"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 punishing 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."

"I heard he was a mess," Tigh granted.

"Ee's a pap smear, Mr. Tigh," Stickman reported, his voice just a hint higher now. "The doctors say someting about trauma and such and 'ow it's a good ting ee's out cuz if ee were conscious, the pain would just shut 'is brain down."

Boomer shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The leather creaked.

"Don't y'tink the touchup was a little bit much?" Stickman asked.

"I do." Tigh replied in a solemn voice. "I've looked into the matter already. You don't have to worry about it."

"I mean like, somebody f.u.c.kin' liked kickin' the 'oly s.h.i.t outta Badger. Someone liked it altogedder too d.a.m.n much. Someone laid a f.u.c.kin' drain pipe across 'is face."

"I've heard about it all already," Tigh's voice rose up and over the Stickman's words, drowning it out. "I heard about it, and I'm looking into it. Like I said, I only wanted Badger bruised and not in pieces. I still want him to work for me."

Stickman's lips were drawn tight. "Well, someone took it upon demselves to do a little extra work. If it's okay with ye, Mr. Tigh, I'd like to know who did the job."

There was no hesitation. Tigh was firm. "I'm not telling you that."

Stickman's eyes fluttered and the expression on his face was one of pain. Tigh was once again reminded of a child who would have to stay home while others went off to the carnival. Tigh expected him to say something more. A protest perhaps. But nothing else came from Badger's enforcer.

"I'm looking after it," Tigh finally said when the silence became too uncomfortable. "Safe to say that the guy who did it won't be working for me again. Ever. I can't afford having people running around who hears one set of orders and goes into action under another set. It's a screw up waiting to happen, and I don't let those things happen if I can help it. Understand?"

Reluctantly, Stickman nodded that he did.

"And you understand why Badger was punished?"

Stickman nodded again. His eyes were clear and staring and fully coherent by Tigh's judgment.

"And you understand I had nothing to do with the extent of the beating? I only gave the order for a scare and a couple of bruises. Not to be squeezed into soup."

And again Badger's enforcer nodded understanding.

"And you understand that I will take care of Badger's a.s.sailant pretty much the same way that Badger was done? An eye for an eye, right? That's my thinking."

For a moment, both Danny and Boomer sensed that the Stickman was going to go for it. They felt it. It was a change in the air, a feeling they mutually experienced together and talked about when they weren't on the front. It was from years of being bouncers. They could smell the trouble coming. There was badness just about to happen, something verboten. This little Newf was going to try something.

And then ... the Stickman nodded, much easier this time, obviously realizing that things would indeed work out for the best. On the TV, the period was over and the replays showed the scoring highlights. The commentators were spewing forth statistics that Stickman did not hear.

"Tanks fer yer time, Mr. Tigh," Stickman said finally. "I'll go now."

Tigh didn't bother to stand. "You busy this Wednesday?"

"No."

"Wanna work? Just one night. Danny here has a hot date, you see, and I need another man to work the floor. Roughly seven or eight hours."

The man considered it for a moment but declined in the end. "Tanks anyway, Mr. Tigh. Maybe another time. I'd be too caught up in the action up on the stage anyways."

"You get used to it," Tigh said dismissively.

"Not in one night, sar," the Stickman grinned slyly. Neither Danny nor Boomer liked that rusty-razor smile. Tigh didn't like the look of it either. It stayed his tongue which was going to ask the man to reconsider.

"Enjoy the game, Mr. Tigh," Stickman said and departed, respectfully easing around Danny's bulk and finding the door. He did not look back as he slowly closed it behind him.

The three men left inside were quiet for a moment before Tigh indicated to check the door. The huge man left and returned shortly.

"He's gone. Janice saw him leave," Danny reported.

"f.u.c.king freak!" Boomer declared. "And why the h.e.l.l did you offer him Wednesday night, Gary? I d.a.m.ned near s.h.i.t myself when you did that!"

"I could smell it," Tigh said reproachfully, "but, look, it was a sign of faith, okay? A gesture of goodwill. I wanted him to know that I have nothing against him personally. Only business. 'S'all business. He seemed manageable enough anyway. Not at all what you two jokers told me about. Didya hear him call me mister the whole time he was here? f.u.c.king polite for a stupid Newf"

"He's a freak, Gary," Boomer countered. "I only saw a guy that knew if he tried anything in here he'd be tasting his own b.a.l.l.s in seconds. We'd have his a.s.s in a f.u.c.king sling. And you know something else? I don't believe the face he had on for a second, and neither should you. That dog was wearing a muzzle."

"Where'd you hear that from?" Tigh wanted to know.

"From a book I'm reading."

"Oh. Any good? That's a cool line. I'm gonna remember that."

"It's not a bad book either, it's about this housewife, eh, and she's got this abusive s.h.i.t of a husband, see. The kind you wanna just smash until yer arm drops and anyway, well-"

"I'll borrow it later," Tigh cut him off.

Danny stopped listening to the rest of the conversation. His head replayed the whole scene from the moment the Stickman walked into the office. Danny had to agree that the man had been wearing a face while he was here. Perhaps it was the three of them that kept him in line, but he somehow doubted it. The Stickman was a basket case, but it occurred to Danny he had half a brain, too. A part of Danny suddenly hoped the man did not. That would make him more than just dangerous. The Stickman was as creepy as a G.o.dd.a.m.n flying c.o.c.kroach.

Chapter 9.

On Tuesday morning, Tony was on the golf greens, again. He was down on all fours and close enough to feel the artificial fuzz p.r.i.c.kle his cheek. A putter was in his hand. The sun burned overhead, perhaps thirty-two degrees, but Tony didn't feel a thing. He was as comfortable as a lizard here in the sun. And he was comfortable that he could sink his ball with a single putt. One putt and the prize was his. He couldn't remember what the prize was, but he knew it was good. Real good. f.u.c.king great, in fact. All he had to do was sink this one miserable ball. Do this one shot from roughly one centimetre out. The ball was perched right on the edge of the hole, and just like his f.u.c.king girlfriend, it wouldn't get up off its fat a.s.s and go down. Tony's brow creased. Where did that thought come from? He focused. All he had to do was tap the little f.u.c.ker. Just tap it. And all would be fine in the world. Chocolate, milk and honey.

He straightened up, dusted off, and leaned in. He looked to his watching fans. n.o.body on the side-lines. f.u.c.k 'em. It wasn't important anyway. Not in this match. He was sure the shot was being televised. They would see it. They would see him make it.

He bunched his shoulders and took a breath. He grasped the putter, being careful not to strangle the annoying piece of s.h.i.t. He would pull the ball into the hole, not push. Pull! That's how he envisioned every shot. Pulled into the hole. Into a black hole.

Pulled.

And in this case, all he had to do was tap it to get things rolling.

He flexed, hunched over, and lined up the putter with the ball. Excitement fired through him but failed to overwhelm. His control was a thing of Zen. His focus, a laser. He gazed from the putter to the ball. It was a yellow one.

Laughter.

Tony shut out the ridiculing sound as easily as one would close a door.