Try Harder

June 30

Since the early 1980s, every child who lived in or around Toronto has had a birthday party at the Organ Grinder. Just south of Front Street and housed in a renovated warehouse, it was an idiosyncratic place that was more playground than restaurant. It predated the rise of children's eat-and-play chains like Chuck E. Cheese, but did it with far more charm. For one thing, instead of being designed around a colourful cartoon rat, it seemed as though it had been decorated by a flea market P. T. Barnum. Between the stuffed moose head that whistled every six minutes and the eleven-foot-long alligator that wore sunglasses and a straw hat, the place surely set a record somewhere for the amount of zany, crazy stuff mounted on the walls.

The restaurant's main attraction, however, was the mighty Wurlitzer, an enormous theatre organ the size of a small bus that sat in the middle of the main dining area. Thousands of feet of brass and copper pipes snaked throughout the restaurant, from pencil-sized or piccolo, to ones big and thick enough to produce thunderous bass notes that would shake the tables. Mixed amongst the pipes were dozens of fascinating instruments, ranging from drums and cymbals, to xylophones, all playing along with the organ's music, as if by magic. A single piano player, who sat on a throne in front of the incredible instrument, controlled them all. When the music peaked, it recalled the wondrous, timeless sounds of old boardwalks and carnivals. Best of all, the piano player would take requests.

Not only was the Organ Grinder a restaurant that tested the sonic tolerance of its patrons, but there were also enough flashing, blinking, strobing lights inside to give an epileptic nightmares for years. It was lit up like the Las Vegas strip, all throbbing neon and multicoloured bulbs, and all of it dancing and twinkling in time with the music. Hanging above it all was a giant mirrored disco ball more than ten feet wide. It was a garish extravagance, the kind that could only be found in the most populous city in the country.

The restaurant was filled with a wide range of arcade video games, varying from classics like Pac-Man and Asteroids to more recent hits like Dance Dance Revolution and Dead Heat Racing. In addition, there were rows of old pinball machines, love testers, strength testers, and fortune telling machines, all in perfect working order. For the young and young-at-heart who are easily distracted and have a pocket full of quarters, this was easily the best way to spend a Saturday night.

The Organ Grinder served pizza, spaghetti, hamburgers and hotdogs, the kind of mediocre food that played to the appetites of eight-year-olds. As the poor cooks who worked there learned, no one cares what they're eating when seated next to an imposing, oversized organ blaring the theme song from The Addams Family. The food wasn't bad; it was just bland, uninspired and cheap.

It would be hard to imagine a business meeting taking place here, amidst booster seats and skeeball, but the Organ Grinder did have a private room at the back of the restaurant. Buff had rented it out for the evening, and this was where he was going to lay out his plan for the heist.

When he arrived, the place was congested, crammed full of swarms of sticky toddlers and noisy adolescents. Weekends were always busy, but given that the following day was a national holiday, the restaurant would be especially hectic tonight.

It was perfect. Buff knew people would be too distracted by their own kids to pay any attention to his ragtag clan. They'd be hiding in plain sight.

Buff brushed off his shoulder and adjusted his shirt collar. He was wearing his expensive suit again, although this time it was freshly pressed. He looked rich and important, two attributes not normally associated with patrons of the Organ Grinder.

"I'm sorry, sir," the hostess at the front said to him, "but I'm afraid your table isn't quite ready yet. It will only be a few more minutes."

He shrugged. Two seven-year-old boys with plastic toy pistols ran past him, bumping the back of his knees. The hostess cringed.