The Von Bucati Mansion (Blog 7)

The Von Bucati Mansion

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair, DRAGON: The Emerald Of Light on

The soul is an interesting topic.  As one person pointed out to me you can have everything in your body replaced, including the heart, and still be yourself.  But if the brain is removed, so is the person inside.

Cont.  (Blog 7)

“You an enforcer on your off time?” Janet asks as we get into her car.

I raise my right eyebrow.  “Maybe.”

“Why would a guy that big be scared of a lazy weakling like you?”  She’s shaking her head.

“You owe me dinner,” I say.  I don’t feel I’m lazy or weak.  “Why build muscles when they’ll just turn to fat later?”

“Muscle and fat cells aren’t the same.  Even if they were why not be muscular instead of flabby like you are now?”

“Let’s go to Milestone’s.”   I pull down her visor and look into the vanity mirror.  As she pulls out of the parking lot I comb back my hair.

“You’re kidding me.”  I hear her say as she turns down Spadina Avenue and heads north.

“Where are we going?”

“The Black Bull off Soho Street.  We can play pool while you tell me about the Bucati family.”

“Can’t, client confidentiality.”

“You can or I’ll go to Richard’s condo again and find out.  Did you see how big his hands and feet are.”

“My hands and feet are large too,” I say with a scowl.  “And my hands look like they fit my body.”

I see her glance at my hands.  She snorts.  “Well jealous boy, he probably works in the sun wearing long sleeved shirts or his tanning spray has worn off his hands.”

“That makes sense.” I reply with my own sarcastic snort.  “His hands aren’t just a different colour than the rest of his skin but they’re much bigger.”

“That is a bit creepy.  Don’t growth hormones make body parts bigger?”

“Or hand transplants.”

“He’s humungous Charlie-“

“Charles,” I correct her.

“Where would you find hand replacements for someone that big?”

I brush back my hair and stay quiet as we drive along Queen Street past old buildings until we come to a stretch of shops all connected.  She turns down Soho Street and parks.

The Black Bull is inside a brick building with doors painted red like a fire truck.  Inside there’s a pool table and dining tables.  Above the door we just walked in is a flag that says “I Am Canadian”.  Its pact.

“We’ll eat outside,” Janet tells me.

So we go out and sit at a patio table on green Adirondack chairs and wait for the waiter.

“What about the Bucati family?” she asks.

I shrug.  “Von Bucati family.  I represent them now.”

She leans forward as if she’s interrogating me.  “Why would he think you were part of their family?”

“No idea.  Maybe the colours of my eyes are the same as Elizabeth’s.”

“Whose Elizabeth?”

“Don’t talk to me that way Janet, I’m a lawyer too.”

She leans back and crosses her arms so I know this won’t end until I tell her.  “She’s the matriarch.  A very rich matriarch.”

“You owe me Charles.”  She accentuates the Charles.  “If they need help with a speeding ticket or anything else I want involved.”

“I don’t owe you.  You owe me.  So what do I get if I include you in any cases that might come up?”

She leans towards me again but this time with her tilted in a very seductive posture.  “Depends if your hands and feet are as big as you say they are.”  She sits back and folds her arms across your chest.  “It’s not how big your ego is that determines size you know.”

I am a little offended.  Confidence shouldn’t mean a big ego.  “We’ll see.”

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