Part 5 (1/2)
”Stickman?”
”Yeah.”
”He's here?”
Danny indicated the door.
”Outside?” Tigh demanded and got a solemn nod.
”Wants to talk,” Danny reported.
Boomer watched Tigh stew where he sat for a moment. ”Does he know who... wait. No. He knows s.h.i.+t. He wouldn't be here if he knew anything. He's just curious, is all.” Tigh leaned in, chewing mightily on the pizza in his hand. He devoured the last of the food in three big, dog-like snaps. He took a sip of beer. Danny waited. Boomer waited. None of them cared for Badger's enforcer. The Stickman was simply bad meat in the sun.
”Aw, f.u.c.kit! Send the boy in,” Tigh said, slap wiping his hands. ”Let's have a chat. Period's over now, anyway. h.e.l.l, maybe I'll ask him to work on Wednesday.”
The bouncers exchanged looks, and Tigh laughed out loud.
The Stickman was getting into Suzie's act, wondering where she got her music, when he heard the laugh from inside the door. It was loud and hoa.r.s.e, and sounded like someone had a throat full of snot. Then the sound was gone, drowned out by the techno. The laugh made him lose all interest in Suzie. A scowl cut across Stickman's features. He slowly turned to glare at the door closed to him. What the f.u.c.k was so funny? If it was so G.o.dd.a.m.n funny, why wasn't he in on the joke? Were they laughing at him? Were they laughing at Badger lying near death in the f.u.c.king hospital? Stickman ground his jaw, and a vein popped into view on his forehead. They aren't laughing now, he noted, and the image of men behind the door grinning impishly formed in his mind. They knew he was out here, so what was so G.o.dd.a.m.n funny? Christ that bothered him. It set his nerves on edge when he heard someone laughing, and he didn't know if he was the brunt of the joke or not. Heat flowed into his cheeks. He remembered laughs like that from when he was in prison. Even when he was in high school, when his breath stunk because he never brought a toothbrush and his body reeked of sweat because there weren't any showers for the teenage boys after a punis.h.i.+ng PE cla.s.s. There were never any showers back then, and he had never had the common sense to bring any deodorant. That embarra.s.sment, especially when he was reminded of his teenage weakness, was always quick to turn into anger. Raw and red and ready to get b.l.o.o.d.y if need be.
He focused on the door, ears tuning out the techno, concentration on full blast, searching, probing for an echo of the laughter he just heard. Stickman waited.
A song ended. Loonies and toonies pelted the stage. Suzie left the stage as fast as possible, letting Lou, the money man, come onto the stage to collect it all. She did not look in the Stickman's direction. That was all she needed. A surge of relief flowed through Suzie's frame as she got out of sight. G.o.d, how this job attracted the weird ones!
When the door opened and Danny leaned out, he was surprised to see the little s.h.i.+t not two feet from the threshold, grinning at him.
”Ev'ryting ok?” Stickman asked.
There was something greasy in the man's smile. It made Danny hesitate.
”'Kay?” Stickman asked again. It was the same face the Stickman wore before he snapped Burr's neck in the shower, G.o.dd.a.m.n the man's f.u.c.king soul.
Danny nodded and motioned for the man to enter, stepping aside as he did. His senses were alert now. He would be standing just to the side of this little snake. Just in case. He put his own ”everything's cool” sleepy look on, as if he only gotten an hour's worth the night before. If the Stickman tried anything remotely brutish in there, he'd find his Newf a.s.s sailing through f.u.c.king s.p.a.ce and time.
”Tanks, buddy,” Stickman grinned friendly enough and carefully stepped around the larger man, his hand at his sides, in plain sight. Nice and smooth. Nothing hidden. But Stickman was thinking only of the training Ninja Bill had given him, and the way a finger strike to a throat could f.u.c.k a man up, if not kill him.
Once inside, he took a quick look around. Mr. Tigh had a nice little place. He nodded respectfully to both Tigh and Boomer, and saw the TV.
”Who's playin'?” he asked in a tone that almost convinced Boomer that the man could've been an actor.
”Edmonton and Boston,” Tigh reported, sucking in his breath. ”Boston's ahead by one.”
”Ah, good,” the Stickman said.
”Don't like the Oilers?”
”Can't stand 'em. Gets on me nerves. Likes d'Predators, meself.”
”Nashville?” Tigh actually smiled. ”Why in h.e.l.l you like those guys? You like the underdog or something? They import their ice you know.”
”Likes the name,” Stickman answered. ”Tons maggot.”
Boomer arched an eyebrow. Tigh himself did not know what the man meant. Danny completed closing the door the barest of clicks and put his back to it. Boomer leaned back in his chair, cool as black ice on a highway. His eyes flicked back and forth between the set and the Stickman.
”So,” Tigh began, ”what can I do for you, my little Newf?”
”Y' knows I's from the Rock?”
Tigh smiled coolly. ”No one speaks English quite like the Newfies.”
”I didn't know they spoke English out there,” Boomer threw in and chuckled. Tigh snorted a laugh. Danny tensed for war.
But the Stickman only grinned. ”Sounds like sometin', eh? I knows. 'Ave trouble understandin' meself sometimes.”
Tigh nodded. The man was alright so far. ”Well, you got a long wait for your Predators to get to the cup. h.e.l.l, if you told me there would one day be a hockey team in f.u.c.king Nashville of all places, I would have blown my gut from laughing. Right up there with purple elephants and pygmies in the NBA.”
”And Newfs that speak English,” Boomer threw in with an impish smile at Tigh. Tigh shook his head at the bouncer. Boomer could get on a roll at times. He didn't want to laugh anymore in front of the Newf. The man might start taking things personally. But a smile leaked out all the same.
Apparently not caring anyway, the Stickman only grinned wider. ”That's a good one. Mr. Tigh, I really don't want to take up too much of yer time. Youse look busy,” he gestured to the pizza. ”I just wanted to know if'n ye heard anyting about Badger. Ee's in the hospital, y'know?”
Tigh did not hesitate. ”Yeah, I know. Word gets around. d.a.m.n shame, too. Badger was a good head. Thick sometimes but a good head.”
”Gave good head, too,” Boomer stated with a sly look at his boss.
The Stickman chuckled and shook his head. Boomer felt uneasy. There was something he just did not f.u.c.king like about this little b.a.s.t.a.r.d. ”Youse knows about dat, does yas?” he said, mocking the Newfoundlander's accent. ”Tree udder tings, too.”
The Stickman's hands came up in surrender, apparently not offended in the least. His smile widened, and he winked at Boomer. The bouncer ignored him.
From behind uninterested eyes, klaxons were ringing. Danny did not think Gary was going to reveal anything, but already he informed the Stick about knowing Badger was in the hospital.
Stickman pressed on. ”Did ye 'appen to 'ear who did it?”
Tigh's face hardened for a moment. ”I'm not going to bulls.h.i.+t you, Stickman. I never do, understand? That's why my boss likes me so much. I tell it like it is. And how it will be ... everything being square and equal-like. You know what I'm saying here?”
His features soft and smiling, Stickman nodded his head ever so gentle-like, to show that he did so indeed understand. His hands went behind his back. Danny watched him clasp his hands together. In yin to the Stickman's yang, Danny let his own hands dangle at his sides. Just in case.
”Listen. I ordered the touchup on Badge,” Tigh announced, speaking with his hands again and posturing them at his visitor as if he were trying to make him magically disappear. But the Stickman remained where he was and merely nodded his understanding again. His eyes blinked to the TV and back again to Tigh, his attention suddenly full of the lieutenant of Halifax's underworld.
”Badger was skimming on me, and I found out. You can believe I was surprised. I liked Badger. Still do. He's a good head like I said. But ...” he let the word tick in the air for several seconds, and the Stickman counted every one, ”he was taking a little more from me than he was ent.i.tled to. And he was makin' his own private sales on the side. Admittedly, only small ones,” Tigh shrugged, ”but what if he decided to take that one big chunk one day? Eh? Where would that leave me? That'd leave me with a big problem and a busy day getting together a f.u.c.kin' squad to hunt down his treacherous a.s.s. Am I clear here? If he thought I wasn't noticing a pinch here and there. If he thought I was STUPID?!”
Even Boomer blinked at the sudden shout. Stickman c.o.c.ked his head to the side, loosening up his neck.
”If he thought,” Tigh carried on, ”I was a total dolt, I'm sure he would have done just that. Probably wondered how I got to where I was today for being such a f.u.c.k up with the numbers. Do you see where I'm going with all of this? I liked Badge. I liked the way he did business for me. He has some pretty lucrative contacts for us. I was faced with the problem of having one of my valued own being led astray. Into temptation. Needing rehab. I ordered the touchup, Stickman. But only a touchup. I wanted Badger alive but marked for the errors of his way. And I wanted him to know that though he still worked for me, all of any f.u.c.kin' brownie points he had before he started this s.h.i.+t were gone. Used up. They bought him his life. Understand?”
In the absence of voice, the hockey game's commentators' lively banter filled the room. The shriek of a whistle. Someone called a delayed penalty Stickman, so slowly that his face might have weighed a ton, moved his chin up and down. Tigh liked that. At least the boy could think. He had heard rumors about this one, some of them incredible, some even coming from Danny and Boomer, and in all he understood that the Stickman was like a son to Badger. A devoted, unquestioning son. Newfoundlanders weren't the brightest of the lot, in his opinion. Hard maybe, but not bright. Badger was good with people though. Charismatic. A regular Don King. People like that were too valuable to be executed. It was better to try and reform their a.s.ses. And Tigh had the authority to make it so.
”But,” Stickman said, quietly, cutting through the background sportscast, ”Ee's in da intensive ward, Mr. Tigh.” The emotion in the man's voice was striking. It was like a ten-year-old boy wondering why his parents couldn't afford to buy him the latest game platform when all the other kids had one. ”'Is arms and legs are broken. Even 'is jaw. 'Is... face.”