Serpents Rising by David A. Poulsen

again.
    â€œCome on, Yik. You told me you’d answer one question. That’s my question. Let’s say I was going to mention it in my story, I’d sort of like to have my facts straight, you know.”
    Yik’s mouth moved again, about the same amount as last time. “All right, that’s your question. Here’s my answer and I’m giving you this only because of before, you understand what I’m saying here?”
    I nodded. “I understand.”
    â€œThat house ain’t Asian. Different group. And here’s the bonus, Cullen. Badass guys. It would be a big mistake to walk up to them like you did with me just now.”
    â€œIf it’s not Asian, what should we —”
    Yik took a half-step forward, stopped. “You’ve had your one question, Cullen. I won’t say I’ll see you around because that isn’t going to happen. So let’s just leave it at goodbye.”
    â€œWhat about M and F Holdings? Ever hear of a company by that name?”
    â€œSame answer, Cullen. Don’t try my patience.”
    As Yik moved ahead, the gorilla opposite Cobb stepped forward too, expecting Cobb to move. Cobb didn’t move. A game of sidewalk chicken.
    â€œNow, gentlemen,” Yik said, the tone of a dad to his kids. “Remember the golden rule.”
    He very deliberately stepped between Cobb and me and headed off down the street. The gorilla stepped around Cobb and followed, his shoulder just brushing Cobb on the way by. I realized that Cobb had not said a word in that entire exchange. Probably a good thing.
    I’d never actually seen Cobb in action before today. When he’d investigated the fire and the note, he’d worked on his own, reported in a few times. I guess I hadn’t expected somebody out of a Bruce Willis movie.
    We turned and watched the trio walk toward Centre Street. I looked at Cobb. “Why is it I get the feeling that if I’m going to hang out with you I better make sure my health care premiums are up to date?”
    He didn’t answer.
    When we were back in the car, I said, “You believe him?”
    Cobb shrugged. “He was playing it up. Telling you he knows more than you do, that he’s a big deal in this world.” He waved a hand to show what part of the world he meant. “And he’s not afraid of us so there was no reason to lie. But I did get a sense that he was maybe a little nervous when it comes to whoever his rivals are over there in Ramsay. In fact, he might be more than a little scared, even with his goons beside him.”
    We spent the rest of the afternoon on Calgary’s darkest, meanest streets. More homeless shelters, a couple of church-run basement flophouses manned by tired looking, well-meaning people. We stopped everyone who looked younger than thirty — there were lots of them — to show the photo and ask about Jay Blevins. A few times glimmers of recognition tried to work their way through fog-shrouded minds. But never did. All we got from a couple of guys was that they knew Jay, had seen him around, maybe even talked to him, but had no idea where he’d be or even who we might ask for a little more in-depth information.
    Some neighbourhoods take on a vibrant, pulsing new persona as the darkness of night falls. This one did not. The film noir feel to the place was palpable.
    Cobb and I had split up again, agreed to meet at seven on the corner of 9th Avenue and 8th Street. There was a used bookstore there, a good one. The temperature was dropping fast and a north wind was starting to whip around me as I walked. Though we’d had a couple of snowfalls, this was the first real blast of winter cold and reminded me that this season was fourth on my list of favourites.
    I tried to bury my face in the scarf I’d had the foresight to stuff in a pocket of the down-filled jacket I was wearing. Gloves too. Good.
    I approached a Goodwill store that doubled as a shelter.