Arrow's Rest by Joel Scott (best books to read all time .TXT) 📗

for that were slim, until Danny’s grandfather showed up and rescued him.

Sinbad was a hundred and sixty-five pounds of “muscle and ugly,” as Danny liked to say, and his appearance alone was enough to caution any sane person. His scarred face was wolflike and his mouth filled with large teeth, usually on display. Above them were staring yellow goatish eyes. His muzzle was foreshortened, as if he had run full tilt into a wall, and most of his weight was in his oversized head, thick neck, and powerful muscled forequarters. His scarred back sloped down to an undersized hind end and a ratlike, shark-docked tail.

If his looks didn’t deter you, then the eager, longing whine as he regarded your groin with lifted head and trembling hindquarters would probably do the job. Sinbad tolerated Jared, liked Danny, and loved Joseph. It was Jared’s habit to cuff Sinbad on the ear in greeting when they met, whereupon the beast would growl and slaver and snap his teeth just short of finding him.

“One of these times he’s going to get you,” Danny said.

“Naw, he loves me. He just can’t help himself,” Jared said. Sinbad was crouched in front of him, growling and snapping at the encroaching fingers, missing by millimetres. Joseph watched, shaking his head.

Nobody knew exactly how old Joseph was, maybe not even him. Probably close to a hundred years, although he looked in his seventies, still showing vestiges of the powerful man he’d been. He understood English perfectly but chose not to speak it, a sore point with Jared, who loved him. Danny said it was to do with Joseph being a Shaman of sorts, and not subjecting himself to the language of the conquerors. It was an absurd concept to Jared, and one which so enraged him he couldn’t even let himself think about it. He had heard Joseph utter the sum total of fifteen words in English on two separate occasions, both of which were life-threatening. It was reasonable to assume that Joseph thought they would be his final words at the time.

Joseph watched them, his bright black eyes expressionless. As usual, he was dressed in woollen fisherman pants and a chequered flannel shirt, with fishermen’s deck slippers on his feet. Jared went over and threw his arms around him, inhaling the faint scent of smoke and cedar that always defined Joseph to him.

“Hey, you old buzzard. How are the English lessons going? Learned how to say hi yet?”

Joseph smiled and tolerated the hug for a few moments before a pinch on the ribs signalled enough. He turned and led them up the porch into the kitchen where his daughter Annie was pouring coffee into large china mugs.

“Hey boys,” she said, a soft-spoken stout, smiling woman with greying hair who’d already garnered more than her share of sadness. “You staying for supper?” She motioned to the old woodstove in the corner where a large cast iron pot was simmering. “Crab and salmon chowder. Jaimie and Erin dropped by earlier. I’ll make cornbread to go with it.”

Erin and Jaimie were Annie’s sons by her first marriage. First Nation Haidas descended from the northern warriors, they were big easy-going men who earned a decent living for their families with their little salmon trollers, and bolstered it by an occasional halibut trip in early spring or late fall. Their boats were tied up in the commercial basin near Arrow, and they often came aboard for cards and drinks and stayed late into the night, their soft, sibilant voices scarcely carrying beyond Arrow’s decks.

Danny was Annie’s last born, conceived of an ill-gotten union with a troubled Scotsman who died of alcoholism and exposure under an East End bridge long before Jared knew the family. Behind the easy smile and casual good looks was a complex man with codes of conduct that would shame a Samurai. He could still surprise Jared, who probably knew him better than anyone.

“What are you two up to these days?” Annie asked.

“We’re looking for some people,” Jared said. “Not having much luck so far. We think they’re connected to the park bench assaults in the West End. The last victim was Cat’s sister.”

Jared had brought Cat over early on in their relationship to meet the family and give her some idea of who he was and where he was coming from. Or maybe as a caution. In any event, Cat and Annie had bonded and become friends almost immediately.

“I’m sorry, Jared. I saw the story on that news channel that does all the crime stuff. It’s awful.” Annie reached across and gripped his hand.

“They say she’s going to be all right,” Jared said. “Physically speaking anyway. Cat is trying to get her to take counselling.”

“It will take a long time,” Annie said. “I have friends who were attacked on the Highway of Tears. Some of them never get past it.”

Joseph leaned across to Danny and began talking in a low whisper. Danny nodded and then the two of them got up and went into the living room.

“You can join us if you like,” Danny said.

“Why the hell would I want to join you?” Jared said. “I wouldn’t understand a single fucking word you say. Sorry, Annie.”

“That’s okay. Let me tell you about the Sea Festival. We’re entering a war canoe into the dragon boat races next year. All First Nations women and most of them are my age or older. We’ve been going out twice a week and practising.”

Jared nodded politely and took a sip of coffee.

“It’s supposed to be all women, but they’ve allowed Joseph to be our drummer. I guess they figure he adds character.” Annie grinned. “He brings Sinbad along with him. He stands back there with his forefeet on the transom, and if another boat gets too close he puffs up and growls and snaps at them. It’s hilarious.”

Jared picked up his mug and drained it.

“I’m just going to check on them,” he said.

Annie sighed.

They were sitting in comfortable silence, Joseph with his pipe, Danny