21 June 2013
Joy was all smiles this morning. She was seated on her box, but any minute I expected her to break into dance.
“How did it go with getting your furniture?”
“Great, The place is huge. I got a new sofa, a shelf that will go on one of the tables I have. I took the legs off my bed because of the seizure I had, but I wanted to get a wicker headboard that I saw there. I didn’t get it. I also wanted a silver frame in the shape of three hearts. I didn’t get that either. My worker was so impatient. I wanted to look around to make sure I got things I wanted to live with, but she kept checking her watch. I think we were only there half an hour.
“When I got home and we got everything set up I did a little dance. I’ve waited seven months for this stuff, now I’m going to enjoy it.
“I haven’t seen many of the guys lately, not even dickhead.”
I asked, “Who would dickhead be?”
“Jake, he’s been over a couple of times. He wanted me to push him from the Salvation Army to the park. I said, “No way!”
“Has he apologized for beating you?”
“Yeah he has, he was even crying. He said, ‘Joy, I’ll never hurt you again. I’ve learned my lesson. I don’t want to go to prison again.’ I said, ‘Yeah, I bet you learned a lot in prison. I don’t want to hear about it. Instead of being sorry now, you should have thought before you broke my ribs, especially since you’d broken them just two weeks before.
“‘You’re whining like Antonio.’ He asked, ‘Who’s Antonio? Is that someone you’ve had living over here? I said. ‘No, you dumbass, it’s Mariah’s boyfriend! She kicked him out six months ago. For the last twenty-two months I’ve enjoyed living by myself and sleeping by myself. Jake said, ‘I could help you with that.’ I said, ‘For now just consider us friends. We’ll see how it goes.”
I said, “You mentioned that he had to have a piss test as a requirement of his parole. How did that go?”
“It was funny. There was a new parole officer there, who didn’t know Jake’s, medical history. After the test he came back and said, ‘You’re in trouble, Jake. The test came back positive.’ Jake said, ‘Positive for morphine, right?’ The guy says, ‘Yeah.’ Jake pulls out of his pocket a piece of paper and waves it at the guy. ‘Prescription!’ he says.
“His regular parole officer is a really hard case. He can pounce on Jake anytime and have him tested. If Jake has any advanced warning, all he has to do is drink a cup of vinegar. That’ll get any trace of drugs or booze out of his system. My brother was in prison. He had the same booze and drug prohibition on his parole. He used to carry a bottle of vinegar with him all the time.
“What time is it now?”
“Eight thirty.”
“That means I’ve been here two and a half hours. I even made sure I got the early bus. So far, I’ve made four dollars and twenty-six cents.”
I said, “On Wednesday, two cruisers pulled up on the sidewalk. The male cop demanded that Debbie give them her last beer. She was pissed off and shoved it into his chest. She was handcuffed and thrown into the back of the cruiser.”
“Was she arrested?”
“No, they let her go with just a ticket.”
“That’s assault, and she’s been in and out of jail a dozen times. If that had been me, I would have gone straight to prison.
“I’ve got no use for that stupid, loud-mouthed bitch. When we were up at the bridge one time she was going on and on about something. I was ready to throw her off the side. I had her back to the railing. She was whimpering, ‘Please, Joy, please don’t push me over.’ Sometimes I think I should have.”
“Maryjane just got out of jail.”
“Yeah, that was because she had three no shows at court. She’s been charged with assault. There again, if that was me I’d be in prison.”
I sat on the sidewalk beside Shakes and in front o f Debbie, Little Jake and Joy. Wolf had gone for a piss. I gave a used copy of the book “Women Who Run With the Wolves to Joy. It seemed appropriate since she was wearing a sweatshirt with a wolf on the front.”
She thanked me and said, “Sorry I have to run, but I have an appointment with my landlady to fix my toilet.”
I pulled out another book, Mob Rule, that I intended to give to Wolf. Matches looked at it and asked, “Are you going to give this to Wolf?”
I said, “Yes.”
He said, “I like to read too, you know, especially since I don’t have television.”
I said, “You take it then, Shakes.”
Shortly after Wolf returned. He saw the book Shakes was holding. “That looks interesting. Mind if I read that after you’re finished?’ ‘Sure,’ said Matches.
I said, “It’s about Paul Volpe, the boss of the Toronto Mafia from the early-1960’s up to his death in 1983. It mentions his bootlegging days as a young man, to his initiation into the Mob, his stints in jail, and then the details of his death. Maybe you’ll recognize some of the names.”
Jake said, “We don’t remember names, we remember faces.”
I said, “There are pictures, too.”
Wolf reached into Shaggy’s cart and pulled out three books. One was by Danielle Steele, “We all know what this one’s about. This one’s by Catherine Cookson, I don’t know her. This last one is a murder mystery. Doesn’t look like there’s much shooting, but it’s more my style. Anyway, I got lots to read for the weekend. I’m going to Tim Horton’s, have a coffee, a couple of donuts and read my books.”
Debbie asked, “Dennis, how do you like my new summer haircut?”
“It looks very nice. It suits you.”
“Jake cut it. We were both stoned, but it came out alright, didn’t it.?”
I said, “It looks professional. Nobody would ever know that it wasn’t done at a salon.”
Jake said, “Yeah, it’s a lot better than the haircut that Jacques gave me.”
Wolf, whose white hair is almost to his shoulders said, “There’s no way that any of you guys are going to cut my hair.”
Shakes asked me, “Dennis, are you going to the Rib Fest?”
“No, ” I said, “are you?”
“I’ve been two times already and I’m going again tonight. I should do pretty well I always go to the Blues Fest, the Jazz Fest and the Folk Fest. My favorite is the Blues Fest. I can’t get past the gate, but people always give me booze and get me stoned.”
Shakes was wearing a pair of shorts. Debbie asked, “What’s that scar on your leg?
“Which one?”
“The one that runs from your knee to your hip?”
“That’s where I got shot. The bullet went in here,” pointing to a circular scar, “it broke my femur and came out here.” He lifted his leg to show the scar from the exit wound.They had to cut me open to put the rod in.
“I didn’t mean to be nosey,” said Debbie, “I was just wondering.”
“I got it at a house party. I knew there was going to be trouble so I went to my street sister and asked for my nine millimeter. She didn’t wasn’t to give it to me. She said, ‘If I give you this gun, you’re going to get into trouble. I just know it.’ I said, ‘That’s why I need my gun.’ I was at the party, there was lots of booze, drugs, but I decided to leave. My bro asked for my gun. I took it out of my pocket, took the clip out, but forgot there was still a shell in the chamber. It had a hair-trigger, much too sensitive. When my bro took my gun, he accidentally shot me in the leg.
I asked, “Why did your friend want your gun?”
“‘Cause he wanted to shoot the guy.
“The last time I was in prison was in 1995. I was in Collins Bay for nearly five years.”
I asked, “What were you in for?”
“Bank robbery. I was just seventeen, selling drugs, robbing banks, boxing. That’s when I was sparring with George Chuvallo and Shawn O’Sullivan. I still got it.”
I said, “I guess it’s just like riding a bicycle. You never forget it.”
“I don’t get into fights any more, but if I’m backed against a wall, watch out, the fists are going to fly.”
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