The Darkening Archipelago Read Online Free Page B

Man, it’s tough going.”
    â€œI’m proud of you, Cole.”
    â€œThanks, Denny.”
    They stepped into the night. The air was damp but mild.
    â€œWhere to?” asked Denman.
    â€œI’ve got to head downtown. Go to the office. Make a few stops.”
    â€œYou want to catch a bite to eat and a pint?”
    Cole sighed. “Can’t say no. Could use a few jars right now.”
    They walked west along Hastings, past Main Street and the crowd of drug dealers, prostitutes, vagrants, homeless people, and frightened tourists in front of the Carnegie Centre. People nodded to Denman, a few said his name, and three or four stopped him to chat briefly. All Cole warranted was, “Up, down, or rock?” A query about his preferred narcotic. He smiled and said he was just passing through, and nodded toward Denman. “You’re quite the celebrity these days,” Cole said.
    â€œDepends on who you ask.”
    â€œThose folks think you’re a hero. A modern-day Robin Hood.”
    Scott smiled. “That would make the mayor Prince John, wouldn’t it?”
    Cole looked serious. “And the chief of police the Sheriff of Nottingham.”
    Denman smiled even wider. “Guess you’re Little John then?”
    â€œWho you calling Little John?” Cole tried to punch Scott in the arm, but his friend simply shifted his weight and Cole slipped past him and down onto the street. Scott pulled him back by the sleeve of his jacket. “Easy there, slugger.”
    â€œYou’re a slippery little bugger. ”
    â€œNot so much slippery as sleek.”
    â€œOne of these days you’re going to have to teach me how to do that.”
    â€œAnytime. The offer stands. But you’ve got to leave your boxing gloves at home.”
    â€œOne step at a time. It took a near-death experience to get me back in the ring. I don’t know what it’s going to take to get me to dress up in those pyjamas you wear and prance around your dojo.”
    â€œHow about a near-life experience?” asked Scott.
    â€œDon’t start on me tonight, Denny.”
    Scott simply smiled. “As you wish, grasshopper,” he said with an accent more practiced than real. Cole couldn’t keep the grin off his face, though it did hurt to smile.
    They arrived at the corner of Hastings and Cambie and waited for the light, while the working poor and the desperate did business in the Quick Cash store on the corner, making criminally large interest payments to cash a cheque without an address. The light changed and they crossed the street to the Dominion Building, an ancient office tower that was home to Cole’s Blackwater Strategies and another dozen lost causes. The building had been the tallest in the British Empire in its day, but it was now dwarfed by dozens of office towers, condominiums, and the phallic Harbour Centre a few blocks away.
    â€œStairs?” asked Denman, turning to start the climb to the eighth floor.
    â€œNot tonight,” said Blackwater, pushing the elevator button.
    â€œCome on, you promised.”
    â€œAnd I take them every morning, I swear it, Denman. But Mary is waiting.”
    Denman chuckled and positioned himself next to his friend.
    â€œI mean it. Every morning.”
    â€œI didn’t say a word,” said Scott, looking up at the floor indicator above the elevator.
    Blackwater Strategies had been on the eighth floor of the Dominion Building for nearly four years. When Cole Blackwater had signed the lease on the two-room office, he had promised himself that he would take the stairs up in the morning and down at night, but soon he had abandoned that pledge, slipping into a self-imposed sloth. His arrival in Vancouver, in pursuit of his estranged daughter and in deference to the will of his ex-wife, Jennifer Paulson, had marked the nadir in his short life. The lethargy it induced was a vicious cycle, thought Cole, waiting for the elevator.