Chapter 94

After the funeral, Rawle Powder went down to Paddy’s Pub with a bunch of people from the Gazette.
Paddy’s, a few blocks from the courthouse, had been Jack’s favourite place to grab a pint after working courts. He was close friends with the Fitzgerald family, the owners.
Paddy’s had a long white plastic banner slung up across the bar inside, that said: Failte Jack. We miss you. We miss you T.
Failte Jack was the elder Fitzgerald’s nickname for Jack. Failte was a Gaelic word that meant ‘good times’ or ‘welcome’ or something, but it also sounded like ‘Felch-ya,’ which fit Jack’s perverted sense of humour.
It was still pretty early in the afternoon but the place was packed.
Kelloway had gone home after the funeral to pick up Athan, so Rawle mingled with Kyle Verryn and some of the younger Gazette city desk people.
Several other reporters from other news organizations were putting in an appearance too, including the news director from the local radio station and three or four reporters from the Kentville Advertiser.
At one point, Rawle sidled up to the bar and sat down to wait, while the girl got his table’s drinks.
There was a man sitting on the stool next to him, talking to the bartender. Suddenly, he turned to the left and stared directly at Rawle’s ear.
Rawle glanced over, warily.
He was bald and looked like Ernest Borgnine, with long, out of control eyebrows and a big body hulked under a huge red T-shirt and green vest.
“Rawle? Rawle Powder?” He said, grinning. “Someone pointed you out to me. It’s nice to finally put a face to a byline. You look nothing like I expected.”
“How’s it going?” Rawle took the first three of his table’s drinks, two Keith’s and a White Russian, and slapped down a twenty dollar bill on the bar. “Who are you?”
“Gerry Godsoe. I worked with Jack for 10 years. I don’t think I’ve spoken to him in five. Not even at the union dance. No hard feelings or nothing, we just weren’t that close. Poor, poor thing that happened to him. I never expected Jack to get murdered, but he was always the type to get into trouble, know what I mean?”
Rawle could barely hear the man in the din of the small pub.
“Gerry? Hey, I wanted to ask you something. I’m glad we met. I need to talk to you about something for a sec. Do you think we could duck outside or find someplace quiet? It’s important.”
Gerry gave Rawle a set of glinting blue eyes. There were wisps of white hair around his ears, almost like baby’s breath. “I’ll follow you out,” he said.
Gerry waddled out the front doors into the cold street.
The sun was going down and it had started to snow. Rawle was feeling a buzz already and the blast of the cold wind outside did him good.
They stood huddled in the right corner of the patio, beside a piece of lattice fencing. Both men had smuggled their drinks out with them and took sips, talking in low voices.
Rawle had a freezing cold bottle of Keith’s and Godsoe drank R and R whiskey with ice, in a tumbler glass.
“What’s this about?”
“It’s about Jack and me. We may have angered…” Rawle frowned. He barely knew this person. “Just forget that. I need to ask you something. You wrote a story in 1997, I believe, about a family that was living in an abandoned Baptist church on South Mountain-“
Godsoe grinned and twitched his brushy eyebrows. “The Missionary positions.”
“That’s right… The what?” Rawle said, wishing he had a cigarette.
“The Missionary positions. That was what we called the Mission family back then. That big frigger and that old cow. What a piece of work.”
Rawle inched closer so he could hear Godsoe better. “What do you know about them? What kind of people are they?”
Godsoe gave an incredulous look, opening his eyes wide in mock alarm. “What kind of people? They’re South Mountain Shit. The worst of the Valley trashbags you can get, and there’s a lot to choose from. That old bitch, Darlene, crapped out something like seven kids in five years? If that’s even possible. High as hooker the whole time. She was a big fat junky whore, and those last two kids, Children’s Services were waiting for them right in the Jesus hospital room. When she gave birth, they scooped them out of her pussy just about. Took them right there, right in the hospital room. Once you get to a certain point, Rawle, you don’t get no more chances.”
Godsoe’s large face and features were imposingly close to Rawle’s face now. The old man spoke with a lot of fluid and deep tones to his voice. “I heard Willy, one time, held a gun to one of his young fella’s head’s, whenhe was like three years old.”
Rawle felt the curiosity like electricity inhis veins. “Are the Missions family violent? Like, you think they would come after someone, if they had a grudge?”
“Hahaha! Man, I think if you crossed one of them, they’d burn your house down with you in it, and make sure the doors were boarded shut, so you couldn’t get out with your family. And then they’d piss on all your graves.”
He paused and the smile dropped from his face. His bushy eyebrows went up into sharp angles. “What are you asking about them for?”
Rawle shrunched up his mouth and shrugged. “It has to do with a story.”
Godsoe inched even closer and stuck his chin out. “You think I can’t be trusted with information no more?”
“No…” Rawle stammered. Godsoe was getting a little intimidating. The booze seemed to be hitting him fast and hard and turning him angry. “It’s just that they’ve been calling me, ever since I mentioned one of them in a story. Harrassing me. The story about the firebombing, in Ellershouse.”
“That sounds like something they’d do. All I know is, they’re all rough tickets. You never know what can happen with them, that’s the problem. And Willy used to get hold of all them kids, especially the little girl… You know what I mean? What was her name? Marilyn? No, it was Tina, that’s it. Tina.” Godsoe took another deep swig and emptied his glass of watery whiskey. “Tina. He used to go after them all, but Children’s Services came in and finally took Tina away. I guess they figured the boys could look after themselves, once they got old enough. But the little girl, they figured, would be too bad taken advantage of. You know what they say: What’s the most confusing day of the year on South Mountain?”
Rawle smiled involuntarily and shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Father’s Day!” Godsoe roared, slapping Rawle hard on the shoulder.
Rawle faked a chuckle and pressed Godsoe to tell him more. “Who were the boys? Kurtis and Darroll, then two younger boys?”
“Yeah. They were rough kids, all them. Then, sure enough, they most of them got into some bad stuff, dope and all, but I lost track of their doin’s.”
“But the kids were bad?”
“My Jumpin’s, with a background like that, wouldn’t you be? Those boys just did not care. What would you be like, if you got bum-fucked by your father?”