"Just the man I want to talk with."

Robillard's wife was on the padded c.o.c.ktail stool nearest the wall and she froze in the act of pouring a drink while the man himself stood closer to me with nothing in his hand. The woman was three yards away and beside her was a short-barrelled, lever-action carbine with its barrel resting in an ornamental (I hoped) spittoon.

"Don't move."

He froze and I looked hard at him. The tracksuit he wore was a deep purple and it had the tiny design of a devil with raised pitchfork above where his right nipple would be. Sandra put her gla.s.s down and placed both hands flat on the bar, but I focused loosely on the circular sight installed in the bowstring itself. It lined up neatly with the tiny plastic marker just above the bow's grip, which in turn lined up with Robillard's stomach.

"Great. Now let's keep this civilized. If I let the string go, then the arrow goes whoosh and plants itself right into fat-boy's belly. The arrow is made of fibergla.s.s and is tipped with a broad head tipped with three blades. The blades are sharper than a scalpel and come in foil pouches as an added guarantee of both cleanliness and sharpness. The arrow will burrow a two-inch-wide hole through your stomach and come out your a.s.s at the same speed."

He made some kind of gobbling noise.

"Now, the arrow won't kill you right away, not where I'm aiming. You will be, in hunter's parlance, 'gut-shot.' Sorry about that in advance in case you get stupid and this gets out of control."

Sandra cleared her throat but I rode over whatever she was going to say. "So let's talk. Oh, yes, one more thing: you should know that I am holding the string back against fifty pounds of pressure, so I can't keep this up for too long. That should encourage conversation. If someone shoots me, then I let go of the arrow anyway and the same gut-shot situation comes about."

Robillard spoke in a cold voice full of imitation arrogance. "You can't be serious, to threaten me with a toy?"

"I am. You tried to hurt my family, of course I'm serious."

The woman looked at me intently but I paid no attention to her.

"So, fat-boy. Do I have your attention?"

His voice came out in a kind of enraged croak. "Yes."

"Good. Now why shouldn't I shoot you?"

"f.u.c.k you! You ain't got the b.a.l.l.s."

He gobbled some more and it sounded like a question and a statement so I shook my head.

"I thought we had an agreement."

He snarled and tremors ran across his body. "You killed my cousin and f.u.c.ked up four of my boys and threatened me and then Walsh comes around and ..."

The woman didn't move but her eyes were shifting to the rifle even as I answered Robillard.

"Slow down. We had an agreement, right? You were to stay away from my family and me. Right?"

"f.u.c.k YOU!"

His roar made Sandra twitch violently.

"I said: RIGHT?! Or don't you f.u.c.king UNDERSTAND?!"

Robillard flinched, Sandra edged her fine-boned hand a little bit along the edge of the bar and Robillard gathered himself, so I changed aim and let the string roll off my fingers. I forced myself not to move while the arrow purred off the rest and slashed through the air across the rec room. While it was in the air, I reached out with my right hand for the second arrow in its holder mounted beside the bow's grip. My fingers closed on the nock of the arrow as Sandra reached for the carbine. Robillard twisted to the side and started forward towards the pool table.

The next arrow came free and I put the still quivering string into the nock of the arrow and put the shaft of the arrow on the rest just above the grip. The woman's hand touched the slender part of the stock of the carbine, just below the receiver. Robillard stared blankly with his left hand on the top of the table and his right snaking underneath, feeling for something.

I drew the string back until the nock was right under my right eye and the first arrow struck the carbine right between the barrel and the tubular magazine below it.

With a sound like fingers on a chalkboard, the metal parted and tore, and the split carbine hung there, pinned to the bar itself. With that noise, Robillard stopped moving and the woman withdrew her hand from the wrecked weapon. The next arrow pointed right between Robillard's panicked eyes and he blinked frantically.

"Fat-boy. Why don't you show me what you've got under the table? Remember, if you shoot me, I'll just let the arrow go and you try to digest it."

Slowly he raised his hand and showed off a brightly chromed revolver the size of a small cannon. He put it on the table and took a step back.

"Another magnum? f.u.c.k, you're civilized. Very civilized. Now, what do we do? Should I just walk out of here and ..."

He didn't say a word and neither did his wife and I went on, "No, doesn't sound all that ..."

The woman spoke up. "Bottom line it."

"The smart thing for me is to kill you both and burn your house down around your dead a.s.ses. See if the crime scene geeks can or want to pull my DNA out of the ashes."

Robillard spoke up. "Now, WAIT a minute."

I answered him conversationally. "And my arm is getting tired."

"No, wait. What if I promised to back off and leave you alone?"

The woman pursed her lips and listened.

"You already did that and you didn't," I said. "I've got no reason to believe you'll be honest this time."

Sandra spoke. "Okay, what if I promised? Not him, me?"

I switched aim at her and she didn't flinch.

"You?"

Her voice was soft. "Yeah. Me."

"Come here."

She got up and walked over very slowly with her hands held out to either side. Robillard's eyes flickered to the pistol on the table and back again and I addressed myself to him.

"Go ahead."

He stopped looking and stared off somewhere above me. The woman stopped about three feet away with the arrow pointed squarely at her chest.

"You'll promise?"

"Yes."

She took a deep breath. "We'll leave you and your wife and your son alone. We'll stop helping Walsh. We'll back off and let whatever happen naturally."

It was almost funny.

"Why should I believe you?"

She shrugged and there was no humor in her eyes. "Because I promise. I didn't know about whatever my husband sent at you. I would have stopped him. And I'll promise."

Robillard was getting angry. "Well, what about me? I already f.u.c.king promised."

She glanced at him. I shook my head and answered. "Your promise is worth nothing. Hers might be."

I looked her over again and saw a young, thin woman in mended blue jeans and a soft wool lumberjack shirt with a black and red checkered pattern. By no means would I have called her pretty but she did have character and her dark eyes were steady and unflinching.

"Can you control him?"

She glanced at him again and his face was turning purple with rage.

"Yes."

"Or?"

"If he breaks my promise, then it's my problem. May I?"

I nodded and she reached over and picked up the big pistol and held it loosely in her right hand while I lowered the bow and relaxed my arm. She turned to face Robillard and spoke slowly and carefully.

"Hon? You understand I gave my promise?"

"SHOOT HIM! Shoot him now, you dumb b.i.t.c.h!"

She went on as though he hadn't said a word.

"I gave my promise and I won't break it. Neither will you."

He roared something inarticulate and started around the table towards me.

"Kill him, you dumb b.i.t.c.h, just kill him. Here, let me do it ..."

He kept coming and his right hand came up and dipped into his back pocket. A glittering straight razor with a pearl handle appeared in his fist and he moved easily towards me on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet. Like a man intent on his enjoyment, he was riveted on me and breathing heavily. He pa.s.sed Sandra and she slipped aside to let him go with an apologetic glance at me.

"You're ..."

I never did find out what I was because she waited until his back was to her before she touched the barrel of the pistol to the back of his head.

"Put it down, hon."

She waited and he did nothing, and she whispered, her mouth about six inches from his ear, "Or I will shoot you."

I waited and he finally dropped the razor when she c.o.c.ked the hammer.

" 'Kay. Mr. Parker, you can leave."

I walked over and pulled the arrow from the carbine and then put both away in the holder attached to the bow. For a moment I was at a loss for words and then she spoke. "I'll deal with this."

She touched the side of her husband's face with her free hand but the gun stayed steady.

"My promise still stands."

Robillard's eyes were focused inward and his mouth opened and closed in confusion.

Behind him, Sandra kept her eyes veiled while the corners of her mouth turned down slightly as though at an unpleasant memory. When I spoke, his eyes caught mine and then the gaze slipped slickly away.

"Never doubted it for a minute."

Oddly enough, I never had. Less oddly, I never heard of Robillard again.

40.

The Civic ended up parked behind a strip club and I washed up in a ditch before taking a cab back home, where the cops and the firemen and all their superhuman crew were still working down the road. Claire took the bow and put it aside and then kissed me gently on the forehead before putting me to bed.

I dreamt of nothing and awoke to a large mug of tea sweetened with syrup. And another kiss.

"Long day?"

"Yeah. Longer. Longest."

She brought Fred in and he slept beside me on the futon while I held my wife and let the tea work.

"So what time is it?"

"One."

" 'Kay. Gotta go to work."

"I figured. Is it almost over?"

"Yeah."

Claire watched while I dressed and then kissed me again before leaving.

In the rear-most booth of a Salisbury House diner, I lowered my head and exhaled bacon fumes and fried onion toxins. The coffee went down like a bomb and drove me into the bathroom and the cramps made me flee back onto the streets.

Walsh was in the Princess Street cop shop. That's where he was stationed. That's where he felt most secure. Surrounded by a blue wall.

That's where he was weakest because he felt most secure.

Cop shop. Off to the side was the Winnipeg Police Force Credit Union. On another side was City Hall. Down the street was a big parking garage. Past that was the Chinese Cultural Centre.