"Wit' zese two," he said, exaggerating Jacques' accent, "it's ze blind leading ze blond,' non?"

Pat whacked his arm with a closed fist, but Matt only laughed, then burped loudly and changed voices. "Ouch. B-b-baby doll, what's up with that hunk-a-billy love tap?"

"How's the King?" Jed asked.

"God bless you, young man, for asking. Not many people these days care about faded rock stars, especially fine Catholic youth like yourself."

They soon arrived at the front entrance of Reilly's restaurant. On seeing them, a pretty grade eleven student rose to leave. As she was known for her ample cleavage, her presence provoked a series of catcalls from the group–although neither Jed nor Jacques partook in this display, which caused a stir as they entered.

At this, a gruesome-looking teenager from the back corner came over. His scarred face was marred by deep, horrible purple burn marks, which always attracted attention. He was dressed in black slacks and a light, cotton, blue t-shirt with the Toronto Blue Jays logo. He had short black hair and grayish-blue eyes. Jacques and he stood in Jed's mind in utter contrast: one fair and angular, the other disfigured and coarse. Frank Monet shook their hands and indicated with a head gesture a small table by the window at the front, which he cleared of high school students with a rude gesture and a couple of loud cusses, throwing his grotesques face into their personal spaces. Not only did the students at the table by the window scramble away, but those at the surrounding tables also left.

"I've been trying to track down Jim all day," Frank said in a low, gravelly voice to Pat as they drew up around the table.

"He's out," Pat said, "but I haven't seen him yet."

Along the walls, handwritten signs instructed them in black felt marker on what they could wear, what language they could use, or rather not use, and, in general, how they should behave. Many words were misspelled, and over time the signs had developed a greasy nicotine color. Twenty or so people were in the restaurant, most of whom were high school students. Frank and Pat sat next to one another with their backs to the window on Main Street. Jed pushed two tables together so that three of them sat side by side.

"This time, Jim will be reckless," Frank said. "He got two for five, you can't beat that for armed assault."

"Canada," Matt said, curling up the corner of his mouth and talking in a thick French accent to imitate the voice of Jean Chrétien. "Da best country in ze world!"

"Do Harper!" Turk demanded.

"The skill in which everyday Canadians are impoverished," Matt said at once, imitating the Prime Minister, "is at once comprehensive and deliberate!"

"I'm hungry," Jed interrupted as a wave of apprehension washed through him. "Let's order."

Frank looked over at him, but without malice, and they ordered burritos and mini pizzas. Matt began to search through his pockets for what Jed assumed to be his billfold and Pat looked over at Frank, raising his eyebrows so that everyone would see.

"Jim will be broke, too."

This was met with agreement around the table, to which Matt didn't respond. "At least we'll get some work now," Turk said.

"All we want are his contacts," Frank added, looking over at Turk with a frown that almost made his scarred face downright inhuman.

Matt, busy with his search, at last announced dramatically, "There." However, he didn't take out a billfold or anything with money, and instead produced a harmonica and began to play. He stood up and moved out from the table. "This is for Jim Rideau," he shouted, turning to the high school students "and for all the ex-cons of Bonavista, which, according to a recent CBC-Toronto Star poll, includes the majority of the residents here." He played a few more notes on the harmonica and then sang loudly.

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