Face/Mask, page 23
“You want to know everything about my life, Allen. I understand that. So, let me tell you about this man who was my lover, a man who you should know is still very much in love with me. He betrays people for money. He already told you, yes? When he began to do this I accepted it because his protectors in the RCMP made both our lives so much easier.
“But Walid wanted to be more than an informer, or even a café owner. He thought he was important enough that he should run things in the camp.”
“What things?”
“Criminal things. Allen, will you make me spell everything out for you? There were many groups competing for control here. There were threats on the people for money…”
“Protection rackets.”
“Is that what they are called? Yes, protection is a good term. And, of course, smuggling. And prostitution. We have crimes here, just like you do.”
“What happened?”
“In the summer of 2030 Walid decided to get rid of his partner. A Moroccan who lived in the northern part of the camp. They were always fighting over their shares of the profits, and Walid was certain that the man was stealing from him. I swear to you Allen, I didn’t know about any of this until after he’d done it.”
“What did he do?”
“He got a bomb…I don’t even know where he got it. He didn’t know how to make it himself. It was from outside the camp.”
“Jesus, Sahar. Did he kill the man?”
She nodded her head and lit a cigarette that she’d been playing with.
“He blew up the Moroccan’s car. He’d never handled explosives himself before, and afterward he was telling me all about it. He was bragging about what he did, but I could tell he was scared, like he couldn’t believe he had really done it.”
“Was it a big bomb?”
“It was big enough to kill the Moroccan, Allen. More than that, I do not know. Walid talked a lot about the technical aspects of the bomb, to show off about what he knew, but I didn’t understand much of it. I remember he said the timer was very particular, an old-fashioned wrist-watch, the kind with a quartz crystal. I think I had one of those before I got married, but they’d stopped making them years before this. He said it was very retro, like it made this bomb something special.”
“Is that when you ended the relationship?”
“Eventually. I will not lie, Allen, and say I threw him out of my home the same day. I tried to understand and accept what he had done. Mostly because I was so afraid of being alone again. But, in the end, I could not live with the knowledge. So we ended up going our separate ways.”
Janus sat there a while, letting everything she’d told him sink in. He’d wanted to know the kind of man he was dealing with, and she’d told him. But, like she’d said, he didn’t have much choice.
September 30, 2039:
Sahar got the message to Walid that Janus wanted to meet at a place where he didn’t feel at risk. Janus knew few places in Montreal for this kind of meeting, except the one where so many of his problems had their origins: the dog-fights in Park Extension.
And so, that evening, he found himself in the middle of the same crowd of sweating, cursing men he’d sworn to leave behind a year earlier. Michael was still there, and had glared at Janus as if trying to remember where he knew him from, before letting him through the door.
Janus stood near the back of the crowd that gathered around the fighting ring. Sahar had warned him that Walid tended to show up late, but it was an hour after their agreed time and Janus was certain that he’d been stood up. He was debating whether to leave when he felt a tug on his sleeve, and turned to see Walid smiling casually. He looked out of place in a silver jacket with a red handkerchief in his front pocket. Walid swung his air-mask from one hand while he looked around them with nervous excitement. He seemed to derive pleasure from being out of his usual element.
“Thanks for finally coming,” Janus said, although Walid was oblivious to his irritation. Janus decided there was no point complaining further about the man’s late arrival; they had business to transact.
“I’m sure you didn’t expect to ever see me again after…the last time,” Janus said.
“Au contraire, Monsieur Janus. I was confident that our meeting again was just a question of time. That you came to see me in the first place spoke of a certain, may I say, desperation. In such a case I expected that your needs would bring us together eventually.”
“I suppose you’re right about the desperation part. And here we are again.”
Walid looked around them with an expression that bordered on the mischievous. “I’m surprised that you are aware of such a place as this, Monsieur Janus. It seems even more out of your way than my humble cafe.”
“We all have something in our past that nobody would expect. You could say that this is another one of my little secrets.”
“There is no need to explain. I am the last person to judge another man’s activities. I only know that Sahar told me that you had certain financial requirements.”
“Yes, although I would rather not get into the details.”
“I never get into the details, Monsieur Janus,” Walid said with a toothsome smile. “Just as I expect you not to get into mine.”
“Understood,” Janus said, unsure how to bring up the amount that he needed.
The brief pause in the conversation was enough to distract Walid again, his attention drawn by the sound of cheering coming from the nearby ring. Almost drowned out by the crowd’s noise was the distinct sound of a large animal growling, and this sound caused Walid to turn a wide-eyed look to Janus.
“Are these fighting dogs, Monsieur Janus?”
“Uh, yes,” Janus answered, embarrassed.
“Why, how positively barbaric! You do have an interesting past. Would it be possible to get closer to the ring?”
“What? I, uh, thought we could stay back here, if you don’t mind.”
“I assume you brought me to a place where we could hide in the crowd. We would stand out much less if we joined the other gamblers watching the fights than if we stood apart, talking secretively.”
Walid made sense, although Janus doubted that the man’s clothing would allow him to blend in to this or any other crowd. Nevertheless, he took Walid by the arm and began elbowing his way roughly through the crowd, as he had done along with Leblanc dozens of times before.
In a moment they were ringside, being jostled and yelled at by bettors who waved fistfuls of bills at them. The one thing Janus wasn’t willing to do was place a single bet; he well-knew the difficulty he had in stopping once he began. Ignoring the frustrated bettors around him he pulled Walid closer and spoke directly into his ear.
“I need two hundred thousand dollars by next week.”
Walid didn’t react, his eyes locked onto the large brute that was tugging on its chain in anticipation of a rival to tear into. After a few seconds, his head inclining toward Janus, he answered.
“That is a substantial sum. If I may say so, it is a sum that could change a man’s life. A sum that you will be allowed to pay off at a comfortable pace. Perhaps 10 or even 15 years, if the world survives that long, yes?”
He smiled at his own joke but Janus didn’t react, so he went on.
“You understand that we do not charge interest?”
“That’s what I was told.”
“So, of course, we will need some other thing from you. A thing that is as substantial, in our eyes, as the sum you require.”
“Yes, of course.”
“We may have such a need of you on more than one occasion. Considering the sizable amount involved, you understand?”
Janus nodded, aware that he was about to indebt himself to this man for an indefinite period of time. Walid looked at him squarely in the face for several seconds, and his look was tinged with pity. Janus knew that his desperation was obvious, and that Walid would use that against him.
“What do you need from me?” he asked as calmly as he could.
“As I mentioned to you the other day, I work in the field of, shall we say, information services. For some of my businesses I need information on the kind of work certain people do, where money is allocated, how certain decisions can be influenced. You understand, yes?”
Janus had no idea what Walid meant and he shrugged meekly, his cheeks reddening at his own ignorance.
“That’s not that important now,” Walid said. “I do have other informational needs that may be clearer to you. There are certain people in the administration that on occasion require from me names, dates, things of that nature, which may help them in their attempts to keep the civic peace. Of course, I would never give them anything which would harm my friends, among whom I am proud to now count you. I often give them nonsense; it is understood that what I do is not an exact science, and not all my leads are fruitful.
“However, every now and then I must give them something which leads to an arrest, be it for the most minor offence. Ostensibly, the people I report to are interested in security issues, but they have done such an admirable job crushing the spirit of my compatriots that there are mercifully few true attempts at anything resembling terrorism. So, simple but serious criminal activity is often sufficient to please my masters, if I may use the term. I will require more than one name, of course.”
“I don’t know much about criminal activity, I’m afraid. I doubt I could be of much help to you there.”
“As I said earlier, Monsieur Janus, many people have unexpected secrets in their lives. Things that are totally out of character. Your familiarity with this locale, for instance. Who would believe you ever had any contact with these kinds of people? Yet, you do. And perhaps in a place like this you have spoken to people who may be of interest to the authorities, yes? Or maybe just of interest to me.”
Janus cleared his throat, then shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts from going in a certain direction.
“I understand that you don’t normally associate with thieves and rapists. But the activity I refer to may involve the corruption of someone who is in an official capacity, for example. Perhaps you may have some ideas there.”
He knew he’d hate himself for it but there was no way for Janus to avoid thinking of Normand Leblanc, a man who fit Walid’s criteria on several levels. Wishing that he could come up with the name of anyone other than his friend, Janus turned his flushed face away as if afraid that Walid would read his mind. Perhaps the man had done just that.
“You have thought of something, Monsieur Janus, yes? Or perhaps, someone?”
“No, no. You misunderstand.”
“Of course. It is my mistake. And I do realize that it is very hard to do such a thing; to inform on someone, I mean. Perhaps even someone you know well. A friend, maybe?”
“I couldn’t,” Janus cut him off. “I just couldn’t.”
“Unfortunately, Monsieur Janus, you must. This is the cost of borrowing the money you ask me for. What you must consider are the potential consequences: if you do give me a name and get the money you need, or if you do not give me the name and I do not give you the money. Of course, you may be able to obtain the money elsewhere, yes? If so, I wish you good luck and will call on you no more.”
Walid let the words linger in the air a moment before continuing.
“Ah, non. C’est vrai. You called on me, Monsieur Janus, did you not? Two times, now. Forgive me if I am so presumptuous to gather from this that you have no other means of obtaining this money. Certainly not within a reasonable time-frame. Am I correct?”
Janus couldn’t answer, nor could he look at Walid. How had he gotten himself into this insane position? He was being asked to inform on a good friend in order to get the money he needed to save Joe, whom he had already betrayed. Was there something written on his face that told Walid that turning on the people around him was something he was willing to do? Was this a basic character trait of his, part of his deepest nature?
There has to be another way.
“I, I can’t do it. Not him, I mean.”
“Not him. You mean the someone you thought of?”
“Yes, dammit! I know I’m obvious, so let’s not play with words. I thought of someone, but I’m not willing to sell him out to you.”
“Then how will you repay me for my money?”
“Give me a couple of days. You just need someone, or something, to pass on, right? I’ll think of something, just not this guy.”
“It doesn’t matter to me who, or what, you give me, Monsieur Janus. I just want it to be clear that your information must be, as I said, as substantial as the sum you are asking for. No welfare cases throwing rocks through windows, you understand? Often one’s first instinct is the best one.”
“But you don’t even know if the person I was thinking of would have met your needs.”
“Non, Monsieur Janus. But you know. And it was, as you said, very obvious on your face.”
Part III
Conspirators
Chapter eleven
Canadian Illegal Alien Enforcement Act 79-12-1466 (Definitions): “Verify citizenship status” or “verification of citizenship status” means the determination of a person’s citizenship status by: (a) a law enforcement officer who is authorized by a federal agency to determine an individual’s citizenship status; or (b) the North American Department of Homeland Security, the Inter-border Citizenship Enforcement (ICE) Agency, or any other provincial or federal agency authorized to verify citizenship status as provided by this Act.
October 1, 2039:
Janus looked around at the Plexiglas walls of the large room which held the half-dozen cubicles, or parloirs, as they were called. The ceiling, above which strode heavily armed guards looking grimly down upon him, was just as transparent. The effect was to leave no doubt that privacy and confidentiality were things of the past at the Rivière des Prairies Detention Center.
On the partition which separated Janus from where Joe would soon be sitting there were several years’ worth of scribbled names, phone numbers and common vulgarities. There was a small metal grill at the bottom of the partition through which they would have to whisper since there wasn’t even the pretense of sound-proofing in the meeting area. Janus glanced at the cameras posted on each corner of the room and wondered if there were lip-readers on the other end.
He hadn’t dared to visit Joe since his arrest over two weeks earlier, hoping that any link with this accused terrorist could be forgotten if he pretended he didn’t know him. But now he was considering doing something that could get him thrown in jail, so there was little point worrying about his reputation.
Beyond discussing Silver’s bribery plan Janus needed to see Joe in person, to see what the few weeks in jail had already done to the kindly old man and to remind himself of why he was about to embark on such a risky venture. It would have been too easy to forget his responsibility for Joe’s predicament, as well as the debt Janus owed him, if he remained out of sight.
A few minutes after Janus sat down Joe entered through the metal door on his side of the partition. Janus was stunned to see the left side of Joe’s face was blue and swollen, and his right hand, which he held close to his chest, was wrapped with a dirty-grey bandage. The small blue eyes that had once twinkled with joy at the sight of Janus and his family were now dull and lifeless, as Joe sat down wordlessly and looked up at the cameras.
“Joe. Joe,” Janus knocked on the window to get his attention. It took a few seconds, but Joe finally looked into Janus’s eyes. His bewildered expression felt like a knife buried in Janus’s heart. Janus cleared his throat and tried to speak without choking up.
“Uncle Joe, what the hell happened to you?”
“They are not very nice in here, Allen.”
“Did you get into a fight? Did the guards beat you?”
“It is not something to speak of,” Joe said, seeming to gather some strength. “There are things that happen in jail.”
“What things? What are you talking about?”
Joe waved his unbandaged hand weakly, as if shooing a pesky fly.
“It is not important, Allen. I have seen worse things in Italy.”
“Joe, were you in jail in Italy?”
“I think in Italy everybody go to jail at least once. Government there very bad, very afraid, Allen. Like Canada is becoming. Afraid everybody is terrorist; everybody wants to make revolution.”
“Is that what you were doing with Tony? Planning some sort of coup?”
“Coup is crazy talk, Allen. All I do is meet and speak to people.”
Janus jumped forward as if he’d been shoved from behind.
“What people, Joe? That’s what I want to know. What people?”
“Allen, people are just like you and me. People who want nobody to go to jail because they disagree with government. And nobody to live in prison camp because they speak to God in different language. People who think it is important to have freedom for everybody.”
Janus pulled back from the dirty glass separating them and stared at the suddenly-mysterious little man who had never spoken a word about politics in the two years he’d lived with them. It occurred to Janus that the men in his house tended to lead a double life. The difference was that Joe’s secrets had graver implications than Janus’s personal vices.
His desire to hurt Joe had opened a veritable Pandora’s Box. He’d never suspected that Joe was involved in anything more than buying food on the black market. He’d known nothing about what Joe did when he stepped out of the house. He thought back over the previous two years, trying to see if there were any hints he or Terry might have missed.
“Terry,” Janus exclaimed, interrupting his own wondering thoughts. “Jesus, Joe. Did Terry know what you and that butcher were up to?”
“No, of course not, Allen. I never do anything to bring trouble into your home. I am very sorry that this has happened to you now.”
“Hey, don’t worry about me,” Janus replied too lightly, trying to hide his own guilty feelings. “I just never pictured you as that kind of person. You know: a rabble rouser.”
