Brooks’s face clouded with rage. Matthias took my arm. I shook his hand off.
“What the hell is your problem?” I demanded.
“You are,” Brooks snarled. “I don’t like you …”
“I get that,” I said. “But why? What did I ever do to you?”
“You’re a punk. You and the kind of people you associate with. You damn near got my daughter killed.”
“That’s not —” I was going to say he wasn’t being fair, that it wasn’t my fault that Bobbi had been hurt, that it could have just as easily been me lying in that hospital bed, but Matthias gripped my arm again.
“Let’s go,” he said, giving my arm a brief squeeze for emphasis. There was no shaking him off this time.
Outside Bobbi’s room I said, “I’m getting damned sick of that guy.”
“Look, let’s go have a beer,” Matthias said. “How about that place near where you live? Bridges. I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast. I hear they do good burgers.”
So we got in our respective vehicles and drove to Granville Island. Bridges was busy, but we were able to find a seat on the terrace overlooking the marina. From where we sat we could see the Wonderlust. We could also see the point under the Burrard Street Bridge where Bobbi had been found. Neither of us spoke, except to the waitress, until she had taken our order. Then Matthias asked:
“What’s Norman Brooks got against you?”
“I wish I knew,” I said. “He obviously blames me for what happened to Bobbi. I suppose that’s understandable. In some way I guess I am, but — shit, you don’t think he thinks I did it, do you?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible. You don’t have the best alibi I’ve ever heard. You and Bobbi are getting along all right?”
“Sure.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “But …”
“No but,” I said. “We’re getting along fine. At least, I think we are. Why? Has she said anything to you?”
“No, but she might have said something to her father.”
“They don’t talk much,” I said.
“Well, whatever it is, it’s clear he doesn’t have much use for you — or your friends,” he added with a wry smile.
Our beers arrived, and his hamburger, a fat half-pound charcoal-grilled patty in a crusty Kaiser, with onions, tomato, and mushrooms. He tucked in.
“Good,” he said after a few bites. He ate a few more mouthfuls, drank some beer, wiped mustard off his chin, then said, “Let’s change the subject. How’s your daughter? Hilly, right? Is she back from Australia yet?”
“She’s not due back till the fall,” I said.
“She’s what, sixteen?”
“She’ll be fifteen in August.”
“You must miss her.”
“I do,” I said. “She usually spends a good part of the summer with me. This is the first summer in nine years she hasn’t been with me.” I sipped my beer.
“How’s Reeny doing?” he asked, after washing down a mouthful of burger.
“Fine. She’s still in Europe.”
“But you two are, um, still together, aren’t you?”
“To be honest,” I said. “I don’t really know. We like each other — a lot, I think — and we get along, but the last time we spoke on the phone we both agreed there was something missing. I’m not sure what, though.” Maybe love, I added to myself.
Matthias nodded. “That’s essentially how it is between Bobbi and me,” he said. He gestured toward my almost finished beer. “Want another?”
I shook my head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll call it a night.” I started to take out my wallet.
“My treat,” he said.
I thanked him and left him there with the remains of his burger and his beer.
As I left the pub I saw Eddy Porter sitting on a bench, looking woebegone as he stared out at the boat traffic on False Creek.
“Why so glum, Eddy?” I asked. I should’ve known better.
“Apophis is coming,” he said.
“Who?”
“Not who. What. Apophis is a near-Earth asteroid. It’s going to hit the Earth in 2036.”
“Oh,” I said. “We still have plenty of time to stock up on bottled water and freeze-dried food, then.”
“Won’t do any good,” he said. “It was an asteroid like Apophis that killed off the dinosaurs sixty-five million years ago. Apophis’ll do the same to us.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll immigrate to the moon.” And Hilly. Reeny, too, if she wanted to come. We’d live in a dome and raise hydroponic veggies.
He shook his head. “It’s going to hit the moon, too.”
“Mars, then. Or is it going to hit Mars as well?”
“No. Mars is okay,” Eddy said.
“That’s good to know,” I said. He nodded.
Eddy Porter was employed at the Granville Island boat works, where he’d probably inhaled too much fibreglass solvent. A few years earlier he’d been abducted by aliens who, he said, had inserted an implant in his head, which was no doubt how they kept him apprised of upcoming celestial events. He was harmless. In fact, I often wondered if he was one of the saner people I knew.
“Um, how’s Bobbi doing?” he asked.
“She’s doing okay,” I said. “Thanks for asking.”
“Good thing Arty Smelski happened along in his kayak when he did, ain’t it?”
“Is that the name of the paramedic who found her?” I said. “No one told me. I’d like to buy him a beer.”
“Arty’d let you.”
“Where would I find him?”
“Dunno where he lives,” Eddy said. “But he’s got an old fishing boat in the Harbour Authority marina he’s fixing up to someday retire on. Likely you’ll find him there most days.”
The Granville Island boat works was on the other side of the parking lot next to Bridges, facing Broker’s Bay, where the Wonderlust was berthed. The police had probably interviewed Eddy and his co-workers — or maybe
