of the bathroom. Lee took measured steps into the kitchenette. He set the beer on the counter.
— How did you get in here?
— You left your door unlocked, said Maurice. You don’t remember?
Lee closed the door.
— Did the landlord see you?
— That old slant? said Maurice. He didn’t see nothing. And yeah, I could drink a beer.
Lee took a beer out of the box and gave it to Maurice. Maurice took it and prised up the ring-tab with his finger. The sound of the can opening was clear even over the TV. Maurice drank and Lee watched his throat move.
Lee tried to be casual. He went over and took hold of the swivel chair at the window. He moved it forward as if he might sit across from Gilmore-but he didn’t sit, not yet.
— I get the feeling you didn’t just come to say hello.
— The time’s come, Lee, said Gilmore.
— What time?
— We talked about opportunities.
— I told you.
— Sure you did. But it’s in your voice, Lee. In the way you say it. I can hear it as plain as anything. Look around. You think you fit?
— Are you making rent this month? said Maurice.
— What business is it of yours?
Gilmore leaned forward, elbows on his knees: We’re your friends, Lee. We’re the people who know what a solid guy you are.
Lee squeezed his hands together. He breathed: So what is it? What are you talking about?
Gilmore leaned back. He smiled at Maurice, Maurice who was looking at Lee. And Gilmore told him what the business was. Not the specifics, but enough.
He did not say which bank it was exactly. Not how they’d studied it, but how long they had studied it, which was several months. Watching, waiting. It would be done overnight. No requirement, he said, for ugliness. No requirement to stick hardware in anybody’s face. No requirement to rush the job. He spoke of all the cash being turned around this time of year, laid up in deposits from stores. When? Christmas Eve. The day after is a holiday. Won’t anybody have an idea about it till we’ve been and gone. Forty-eight hours will have passed.
— Jesus, said Lee. I have no idea about any of this. I was never a bank man.
— And you don’t need to be. All you’ve got to be is the six. All you’ve got to do is keep your eyes open and keep your cool. What you’re good at. We’ll do the heavy lifting.
The take would be more and more than enough. There’d be no requirement for ugliness. And you will eat the labour of your hands.
— Why? said Lee. Why now?
— Because the time has come. I’ve been sitting on my ass in this town since March and now the time has come. One night of work. That’s all.
— And what, you just came around thinking I’d agree?
— You already agreed, Lee. You’ve been in agreement for a long time. All the time you spend walking the streets. Doing nothing for anybody. What that is, is you throwing your lot in. You know it.