Monday Mourning

“I think ole Hopalong is harmless,” Anne whispered back.

“You said you craved life in the fast lane.”

“The little guy is a biscuit.”

I wondered if she meant ole Hopalong or Cyr, but didn’t ask.

Moments later we heard footfalls.

Cyr reappeared wearing sneakers, a green plaid shirt, and gray wool pants hiked up to his nipples.

“You girls want a drink?”

We both declined.

“Nice nip on a snowy day?”

“No thank you.”

“Speak up if you change your minds.”

Cyr shuffled to the recliner and lowered himself, a tsunami of Old Spice following in his wake.

“You’ve got a damn fine head of hair, young lady.” Cyr spoke to Anne.

“Thank you,” Anne said.

It was true. By some bizarre fluke of genetics Anne’s hair is blonde and thick and willing to grow as long as she’ll let it. Right now she wasn’t letting it, but the fact remains, it will. While I try never to hold such perfection against her, there have been times this has proven difficult. Today was not one of them.

“You’re a tall one.” Cyr breathed nasally, firing out words between short puffs. “You married?”

“Yes.”

“Let me know if things bottom out.” Cyr turned to me. “I’m a sucker for blondes.”

I wanted to get matters on a more official footing.

“Mr. Cyr—”

“How’s my English?”

“Excellent.” Though heavily accented, it was good.

Cyr cocked his chin at the fireplace.

“Keep it sharp reading.”

“Aren’t you annoyed by all those naked women breaking up the text?” Anne asked, undermining my efforts at official inquiry.

Cyr made a wheezing noise I took to be a chuckle. “She’s a pistol, that one, yes?”

“Annie Oakley herself.” I rose and handed Cyr my printout.

“Records indicate you own this property.”

Cyr raised the printout to within inches of his face, and read in silence for almost a minute.

“Oui.” The inhaled joual oui. “She’s mine.”

“You’ve owned it since 1980?”

“Four-karat pain in the ass.” Cyr thrust the paper back at me.

I took the printout and resumed my seat.

“You purchased the property from Nicolo Cataneo?”

“I did.”

“Do you know why Mr. Cataneo sold it?”

“Didn’t ask. Property was listed for sale.”

“Isn’t that a standard question when making such a large investment?”

“To Nicolo Cataneo?”

Cyr had a point.

“May I ask what was on the ground floor at the time of your purchase?”

Cyr answered without hesitation.

“Bakery. Le Boulangerie Lugano. Cleared out before I took possession.”

“What replaced the bakery?”

“I subdivided. Put four businesses in the same space. More cost-effective.”

“One of those businesses is a pizza parlor?”

“Le Pizza Paradis Express.”