Don Gutteridge - Desperate Acts

“What do you mean? Who will ever know?”

“My brother and sister-in-law have beenraising little Sarah now for almost a year-and-a-half. She is their child. I could never ask them to give her up.”

And though they had returned to the matterseveral times since, Diana had remained adamant. However, whileeach of them knew that they must wait some time before announcingan engagement, its certainty was no longer in doubt.

Now this. Had someone actually got wind ofDiana’s secret? Surely not. It had to be a desperate and fecklessattempt at extortion.

“What will you do?” Celia said, handing thenote back to Brodie.

“This!” Brodie tore the letter to shreds.

“Good. And that’ll be the end of it?” Celiasmiled uncertainly.

“I promise. Don’t I always take care ofeverything?”

But the end of it, Brodie had alreadydecided, would take place next Wednesday evening at nine-thirty inthe alley behind The Sailor’s Arms.

***

Nestor Peck was weaving his way along WellingtonStreet, pleasantly inebriated, a state he prized above all others.Added to his sense of well-being was the fact that for the firsttime in years he had a fine wool coat to wrap around his shrunkentorso and a silk scarf to keep his wrinkled throat warm. A stiffbreeze had come up from the west just as he had left The Cock andBull, but the stars were still shining and the three-quarter moonwas gliding apace and lighting his homeward path, as if he hadordered up such luxuries himself. It was near midnight when heapproached the stone-cottage beside the chicken hatchery. It wasthe first genuine house he had occupied since he had drifted intoToronto a decade ago. Not that it would be considered so by thetown’s finer folk, for although it had once been a sturdy farmcottage with quarry-stone walls and a timbered roof, it had beenabandoned long before the city had reached out and encircled it. Inthe interim, its roof had rotted out in three places (now patched,thank you) and the glass in its windows disintegrated (now neatlycovered with oiled paper). Leather hinges now held the decrepitdoor almost vertical and a welcome-mat had been placed on the stepby the proud new lessee (the hatchery-man having claimedownership).

Nestor stumbled over his welcome-mat and fellagainst the door. It sprung open, propelling him into the main roomjust in time to see his cousin sweep something off the table intohis lap and make a haphazard effort to snuff the nearby candle.

“Oh, hullo, Nestor,” Albert Duggan grinned.“I thought you were out for the night. You give me a start.”

“Sorry, Bert. Had one too many at the Cockand – ”

A pound-note fluttered out of Duggan’s laponto the wooden floor.

“I thought you was broke,” Nestor said, morepuzzled than annoyed.

“That I was, cousin. Indeed I was. But Iopened a letter I got from the lawyers in Montreal this afternoonand found these crisp banknotes tucked inside.”

“Yer legacy ?”

Duggan reached down, picked the stray bill upwith two fingers, and proffered it to Nestor. “Just anotherinstallment, they say. A tidbit, really. But it means I can pay youback and give you this week’s rent.”

“I ain’t never seen a lawyer’s letter,”Nestor said, taking the money.

Duggan improved upon his grin. “Oh, I tossedit in the stove a while ago. No need to keep it, eh?”

“I guess not.”

“Not like it was a personal letter oranything. Just a lot of legal mumbo-jumbo.”

“No.” Nestor pulled up a rickety chair andsettled down opposite his cousin, his gaze fixed on the whiskey-jugbeside the candle on the table. “You go out tonight?”

The grin froze on Duggan’s face and slowlyreconstituted itself as a grimace. “I went to The Sailor’s Arms fora drink.”

Something in his cousin’s face alarmedNestor. “Ya didn’t cause any trouble there, did ya?”

“The only trouble was that ape, Budge. We hada bit of run-in – and he got the worst of it.” But the bruise onDuggan’s cheek suggested his “victory” had not been a clear-cuttriumph.

“Jesus, Bert, you’re gonna queer it fer medown there.”

“Don’t sweat, Nestor. The bastard may’veheard my name from one of the tars in the place, but he don’t knowwho I am or anything about the two of us . I made damn sureof that.”

“Well, I hope so. This is the first payin’job I’ve had in this town. It ain’t much, but it let’s us live instyle, don’t it?”

Duggan guffawed, but the shadows thrown up bythe candle exaggerated the sharp edges of his features, and for amoment he resembled a gargoyle chortling at some grotesque joke.“Nestor, if this is style, I’d hate to see a hovel!”

Nestor looked stricken. “Then why’d you agreeto move in here with me?” He grabbed the jug and tipped it up tohis lips. It was, incredibly, almost full.

“No need to get your balls twisted,” Duggansaid. “I threw in with ya because you’re kin, my mother’s sister’sboy. And I knew we weren’t gonna be here for very long.”

“Whaddya mean?” Nestor let his fear show. Hedidn’t take well to change as it invariably meant a change for theworse.

“We’re gonna be rich, Nestor. Rich asCroesus. It was all in that letter. And very, very soon.”

“In the letter you burned?”

Duggan gave Nestor a searching glance, andsaid, “There was only the money and the good news in it – nodetails, yet. But they’ll come. And when they do, you and me aregoin’ to open up a public house of our own and put thatson-of-a-bitch Budge out of business!”

His brain already fuzzy with drink, Nestortried to take this startling news in. “But it’s Missus Budge thatowns the place,” he said. “An’ she’s a nice lady. Tough, she is,but nice all the same.”

“I’m not interested in the lady. But I gotthat husband of hers by the short hairs.” The fierce, gloating joyin Duggan’s huge, black eyes gave Nestor a further fright.

“You ain’t plannin’ on doin’ nothin’stupid?”

“Only stupid people do stupid things. And I’mnot stupid. No, sir. You should’ve seen me there tonight. Remember,last week, when you told me you thought Tobias Budge might becuddling that barmaid of his?”

Nestor paled. He had only a hazy recollectionof that conversation, fuelled as it was by a jug of whiskey notunlike the one he was now fingering. But he recalled enough to be -suddenly – very, very anxious. “Fer God’s sake, Bert, you won’t gotellin’ the missus! I only seen him give the girl a pat on thebehind.”

“He’s been pattin’ her in places other’n herass,” Duggan leered.

“Whaddya mean?”

“I smooth-talked her again this evening whenBudge was busy. Then when she was least expecting it, I asked herhow her sweetheart was doing and whether or not he knew about thebun in her oven.”

Nestor dropped the jug onto the table, andDuggan deftly stopped it from tipping over. “Holy Jesus – ”

“And it worked, cousin. Oh, how it worked.She went all red, which you’d expect, then she went white as aghost and looked over at Budge behind the bar. It was as clear asday. I’d struck the mother-lode!”

“But if you go breathin’ a word of this,Budge’ll sack me an’ come gunnin’ fer you! He’s a gorilla when he’sriled up!”

“Quit your worrying and have another drink.You don’t get it, do you? Now that we’ve dug up this dirt on Budge,even if he’s smart enough to figure out who we are, it’s him that’s got to be afraid of us. Your job was never safer thanit is now.”

“So you’re not gonna tell on him?”

Duggan did not directly answer the question.He wiped the mouth of the jug on his sleeve, took a sip of SwampySam’s bootleg whiskey, and placed the jug back in front of Nestor.“You’re a snitch for the police, aren’t you? You know the value ofinformation – to the penny. You might say that I’m learning thegame from my cousin, eh?”