“You informed on someone else,” Molson gritted his teeth. “You threw someone under the bus.”
“And I thank you for the idea. It was all you,” David gloried in the revelation. “It took some doing to lay the groundwork in case I was arrested but it’s turned out quite satisfactory. I’m out of jail because of you.”
“Tell me, is he guilty or innocent? This sucker you’ve put in jail in your place?” Molson demanded.
“Once again, thank you, son. I appreciate your contribution to my freedom.”
Molson felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him out of his reverie. The mocking words fading in his ears.
“You must be glad to be out,” Molson wasn’t usually one to try to fill awkward voids of conversation yet here he was, trying.
Michael didn’t answer, and Molson remembered that he didn’t speak. Someone had mentioned something about an operation leaving him unable to voice his thoughts. Molson supposed he should have paid more attention.
He looked at Michael to find the man gazing at him with some concern.
“It’s been a tough week,” Molson shrugged. “It’s been a good week. You got released. Which is a bit bittersweet.”
Gazing back out at water, Molson thought the waves were a bit hypnotic. “Did they tell you how Lawe was planting evidence?”
A glance at Michael confirmed that he had been told. He nodded and pointed to Molson.
“I didn’t do much,” Molson downplayed his part. “I was just in the right place at the right time. That little girl, your neighbor Madison deserves the credit for that.”
Michael pointed to himself, grabbed one of Molson’s hands, giving it a handshake, then pointed to Molson.
“You don’t need to thank me,” Molson repeated uncertainly. At least, he thought that’s what Michael meant.
Michael repeated the gesture firmly. Then he pointed to Molson’s neck tattoos.
“Worst idea I ever had,” Molson grimaced. “Thought I’d be like some Mother Teresa or something.”
Michael gave him a questioning look, so Molson explained about his weekly rounds through the gang neighborhoods where he gave free medical attention, hygienic supplies and food. Michael pointed at the tear on Molson’s face.
“That was me being dumb,” Molson explained. “I lost someone. A girl was overdosing. I’d helped her a ton of times before and we’d become sort of friends. This time nothing was working. Turns out she’d taken some new stuff that wasn’t good at all, being cut with bad cleaners. I brought her to the hospital and she died shortly after. I drank a little too much that night, stumbled into a tattoo parlor and the rest is history.”
He ran a hand over his face. “Now people think I killed someone and that I belong to gangs every time they look at me. They don’t ask questions, they just judge. They don’t know that the tats on my neck are each of the six main gangs plus an extra special tattoo. All of them combined let me go into each territory to help people. Before, I was harassed by members when I was too deep in some areas. I had to campaign for permission from each gang. I had to explain to them the benefit of keeping their users and poor people in the neighborhoods alive. Now most of the gang members trust me. Sometimes they bring injured people to me. I never did no gang activities, nothing illegal. Yet people think they know all about me. They think I’m some murdering thug with a rap sheet and connections.”
Absently he petted the dog before continuing with a bitter tone. “I guess I got a connection now, not that I wanted it. I owe a favor to a guy named Tremblay. Without him, there would have been no witnesses to testify that it wasn’t you but David who did the drops. Tremblay made sure everyone would testify. Now I’m waiting to see what he wants in return.
“It’s exhausting. Everyone dumping on me because they think I’m trash. They’re ain’t much use denying it, cuz no one listens anyhow. Now, it’s the truth. Once Tremblay calls in his favor, I’ll get sucked in. It don’t end with a simple favor. It never does. Now what everyone thinks of me is true,” Molson took a deep breath. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this stuff.”
Michael tapped his ear.
“Yeah, you’re a listener,” Molson agreed. “I suppose you won’t tell anyone either.”
Michael shrugged and nodded with a self-depreciating smile. He rose to his feet, extending a hand down to Molson. After a hesitation, Molson took it, letting the older man pull him to his feet. The dog danced around them as Michael led the way up the beach, motioning for Molson to follow.
“You don’t want to bring me to your house,” Molson insisted. “Did you just hear me? I’ve now got legit connections to a gang that I can’t throw off.”
Michael sighed loudly, took Molson by the shoulders and steered him along the beach to his house.
“My own brother and sister want nothing to do with me,” Molson tried to explain. “They know if I mess up, the gang could retaliate on them. You got kids Michael. You don’t want to be associated with me. It was a mistake for me to come out here today.”
Michael ignored him, pushing him up the stairs and into the house. The dog happily trotting past them to greet a little girl who was coloring at a table.
“Hi Daddy,” she wiped her blond hair out of her eyes. “Who are you?”
“Nobody,” Molson stuck his hands in his pockets, not wanting to touch anything. The house looked too nice. He wished he’d taken off his shoes. Somehow, his hood had fallen back, and Molson felt a little vulnerable. “I was never here.”
