Page 64 of True North

The bus came after a short wait. Misha fed his three loonies into the till and sat at the window. The route went north and west before turning southeast toward downtown, and he watched houses and shops go by, and the huge compound of the steel mill. This town had seen better days, but Misha liked it anyway: how friendly people were, the quirky stores downtown, and the big river flowing through, just like at home.

He walked from the bus terminal to the pub. It was a little early in the evening for dinner, but the pub was filled with people meeting up for a post-work beer, and Misha had to loiter awkwardly by the bar for several minutes before he was able to get the bartender’s attention. He had been hoping for Marie or one of the shifters the pub employed, but instead it was a guy he didn’t recognize, who gave Misha a skeptical once-over before saying, “What can I get for you?”

Misha wished he had taken five minutes in the bathroom to wash his face and try to do something with his hair. “Um, is Lenny here? Or Marie?”

The bartender squinted. “You a shifter?” When Misha nodded, he pointed to a hallway opening at one side of the pub. “All the way down on the left.”

Lenny opened the door at Misha’s knock. His eyebrows went up, then settled back into place. “Misha?” He looked Misha up and down. “Why don’t you come on in and have a drink.”

Misha had to move a banker’s box out of the one available chair in the room before he could sit down. Lenny opened a drawer in his desk and produced a bottle of whiskey and a bag of some snack food Misha hadn’t encountered before, tubular and extremely orange. When he tentatively sampled one, he decided it was delicious.

“Drink up,” Lenny said, pouring him a generous glass. “You look like you’ve had a long day.”

Misha, well aware that he was thoroughly bedraggled, responded only by taking a hearty sip, holding Lenny’s gaze as he did. Canadians liked to think they were hard drinkers, but as far as Misha was concerned, every last one of them was a lightweight.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Lenny said.

Misha shrugged. Now that he was here, he didn’t know what to say. Lenny didn’t owe him anything, and Misha didn’t even know what help he thought Lenny could offer. He wanted someone to save him—from loneliness, from fear, from his own poor decisions. But no one could do that. He was going to have to save himself.

Lenny was watching him. “You’re having a pretty bad week, I think.”

“My job—I got job in restaurant. Washing dishes. I went tonight, for my work, and he said I don’t have a job now. He got new person. Because I didn’t come.”

“Because you were in jail,” Lenny said, and Misha nodded. Lenny sighed. “This is Nina’s brother-in-law, right? That’s a shame. He’s got poor business sense, between you and me. That restaurant’s been open for a year and I’m not expecting him to make it another full year.”

“Okay,” Misha said, not sure what to make of this gossip.

“Not important,” Lenny said. “So you lost your job, you decided to come here. You hoping I’ll have work for you?”

That was part of it. Misha tried not to squirm in his seat at hearing his motives stated so baldly. “Maybe, I don’t know. I just—don’t know where I can go.”

“I thought you’d been staying with Howlett,” Lenny said.

Misha didn’t like how shrewd Lenny’s gaze was. “I left there, okay? He’s like—I can’t stay. I ask too much from him.”

“Have you? I’d gotten the impression he was happy to help.”

Misha looked down at his whiskey. “It’s too much. He’s not want me this long.”

“Hmm.” Lenny set down his glass and shifted around in his chair to pull his phone from his pocket. “Is that so?” He held his phone far from his face and squinted down at it as he tapped at the screen a few times. “Judging from the… three voicemails and ten text messages I’ve gotten from him today, I’d wager that’s not the case.”

Misha slouched in his seat, scowling. He didn’t appreciate being manipulated.

“He’s worried about you.” Lenny set his phone down on the desk and fixed Misha with a flat look. “He’s been bothering me all day. Doesn’t seem like the behavior of someone who wishes you would fuck off.”

Misha glared mutinously at the surface of the desk. Coming here had been a bad decision. He should have gone off into the woods after all.

Lenny sighed. “I’m going about this all wrong, aren’t I? Misha, listen. I believe you didn’t kill that guy. I don’t think you have it in you. You’ve been given a raw deal, and I can see that you’re suffering.”

Misha swallowed, his throat tight. He hadn’t known he would be so affected by a little sympathy.

Lenny pushed back his chair. “Why don’t we head back to my place. I’ll make you some dinner.”

“You have work,” Misha protested weakly.

“Marie can handle it,” Lenny said. “She’s the boss here. I do paperwork and shifter business, and right now, that’s you.” He drained his glass and stood up. “Let’s go.”

Misha felt like he should offer some form of protest to maintain his dignity, but he had no dignity left, and his emotional reserves had run dry. He was grateful to let someone else tell him what to do for a while. He followed Lenny out the back door of the pub without complaint.