Strange Magic by Gord Rollo Page A

a sympathetic nod.
    “What were you laughing at, then?” he asked, breaking the silence. “What was so funny?”
    “Nothing really, I just wasn’t prepared to see you dressed up in your baggy clown suit, that’s all. When I turned and looked at you, I sort of lost it. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”
    Wilson could acknowledge the humor of seeing a clown being let out of the drunk tank, and smiled agreeably. “Oh, so you were laughing at me, huh? I suppose I did look a bit silly.”
    Looking serious for a moment, he looked her straight in the eye and said, “I really was trying this time. I didn’t mean for things to turn out the way they did.”
    “I know you didn’t,” she replied sympathetically, although she’d heard the same line many times in the past. “And you’re going to keep on trying, right?”
    “Right,” he answered, incredibly thankful he’d been wrong about her. It was comforting to know she hadn’t given up on him. “Where were you last night, anyway?”
    “Amanda and I drove up to Rochester and spent the night with my mother. She can’t stand living there, but she’s adamant it’s her who’s gonna look after Granny. We didn’t get back until this morning. Why? I’m allowed to have a life of my own, aren’t I? I mean, you can’t expect me to sit around day after day, year after year, waiting by the phone to rescue you every time you get in trouble.”
    Wilson could tell she immediately regretted her harsh words but he flinched anyway, as if struck. He let the comment go. They rode in an uncomfortable silence for a few blocks, wondering what it would take to bring them together again. Neither seemed to know what to say, so they just stared straight ahead and continued on in silence.
    “So how’s Amanda doing?” he finally asked, unable to take the tension-filled quiet any longer.
    “She’s really good, but she’s missed you quite a bit lately. You haven’t been coming around much.”
    “I know. I’ve been pretty busy practicing my magic act. I was kind of hoping you’d bring her with you.”
    “Come on, Wilson…get real,” Susan said with a touch of sarcasm. “She worships the ground you walk on. Do you really think it would be good for her to see you getting out of jail?”
    “It’s not jail…it’s just…oh hell. No, I suppose not.You’re right, I guess I just miss her an awful lot and was hoping to see her.”
    “Then let’s get you home. I took Amanda over to Mrs. Henderson’s. She’s her new babysitter. We’ll get you out of that silly clown suit, and we’ll go pick her up. I think Amanda will like that.”
    “I think I’d like that too.” Wilson smiled tenderly, touching Susan’s hand. This time she didn’t pull away.

C HAPTER S IX
P ICK A C ARD …A NY O LD C ARD
    “Where the hell is he?” the Stranger asked, his rough voice seething with anger, as he violently pounded the steering wheel until his hands hurt.
    Most of the morning was gone, it was quarter to eleven, and he’d been looking for Kemp throughout the night. On his arrival the night before, he’d stopped at a public telephone booth on the corner of Main and Berkely. The directory listed two Kemps, one with the initial S and the other a W . The latter seemed the obvious choice, but just to be safe, he jotted both addresses and phone numbers into a small notebook he carried in one of the many pockets of his long overcoat.
    His next stop had been to fill up at the twenty-four-hour Noco gas station and purchase a cheap local street map on display beside the cash register. After a quick peep at the map, he was on his way to Morgan Avenue, his adrenaline racing at the prospect of confronting the elusive Kemp. A few minutes after one o’clock, he turned onto Morgan and stopped the vehicle within sight of 256, the address listed for W. Kemp.
    The house was relatively small, a one-level wooden bungalow, badly run-down and requiring extensive renovation. The house was beige with