said, directing an obvious wink at the others. “Every wreck you bring back to life is another new car they don’t get to sell. You’re undermining the economy of Japan and the US, both. Ontario too.”
Arvo had heard this before. It was a harmless sort of joking, though you sensed a hint of something serious beneath it when it came from Earl Boyd.
He supposed he was a bit of a mystery to some. Few in Portuguese Creek were allowed to remain mysteries for long — it wasn’t neighbourly. Still, though he minded his own business, he tried to be friendly to all. Of course they probably believed that a man with his head under a raised engine hood had little real life of his own.
Rick Morrison walked his chair over from a neighbouring table and swung it around to face them. “Never mind the Big Car Manufacturers — what about the sales staff on our own car lots? Lowest number of sales gets his walking papers. You like putting people out of work?”
“Arvo’s a bit of an anarchist at heart.” Jenny said this as though she rather hoped it was true. Her father had been an outspoken member of the IWW when Arvo and Jenny were in elementary school together. At the time, Arvo had had only the vaguest idea of what the IWW was — something foreign in origin, frowned-upon, dangerous, vaguely communist. Jenny had come to school in faded cut-down cotton dresses. No socks in her shoes. Her father had been sent to jail for a while. She’d married young — a distant cousin in Alberta — but had come home a widow, and soon afterwards married Jerry Banks, the owner of the largest lumber company in town. She was a widow now again, living alone in a mansion she and Banks had built where her parents’ shack once stood. Recently she’d been elected president of the Community Association.
By the time Arvo had finished a second coffee, Billy-boy Harrison had returned. “Got ’er!” he said. “Easy!” He threw his arms out wide, waiting to be welcomed with praise and applause.
Earl Boyd applauded, slowly, with his big hands. Sarcastically, it seemed to Arvo.
“Your tire’s outside,” Billy-boy said. “I don’t know how much tread there is but you can see there’s some — which is more than I can say for most of the others.”
“What’s this for?” Alec Morrison turned to ask Arvo.
“Finding the tire was easier than I thought,” Billy-boy said. “So I spent a couple of minutes on the internet. I was curious to see what sort of vehicle it’s for.”
“And?” Earl said.
“Billy knows all business between us is confidential,” Arvo said.
Billy-boy shrugged. “Don’t worry. It’s nobody else’s business how much a person pays. And it’s nobody else’s business if that tire is meant for a logging truck, a Smart Car, or a big old Cadillac.”
“You’re finding abandoned logging trucks now?” Alex Morrison scowled at Arvo. “How the hell would you get a logging truck down out of the woods without anyone knowing?”
“Someone would have noticed,” Beryl Wood said. “The police are probably at your place this minute. Don’t expect us to vouch for you. We don’t know what you do when you’re alone.”
“Yes, we do,” said Earl. “He spends it tinkering like a kid with his Meccano set.”
“Do they still make Meccano sets?” Beryl asked. “They have Lego now.”
“It probably isn’t a logging truck,” Alex Morrison said.
“Well, it can’t be a Cadillac,” Beryl said. “Who would ditch a Cadillac out in the bush? Anyone who owns a Cadillac would trade it in for a new one — or maybe an Audi.”
“I don’t know if they even make Cadillacs any more,” Earl said. “Maybe they’re like Meccano sets, replaced by plastic Lego cars from Denmark.”
CHAPTER 5
HE TURNED ONE WAY and then, within minutes, the other. The blankets made him too warm, and yet he had never been able to sleep without a cover. It was impossible to relax, knowing that the Cathedral hearse sat unguarded
Arvo had heard this before. It was a harmless sort of joking, though you sensed a hint of something serious beneath it when it came from Earl Boyd.
He supposed he was a bit of a mystery to some. Few in Portuguese Creek were allowed to remain mysteries for long — it wasn’t neighbourly. Still, though he minded his own business, he tried to be friendly to all. Of course they probably believed that a man with his head under a raised engine hood had little real life of his own.
Rick Morrison walked his chair over from a neighbouring table and swung it around to face them. “Never mind the Big Car Manufacturers — what about the sales staff on our own car lots? Lowest number of sales gets his walking papers. You like putting people out of work?”
“Arvo’s a bit of an anarchist at heart.” Jenny said this as though she rather hoped it was true. Her father had been an outspoken member of the IWW when Arvo and Jenny were in elementary school together. At the time, Arvo had had only the vaguest idea of what the IWW was — something foreign in origin, frowned-upon, dangerous, vaguely communist. Jenny had come to school in faded cut-down cotton dresses. No socks in her shoes. Her father had been sent to jail for a while. She’d married young — a distant cousin in Alberta — but had come home a widow, and soon afterwards married Jerry Banks, the owner of the largest lumber company in town. She was a widow now again, living alone in a mansion she and Banks had built where her parents’ shack once stood. Recently she’d been elected president of the Community Association.
By the time Arvo had finished a second coffee, Billy-boy Harrison had returned. “Got ’er!” he said. “Easy!” He threw his arms out wide, waiting to be welcomed with praise and applause.
Earl Boyd applauded, slowly, with his big hands. Sarcastically, it seemed to Arvo.
“Your tire’s outside,” Billy-boy said. “I don’t know how much tread there is but you can see there’s some — which is more than I can say for most of the others.”
“What’s this for?” Alec Morrison turned to ask Arvo.
“Finding the tire was easier than I thought,” Billy-boy said. “So I spent a couple of minutes on the internet. I was curious to see what sort of vehicle it’s for.”
“And?” Earl said.
“Billy knows all business between us is confidential,” Arvo said.
Billy-boy shrugged. “Don’t worry. It’s nobody else’s business how much a person pays. And it’s nobody else’s business if that tire is meant for a logging truck, a Smart Car, or a big old Cadillac.”
“You’re finding abandoned logging trucks now?” Alex Morrison scowled at Arvo. “How the hell would you get a logging truck down out of the woods without anyone knowing?”
“Someone would have noticed,” Beryl Wood said. “The police are probably at your place this minute. Don’t expect us to vouch for you. We don’t know what you do when you’re alone.”
“Yes, we do,” said Earl. “He spends it tinkering like a kid with his Meccano set.”
“Do they still make Meccano sets?” Beryl asked. “They have Lego now.”
“It probably isn’t a logging truck,” Alex Morrison said.
“Well, it can’t be a Cadillac,” Beryl said. “Who would ditch a Cadillac out in the bush? Anyone who owns a Cadillac would trade it in for a new one — or maybe an Audi.”
“I don’t know if they even make Cadillacs any more,” Earl said. “Maybe they’re like Meccano sets, replaced by plastic Lego cars from Denmark.”
CHAPTER 5
HE TURNED ONE WAY and then, within minutes, the other. The blankets made him too warm, and yet he had never been able to sleep without a cover. It was impossible to relax, knowing that the Cathedral hearse sat unguarded
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