Matt Lennox - The Carpenter

— This is my pal, Lee, said Speedy.

— So this is Lee, said Maurice.

They shook hands.

— You say it like you know me, said Lee.

— Speedy told me a little about you. All good things. You’re among friends. Come on, let’s go to the back. You want a beer, Lee?

— I’m okay.

Maurice led them to a passageway on the far side of the riser, past a door marked Ladies, a door marked Men, and finally to a knobless door at the back marked Offi e. He pushed the door open and led the way into a small room. Against one wall stood metal shelves bellied under the weight of potato sacks and tins of cooking oil and boxes of empty liquor bottles. Beer kegs were stacked in a corner and there were two windows set high in the wall. There was no desk but there was a Formica table and a mismatched collection of chairs. At the table a man was tapping a pen on a crossword puzzle torn from a newspaper. He didn’t have any particular look about him, but somehow he seemed at odds with the townies and the blue-collar hang-abouts out in the main room. Before him in a tumbler was a mixed drink, and when he saw them coming he smiled brightly.

— Well. How are you, Speedy?

Speedy said hello and introduced the man at the table as Colin Gilmore. He stood up to shake hands with Lee.

— All is well, Lee, said Gilmore. Any friend of Speedy’s is a friend of mine. Speedy, what do you say you visit with Arlene, get your glass filled back up.

Maurice let Speedy out and then he closed the door and leaned against the wall. Lee again felt the pulse in his eyes. He sat. Gilmore offered up a pack of Camel cigarettes. Lee withdrew one and Gilmore lit it for him.

— I know Roland Poirier, said Gilmore. You’d remember Rollie, wouldn’t you?

— Yeah, I knew Rollie, said Lee. But that’s a few … that’s more than a few years ago.

— Rollie’s been having a hard time lately. He got in some trouble out in New Brunswick.

— I heard something like that, said Lee. Gambling or cards or something.

— Yes, cards, gambling. All the vices. But he put in a pretty good word for you. I said, Roland, when you were a guest of the Queen, did you know a fellow named Lee King? He did, he said. He said you helped him out when he had some trouble with a couple of boys inside. Also over a card game, I understand.

— That’s twelve goddamn years ago.

— Never mind how he can’t gamble for shit, Roland’s a good judge of character. He said you were a reliable kind of guy. Serious. That’s what I like in a friend.

— In a friend, said Lee.

— Speedy says you’re looking for work.

— Well, Speedy told you wrong. I got a job.

Something passed between Gilmore and Maurice, wherever Maurice was. Behind Lee.

— Sure you do, said Gilmore. That isn’t to say you might not be enterprising.

Lee wanted to turn around and look behind his chair. To see wherever that big man was. He remained looking straight-on, but not without effort.

— Look, buck. Me and Speedy. I haven’t seen him in seventeen years.

Gilmore was exuding sympathy, a joke shared between them. He said: Speedy’s a busybody, pal, you know? Right now he’s almost at his full potential. I say almost because Speedy has a set of skills that make up for everything else he got shortchanged. It’s not quite the same with you, Lee. You’re your own set of skills. From what Roland Poirier told me and, to be honest, from what I can see from meeting you.

— I don’t know what you’re talking about.

— I can make it clearer, said Gilmore.

— Here’s the thing, buck. I got a job, I got a place, I got a girl on the go. Opportunity and all the rest of it, I don’t have any interest.

Gilmore grinned a salesman’s grin. He sipped from his mixed drink.

— I think I’ll get out of your way now, said Lee.

He got out of the chair. Maurice hadn’t moved. He was still leaning against the door. He had his glasses off and he was rubbing one of the lenses with a Kleenex.

— Hope we’ll see you again, said Gilmore.

— Sure, said Lee.

Maurice put his glasses back on and opened the door. He said: Take care.

— Yeah, said Lee. So long.

In the passageway, Lee pitched the butt of the Camel cigarette to the floor. Speedy was at the bar talking to the bartender, that girl Arlene they’d been served by earlier. Lee saw Speedy turning to look at him as he went by but he crossed the floor and went into the vestibule. The doorman was telling a couple of kids that they couldn’t come in. There was a bank of pay telephones. Lee picked up a receiver and pushed a dime into the slot and dialed Helen’s number. It rang a dozen times before he put the receiver back in the cradle.

Speedy had appeared in the vestibule, carrying a refilled glass of beer.

— Lee, come on. Let’s go back inside and run us down a couple chicks.

He reached out to take Lee by the sleeve. Lee shoved him hard against the wall. The doorman turned to see and the kids went wide-eyed.

— Speedy, you dumb motherfucker.

— Lee …

Lee moved past the doorman. The kids made way for him and he hustled down the front steps. He didn’t know if Speedy was following him or not but he went quickly across the big parking lot. Some distance away, the lights of a rig were moving onto the pavement from the highway. A row of overnighted tractor-trailers stood like dormant beasts. Lee turned and Speedy had not come out of the roadhouse. The neon sign above was crude against the night sky.

All that was past the trucks was a store with sundries and a counter of day-old doughnuts. Lee bought a cup of coffee and went back out. He made his way back up the highway, putting his thumb out whenever headlights appeared behind him, and about half a mile along, a man in a Buick stopped. The man said he didn’t mind giving a fella a lift, but that he had a twelve-inch length of iron pipe under his seat, if Lee was the kind of person who didn’t have the right idea of how far charity extends.

Even after Lee was back in town, he didn’t uncoil. The windows at the Owl Cafe were dark. He went to the Corner Pocket and got a table and played a couple of games by himself. He’d been there about forty-five minutes when he put his cue down and went over to the counter and asked for a Coke. The barman popped open a can and filled up a glass for him.

— Good to have you back again, said the barman.

— Yeah.

A man came up and returned a rack of balls, paid off his table. Lee drank the Coke and set the glass down.

— Another?

— Yes.

The barman popped open the can. Lee pressed the heels of his hands into his forehead. His eyes were pulsing again. The glass was just half full when Lee told the barman to stop pouring. The barman looked at him.

— I was thinking, said Lee. Maybe you could put a couple splashes of rye in there?

Halloween came a week later, falling on a Friday. From street light to street light went the children in their costumes, carrying shopping bags full of take. Lee and Helen went to the liquor store and filled out a selection card and came out with a couple of bottles of whisky. Lee felt like a big man. He’d spent a few days fretting over Speedy and their trip to the roadhouse, but by the same token he was pleased with himself. Anybody who said he couldn’t go straight, well, they could fuck off, now more than ever.

He and Helen walked along Princess Street. They passed one of the bottles between them, whisky mixed with cola, hidden inside a paper bag. Lee took a swig. If he could stand his ground with some serious men like Speedy’s friends, then he didn’t think he’d have any problem handling a drink a two. He felt like he was actually in control of what was happening around him, what was happening to him. And he was proud of that.