white collar and black jacket. He slowed to a saunter as he passed the table where his girlfriend, Rose—saucy bangs and saucy tight sweater—was sitting, absorbed in a chat with her friends. Coming up to the bar, he slapped Kyle’s back and gave him a heartening grin.
“What’s she at, buddy! Your mother all right? Heard she was sick.” He called to the bartender for a Black Horse and slapped Kyle’s back again. “What’s up, buddy—see fucking Roses back there?”
“Roses?”
“Eh, yeah, she likes me calling her Roses.”
“Ye getting married or something? What’s with the duds?”
“She ditched me agin.”
“Right. New clothes gonna get her back.”
“Man, I must be dumber than a fucking trout. Always letting her reel me in and dump me back out.”
“Find yourself a different pond, bud. Listen, can we go outside for a minute?”
“Have a drink, first. Hey buddy,” he yelled to the bartender. “Cancel that Black Horse, pour us a couple whiskies. How’s Syl? Heard Trapp was sneaking about agin.”
“Yeah, what’s that about? Where’s he living these days?”
“In Corner Brook, somewhere.”
“What’s he always fucking around here for? Nobody here belong to him no more.”
“Yes, b’y. And not like he ever lived here, hey, b’y. Hung around with Ben one summer. Don’t think he ever stayed much with them uncles of his.”
“Best thing ever happened, that sawmill burning down. Crazy fuckers, the Trapps.”
Hooker nodded. “Weird. Weird the way Trapp keeps sneaking back. Not like Ben’s still here—whatever the fuck Ben seen in him.”
“Ben. He’s got a soft spot for all the underdogs.”
“What about your sister?”
“Sylvie’s no fan of Trapp. Only tolerated him because he’s Ben’s friend.”
“When they getting back?”
“Don’t know. Few weeks.”
“I allows they’ll be married soon. Married.” He sniffed. “That’ll take the fun outta
ro-mance.
” He tossed Rose a snide look and turned to the flat-faced bartender. “Where’s the drinks, old man—oops, sorry, bud. Here, pour one for your honey.” He threw a few bills on the bar and handed Kyle a drink, taking the other for himself. “Cheers. What’s up? What’s on your mind? Listen.” He gulped his drink and, leaning in, patted his jacket pocket. “Got a few spliffs here. Afghani, man. Black as spades. We’ll go for a smoke in a bit. Got a few uppers, home. Get them later, if you want, all right, buddy? Your mother’s going to be fine, guaranteed.”
“I’m all right, b’y.” Kyle toasted Hooker, the whisky burning good in his belly.
“And Syl, how’s he doing? Always gets stirred up when Trapp’s about.”
“He had a few.”
“Figures. Got a shot of shine for him out in the car. Nice shine. Fucking premium. Snuck it from the old man’s larder.”
“Thanks, bud. Old man will like that.”
“Here’s to Syl. And to your mother. Got some nice dried red clover back at Grandmother’s. Good stuff—makes good tea for what ails you. Bring some up to your mother, if you like.”
“Jaysus, like the old country doctor,” said Kyle, clapping Hooker’s shoulder. He pushed aside thoughts of Bonnie’s car and threw back his whisky and ordered another for him and Hooker. One thing about the outports. You never suffered alone. Everybody was your brother or aunt or cousin or neighbour and they knew your dead like they knew their own.
“Look at her back there, look at her,” said Hooker, sneaking a glance at Rose. “She been stonewalling me all night and which ain’t working because I’m stonewalling her. She’ll have leg cramps from sitting in that chair before I gives her a look this evening. I always smells like pot, she says. That’s her thing, right? She hates that I smokes pot.”
“Buy her some flowers, b’y.”
“Hey. Love don’t care if it’s flowers or pot. Love is blind.”
“So’s hate.”
“You saying she hates me?”
“I’m saying it sucks to be
“What’s she at, buddy! Your mother all right? Heard she was sick.” He called to the bartender for a Black Horse and slapped Kyle’s back again. “What’s up, buddy—see fucking Roses back there?”
“Roses?”
“Eh, yeah, she likes me calling her Roses.”
“Ye getting married or something? What’s with the duds?”
“She ditched me agin.”
“Right. New clothes gonna get her back.”
“Man, I must be dumber than a fucking trout. Always letting her reel me in and dump me back out.”
“Find yourself a different pond, bud. Listen, can we go outside for a minute?”
“Have a drink, first. Hey buddy,” he yelled to the bartender. “Cancel that Black Horse, pour us a couple whiskies. How’s Syl? Heard Trapp was sneaking about agin.”
“Yeah, what’s that about? Where’s he living these days?”
“In Corner Brook, somewhere.”
“What’s he always fucking around here for? Nobody here belong to him no more.”
“Yes, b’y. And not like he ever lived here, hey, b’y. Hung around with Ben one summer. Don’t think he ever stayed much with them uncles of his.”
“Best thing ever happened, that sawmill burning down. Crazy fuckers, the Trapps.”
Hooker nodded. “Weird. Weird the way Trapp keeps sneaking back. Not like Ben’s still here—whatever the fuck Ben seen in him.”
“Ben. He’s got a soft spot for all the underdogs.”
“What about your sister?”
“Sylvie’s no fan of Trapp. Only tolerated him because he’s Ben’s friend.”
“When they getting back?”
“Don’t know. Few weeks.”
“I allows they’ll be married soon. Married.” He sniffed. “That’ll take the fun outta
ro-mance.
” He tossed Rose a snide look and turned to the flat-faced bartender. “Where’s the drinks, old man—oops, sorry, bud. Here, pour one for your honey.” He threw a few bills on the bar and handed Kyle a drink, taking the other for himself. “Cheers. What’s up? What’s on your mind? Listen.” He gulped his drink and, leaning in, patted his jacket pocket. “Got a few spliffs here. Afghani, man. Black as spades. We’ll go for a smoke in a bit. Got a few uppers, home. Get them later, if you want, all right, buddy? Your mother’s going to be fine, guaranteed.”
“I’m all right, b’y.” Kyle toasted Hooker, the whisky burning good in his belly.
“And Syl, how’s he doing? Always gets stirred up when Trapp’s about.”
“He had a few.”
“Figures. Got a shot of shine for him out in the car. Nice shine. Fucking premium. Snuck it from the old man’s larder.”
“Thanks, bud. Old man will like that.”
“Here’s to Syl. And to your mother. Got some nice dried red clover back at Grandmother’s. Good stuff—makes good tea for what ails you. Bring some up to your mother, if you like.”
“Jaysus, like the old country doctor,” said Kyle, clapping Hooker’s shoulder. He pushed aside thoughts of Bonnie’s car and threw back his whisky and ordered another for him and Hooker. One thing about the outports. You never suffered alone. Everybody was your brother or aunt or cousin or neighbour and they knew your dead like they knew their own.
“Look at her back there, look at her,” said Hooker, sneaking a glance at Rose. “She been stonewalling me all night and which ain’t working because I’m stonewalling her. She’ll have leg cramps from sitting in that chair before I gives her a look this evening. I always smells like pot, she says. That’s her thing, right? She hates that I smokes pot.”
“Buy her some flowers, b’y.”
“Hey. Love don’t care if it’s flowers or pot. Love is blind.”
“So’s hate.”
“You saying she hates me?”
“I’m saying it sucks to be
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