THE FERAL STRUT

Chapter 50

The yurt was cooling off, and Mary was spooned with Slim, on the edge of sleep. Ginger was out— snoring. Gris too. Harmony of the species.

"I thought of something," Mary whispered. "Right after you said 'in his way.'"

"Me too," said Slim, nuzzling her from behind.

"Not that. About the guy I saw. The bomber: he said way."

"Like, way cool? So what?"

"No. He said 'way' instead of yes. Like oui, but it came out way."

"Oh— that's a French Canadian thing," Slim said.

"How do you know that?"

"We had an exchange student from there. We started a hockey team at the high school, just pick-up, and he coached us. Charles— what was his name?"

"Doesn't matter. Wasn't the guy who jumped Spider in the parking lot— didn't he have an accent? He pronounced it Boo-li-vahnt, Spider said."

"That's right." Slim was excited. "Bingo!"

"Could you guys, like, hold it down to a dull roar?" Ginger.

"Sorry," Slim said, dropping his voice. "Anyhow, that fits with something I found— that the guy who invented those surgical staples was French Canadian."

"What happened to him?"

"Pretty sad. His house burnt down with his wife and kids inside. He was working late that night at the vet clinic. But he'd taken out a really huge insurance policy a few months before. So they nailed him. Put him away."

"I wonder," Mary said.

"If the policy was the work of someone else? Not to mention the fire."

"The Don? Jesus Christ!"

"Look you guys— I'm not kidding." Ginger said.

"Wake up, girlfriend."

"Don't have to. You're keeping me that way."

"Okay, then sit up. Big news."

Ginger sat up and struck a match, lighting the kerosene lamp. She was so beautiful, Mary thought, unearthly in the lamplight with her tousled hair.

"So— are you going to tell me?" she said in a peevish way.

A half-hour later, they looked at one another through the steam of their tea mugs, with silence vibrating in the space between.

"So— it all makes sense," Ginger said.

"In a horrible way." Slim went back to the bed.

"The guy was scary," Mary said, joining him. "But it's hard to hate him."

"Not for me," Ginger said. "He almost killed me. Intended to. I can see why he did what he did. But what a cost."

"Just thought of something," Mary said. "What happened to the tapes?"

"They were all boxed up, under a table by the security checkpoint, with a potted plant on either side. Pretty much vaporized, according to the Feds. Along with the guys guarding the table: the Don's thugs. They still haven't identified 'em. But they were probably the ones that ransacked our places and killed the Kitty Man."

"Some people must be glad to hear the tapes are gone. The ones who survived, anyhow. That Canadian guy must have really hated the Don, along with a lot of other people— the ones who got rich from his idea. While he was sitting in jail for killing his family."

"Yeah, well." Slim looked sad. "All I lost was a crummy job, a rusty Volvo, and the Kitty-Man. Hard to imagine how he'd feel."

Mary hugged him.

"What's that for?"

"'Cause you're good."

"How so?"

"Moral. Compassionate. Just."

"What about handsome?"

"Can't have everything."

"Enough," Ginger said, and blew out the lamp.