Page 79 of Mann Hunt
“Americano, please. Extra-large, double shot. And if she tries to send you back with a pastry of some sort, tell her I’ll burn the building down.”
“Large Americano, no fire. You got it.”
Charlie left the office as Declan pulled out his laptop. He had an idea.
* * * *
Ten minutes later, Charlie climbed back up the stairs with two large coffees and two almond cookies. He knew he’d have to eat both himself, but he didn’t have the fortitude to say no to Gwen. When he walked into the main office, he heard a strange sound. Coffees in hand, he entered Declan’s office to find him streaming a hockey game on the wall-mounted TV.
“Thanks,” Declan said, extending his hand without taking his eyes off the screen.
“The Axemen?” Charlie said.
“I located footage of a game. I wanted to get a better sense of the team.”
Charlie stood behind Declan watching for a few minutes until he could no longer remain silent. He shouted, “That guy is terrible!”
Declan jumped. “Crap. I didn’t know you were still behind me… Which guy is terrible?”
“Neves. I mean, he’s okay, but nowhere near up to the rest of the team. His puck handling is mediocre. Here, back it up.”
Declan handed him the remote.
“Watch him…there. The way he handled the puck. He lost control over a simple pass to the forward. His right ankle’s weak. I can’t tell if it’s from an injury, or he’s just built that way. And there—he can barely skate backwards.”
“He looked just fine to me,” Declan said.
“Oh, puh-leaz,” Charlie said, pointing at the screen. “He gave up after trying for two seconds. Oh shit, and just there. The check. He checks like a three-year-old in the playground.”
Declan cocked his head. “Why do you say that?”
“The objective of checking is to unbalance the opposing player. He just about knocked himself over.”
“How do you know these things?” Declan asked as he sat on the edge of his desk.
“I’ve played hockey since I was twelve. It was one thing my dad and I bonded over. I played right up ‘til I graduated from university.”
Declan smiled. “You played for what—the computer engineering team?”
“No. They sucked. I was brought in as a ringer for the faculty of music’s team—the Gustav Maulers. I played defence. I’m used to protecting my man,” Charlie said in the deepest voice he could muster.
Declan shook his head. “I thought defencemen are supposed to protect the net?”
“They are. I just thought it sounded more heroic.”
“Mr Watts, you continue to amaze me.”
Declan looked at him for a moment before asking, “So, Charlie. Do you miss playing hockey?”
“Yeah.”
“I hate to ask, but how would you feel about going undercover again?”
* * * *
Declan phoned and arranged a two p.m. meeting with Coach Chalmers at a diner on the edge of Airdrie, just a thirty-minute drive from Calgary. Airdrie was a bedroom community whose prime attractions were the Iron Horse Park Miniature Train, an axe-throwing centre and a farmers’ market. There was nothing surprising about that for a city of seventy thousand. What was surprising was that it had an abundance of AAA hockey teams, the Axemen being one of four.
Declan pulled up to the diner and walked in. He immediately recognised Coach Chalmers by his grey mullet and the handlebar moustache he had sported in an online team photo. The coach was already seated at a table near the front and Declan joined him.
