"A saw? No, sorry, man. Let's play that again." The sound that issued from the radio sounded like an old dog coughing unbearably hard, almost as if the thing had just taken its first draw on a b.u.t.t when no one was looking.

"Whaddaya think?" The DJ blared, sounding like he was perpetually happy seven days a week. "Gimme a call on this gorgeous morning, and you could be seeing these guys in concert on Sat.u.r.day night! Caller number 3! What's your name?"

"Chisel!"

"Your name is chisel?"

"No, my name's Bruce."

"Oh," the DJ picked up the pace. "You want me to play it again?"

"G.o.d, no, you've played it enough already. It's a chisel. Any carpenter would know that sound."

A symphony of horns and strings boomed over the speakers. "You're right!" DJ Jeff. The name came to Tony as he navigated his way through traffic. "You've won man, how's that?"

"Jeff," Bruce asked in a snarky voice. "What are the tickets for?"

"You don't know?"

"Naw man, only just tuned in."

"Oh," the admission caught DJ Jeff off guard. "Well, it's a concert in the Palace on Sat.u.r.day night with-"

"Bayside Legs?"

Tony didn't know the name.

"Yeah," DJ Jeff said in a perky voice. "You like those guys?"

"Aww, can't go. Too busy. Can I get a t-shirt instead?" Bruce informed DJ Jeff in a bored voice.

"A t-shirt?" this stupefied DJ Jeff, but only for a moment. "No, you can't have a t-shirt. I don't even have any t-shirts."

"Whaddaya mean? You guys always have t-shirts to give away."

"I don't have any now. We're out, and it's the wrong promotion, and why am I talking to you about this, anyway? It's concert tickets, Bruce!"

Tony had to agree. Bruce could scalp them if he really wanted to.

"Well, I can't go to the concert," Bruce announced over the airwaves in a stand-offish tone.

"Who am I, your counselor? I got Melissa on the other line here who's begging to get these tickets. Melissa, you hearing this?"

"Sure am!" a giggly voice answered promptly. Someone who took in way too much sugar in the morning.

"Whoops, sorry, Bruce. I just hung up on Bruce," DJ Jeff reported in a not-too-upset voice. "It was an accident, man. I was going to arrange a deal between you and Melissa ... but you know what I'm going to do now, Melissa?"

"No," Melissa said with hope in her voice.

"I'm going to hang up on you too!"

DJ Jeff did just that and then switched to commercial, promising to give the concert tickets away in the next hour. Tony smiled when DJ Jeff did as he said would do. The man was a smart a.s.s. He would've hung up, too. Some callers were just too d.a.m.n ungrateful. His thoughts then turned to wondering just how many weird calls DJs like Jeff got in the run of a shift. Probably a lot. It wouldn't be the job of choice for Tony. He'd be too abrasive with the weird ones. Still, it would be cool to just sit back and play tunes all day long.

That pleasant image hung with him until he pulled into the Beacon's parking lot. Tigh was in. His "p.u.s.s.y bait", as he called it, was parked in plain view, a '08 blue Camaro with a fresh coat of snow on its hood and roof. Tony thought the man was a strange one to venture out to the Beacon just hours after the place shut down. The Beacon was a glowering touch of men's entertainment in Dartmouth. Women's groups, religious a.s.sociations and even block parents had successfully closed down all other bars opened up by Tigh in the past. It was a hard town to keep a strip bar alive in, and why he would even keep trying for one was beyond Tony. The Beacon had lasted the longest, however, but it was a month to month thing. Tony really didn't care for the strip shows. He never even rented the hard core stuff from the adjoining DVD shop next door. He wasn't an angel as he had rented something a while back from the corner-store, back-room collection. The p.o.r.no was a group of amateurs performing "the best amateur ride" or something to that tune. There were pictures of all of the 20 something young women on the back of the jacket, and Tony remembered the DVD promising a bonus episode. It was either a Sat.u.r.day or Friday night. He rented it.

The bonus was a rape.

It wasn't a set-up. It seemed too natural for that. Too d.a.m.n terrifying. A van had pulled up to a mini-skirted young lady of nineteen or so, and the driver asked for directions while two others snuck out the back. They had her in the van in a blink, kicking and screaming a little too wildly for Tony's liking.

Then one of the men brought out the pliers.

Tony didn't watch the rest. He turned off the player and just sat quietly, watching the blackness of the television screen and thinking. He felt sick and ashamed about a little voice wanting him to turn the machine back on. He didn't, however. He just sat there and thought and thought, the knowledge poisoning him that by renting the piece-of-s.h.i.t video, he was funding more of the same. The wondering never stopped: what had she done? What could she have done? Hadn't there been papers or something for her to sign her consent to distribute the DVD? Or had someone forced her to sign with the pliers? Perhaps it had been an act after all.

And had she finally got home that night?

Maybe they hadn't even allowed her that. Maybe they had just killed her afterwards. Tony hoped to h.e.l.l they hadn't. He would have liked to get his hands on the producers of such filth. He had his own set of pliers, and he could be inventive when inspired.

Since then Tony had no use for any medium of p.o.r.nography.

The Beacon was a concrete bunker of a building, ready for any bomb blast. A dull white sign announced "The Beacon" as if viewed through a fog. The sign was supposed to be ditched for something with a little more flash and bang. Neon was mentioned in certain circles, and then there were the newer digital signs where you could program in your own little slogan underneath. Nothing had been done yet, however, and Tony felt perhaps Tigh preferred the low profile. Ask anyone where to go for exotic dancers in Dartmouth and Halifax, and they would give directions to the Beacon. Word of mouth was the best advertising, and Tigh got plenty of that with the talent he employed. Apparently, he didn't feel the need to slap the protest groups across the b.a.l.l.s any more than he had to.

The door leading into the den of gyrating flesh and pouting lips was made of stylish oak, and a single diamond shaped window was set in the upper centre of its surface. Tony knew that the hinges and frame were reinforced with iron, and two more iron bars braced the portal from within when needed. Tigh fondly called it a holy door as most new employees would mutter "Jesus Christ" upon seeing the fortification. Nothing short of an armoured vehicle was coming through there. Going through the concrete wall would be easier. No other entrance could be seen from the front. No windows were visible. A pa.s.ser-by would not really discern the place as a strip bar on the edge of the city. It looked more like a windowless storage building with an adult movie shop next door.

Tony parked the Mustang by Tigh's Camaro, smiling as he did so. It was like throwing dog s.h.i.t onto someone's immaculate front lawn. The beast coughed and died as Tony withdrew his keys from the ignition. He would've parked somewhere else if it wasn't business, somewhere like a block or two away. But this was only going to be a short visit, and his mother was waiting. He would keep it short. He really didn't want to a.s.sociate too much with Mr. Tigh. Word was around that he was a high-ranking lieutenant for some European based mob on the Eastern Seaboard.

He slammed his door as hard as he could and regretted it instantly. Something metallic yawned painfully, and splinters of rust sprinkled the snow covered pavement underneath the beast. Tony exhaled, willing his annoyance away until later. With his luck, the door would probably remind him of its trouble by falling off. He forced that thought away as well. He didn't need the jinx.

He marched within three feet of the door when it opened up for him and was replaced by a wall.

"Morning Tony," the monster called Danny greeted him. The big black man's eyes looked as if they ached for sleep, as dark as the boots and jeans that he wore. An off-white shirt stretched over his ma.s.sive frame, untucked and covering up the leather belt that he usually wore. Danny was the kind of man who tried to clean himself up as best as he could, considering the hours he kept. Tony thought the man looked like he had just gotten in from some far off war, and figured maybe he had done just that.

Danny nodded at the ball cap. "Where you get that?"

"Present. From the Things Shop maybe."

"Mmmmn," Danny nodded again. He still blocked the entrance, watching Tony with a very sleepy set of eyes.

"Mr. Tigh in?"

"MmmHmm," Danny acknowledged. "But he's a little p.i.s.sed off at you, I think."

This was news. "p.i.s.sed at me? Why's he p.i.s.sed at me?"

"The job you did on Badger."

Tony shifted his weight onto his right leg. "What about the job I did on Badger? I took care of him last night like he wanted."

"A little rough weren't ya?" Danny said, those sleepy eyes unblinking now and boring into Tony's own, seeking a flicker of a lie.

"Rough?"

"You put him in the hospital," Danny reported calmly, stating the facts.

"The job wanted him in a hospital."

"I think the job wanted him to check out a hospital, not be a permanent resident," Danny clarified for the man. Levin looked surprised for a moment, but it wasn't the guilty kind. Danny had been around long enough to discern a deceptive face and as far as he could see, Tony was honestly surprised at the news.

"He's in the hospital?" Tony blinked at the big man. Tony himself was roughly five ten. Danny Boy outgunned him at half a head taller and so much more muscle.

"Paralyzed," Danny said, stretching the word out. He frowned with the dire news. "His a.s.s won't be moving anytime soon, and from what we hear, he'll be eating through a tube for a while."

Tony's hand came up. "Now, wait. I only bloodied the man's nose-"

"Word is you broke everything else."

"I didn't do anything else," Tony immediately insisted, holding the big man's Father Time stare. "Somebody f.u.c.ked up something somewhere, but it wasn't me. I did what I was told to do. The worst I might have done was broken a couple of ribs at best."

He suddenly straightened. "Why am I talking to you?"

Danny had no answer, their stares still wrestling for the yielding blink and break. Tony could feel his ducts drying out. Danny's obviously dried out years ago.

"Just givin' you the word, is all," Danny finally said to him.

"I came to see Mr. Tigh."

Danny made no move for a long, considering moment, but then, when Tony thought he was going to be told where to go, the monster of a man moved like some granite door of legend having heard the magic word. He stepped aside, his eyes narrowing at the day over Tony's head.

"Going to clear up later," Danny mentioned, but this was pillow talk compared to what might now be waiting for Tony within. Danny waited for the soldier to go on inside, and for a brief moment, the picture of a hunter waiting for his prey to step into the snare came to Tony's mind. He was suddenly uncertain if he should enter or not, but then again, he needed the cash. He needed to see his mom. And he suddenly felt the urge to clear the air of any stink surrounding his name. Whatever the trouble was, he sure as h.e.l.l hoped it didn't get physical. Not with the twin hammers around. Danny was half of a pair that had far too many urban legends connected to their names, Danny Boy and "Tonight we Boom, Boom" Boomer. He didn't know how many G.o.d-awful brawls were whispered when their shadows pa.s.sed over. How many fist fights did they enter and rule? How many men had limbs broken because they crossed one of the two behemoths? To have half of them upset with you was reason to leave town, go west and be remembered as a very wise man.

Tony did not want to go west. And yet now he was entering the lair of the Ice Dragon with two of its b.l.o.o.d.y guardians nearby.

f.u.c.k it. Exhaling heavily, Tony stepped past the big man.

As the day was still early in bar hours, and it being Sunday, the Beacon was officially open for unofficial business. Tigh declared it to be a day off for his girls and supporting staff, but he almost always had Danny and Boomer nearby or at least one of the pair. They were hulking mastiffs at their master's heels. They had to be getting a decent salary from the man, Tony thought. There wasn't any day in h.e.l.l that he would want to ever work on Sunday. Especially in the winter.

St.u.r.dy tables were arranged in a horseshoe around a stage fashioned in the shape of lips and a tongue. Whenever Tony saw the stages he always thought of "The Rocky Horror Picture Show", except in this case, the mouth was all the way open and the lips, made of some soft, red leather and stuffed with G.o.d only knew what, were as big as the meat of his thigh. It was a weird effect, and he was getting unwanted vibes. He really didn't care about seeing women strip in the least, and the thought of them slithering around up there on a stage fashioned like a huge tongue made him wonder if Tigh was really okay in the head. At least the lights were off. When they were on, the stage was illuminated with black, glowing, designer teeth. Disturbing, but there were enough guys coming to the Beacon to sit in pervert's rowdirectly in front of the stage-for Tigh to feel that nothing needed to be changed. Maybe it was a joke, and a sick one at that. A smell of bacon came from the kitchen area, and it was strong enough to make Tony turn his head. Across some tables set further back from the stage was the open wicket for the kitchen. Boomer's shape moved past the window like some great, dark shape on the prowl.

"Over there," spoke Danny Boy.

Tony looked towards the stage. Tigh sat in pervert's row with his back to them, just straightening up in his chair as if he dropped something on the floor. The table he sat at was prepared for a meal. The rumours had Tigh coming up from lower New York as a heroin dealer, and somewhere along in his career, he came to Nova Scotia and decided he liked it. His employers offered him the post, and he took it. Some said he dealt in illegal weapons as well, but Tony never asked, and Tigh never offered. Boomer once told him to never ask questions that might lead to an early-morning meeting and a late-afternoon s.h.i.t kicking. They hated doing that to good people.

"What the h.e.l.l you waiting for?" Tigh called out gruffly, gesturing for him to approach. "You need a special invite or something?"

"Bacon smells good," Tony said as he drew closer, remembering the scant meal he had at home.

"Well, f.u.c.k, if it smells that good, we'll put some on for ya," Tigh said with a lazy wave of his hand. Tigh was like that. He talked with his hands. Great flourishes as if he were being constantly attacked by an imaginary swarm of black flies or mosquitoes. "Christ, you look like you're starving anyway."

Tony became aware of Danny standing behind him. He thought of his mom. What would she be eating this morning? He knew the answer.

"No thanks. I'm just here on business, Mr. Tigh. Then I'll be going. If you don't mind, that is," Tony said as he moved closer and to one side. He didn't like anyone the size of Danny standing behind him. More specifically, anyone bigger than him and able to lay him out unconscious with one punch.

Tigh regarded him for a second, nodding, "Well, have a seat, anyway. I want to talk with ya."

Tony did so, sitting on the one side where there wasn't any silverware set out. The table was set for three. All three bears sitting down to feast. Tigh himself was a big man but not on the scale of his bodyguards. He looked physical enough to send tingles of danger down a spine if the occasion called for it. He wore his hair short and spiked, and the slashes of grey around his temples made Tony wonder how much of his dark hair was dyed. Black eyes twinkled at him with all the mirth of needle p.r.i.c.ks. A second unwanted chin had inflated itself under his first, but it did nothing to his brick jawline. Tigh wore a black sweater this morning, and he sat with his elbows on the table. At least he didn't wear any jewellery. He was the first dealer Tony had ever heard of that never drew any more attention to himself beyond the flash of his car, though rumour had it that he regularly travelled to the Philippines during the darkest, coldest period of January.

All that and he was supposed to be good to his employees.

But if you p.i.s.sed him off...

"Sure about the food? BOOMER! Put on extra for Tony here. He looks like he's been chewing on his belt or something."

"Really, Mr. Tigh," Tony folded his hands over his stomach as he sat. "I have to get going. No offence meant. I just came to settle up."

Tigh studied him for a moment with a stoic eye. He slowly nodded. "I should do the same I guess. Not eat anything that is. But Boom is just too good in the kitchen. I'd go out and kill a pig if he was going to do it up." He paused then as if he were about to blow a bubble. "Do it like you, too. Like you did Badger. You use a bat or something?"

Danny hauled out the chair and sat down across from Tony. He flipped a napkin onto his lap. A lazy "told you so" expression came over his face and disappeared.

Tony didn't like the way his stomach was knotting up. He told himself it was breakfast. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Tigh."

"I'm talking about Badger. The Badger I sent you out to kick the s.h.i.t out of to remind him who he works for. The same Badger that is now in the hospital being put back together again with everything 'cept scotch tape and Velcro. That jar your memory any? You do remember old Badge, don't cha? He'll be lucky if he remembers you. h.e.l.l, he'll be lucky if he's ever able to chew his own food again from what I understand. A job a little too well done, methinks."

There was a glint in his eyes that was neither humorous nor threatening. Curious perhaps. He wanted an answer as to why this one job had been completed with such enthusiasm. The fingers of his right hand tickled the handle of his table knife. Tony noticed the table knife was a much sharper variety than the regular silverware. He kept quiet, trying not to bite on the corners of his mouth or do anything that might be interpreted as being nervous.

"Look, Mr. Tigh, I did what you wanted me to do and nothing extra. I tapped Badger a few times and that was all. When I left him, he was more than able to walk home or to a hospital, which I told him to do. I didn't do anything else. You told me not to do anything heavy. I had a knife at his throat, but that was it. It was only there until he understood what I had to tell him. On your behalf, that is," he finished, a little too exasperated. He couldn't help himself.

Tigh continued watching him. He watched him hard, and Tony became distinctly aware that this was a man he did not want to have words with. Across from him, Danny leaned back in his chair, making the joints creak. Beyond that, bacon grease snapped and crackled from the kitchen.

And Tigh continued to stare, unblinking. When a barely audible grunt emitted from his throat, Tony wasn't sure if it was one of understanding or d.a.m.nation. The man's fingers were still on the knife's handle, and Tony was trying hard to appear unconcerned. He had no reason to be concerned, dammit! He had only terrorized the pusher! He had only scared him into thinking he might kill him. Tony had built up a quiet reputation around town that he would off someone if he had to, but in reality, he didn't kill people, and he certainly didn't almost kill people. He could only fake it. The real deal just wasn't in him.

Tigh leaned back in his own chair and sighed heavily. "How many jobs have you done for me, Tony?"

He couldn't remember off hand. He shrugged. "More than a dozen. Maybe two."

"And you've always done me right, too. That's why I keep you on. There aren't too many soldiers out there I can rely on beyond these two b.a.s.t.a.r.ds." He tossed his head in Danny Boy's direction. "That's why I'm going to give you a reminder here and now and not a warning. I think I believe you." Tigh's finger came up like a schoolmaster's when Tony hitched his breath to protest. He kept quiet, and Tigh went on, his finger drawing kanji characters in the air. "The truth will come out anyway when Badger regains consciousness. Then I'll ask him. But I'm sure what you tell me is what happened, and Christ knows Badger's p.i.s.sed off enough folks for some of them to take a shot at him eventually. Be a coincidence if it just happened the same night you talked to him. And maybe someone came by, saw him down and decided to clean up. But I'll tell you anyway, don't get to liking your license to kick a.s.s too much. That understood? If you do, I hafta revoke it. I don't want anyone in my organization going f.u.c.king Old Yeller on me. Puzzles the s.h.i.t outta me when someone does."

"I didn't do any-"

"Hey," Tigh suddenly cut in, "you give me a chance to preach here, okay? What's this s.h.i.t you said about a knife? Did I say use a knife? Huh? I listened to your f.u.c.king fable, and now you listen to my law. Corporate law. This covers anyone working under me, and I don't care if it's f.u.c.king Paul Bunyan over here," he said, his hand finally off the knife and waving at Danny Boy, "so you just be quiet for a second alright? I don't think a second is too G.o.dd.a.m.n much of your precious time. Am I right?"

Tony averted his eyes, took in the black lights of the stage, noting the timber-frame ceiling for the first time. He felt the heat rush into his cheeks and neck. "Yes, Mr. Tigh."

"That's better," Tigh told him. "Now, Tony," he started in again but his tone a degree cooler. "You are a valued employee. And as far as I can tell, you are telling me the straight facts, and that's good. And you came here this morning. That's another point in your favour. In my experience, guys that know they've done wrong do not walk into my place with a smile on their face. Not that you were smiling when you came in, but you get my point. That kinda s.h.i.t happens in the movies, but I haven't seen it yet. But next time you do a job for me, you keep what I said in mind okay? Else I hafta put you through law school. More specifically, a window of the law school. Okay?"

"Okay Mr. Tigh," Tony said in a low voice. He was being chewed out for someone else's handiwork. He knew what he did to Badger. Didn't he?

"Good, then," Tigh leaned in. His fingers did a violent rap on the surface of the table. "All I needed to hear. And on top of that..."

Tigh reached inside his jacket and pulled out a wad of bills that made Tony's b.a.l.l.s draw themselves up. Five brown hundreds were peeled off and snapped to him. There was plenty more left.