Blood Pact

looked up at him and shook his head. "What happened?”

    Just for a moment, Celluci wanted to tell him, just for a moment, because he desperately needed to tell somebody. Fortunately, the moment passed. "There's an old saying, Mr. Delgado, 'if you love something, let it go.’”

    "I know this saying. I read it on a T-shirt once. It's bullshit, if you'll excuse my language." His head continued to shake like it was the only moving part of an ancient clockwork. "So she made her choice.”

    "We all made a choice.”

    He dealt with driving back to Toronto not knowing. He wouldn't call Fitzroy. He'd bent as far as he could. Let Fitzroy call him.

    He dealt with the message when it finally came and thanked God he only had to deal with Fitzroy's voice on the machine. Even that was disturbing enough. He tried to be happy she was still alive. Tried very hard. Almost managed it.

    He found out what was happening next by accident. He hadn't intended to walk by her apartment. It was stupid. Ghoulish. He knew she wasn't there. He'd gone in once, the night he'd arrived from Kingston, cleared out his stuff, and without knowing why, had taken a picture of the two of them that he hated off her dresser. When he got home, he shoved it up on the shelf in his hall closet and never looked at it again. But he had it.

    "Hey, Sarge." A slender shadow detached itself from the broad base of the old chestnut tree and sauntered out onto the sidewalk.
    "There's no point in going in, her stuff's all gone. New tenants coming next week, I expect.”

    "What are you doing here, Tony?”

    The young man shrugged. "I was dropping off the key and I saw you coming around the corner, so I figured I'd wait. Save me a trip later. I got a message for you.”

    "A message," he repeated, because he couldn't ask who from.

    "Yeah. Henry said I was to tell you that you were one of the most honorable men he ever met and that he wished things could've been different.”

    "Different. Yeah. Well.”

    Tony shot the detective a glance out of the corner of his eye and hid his disappointment. Henry wouldn't tell him what he meant by different, if he meant with Vicki or what, and now it looked like Celluci was going to be just as close-mouthed. Although he'd been given the overall story behind that last night in Kingston, he had none of the details and curiosity was almost killing him. "Henry also wanted me to tell you that a year is a small slice of eternity.”

    Celluci snorted and started walking down Huron Street, needing the distraction of movement. "What the hell does that mean?" he asked as Tony fell into step beside him.

    "Beats me," Tony admitted. "But that's what he wanted me to tell you. He said you'd understand later.”

    Celluci snorted again. "Fucking romance writer.”

    "Yeah. Well." When they reached the corner at Cecil Street, and the detective hadn't spoke again, Tony sighed. "Mostly she sleeps," he said.

    "Who sleeps?" A muscle jumped in Celluci's jaw.

    "Victory. Henry's still pretty worried about her, but he thinks things are going to be all right now that the hole in her leg finally healed up. We're moving to Vancouver.”

    "We?”

    "Yeah. She's pretty helpless right now. They need someone who can deal with the sun. And . . .”

    "Never mind." Vancouver. All the way across the country. "Why? For the sea air?”

    "Nah. So nobody recognizes her when she starts to hunt. Apparently they're pretty messy at first.”

    They'd eaten a thousand meals together. Maybe two thousand. "Tell him she's not likely to get a lot neater.”

    Tony snickered. "I'll tell him. Anything you want me to tell her?”

    "Tell her . . ." His voice trailed off and he seemed to be staring at something Tony couldn't see. Then his face twisted and, lips pressed into a thin, white line, he spun on one heel and strode away.

    Tony stood and watched him for a moment, then he nodded. "Don't worry, man," he said softly. "I'll tell her.”

    He dealt with everything until Detective Fergusson called from Kingston about the inquest.

    "Look, she's moved to Vancouver, all right. Other than that, I don't know where the fuck she is.”

    Detective Fergusson jumped to the obvious conclusion. "Dumped you, eh?”

    In answer, Celluci ripped the phone off his kitchen wall and threw it out the back door. A few days later, after he'd been brought in by a couple of uniforms for racing a jet down the runway at the Downsview Airport, the backseat of his car rattling with empties, the