Try Harder

July 3

The raid happened just before dawn. Working under the direction of the Canada Revenue Agency, three heavily armed teams of local and provincial police officers swarmed the residence of Jacques Montagne. He was handcuffed and unceremoniously escorted into the back of a police cruiser wearing his slippers and silk pajamas. They arrested him and eight other members the French-Canadian mob family, including Roche, and also gathered enough evidence to put the crime boss away for life. Organized crime, at least from the French perspective, was effectively knocked out of business.

For his contribution to the investigation, Buff entered into the Federal Witness Protection Program. He was given personal security and a new identity, dependant on his testifying at trial. No charges were ever held against him, and his previous criminal record was wiped clean, although he still had to regularly check-in with a parole officer.

Because the C.R.A. considered the information he provided so significant, he was given preferential treatment in terms of compensation. Normally, budgets are calculated based on one's standard of living prior to entering the program, assuming they weren't living off the avails of crime. However, Buff was given a one-time payment of six thousand dollars, as well as a monthly stipend of eight hundred dollars for as long as he stayed in the program. That was well above average.

He was wasting no time in putting that money to good use. His new bodyguard was under strict orders to get him out of the city, but Buff was able to convince him to make one brief stop first.

A shiny black Ford sedan pulled onto Mutual Street and found a parking spot. It was directly in front of the apartment building where Emily lived. The passenger door opened and Buff climbed out. His burly bodyguard, clad in a plain black suit, quickly followed him.

The young man tried waving his protector off. "It's okay," he said. "I'll only be a minute."

"I'm sorry, sir," the guard replied, gruffly, "but I'm not to leave your side until we reach our destination."

Buff groaned. "Fine," he grumbled. "Just be cool. Keep it clean, and don't get any ideas. She's my sister."

"I have no interest in your personal life, sir."

They walked up the front steps to the door. There was a small panel beside the entrance, which listed all the tenants in the building. Buff found his sister's name and pushed the corresponding button.

The panel buzzed loudly, and after a few moments, Emily's voice came through the scratchy speaker.

"Hello?" she said.

Buff swallowed hard. He had to choose his words carefully, or else his sister would dismiss him outright.

"Hey Emily," he said, hesitantly. "I think we need to talk. Can you spare a few minutes?"

His sister responded with an annoyed grunt. "You've got some balls coming back here," she grumbled. "There's nothing to talk about. I told you I didn't want to talk to you anymore."

"Please, Emily, it's important," he pleaded.

"Are you in trouble again?" she asked, accusatory. "Dammit, if you're looking for a place to hide out, I'll call the police myself..."

"No, no. It's nothing like that. Just give me two minutes, and I'll explain everything. After that, you'll never see me again, if that's what you want. I promise."

There was a long pause as she considered his words. As much as she wanted to deny him, he was family, and she couldn't turn her back on that fact. Part of her would always forgive him.

"Fine," she said, reluctantly, "but you're not coming upstairs. I'll be down there in a second."

Buff let out a sigh of relief. If she was willing to talk, that meant there was hope of salvaging the relationship.