Free Street Symphony by Rachel Wyatt

didn’t take it.”
    “Not personally but he let it go.”
    “So he didn’t profit from the crime.”
    Putting his trousers back on, Arvin admired Madeline’s thought processes. In fact, young Bart “Simpson” had done the opposite of profit. He was now part of the investigation and his future looked murky.
    “The question is,” Madeline went on, lying there nakedly, “do you still trust him?”
    Driving home, Arvin put that question squarely to himself and considered the largeness of the word trust . Bart had trusted Finn Harvey, who had turned out to be totally un trust worthy. Therefore, when it came to evaluating others, Bart had let the bank down and was not to be trusted . To be fair, he had read the résumé and the references himself and found no fault. But Bart had strongly recommended the guy. That was the point Arvin would have to make clear.
    ~ • ~

    “Coffee?” the waitress asked.
    Bart nodded. Yes, he would have coffee. Yes, he would eat pie. While O’Brien, as everyone at the office knew, was with his mistress on Mondays, Fridays and Sunday afternoons, he was sitting here in this crummy restaurant, not sure whether the tuna salad he’d eaten was fresh, wondering whether to brave things out or go into the office crawling or be righteous like his father, now living in Iowa with Brian this-is-best-for-all-of-us McAllister. After all, why should his life be ruined because he’d unknowingly encouraged a crook? Ignorance was no excuse, some sanctimonious person had said. But in this case, it was. Finn Harvey was an open-faced twenty-four-year-old who’d seemed eager like a friendly dog, anxious to learn, allowed therefore to see files that might better have been kept from him. Anyone could have been deceived. Anyone! And it was not, repeat not, his fault. He would walk into the office and say, “Look, Arvin, this is as much your responsibility as mine and I refuse to carry the can for it –”
    Roseanne was saying loudly to the manager, “Your fish are not happy.”
    “Fuck the fish!” Bart yelled. He picked up the water jug and smashed it against the tank.
    He walked away, leaving Rosanne and the waitress to pick up the slithering fish from the floor and put them into a bucket. The manager followed him out to the street.

    ~ • ~
    “I wasn’t expecting you this evening, dear,” his mother said. She waited till he’d changed from his wet and smelly jacket before she told him about the cops.
    “Did they look at the computer?”
    “I told them you didn’t have one.”
    He went to his room, lay down on his bed and listened to U2 singing “Where the Streets Have No Name”. For once, it sounded like a good place to be.
    ~ • ~

    Glenda O’Brien was proud of her ability to pretend that everything in the garden was lovely. She was biding her time till she could find an affordable place in Vancouver. Due to the downturn, real estate was moving with the speed of a drugged snail, and she wanted to have enough money for Marty and Evan so that they didn’t feel deprived by the change. Arvin would come in soon from “working late” with that silly smile on his face. A smile, she well knew, that spoke of sexual satisfaction. But this time he walked through the hall and into the living room frowning. Perhaps all was not well with the Madeline arrangement.
    “Trouble at the office?” she asked.
    “You could say that.”
    “I did say it.”
    “Sorry, Glennie. There’s some money missing.”
    “Oh dear. An inside job?”
    “Seems so.”
    “Did you have anything to eat at the – office?”
    “Not really.”
    Glenda wasn’t sure why, and she knew it was unkind to hit someone who was already down, but anger, long dormant, surfaced like a hungry shark.
    “She doesn’t feed you?” she shouted. “You fuck her and then you come back here for dinner. And you want sympathy besides. I’m being extremely calm and reasonable and I’m going to move out. I hadn’t planned to go till after the