it means somebody might see. There’s no way I’m going to let a bunch of sewer rats crawl on me.
I scrunch along till I’m right at the opening. And that’s when I hear the signal: three barks. I listen for a bit and then it comes again: three more, right together. I stick my foot outta the pipe, then my head, then the rest of me, standing there for everybody to see, blinking in the sun. Except there’s nobody to see me; leastways, nobody I can see. But there is a smell—that first draw on a smoke. Then the smoke, too, a puff of it from the other side of the storm sewer, where I can’t see. Frankie lighting up, I figure. Until I spot the hand holding the cigarette, right in the middle of those two claws.
“Jesus Christ—still using the old signal,” Nick says, stepping out from behind the sewer pipe. He’s smiling. “Figured you might—worked good enough for me and yer old man.”
I back away, though there’s nowheres much to go, the brook behind me, a steep bank in front.
Nick holds up the claw.
“Now don’t be running off, Charlie, b’y. I just wants to have a chat, that’s all. A bit of a chat. Get to know ya—which ya don’t seem so keen on, seein’ how’s ya took off two minutes after layin’ eyes on me.”
He puts his black fingers to his lips and sucks in another drag.
“I planned that before I ever knew you were going to be there,” I say.
“Figured that,” says Nick. “The way ya got outta there— real sharp, like. Figured you musta had a plan when ya come in.”
“But how’d you know I’d be here?”
“Didn’t,” says Nick. “Soon as Mr. Suit and Tie started his hollerin’ ’bout you doing a runner, I slipped out and had a boo at the window you got out through. Then I just went where I woulda gone. Found this”—he pulls a bit of blue canvas outta his pocket—“where ya squeezed through the fence. Followed the path. Come to the culvert. Had a look around. Then I seen the storm drain. Listened here for a bit, too, but you was good and quiet. That’s when I remembered the old signal.”
“I got friends coming,” I say. “To pick me up.”
“Figured that too. Figured a Fort Mac boy like yerself would need a townie to tell ya where you’re to.”
“That’s right,” I say. “My friend—from The Hollow— he told me about the window back there, and the sewer pipe and stuff. And he’s coming to get me. Anytime now.”
“S’pect he is,” says Nick. “S’pect he is. Which is fine by me. I ain’t up to no mischief. Jesus, I’m just after gettin’ out from inside; I ain’t plannin’ on puttin’ meself back there. No, no, Charlie—I just wants a little chat.”
“About what?”
“You, I ’spose. I ain’t heard much about you since Mikey went upalong.”
“Upalong?”
“Upalong, sure—the mainland,” says Nick. “I forgets, yer a Westerner. You looks so much like yer old man, an’ not that much younger than the last time I seen him.”
He flicks his cigarette into the stream.
“Come ’ere,” he says with a nod. “Let me get a better look at ya. Come on, now. I ain’t gonna bite.”
I step closer, and he puts a hand on each shoulder, then slips his hands under my arms and gives the side of my chest a couple of thumps.
“Yer a strapping lad,” he says. Then he squeezes me all of a sudden and picks me up and gives me a shake. I can feel his burned fingers under my ribs, moving, searching.
“And solid all around too,” he says, putting me down. Up close I see a scar I didn’t notice before, long and thin and white, from the corner of his lip all the way up to the soft bit just under his left eye. He sees my eyes follow it.
“Come precious close to having a patch to go with this hand a mine. A real pirate I’d a been then. Ah, Charlie, but I had a hard old life of it, by times, though there’s little of it you knows about.”
He leans back and takes a look at me.
“Did ya even know you had an uncle, Charlie,
I scrunch along till I’m right at the opening. And that’s when I hear the signal: three barks. I listen for a bit and then it comes again: three more, right together. I stick my foot outta the pipe, then my head, then the rest of me, standing there for everybody to see, blinking in the sun. Except there’s nobody to see me; leastways, nobody I can see. But there is a smell—that first draw on a smoke. Then the smoke, too, a puff of it from the other side of the storm sewer, where I can’t see. Frankie lighting up, I figure. Until I spot the hand holding the cigarette, right in the middle of those two claws.
“Jesus Christ—still using the old signal,” Nick says, stepping out from behind the sewer pipe. He’s smiling. “Figured you might—worked good enough for me and yer old man.”
I back away, though there’s nowheres much to go, the brook behind me, a steep bank in front.
Nick holds up the claw.
“Now don’t be running off, Charlie, b’y. I just wants to have a chat, that’s all. A bit of a chat. Get to know ya—which ya don’t seem so keen on, seein’ how’s ya took off two minutes after layin’ eyes on me.”
He puts his black fingers to his lips and sucks in another drag.
“I planned that before I ever knew you were going to be there,” I say.
“Figured that,” says Nick. “The way ya got outta there— real sharp, like. Figured you musta had a plan when ya come in.”
“But how’d you know I’d be here?”
“Didn’t,” says Nick. “Soon as Mr. Suit and Tie started his hollerin’ ’bout you doing a runner, I slipped out and had a boo at the window you got out through. Then I just went where I woulda gone. Found this”—he pulls a bit of blue canvas outta his pocket—“where ya squeezed through the fence. Followed the path. Come to the culvert. Had a look around. Then I seen the storm drain. Listened here for a bit, too, but you was good and quiet. That’s when I remembered the old signal.”
“I got friends coming,” I say. “To pick me up.”
“Figured that too. Figured a Fort Mac boy like yerself would need a townie to tell ya where you’re to.”
“That’s right,” I say. “My friend—from The Hollow— he told me about the window back there, and the sewer pipe and stuff. And he’s coming to get me. Anytime now.”
“S’pect he is,” says Nick. “S’pect he is. Which is fine by me. I ain’t up to no mischief. Jesus, I’m just after gettin’ out from inside; I ain’t plannin’ on puttin’ meself back there. No, no, Charlie—I just wants a little chat.”
“About what?”
“You, I ’spose. I ain’t heard much about you since Mikey went upalong.”
“Upalong?”
“Upalong, sure—the mainland,” says Nick. “I forgets, yer a Westerner. You looks so much like yer old man, an’ not that much younger than the last time I seen him.”
He flicks his cigarette into the stream.
“Come ’ere,” he says with a nod. “Let me get a better look at ya. Come on, now. I ain’t gonna bite.”
I step closer, and he puts a hand on each shoulder, then slips his hands under my arms and gives the side of my chest a couple of thumps.
“Yer a strapping lad,” he says. Then he squeezes me all of a sudden and picks me up and gives me a shake. I can feel his burned fingers under my ribs, moving, searching.
“And solid all around too,” he says, putting me down. Up close I see a scar I didn’t notice before, long and thin and white, from the corner of his lip all the way up to the soft bit just under his left eye. He sees my eyes follow it.
“Come precious close to having a patch to go with this hand a mine. A real pirate I’d a been then. Ah, Charlie, but I had a hard old life of it, by times, though there’s little of it you knows about.”
He leans back and takes a look at me.
“Did ya even know you had an uncle, Charlie,
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