“And tomorrow you get your reward,” I said. “The scarlet hood with the gold silk lining,”
“And I can’t wait to see you in it,” Margot said.
Leland’s voice was even. “You may get to see more than that.” He turned to me again. “You’re on campus, Joanne. You must have heard something about the protest that’s apparently being planned for the ceremony.”
“From what I’ve heard, it’s not going to amount to much,” I said. “Some of the graduands on stage are planning to turn their chairs so their backs are to you when you speak.”
“I can handle that,” Leland said. “Actually, I can handle most things.” His voice was flat. He wasn’t bragging, simply stating a fact.
As Margot and I were bringing in dessert and coffee, Zack’s cell rang. He took the call, exchanged a few words with his caller, said, “Okay, thanks,” and broke the connection.
“Peyben’s off the hook, Leland,” he said. “The police are now treating Danny Racette’s death as a homicide.”
Leland tented his fingers and stared at them silently for a few seconds. “That doesn’t make Danny any less dead,” he said at last. “So what makes the police suspect murder?”
“They discovered a treasure,” Zack said. “Sifting through every square inch of that grid they drew over the detonation area finally paid off. The cops were looking for something that shouldn’t be there, and this afternoon, they found fragments of what appeared to be a timing device.”
“And our crews use electronic detonators,” Leland said. “That blast was scheduled for 3:00 p.m. and it went off at 2:20 when Danny was checking the site so he could give the all clear.” Leland sipped his coffee. “Do the police have any theories about who did it?”
“If they do, they’re not sharing,” Zack said. “Leland, this afternoon Joanne told me that Ed Mariani was looking into rumours that the group opposed to The Village has been recruiting gang members. Has he mentioned anything about this to you?”
“Ed and I haven’t really had much chance to talk,” Leland said. “But the gang connection is worth looking into. Danny Racette joined The Warriors when he was eleven. He was twenty-two when he decided there might be a better way to lead his life. He went back to school, got his ticket, and started working in construction.”
“So Danny Racette’s murder could have been some sort of Warrior retribution?” Margot said.
Zack shook his head. “I don’t think so. There’s a protocol for gang members who want to leave. It’s called ‘stomping out.’ When a kid joins a gang, there’s an initiation ritual called ‘stomping in.’ It involves selected gang members taking turns beating the shit out of the prospective member for a predetermined number of minutes. If he or she is tough enough to take the punishment, they’ve proven they’ve got ‘heart.’ They get their Warrior tattoos, and they’re in. ‘Stomping out’ also involves a vicious group assault, but this time if the member is able to walk away, he or she gets to keep on walking.” Zack turned to Margot. “Gangs have
their own code, and part of the code is honouring the stomping out. If Racette got through his stomping out, The Warriors wouldn’t touch him. Of course, The Brigade is another story.”
I felt a chill. “From what Ed told me, a lot of gang members are just kids,” I said. “It’s hard to imagine children making a decision that will commit them to that kind of life.”
“Or death,” Zack said. “I have all this gang lore at my fingertips because I defended a fifteen-year-old who killed another kid during a stomping in.”
“And all this fun and games takes place five minutes from where we live,” Margot said.
Leland frowned. “I think we would all welcome a change of topic.” He went to the door that opened onto the terrace. “Rain’s stopped,” he said. “Let’s go up to the roof and check out the view.”
We took the elevator to the roof garden. Even beaten by rain, the garden was beautiful. Pots of bougainvillea and hydrangea in deep purple, dusky pink, and purest white vied for pride of place with roses hitting June perfection. Leland led us past the flowering plants to the ornamental grasses Ed had used to create a barrier between the beauty of the roof garden and the ugliness of the construction sites below. The rain had flattened the grasses. Margot bent to straighten them. “Now that the rain has stopped, they’ll dry quickly,” she said. “When the wind blows, they rustle and make a kind of music. It’s otherworldly.”
Leland moved aside two of the planters to give Zack a clear view of the area surrounding their building.
“It all started with Margot, of course,” Leland said. “She likes living here. It’s close to her work, and there are good restaurants within walking distance that stay open late and have live music that’s worth listening to.”
“It sounds inviting,” Zack said.
“It is, but it could be more. We shouldn’t have to be living behind fifteen-foot security fences topped with razor wire. We shouldn’t have to swipe our security passes four times to enter our own home. The logical move seemed to be to change the neighbourhood.”
Leland’s words resonated with me. Changing the neighbourhood was also the idea behind UpSlideDown2, but the approach Mieka, Lisa, and I were taking was different from Leland’s. Our plan was to work slowly from the ground up. UpSlideDown2 would be a co-operative that would give people the will and the tools to transform their neighbourhood. Working from the inside out was slow, and the change might be generational. Leland’s way was fast – top down, outside in.
As I gazed at the mud and the construction hoardings that had replaced the abandoned factories, crumbling houses, and condemned warehouses, it didn’t seem as if, so far, Leland’s plan had changed much for the better.
Leland had been watching my face and he saw that I was unconvinced. “Joanne, I know the landscape is bleak now,” he said, “but there can be no phoenix without the ashes.”
Leland may have viewed the world through the unsentimental eyes of capitalism, but as he spoke of recreating a Regina with the vibrancy it had in the early 1900s, he had a visionary’s passion. His dream was an appealing one: a community not just of warehouses converted to high-end condominiums but also of small businesses, offices, mixed-income family homes, a public school, a high school, a branch library, and green space – small parks and backyard gardens, community gardens, even individual roof gardens.
When he finished speaking, he studied our faces, gauging our reactions. “Well, we’ve all seen the ad campaign,” he said. “The intent of our slogan – Reclaiming Our Heritage – is to suggest the pleasures of moving back to a simpler time.”
“Will the people who lived here before the redevelopment be able to afford that simpler time?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “But the jobs we’re bringing to the community will give them a way out of North Central. There are always casualties along the way, Joanne, but this is a journey worth taking.” His eyes bored into me. “You don’t agree?” he said.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess it depends on whether you’re one of the casualties.”
“Sometimes people choose to become casualties,” Leland said. “With projects this size, we always try to recruit from the community. When we advertise in the United States or in Central America or Africa, we have to hire security to control the crowd of people desperate to work. Do you know how many applications we got from North Central? Ten. Five of the men responding to our ad never showed up for an interview. Two of them didn’t make it through the first day on the job. Two are working out fine. And the fifth was Danny Racette. He was our success story.”
“And now he’s dead,” I said. “All night long I’ve been trying to remember what Danny Racette looked like. When he died, there was a picture of him in the newspaper. I’ve been trying to remember his face, but I can’t.”
Leland’s eyes held mine. “Count yourself lucky,” he said. “I can’t forget it.”
CHAPTER
2
The evening ended soon after that. Margot offered us a nightcap, but when Zack and I declined, she didn’t press the invitation. As we moved towards the elevator, Leland touched my arm. “I hope this is the first of many evenings we’ll all have together,” he said.
“We had a great time,” Zack said. “Margot, you’ll have to give me the recipe for that soup.”
“No problem, big guy,” she said. “Just call Evolution Catering and ask for Aimee.”
As I eased our car through the gate onto the street, Zack stretched and yawned. “Well, it could have been worse.”
“It was a very pleasant evening,” I said carefully.
“That bad, eh?” Zack said.
“Not bad at all,” I said. “I always enjoy being with Margot, I love you, and Leland’s a very compelling man.”
“You wanted to clean his clock, didn’t you?”
“Was it that obvious?”
“Just to me, and only because I spend my life attuning myself to your nuances.”
“How much wine did you have anyway?”
“Not enough to miss the way you bit your lip when Leland talked about how some people choose to be casualties.”
“Bullshit is bullshit,” I said. “Even when it’s delivered by a gracious host.”
“Well, thanks for holding back,” Zack said. “Leland wants you to like him, Jo. Cut him a little slack.”
“I will. One of my retirement goals is to stop being judgmental. I’ll start with Leland.”
“A perfect way to end the evening,” Zack said contentedly. He reached over and turned up the volume on the radio. “And,” he said, “the cherry on the cheesecake – we get to listen to Miles playing ‘Springsville.’ ” There were two more cuts from
Miles Ahead
before the news came on. Zack turned off the radio. “Do you think Margot really is pregnant?” he said.
“She had a couple of sips of champagne and nothing else. She’s forty-two years old and she and Leland want a child, so if she’s not pregnant now, I think she and Leland are working on it.”
Zack was mellow. “Another baby in the firm – that will be nice.”
“Margot will be a great mother,” I said.
“Do you think she’ll want to take maternity leave?”
“Don’t pamper her,” I said. “Give her the day off, but deduct it from her billable hours.”
“You’re mocking me, Ms. Shreve.”
“Got to get up pretty early in the morning to put one over on you,” I said. “And here’s another bulletin. Guess what? We’re home.”
When Zack and I went in to say goodnight, Taylor was in bed wearing her current favourite sleepwear: an orange tank
top and white silk shorts. One of my old university poetry anthologies was propped up on her knees.
“How’s the assignment going?” Zack asked.
Taylor’s mouth curled. “What’s the point of similes anyway?”
“Beats me,” Zack said. “When it comes to poetry, I’m like a eunuch in a harem.”
Taylor looked at him blankly, and then the penny dropped. “Wicked,” she said. “Thanks, Dad.”
“My pleasure,” Zack said, kissing her goodnight and heading down the hall to our room.
“So did you have fun with Declan’s dad and Margot tonight?” she asked.
“We did,” I said.
“Do you think we could invite them up to the lake some time?”
“Of course.”
Taylor placed the anthology face down on the bed. “I think Declan needs to do something normal for a change. His parents are piling stuff onto him. His dad wants to make up for all the time he was away when Declan was a kid. Declan likes Margot, but he has to be super-careful because his mum gets hysterical if he even mentions Margot’s name.”
“Remember what Mieka did when Lena was little and she had a tantrum?”
“Ignored her till Lena realized nobody was watching and stopped,” Taylor said.
“That technique works with adults, too,” I said.
“I’ll tell Declan,” Taylor said. Then she slumped. “It probably won’t work with Louise, though. Nothing does.”
It had been a long day. I had eaten well that night and drunk moderately, but as I listened to Zack’s contented snore,
sleep eluded me for a long time. The wind howled along the creek, rattling the glass patio doors.
I believed Leland was sincere when he stood in the roof garden envisioning the grey and desolate neighbourhood beneath us transformed into a place where dreams could take root. But his vision had already claimed its first casualty, and Zack’s account of the gangs’ stomping-in and stomping-out rituals had been chilling. People who invented and practised rituals like that wouldn’t be likely to back down from a fight. I couldn’t stop myself from wondering who might next be caught in the middle.
The next morning when I awakened, our mastiff, Pantera, was sprawled across the threshold to Zack’s bathroom; the shower was on full blast and Zack was singing “Ring of Fire” in the leathery bass he favoured when he tackled Johnny Cash tunes. Willie and I checked the weather through the glass doors to the deck. The sky was pewter, and the wind along the levee was whipping the frail branches of the newly planted trees along the bike path. “That’s one rotten day out there,” I said. Undeterred, Willie ran for his leash and Pantera lumbered after him.
Our run was cold and miserable. The wind cut; the path on which we ran was littered with tree branches, and the night winds had been sufficiently powerful to uproot some of the saplings. The dogs and I circled the levee and came home – a good workout, but not a great one. By the time we got back, Zack had finished breakfast and was dressed for the day.
“Coffee’s ready and porridge is in the pot,” he said. “I’ve got a few things to check out before I go to court.”
“Are you going downtown already?”
“Yep. I have to stop off and get you something for the lake.”
“Is there something I need?”
“In my opinion, yes, but it’s a surprise. What I do with it will bring you pleasure and it costs less than ten bucks. No more hints.” With that, he wheeled off towards the front door.
When Taylor appeared in the kitchen, she was wearing a white eyelet blouse, black capris with cuffs, and her favourite black-and-lime rainproof flats. She looked as crisp as a new apple – a rare, lovely girl. She was carrying my poetry anthology.
I poured her juice. “So any luck with the poetry assignment?”
“I found a poem. It’s called ‘A Dream Deferred.’ It’s short, so the people in my group won’t hate me, and it has a tonne of similes.”