"I'll need a weapon," he finally said.

Tim shook his head. "There'll be no need for one."

"No need?" Tony repeated. "What the f.u.c.k do you mean 'no need?' You're just after telling me that I'm after the f.u.c.king terminator who's probably responsible for all your other servants being cut down, and you expect me to go after him without a weapon?"

There was a silence then as Tim simply sat and stared at the empty mug before him. "I don't think you'll need one at all, Mr. Levin. You would be only tempting fate. I do know that he doesn't use one at all."

"Well, how's he been killin' off your people?"

"I never said he was. I said our operatives had disappeared while trying to locate him. I happen to think they aren't dead," Tim suddenly became apprehensive. "Merely rendered inactive. Somehow."

"Uh-huh." Inactive, my a.s.s, Tony thought. "You have any objections to me having a weapon then?"

"What kind?" Tim wanted to know.

"What the f.u.c.k do you mean 'what kind?'" Tony barked, causing the man across from him to flinch. "A f.u.c.kin' weapon! An honest to Christ elephant gun if I can get my f.u.c.king hands on one! Whatever I can dig up on short notice. Look. Don't worry, I won't kill your guy. Maybe mess him up a little, but I won't kill him."

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw Fred smile. The teeth revealed were pearl white and feral looking. Teeth for tearing things.

"What?" Tony turned on him. Fred shook his head, obviously amused about something.

"You only have to find the man and contact us," Tim said.

"I can, y'know," Tony directed at Fred, wanting to wipe that smirk off the man's face. "Especially if he operates like you. f.u.c.kin' especially if he looks like you."

The smile on Fred's face broadened. Alien smile. Tony matched it with the monsters from those Alien movies. Big, f.u.c.king alien, s.h.i.t-a.s.s grin.

"Mr. Levin, please," Tim implored. "Ignore him. He isn't the one you want. Mr. Franklin is out there, and I hope you find him. If you must have a weapon, then do so if it'll make you feel better, but I'll stress again that you are only required to find the man and call us when you do."

Tony took a deep breath. No, sir. He did not care for Fred with the football-shaped skull. Not in the least. If he had had his bat in hand, there would have been most certainly a ball game and a short one at that.

"Fine. I'll use this," Tony held up the Nokia phone. "I'll do it. I'll find the guy for ya. For five thousand. I'll find him, and I'll call you. When do you want me to start?"

"Immediately," Tim looked immensely relived. That suited Tony just fine, and he took another look at his clock.

It remained 5:44.

"I'll need gas money too," Tony stated as an afterthought. "Expenses over the five thousand."

"Mr. Fred," Tim beckoned. Fred came forth. In his hands was a billfold thick enough to be a pillow. All hundreds.

"Been busy sucking, eh?" Tony said, pumping his fist in front of his mouth for added effect. He s.n.a.t.c.hed the money a beat later, opening it and flipping through its wealth.

"That should be enough," Tim said.

Tony flexed his brow in agreement. "Should be. Anything I don't use I'll return."

"That's fine."

"Anything else?" Tony asked. He was feeling much better now that he had hard cash in his paws.

"No, I think that's everything."

"Don't expect miracles," Tony grumped. "I think I can find him. With this anyway. Just give me a couple of weeks."

"Time is a human measure," Tim said, his eyes crinkling at their corners. "I hope you are able to find him faster than that."

"No guarantees there," Tony said. He was wondering if the man actually knew anything about finding a missing person. If they were just missing, there was a better chance of finding them, which was a low percentage to begin with. If the person was dead or, even better, not wanting to be found, things got even rougher. But he was being paid, so he felt he should say something inspiring. "If he's on the continent, I'll find him."

For a moment, just a flicker of time, something in Tim's expression changed. It seemed like the man's face softened, as if he were a father looking upon his son. And then it was gone. "That's acceptable."

The man glanced at his standing companion. "Well, we'll be on our way then."

He stood up and dusted himself off. "Thank you for the juice."

Tony remained sitting.

"It's a cold morning, Mr. Levin. You'd do best to dress warm. Probably minus twenty five out there."

"I'll get out my mittens." Tony grunted. He was keeping an eye on good, old, egghead Fred.

"A good idea," Tim agreed with a nod. "Oh, and if you do manage to find our man within the week, I'm willing to add a considerable bonus."

"Yeah? How much?"

"Five thousand on top of your fee. An incentive if you like. Acceptable?"

"If I find him in a week? By next Tuesday?"

"Yes."

"I can just call?"

"Yes."

"You don't need proof?"

This made Tim smile. The glow could have warmed the old apartment for a year. "I trust you, Mr. Levin."

The pair of men moved towards the door, Fred with his head down. Tim pulled his toque over his head and smiled at Tony one last time, his grey eyes aglitter.

"Happy hunting, Mr. Levin."

With that, he opened the door and stepped through. Fred followed him out but paused just beyond the threshold. He fixed Tony with black shining eyes. Without a word, the man pulled the door closed. It went to with the barest of sounds, mindful of the neighbours.

Freaky, flashed in Tony's mind.

He immediately looked at the cash on the table before him. Five G's. Right there. Was there anything better than having a fistful of cash and a full day ahead of oneself? And a new cell phone to boot. He wanted one of those. He wondered if it had any games.

"Alright," he declared and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the wad of bills.

Then he noticed the clock. The little hands had moved to 5:45.

d.a.m.n batteries.

Chapter 10.

There was no time to waste and no point in lingering, so Tony immediately got to packing. He hauled out an old hockey bag and spread it open. Into this, he began lobbing clothes needed for two weeks. Seven pairs of a.s.sorted socks and underwear went into the bag.

Five thousand. Was he really on the verge of making that kind of money in a span of a week? It was a wonderful thought. What if he could make that on a regular basis? Five thousand a month would be grand. He was filled with the warm rush of dreamy financial freedom for moments. He would get on the road ASAP. A quick goodbye to his mom. He considered stopping by Tigh's and letting him know where he'd be, but in the end, he decided not to. Tigh wanted him to stay out of sight. What better way than to leave the city. He would call the man instead.

He finished his packing and zipped up the hockey bag. He threw it onto the sofa en route to the fridge and a quick bite to eat. He discovered that the f.u.c.king guy had drunk most of his apple juice. There was barely enough to slosh around the bottom of the quart. Lord above, he hated it when people did that.

He had a shower, shaved and brushed his teeth.

He was out the door at 7:05.

The sky was cotton-grey and overcast, and Mr. Tim wasn't lying about the cold. Tony felt his flesh get goose pimply as he walked across the road to the parking lot. Snow squeaked like an alien life form underneath his hiking boots. His winter trench coat was long and black and warm. It made him look like a hit man, and it was also his last remaining possession that made him look as if he had money. Besides his car.

Tony slowed down. Freak boy was standing alongside the pa.s.senger side of his Mustang. Head-hauled-out-of-a monkey's-a.s.s freak boy Fred. His shoulders were all hunched up around his neck and dark eyes watched Tony as he drew closer. Tony stopped a good distance away from him. He noted, in annoyance, that Fred's coat looked a little like his own.

"Why you still around?"

"Mr. Tim said for me to go with you," the man said, his voice was coa.r.s.e and gravelly. Black eyes, like those cut out of a spider's skull, regarded Tony and sent a chill through him.

"Who says I want you along?" Tony said, not liking the idea.

"Who says I want to be along?" Fred growled back like some bluesy singer with a bad case of tonsillitis. He nodded at Tony's car. "It's a piece of s.h.i.t."

"Your a.s.s is a piece of s.h.i.t," Tony fired back. He hated it when people put down his ride. "No way you're going anywhere now."

Fred stared at him for a moment, not saying anything. Snow floated in the s.p.a.ce between the two, making everything seem greyer than it should. Then Fred shrugged, the cold s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his mouth in clear distaste. He stepped away from the car. Taking the cue, Tony moved around to the driver's side and unlocked the door. He threw his hockey bag in the back, glancing at the Freak (as Tony now liked to think of Fred) every two seconds to make sure he stayed out of the way. It was too early in the morning to get into a fight, but they were outside now, and Tony would like to see Freak Boy pull the same s.h.i.t he got away with in the apartment. There was room to move out here.

"You look like you're in a hurry," Fred said in that low if-rusty-nails-could-tear- flesh voice.

"I'm motivated," Tony said over the roof of his car. "Five G's will do that to a man. Another five helps, too."

"Money, eh?"

Tony fixed Fred with an indignant look. "Yeah, money. Man," he finished with a disbelieving shake of his head. He got into the car and had the keys in the ignition when Fred tapped on the pa.s.senger side window. Tony ignored him and started the car. The engine h.o.a.rked, coughed, and wheezed a few seconds, and finally came to life.

The tapping got louder. Tony sighed and saw Freak boy's midsection through the frosty gla.s.s. "What?" he shouted.

"Five thousand."

"What?" Tony hoped the car hurried warming up.

"What about another five thousand?" asked Fred, who sounded more and more like a poster boy for smokers for life.

Tony felt his face go slack. His mouth hung open. "Another five thousand?"

"Mr. Tim said for me to go with you. Said you might need my help." Fred still stood, and Tony saw the man pat his winter pocket. "And okayed the money if you were going to be a c.u.n.t about it."

He used the c-word. Tony had a cousin in Ontario who said she hated it when a guy used the c-word. As a result, Tony never used it himself, and looked upon those who did as toilet sc.u.m.

"Tim said it was okay to give me another five grand if I let you come along?" Tony demanded.

Silence. Only the man's midriff.

"Hey, f.u.c.k head!"

The motor hummed with warmth. The beast was coming to life.

"Rimmer!" Tony threw at the man outside. Nothing.

"f.u.c.k," he grumped. He reached across and unlocked the door with a spiteful jerk. Fred slowly bent to get in, the snow dusting his frame and falling into the car.

"Let's see it then," Tony said, and held out his hand. "Right now."

Fred studied the other man as if he were an insolent child. With a low, exasperated sigh, he slipped a manila envelope from his coat and handed it over. Tony immediately opened it. A whole bunch of brown hundreds. Nice. This was turning out to be an exciting morning. His foot descended on the gas, and the Mustang breathed deeply. Never had Tony had this much cash on his person in such a short period of time. It was a little unsettling, and Tony found himself too willing to fight to keep it. He looked around the empty parking lot for lurking predators.

Fred sat down heavily in the pa.s.senger's seat. "No one's around. Let's get going."

"You got more of this?" Tony asked.

The black eyes narrowed, and Tony knew that they had to be contacts. He once saw a black guy downtown that wore contacts that were fashioned after a cat's, yellow and slit. Alien looking. They couldn't work on the chicks.

"What if I do?" Fred directed at him, his mouth an ugly gash, his demeanour ready to fight.

"You always walk around Dartmouth with this much cash on you? Dangerous, man."

"Like to see someone try and take it," was the response.

Tony smiled without humour. "You're the man, eh?"

"Don't you have somewhere to go?" Fred asked.

"Yeah, in a minute."

"Time's... a human measure," Fred stated in his rusty voice.