boardwalk.
I said Iâm not going to fight you, said Pisk at a safe distance from Daggett, his arms raised in a defiant or imploring gesture. With both men now on the street, the crowd formed a Y-shape with Daggett in the bowl of it as they waited for Pisk to come away from the rim so they could wrap around and shut the men in.
Think Iâm just going to let you walk away, you fucking arsonist?
It was you and Furry who burned us all down. Donât pin this on us.
Get the preacher, said Daggett to his audience. Make the man confess. Your guysâ territory. Everyone here knows we never log that area. We always been logging south past the Snauq reserve and you know it. You boys always log those soft spars north a us, burning all your dead stumps.
All your lies donât stack up to no truth.
I got friends who saw you up there with your goddamn donkey engine dragging them logs up to be burned.
Friends. Donât feed me that, said Pisk, spitting. When was the last time you kept to your area? Youâre a liar, a thiefâ.
The verbal battle raged for a few more spittled minutes.
The audience sought to shape itself moblike in the street, surrounding the fighters. The smoke haze blended indelicately with the sea air off Coal Harbour. Joe Fortes came out, threw a towel over his shoulder, leaned against a glossily painted balustrade along the boardwalk, and saw Molly wheel her husband to the edge of the walk.
Ah, I should a guessed the men here love to gamble, said Molly.
Sammy studied her face, looking for a sign of her thoughts. Her complexion, normally so silken, looked sapped, and her eyes were fixed in a tighter jaded mien as she gazed down on the street brawl. He turned his attention to the scene on the road. The men below had forgotten all about him and Molly.
Using his thumbs, Fortes untwisted his pair of old greying black suspenders hooked to the cedar buttons on his trousers, patted his moist bald head, and gave Sammy a kind of bemused but charitable eyeballing, which was, all told, a better expression than people usually mustered in his presence.
Be better you folks stay up here for safety, said Fortes. Mrs. Erwagen, he added.
Yes?
Please stand back, wonât you, maâam.
Sounds wise, Molly, said Sammy.
Molly demurred with a bow of her head to Fortes and stepped back from the rail, her eyes a rare green flash against the white banister. Her expression dropped below Fortesâs sightline. In return, Fortes gave her the radiant grin he used on children, whose hearts unavoidably melted, like biscuits on the ocean, for one of his smiles. She didnât see it though, a minor disappointment to him, as if heâd extended his hand to shake hers and she hadnât responded. So to save face, he morphed the smile into a grimace, then used it on the crowd of idiots below.
He might be able to win an arm wrestle, but thereâs noway heâs winning this, eh, said Clough, one-arming his way through the crowd to get a better view.
Tell you what, Daggettâs got the worst slowest left I ever seen, said Bud Hoss, the young fat sprout who worked for Daggett and Furry as handlogger, rigger, and driver.
Pisk is fast, heâs all fast, said Moe Dee, an older, hairier, leaner man who was loyal to his pursestring and none other. He donât look so fast, but Piskâs fast. And itâs aboot his fastness, thatâs what will help him here, eh.
Pisk canât take a punch, said Clough.
Sure as fuck he can.
Daggett is drunk. I donât know what that means. What a you think?
Aboot him being drunk?
Yeah.
Pisk is a fucking China doll compared, said Clough. One good ka-nocking heâs down.
Daggett is slow, said Hoss. Itâs his slowness heâs got to think aboot now.
Heâs huge, eh.
He is a mammoth, eh.
Only bohunk around here bigger than Pisk has got to be Daggett.
Someone whispered: I tell you it donât matter if youâre slow or fast, if you killed
Eric Jerome Dickey
Caro Soles
Victoria Connelly
Jacqueline Druga
Ann Packer
Larry Bond
Sarah Swan
Rebecca Skloot
Anthony Shaffer
Emma Wildes