One Hit Wonders by Patrick Warner

Author:Patrick Warner [Warner, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Breakwater Books Ltd.
Published: 2015-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

13

AL CHECKS THE rearview as he pulls away from Fiddler’s Green. His eyes immediately lock on Gosse’s, which are focussed exactly where the mirror would be if Gosse could actually see through the tinted glass. Psych. Al gives a little shudder, curses under his breath. As if he needed more proof that his new partner was no one to mess with. He looks away, checking for oncoming traffic. There is a steady stream. He flicks on his signal light, glances behind once more. Gosse is now giving full attention to Snuffy who is gesturing with a sharp movement of his head towards George Street. Behind them, in the near distance, the neon silhouette of a naked woman lights up the doorway to a club. Beside it, in flashing red, is the next-to-penultimate letter of the alphabet in triplicate. Another sign offers all-you-can-eat chicken wings and a bucket of beer for $19.99. Al is suddenly hungry.

He drives slowly along Water Street West, passing docklands and cheaply refurbished buildings. He passes the ramp to Pitt’s Memorial, the first section of the Trans-Canada Highway, a place where drunks cluster every day to drink sweet sherry mixed with Lysol poured from the perforated bottoms of aerosol cans. Nearby, three high-rises are under construction. Further up the road, billboards announce new condominium developments. The city is on the cusp of change. Newfoundland reminds him of the South, particularly Kentucky, where coal money had such an impact. Only here, the change is coming on a wave of oil. The stakes are about to get higher. Life is about to become more exaggerated, the pain sharper, the pleasure more annihilating; desire is about to drive its ice-cream truck through the hardening arteries of this boomtown.

Five minutes later, his guts rumbling, he turns into the almost empty underground lot of his condominium. As he passes through the automatic doors, the engine noise amplifies, echoing around the enclosed space. Every time this happens—which is every time he drives into the lot—he thinks of the movies, a stakeout scene coming to an end, special agents in unmarked cars blocking all avenues of escape. He checks his mirrors, reaches his arm around the back of the passenger seat, and looks back as he parks.

Near the stairwell, he notices that a damp stain he has been monitoring all month has sprouted a new rust freckle. Soon it will grow a calcium beard, the kind that warriors wore in ancient Assyrian bas-relief sculptures. He presses the up arrow on the elevator and waits.

His illness has shifted Al’s centre of gravity. Within the space of a few months, he’s gone from being stable on his pins to being a guy who falls flat on his back for no obvious reason.

The first time it happened, he was in the bar of the Delta Hotel. He had been acting drunk, playing along with a bunch of investors, when he suddenly lost balance and toppled backwards. Luckily for him, two men standing behind him blocked his fall. “Shit,” said Al, “and I heard they water down the drinks in here.

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