on, Heck?’
‘What? With what? Nothin.’
She angles the rear-view so she can see his face. ‘What’s up with him?’
He squirms around in the back seat. ‘I’ll just get some quarters inside.’
After he’s gone she looks back out the window, Christ the King down at the end of the street, a bit of pale sun coming through, lighting up the big stained-glass rose window in the tower. The first colour she’s seen all day.
She changes in the back seat, jeans and her favourite purple Vuarnet sweatshirt, and she’s still trying to dig the underwear out of her ass when she gets to the sign, that big monkey grinning down on all the traffic passing by. Top Hat Amusements.
Inside it’s all lights and noise – pinball machines and pool tables and arcades and all the other shit she grew out of ages ago. Kids in outfits so lame it’d make you sick, things they were wearing down south like last year. Kids skipping class to go to the arcade, while their parents skip work to go to Elm Town Square or Towers or god knows where, just to get away from something. Each other maybe.
Francie makes for the back where the old ones hang out, past Heck shouting, ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ at some cabinet, passing Feldman leaning against a pillar keeping an eye out, and there’s Slim lounging at the Moon Patrol tabletop, across from Duncan, who’s plucking at his green mohawk. They’re just finishing up, Dunc sliding a small vial across and Slim sliding a few bills back.
Before Slim spots her, she ducks into the photo booth, sits on the ripped leather cushion in all that beaver panel. Her fingers find the cool disc of a quarter in her pocket and she thinks, like what the fuck, and drops it down the slot. The machine purrs and then Francie hears Slim’s chair slide back and then Dunc’s raspy voice.
‘Slim, thought you should know – Milly’s comin in from Spanish.’
‘Okay.’
‘He’s looking for his brother.’
‘Okay, so?’
‘Disappeared a few days ago, just walked straight off the farm, and y’know Lemmy’s a fuckin retard, so Milly figures he mighta got himself froze to death.’
‘Bummer.’
‘Yeah, so anyway, word is cops found some dead kid out on 17 last night.’
‘Lemmy?’
‘Dunno, but Milly thinks maybe, so he’s comin to make sure. He fuckin loves that kid, practically raised him.’
‘That’s a bummer.’
‘Yeah. Anyway, I’m just sayin cause the word is the cops lost the body.’
A shutter click, a flash, and Francie’s world is a white sheet.
‘So maybe someone took it or somethin. That’s what’s goin around anyway – that someone took it.’
Click, flash.
A groan from Slim. ‘Fuckin Heck.’
Click, flash.
‘Yeah, well, anyway, thought you should know. It’s gonna look pretty bad for whoever stole that body. Milly sure loved that kid.’
Click, flash. She rubs her eyes. Trying to brush the white spots out.
A clunk and a strip spits out of the machine. Slim walks past the booth, heading back into the mass of brats. Francie grabs the strip, four white squares fading in, and stuffs it into her pocket, slides out of the booth. Dunc leaning over the tabletop, his face lit up by the game like he’s telling a ghost story and maybe he is. He flashes her some teeth. ‘Hey, Francine.’
She gives him the finger and heads for the door, dragging Heck away from his game yelling, ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ the whole way.
Back in the car she doesn’t bother with the window anymore, she stares straight at Slim. Even Heck shuts up when he feels the air go sour, or he’s still sulking about his stupid arcade game. Slim keeps giving her sideways glances and his forehead’s softened up. Then they turn off Regent and she finally loses it.
‘Where the fuck are we going?’
‘Just hold on.’
‘I’m not gonna fuckin hold on. We’re supposed to be halfway to Toronto but instead we been driving all over the city and I wanna know what the fuck for!’
‘Just one last stop, Francie.’
‘I swear to god, Slim, if we’re not on that highway – I swear to fuckin god.’
‘I’ll get you there, don’t worry, babe.’ And it’s got to be real bad, because pet names make Slim barf. As some kind of peace offering, he jams the tape back in the eight-track. The vocals kicking in, and I’m stuck here two years too long, and Francie thinks ain’t that the fuckin truth of it. In the summer this was a love song and now it’s a song about this day and yesterday and all the days before. Stuck, stuck, stuck. And then Bernard’s voice gets all crunched up as the deck mangles the tape. Francie wrenching it loose.
‘You’re gonna wreck it, Francie!’ Slim trying to grab the tape from her, but she rolls down her window and tosses it. ‘Fuckin psycho!’ He pounds the wheel.
Heck forces one of his stupid pig laughs from the back seat.
‘You guys.’
In the mirror, she watches the magnetic tape unspooling behind them in a big oily ribbon, the tape clattering on the pavement. Francie laughing. Just Married.
Slim swings the car around behind Wembley Public, stopping in the trees down near the metal bridge over the creek. So far past talking, the three of them just watch the water, a shopping cart upended in the middle, brown foam pooling around it.
Slim pulls the vial out of his jacket and spills three blue microdots into his hand. He drops one and passes one back to Heck. The last one to Francie, her holding the blue tab like a bug she might squish. Placing it on her tongue. Dropping this little bit of colour down her throat, down inside her. A little blue into all that grey, like the food colouring her mom used for cake icing. Sometimes a little drop is all it takes. The blue’s falling into her and outside the snow is just starting to fall.
Before five minutes have passed, Heck’s already rubbing his face. ‘It stinks back here.’
Slim snorts. ‘Because you fuckin blew chunks back there.’
‘It really stinks.’ Heck’s struggling out of his jacket. ‘And it’s hot, like a sauna.’ Then he’s out the door, rolling around on the gravel.
Francie pulls her legs up on the seat, chin on knees. ‘I don’t wanna be dicked around, Slim.’
‘I’m not dicking you around.’
‘You’re lying – ’
‘I’m not – ’
‘
