The Homeless Millionaire - Volume 1 Chapter 91 November 6th 1972

I dreamed about Jane that night but woke up thinking about Roch – more specifically, the money I’d given him over the phone. It was very early, the day was just starting to break, and the house was totally still and quiet. I tiptoed to the bathroom without using my flashlight, keeping to the center of the hall. I showered and washed my underpants still thinking about that money. It had to be thousands of dollars, for sure. I didn’t regret giving it all to Roch, but I regretted I not having at least a couple of hundred dollars extra in my wallet.

I had counted my money the previous evening during my session on the sofa and I knew I had exactly two hundred and twenty eight dollars, fifty nine cents. And I would have to fork out sixty bucks every week for my room on Yale Avenue, and another sixty on life’s necessities. Basically, I was good for a couple of weeks, then I would be flat broke.

I had to find a job within the next few days. I hated that thought more than I hated my wet underpants. Jobs that could be found within a few days were shitty jobs by definition. To make it even worse, my heart was set on doing some serious drawing and painting. I really felt boxed into a corner.

My pal loved it. He said I could’ve done the math a little earlier. Yes, I could have, but it felt like I had a lot of money after Harry paid me. And I’d counted on finding a place where they would only ask for a week’s notice and a week’s deposit. Renting the room on Yale Avenue cleaned me out.

My pal pointed out that I rented the very first place I’d called and looked at, even though it was beyond my financial means. I didn’t even give myself the choice of looking at a few more places, the four other ads that looked good. There was no excuse for that. I had a feeling it was fated, because of all that Montrose and 4-3-1 mumbo-jumbo? That put me level with a savage who rolled his eyes and made bloody sacrifices every time the moon turned a certain color, or something like that.

I felt pretty flayed by all that; my pal was in top form. I hung around in my room smoking until it was time for breakfast. It was as good as it had been the previous time, but Nancy continued to be preoccupied that morning and so was I. There was no conversation other than the usual courtesy bullshit, and she took off the moment I started eating.

I was about halfway through when I had the thought that I could call Roch and ask him to wire me a couple of hundred bucks. It was a bad thought to have, and all of a sudden my breakfast tasted like shit. I couldn’t call Roch and ask him to wire me some of the money he’d said he’d been keeping for me. If I did that, he would expect me to ask for more money every time I called, for a while to come.

I should have asked me to wire me some when he’d told me about it, and told him to keep the rest. It would have been okay to do so then, but not now. Timing really was everything. Life was about getting your timing right.

I retreated to my room after breakfast and stayed there smoking and walking round in f.u.c.k.i.n.g circles until Harry called to say he was on his way to pick me up. He showed up around half past eleven and I left my room the moment I heard his Volkswagen’s rattle coming up the street.

I gave my key and thanks to Nancy on the way out and left the house just as Harry was pulling in to park the car. He didn’t switch off the engine when he saw I was coming, and I got in with a good morning and we drove away. I was surprised: I thought he’d go in, to say hello to Nancy. But he told me that weather was going to change much for the worse soon, and that we could find ourselves stuck on the island for several days if we didn’t move fast.

“I have no intention of doing any boating in a thunderstorm,” Harry said. “And I think I’d like to spend the next few days at my Mom’s, anyway. I got a lot of business to attend to, and I need the phone. The quicker we get this done, the better.”

“I’ll be packed in ten minutes,” I said.

“Good. I want to be sitting in an armchair with a drink by the time it gets dark.”

I told him that was a very good plan, and we drove the rest of the way in silence. There was next to no traffic once we got out of the city and we were at Lion’s Bay in twenty-odd minutes, a record time. It looked like we might be home and dry within a couple of hours, but it started to drizzle almost the moment we got into the boat and Harry said ‘f.u.c.k’ a few times. Then he told me to move myself forward, into the bows, and opened the little Evinrude up. It turned out to be much more powerful than it looked. At full revs, it propelled the boat fast enough to make the bows rise clear of the water, even though I’d moved to the front.

We docked at the island in under ten minutes and practically ran to the house. I got there first and saw the white rectangle of paper stuck between the door and its frame, and looked at Harry and pointed.

Harry went up to the door and pulled it out. It was a plain page folded over a business card, held together with a paper clip. Harry slid the clip off and looked the card over and handed it to me without a word, and got very busy unlocking the door.

It wasn’t a business card, it was a police card, so to speak. It belonged to Corporal Carl Evans of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. There was a message written in small, neat printed letters on the back. It said:

Mr Gibson, please call me at the nr on the card ASAP

I realized that I’d just learned Harry’s last name was Gibson. A full month had gone by without my knowing his full name. But maybe that was normal, in the pot-growing business. Last names and social insurance numbers were kept private.

I wanted to ask Harry what he thought that card meant, but when I followed him inside he said:

“Get going with your packing. Be as fast as you can. This drizzle is going to turn into a storm before very long.”

I was done and ready to leave in five minutes, and that included changing into fresh, dry underpants as well as packing the unfinished Seagram and Johnnie Walker. There was nearly a quart of good booze in those two bottles, and I sure as hell couldn’t afford to buy any for a while. But it was still a cheap move, I should have left them for Harry. He’d really saved my ass, more than that, he’d set me up with the art gallery contract and maybe actually set me on a path to success. I owed him, big time. But I needed that booze more than Harry did.

Harry took longer than me, I was on my second cigarette by the time he was ready to go. I was properly freaked out by then. I could think of three reasons why corporal Evans would want to talk to Harry, and two of them involved me. And the chance that corporal Evans wanted to talk about the Vipers’ visit was remote, to say the least. I hoped he wanted to know more about the gun-pointing incident. The other possibility was just too awful to think about.

Naturally, I wanted to talk to Harry about this whole business. His face told me this wasn’t the right time to do so, and I decided I’d invest some of my precious cash and invite him for a beer in the Park Pub after he dropped me off. Maybe he could call the corporal from the pub’s payphone and straighten everything out right away?

That particular thought had my paranoid pal rolling on the floor. Thankfully, had to get busy: I carried everything down to the boat while Harry ran a last check on the house. He had way more baggage than I had: a big, battered suitcase, two sports bags, and a backpack. The suitcase was mostly empty, I could feel just a couple of items bouncing around inside when I carried it down to the boat.

“What’s with the suitcase?” I asked Harry when he joined me.

“It’s my Mom’s. She wants it back.”

He sounded snappy and I focused on helping him untie the boat and get it clear of the pier. The waves were noticeably bigger and we bounced a lot on the run to Lion’s Bay, even though we were weighed down by all that extra stuff. The drizzle had turned into regular rain by the time we docked, and we carried our baggage to the car at a half-run.

I just couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. As Harry drove up to the exit from the parking lot, I said:

“What do you think that cop wants to talk to you about?”

I was relieved to see him grin at that, then tensed up again when I realized that it was a sardonic grin.

“The possibilities are practically endless,” he said. “I guess I’ll find out tomorrow. If it concerns you, I’ll let you know.”

That effectively put an end to all conversation. Harry drove me to my new place through thickening rain: by the time we were driving over the big bridge, it was pouring and the sky over the faraway ocean occasionally turned white. The thunder was too distant to hear inside the car and that made it all the more eerie.

I did ask Harry if he would like a beer when we got close, but he shook his head and said he’d rather get home fast. He dropped me off right in front of my new home, and he switched off the engine and got out of the car to shake hands in spite of the rain.

“Nice view you got,” he said, looking at the oil tanks.

“I can’t see them from my room.”

“That’s okay then. Later.”

“Wait. Can I, can I call you tomorrow evening? Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

He drove off and I ran to get under a roof as fast as possible. The front door was locked and I’d forgotten which key fit and it took me a hell of a long time to get inside.

The house was empty. I was surprised – I’d expected to find someone – but I was also grateful. I went up to my room as quietly as I could. There were some squeaks and squeals from the stairs but they were nothing compared to the vampire orchestra that played back at Roch’s house in Montreal, at least until he’d fixed up the staircase a bit towards the end of my stay. I was pleased about that. I knew that sooner or later, I’d want to hit the can in the middle of the night, and it was good to know I wouldn’t wake up the house doing so.

Just as long as you aren’t doing it blind drunk in order to throw up, said my paranoid pal. It’s been known to happen in the past, hasn’t it?

I didn’t respond. I ignored him. I had a lot to do. I had to go out in that rain and find a store and stock up on some basic life supplies, and maybe also get one of those cheap little folding umbrellas while I was at it. Hopefully there was a supermarket within easy walking distance. I hadn’t bothered to specifically look for the closest one the previous day, but I’d seen one while reviewing the bars prior to running into Jane.

It was just nearing two in the afternoon but as dark as if it was dusk. I switched on the small bedside lamp and my new home suddenly looked unbelievably warm and cozy, and I didn’t mind going out to shop in the rain any more.

I had a nice place to return to, and it was all mine.

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