Author’s note: As much as this story is about a romance between two unlikely partners, it’s also about solidarity and community. As always, I write from a leftist-anarchist perspective so this story isn’t for more delicate sensibilities.

Also, regarding the criminal activity… I’m not advocating anything in particular here—I just want to make you think about what justice and/or a decent standard of living really mean, and who they’re for.

Content warning: murder, violence, mention of sexual assault

Interrogation room 1:

“I’m going to remind you again that your accomplices are being questioned by my colleagues and they’re going to turn on you,” Police Constable Hashmi said, glowering at Ox Khin-Su.

“They know what’s what,” Ox replied, his words practically swaggering out of his mouth. He crossed his sinewy arms across a muscled chest, staring at Hashmi in defiance as he pulled off both a literal and figurative flex.

Inwardly, he was praying those two assholes remembered that if nobody talked, everybody walked. But this was a moment where Ox had to establish dominance, despite the fact he was the one cuffed to the table.

“I ain’t saying a goddamn word to you and neither are they.”

Interrogation room 2:

“I swear to god, it was all Ox,” Holden confessed, the sweat dripping down his temple and sliding past his damp shirt collar.

“You had no part in it?” Detective Arendt confirmed.

“Look at me, I’m too stupid to lie.” Holden, in fact, wasn’t that stupid, but this pretty brunette had the top two buttons of her blouse unbuttoned and he truly believed something could happen there after questioning was over. He glanced down at her left hand to confirm for the umpteenth time there was no ring.

“So you were just making faces at the security camera in Aisle 5 for no reason?” Detective Arendt raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Because it sure seemed to me you were trying to block the camera angle.” In response, Holden pointed to Trixie, asleep in her infant car seat that rested on the far end of the interrogation room table.

“How else would you distract an eight-month-old?” he asked.

“And the woman with you? You keep saying you don’t know her but she swears she knows you.”

“I have no idea who you’re even talking about.”

Interrogation room 3:

“Holden and I grew up together,” Valentina said flatly, exasperated at how long she’d been stuck in this drab, soulless room.

“And the baby?” Police Constable Truong asked.

“Officer, we haven’t known each other long enough for you to call me that,” Valentina smirked, her tongue skimming her lower lip, “but I’ll allow it.”

“Are you the mother of that child?” Truong wasn’t thrilled about how Valentina had her lace-up, thigh-high, chunky goth boot up on the other chair, giving him a view up her leather midi-skirt. He was a newly married man, and this was going to require him to stay several more minutes than he planned to in the confession booth after Sunday Mass.

“Trixie?” Valentina all but guffawed. “Nah, he tried to baby-trap me once when we dated, but then I told him I got my tubes tied already. The weasel balked.”

“And Ox? It was obvious you pushed that paper towel display over so he could cause the riot.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Valentina stopped him. “I don’t know who started the riot, but I do know that shitty department stores like Weston’s Club deserve it. Those assholes nickel-and-dime their staff on every shift and don’t even stock decent paper towels.”

Interrogation room 1:

“You know, this would go a lot faster if you would cooperate,” PC Hashmi tried. It had been an hour and Ox hadn’t given him three sentences. Ox simply stared back at him like he didn’t understand the language.

“Hold on a minute,” Hashmi said, answering a knock at the door. Glancing down at the piece of paper he’d received, he thanked the officer and turned back to Ox with a fresh avenue to pursue. “Holden not only told us you two know each other, but that orchestrating the entire riot was your idea.”

Holden, that cunt.

Ox kept up the blank stare, praying to any god that would hear him that Holden would shut his rotten cocktrap. But even if he didn’t, he may be able to jump this charge like he’d jumped all the others. Keeping quiet was why Ox didn’t yet have a criminal record, but Holden did.

Interrogation room 2:

He couldn’t have possibly thought it was a good idea to bring a baby to a heist, Detective Arendt contemplated, wondering if Holden was, in fact, that stupid.

“Why did you require the security camera to distract your baby?” she asked. “Most parents do that with the child in the shopping cart.”

“It acts like a mirror,” Holden answered. “We could see ourselves on the screen.”

“Didn’t think to use your cellphone?”

“In that instance, no,” he said, hoping Trixie’s diaper was still dry. Why the fuck didn’t he steal a pack while he was right there in the baby aisle?

“Let’s get back to Ox,” she said, leaning forward across the table. It was a good idea to wear the shirt with the Peter Pan collar today, she silently commended herself. This idiot’s face could not hide how he actually believed he stood a chance with her.

“Who?”

“The man you just told me was responsible for all this. How do you two know each other?”

“Who said I knew him?”

“You did! Just now!”

“I said that other guy in the store was responsible for trashing the place… I’m assuming his name is Ox from what you called him?” Ox would rip out his esophagus if he knew he’d come so close to blowing this. “We don’t know each other,” Holden continued to lie.

“Did you catch him? What’s he charged with, anyway, mischief or something?” Detective Arendt’s gaze shot daggers through him.

“Murder.”

Interrogation room 3:

“Somebody died?” Valentina asked, her heart-shaped, tawny face the picture of confusion. Nah, cops lie. It’s even legal for them to lie. Her genuine befuddlement, however, gave PC Truong enough pause to think she may not have anything to do with the shooting. He tried another track.

“So you’re saying you know Holden but not Ox?” PC Truong confirmed. “Would you believe someone if they told you they just happened to be in the same department store with an ex, but somehow didn’t know the third person involved in the same incident?”

“It’s the friggin’ Weston’s Club,” Val said, pushing her chair out from the table, then gingerly uncrossing and recrossing her legs. “It’s not a normal week if I go there and don’t run into a random dude I’ve fucked.” That gave PC Truong more pause.

“You’re picturing it, aren’t you?” Val smirked. “You don’t have to use your imagination, you know.”

“Let’s get back to why you deliberately toppled the paper towel display,” PC Truong cleared his throat. Val refused to break her gaze.

“They weren’t sufficient for the wetness I create.”

“Valentina, it’s obvious you’re flirting with me to get out of trouble.”

“No, honey, I’m flirting with you to get into trouble.”

Interrogation room 1:

“Are you charging me?” Ox asked. No answer from PC Hashmi. “Then am I free to go?” Hashmi was ready to rip out his hair, and he was sure at least a bit of the vexation Ox had caused him over the last four hours showed up on his face.

The door swung open, momentarily relieving the weariness for both men. But Ox wasn’t expecting this. The woman who came in like a blur couldn’t have been going faster if she’d been on skates, her waist-length, wavy auburn hair brushing against the hem of her suit jacket.

“Let’s make this fast because there’s two more defendants I have to get around to, yeah?” she asked Hashmi.

“Nice to see you again too, Bayaan,” Hashmi muttered. He was extra displeased she was the duty counsel on call today because this meant the last three hours would now result in nothing.

“Did you find a weapon?” she asked. Hashmi shook his head no. “Any witnesses placing Mr.—” She turned to Ox.

“Ox,” he stammered.

“—Mr. Khin-Su at the scene?” she supplemented, glancing down at her clipboard as though she hadn’t even heard him.

“He was in the proximity—”

“Security camera footage shows him at the automatic doors leading out to the garden centre at 1:25 and 30 seconds,” Bayaan pointed out. “The gunshots can be heard 11 seconds later.”

Gunshots? Ox thought. What the fuck? All I wanted was a few 40-inch TVs for my neighbours.

“Hashmi, you’re telling me he abandoned the full cart he was pushing out those doors, then sprinted across the store to the manager’s office in 11 seconds, burst in, shot him, then disappeared without being caught on any other cameras?” Hashmi drew in his breath.

“Let me guess, no gunshot residue on him either?” Hashmi was silent. “Then my last question is, did you really waste my fucking Saturday for this?”

“He had four 40-inch TVs in his cart, Bayaan!”

“How is that relevant?”

“Not a bad diversion while an accomplice was actually doing the shooting.”

“I’m sorry, did you just admit that it’s not a murder charge, then? And you’re also looking for someone else? How’s that’s going?”

Hashmi opened his mouth to answer but then closed it again. He had nothing, dammit. Bayaan took advantage of the silence as an idea formed in her head. She glanced at Ox’s jacked arms, then at the Southeast Asian-style tattoo peeking out from the top of his sleeveless tank top.

“Mr. Khin-Su? Is your name from Thailand? Is that a Sak Yant tattoo on your back?”

Shit, Ox was astonished. People had asked about his ink before, but no one had ever identified it by name as the traditional Muay Thai tattoos for physical and spiritual strength.

“I… uh…” Ox stumbled like the teacher had just picked on him and he’d been napping in class. “Uh… Myanmar, and yes, I do Muay Thai. I coach at a gym over in Scarborough, and before that I made it to nationals a couple of times.” Bayaan raised her eyebrows like she was about to strike a deal.

“Officer Hashmi may be pressed because you’ve been brought in five times in the last four years for questioning like this, but you’ve never been charged with anything. Good job.” She turned to Hashmi. “You don’t have anything to charge him with anyway. But can we ensure that? Like, if I talk to the Crown and get an agreement, can we get you to turn your attention elsewhere?”

“If we find evidence linking him to this—”

“I’m not talking about that; I’m talking about eliminating any future fishing expeditions like the one you’re on now,” Bayaan smoothly cut him off. “What if he did some community service? Like at a boxing gym? Maybe training underprivileged kids for free?” Hashmi’s fallen scowl gave her the answer she was looking for.

She turned to Ox, talking while she was already three steps from the door. “I’ll set it up with the Crown. Mr. Khin-Su, you can go. Hashmi, I’ll be done with the other rooms in another five minutes.”

A roaring silence flooded the room after Bayaan slammed the door.

“Who…?” Ox pointed toward the exit.

“Bayaan Mostafa,” Hashmi mumbled as he moved to take off Ox’s cuffs. “Consider yourself lucky you decided to cause a disturbance when she was on shift as your public defender.”

***********

“Finally,” Valentina said as she swung her screen door open five days later to see Holden, late as usual. “Ox’s already here.” Her face melted as Trixie reached for her from her locked-in position, strapped to Holden’s chest in her baby carrier. “Come here, itty bitty,” Val cooed. “You don’t need to be there any longer. Especially since daddy’s such a dildo.”

“Don’t say dildo to my baby!”

“I would have called you a dick but you’re more like a cheap, plastic phallus,” she said, freeing Trixie and taking her in her arms. “At least a dick is warm and real.”

“You had no problem thinking I was warm and real in high school.”

“It was high school. I thought liquid cheese in a squeeze-out bottle was warm and real too.” Holden couldn’t fault the logic there so he took off his jacket and made his way inside the house.

“Thank god that whole ordeal didn’t last any longer than Trixie’s nap time,” Holden said, glaring at Ox who was sprawled on the couch. Ox barely noticed, however, as he was still wondering what the story was behind the powerhouse woman who’d sprung them free. Maybe he’d see her again if he committed another crime, he contemplated. Or at least hung out at the police division.

“That’s the last time I listen to you for a few bucks,” Holden went on. “Just block the camera, he said. It’ll take five minutes and we’ll all be out of there, he said! You couldn’t have told me you wanted to destroy the store and kill a guy?!”

“Okay, this is why I wanted to see you two,” Ox started. “The rampage was unintentional, and a guy getting killed was sure as fuck unintentional. All I was trying to do was push a couple of carts of stuff through the garden centre door, and then sneak it all out once I was in the open air. Didn’t you hear the gunshots? I didn’t start the riot.”

“Yeah, Billy Joel said the same thing about a fire, which his generation absolutely did start,” Holden retorted.

“Val?” Ox asked.

“No, no, don’t worry. We all know Holden’s an idiot,” Val said distractedly. Holden didn’t even hear, as he’d switched on the TV to provide background noise. Just in case any of their phones were listening. “Ox, I know you, I know I got my laundry basket stolen right out of my car when I was visiting you in Regent Park that one time, and I know how your old neighbours live,” Val said.

Ox had managed to move up from one of the seediest, most crime-ridden neighbourhoods in Toronto, albeit escaping with some messed-up Robin Hood complex, Val had always thought. Or maybe he just really hated corporations—or both—but he’d managed to steal thousands in merchandise over the years and distribute it throughout the community. Which was what she’d been trying to help him do on Saturday.

“Killing someone is not something any of us would do, especially when it doesn’t serve any purpose,” Val went on. “It could have just been a huge coincidence that someone got—” she stopped talking and looked to the TV when Holden waved his finger at it.

…which is when store manager Brady Schoetzen was shot in his office at Weston’s Club, the news anchor reported, as images of ransacked store sections flickered across the screen.

The security footage you’re seeing now is of the chaos that ensued after shoppers heard shots fired. Police have no reason to believe that this was anything but a targeted shooting, or that there is any danger to the public.

“Well, that’s good!” Holden exclaimed just as Trixie began to fuss. He took her from Val and sat her on his lap, facing the TV. “It was muddled enough that they’re not sure if the stampede happened because of us or because of the killer.”

“Good?” Val asked. “There’s a killer out there, and we were what, 10 meters away from them when a guy got smoked?”

“He probably deserved it,” Holden shrugged. “What if the shooter was a former employee? Or a current one? All he had to do was pay them enough to live.”

There was simply too much information flying around for Ox to process, and he closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch. Trixie started to whine while Holden and Val bickered, and Ox was sure his head would explode if a crying baby were added to the mix. He motioned to her dad to hand her over, and headed to Val’s front door.

Trixie rested on his sculpted forearm, finally happy in the late afternoon sun and balmy June air, as Ox walked up and down the sidewalk. He wordlessly pointed out airplanes flying overhead and kids skateboarding down the way, relieved he was with the one person in his life who would give him a moment of silence to think.

Yet when there were no external sounds flooding his brain, his thoughts turned to Bayaan.

“Pretty lawyer lady is waaaay out of Uncle Ox’s league, kid,” he mumbled to Trixie, who pointed to the skateboarders. He pointed too, and turned to look at her tiny face. “Yes, they’re rolling. Rollllll-ing.”

“Wohhh-eeee,” Trixie repeated.

“Anyway, Uncle Ox has to see her again and I don’t know if I’ll be kind of stupid about it because lawyer lady is really pretty. Also kind of scary.”

“I’m sure she’ll be nice during your community service.”

Ox swirled toward the familiar voice behind him, his other hand reflexively bracing Trixie for the sudden movement. Bayaan’s face was the picture of amusement.

“When I didn’t find you at your apartment, I thought it’d be fun to find out whether you were with your accomplices.” Ox’s head swam. Of course, she knew all their addresses from when they were processed at the station.

“I—first of all, these are my friends,” he collected himself.

“That’s funny because one of them swore they didn’t know you. The other didn’t seem to be sure.”

Good ol’ Val. But Holden, that cunt.

“Cops lie all the time in questioning.”

“You should know, shouldn’t you, having been questioned five times in the last couple of years by them? By the way, excellent job barely saying two words the entire time you were there,” Bayaan said, digging for something in her purse. She was still dressed in a suit, probably having come to look for him straight after court. “It’s what I always say—nobody talks, everybody walks.”

She finally found the business card she was hunting for and held it out toward Ox.

“The gym isn’t too far from here,” she motioned toward the far end of the street. “You’re lucky Muay Thai is one of the things we don’t offer free training for, so it’s our need too.”

We?

“I co-own it, and it doesn’t matter when you want to come in around your paying job; just make sure it’s consistent so I can vouch for you with the Crown. Some of these kids are really committed and I won’t be impressed by no-shows.”

“When will you be there?” Ox asked. He really didn’t mean to come off with the intelligence of a bag of hammers, but he couldn’t manage much more. Not with someone who exuded the confidence Bayaan did. She hadn’t just owned the interview room at the station; she was used to owning every conversation.

“Evenings,” she smiled. “And weekends. Try to evenly space out the 20 hours you owe the Crown, and just let me know your schedule. I’m headed over right now, but it looks like you have your hands full.” Trixie reached for her, and Bayaan responded by lightly tickling the baby’s tiny palms.

“My friends are inside,” Ox answered. Jesus, what did that have to do with what she just told you? his brain screamed at him.

“With all the 40-inch TVs?”

Goddammit, was he ever going to be able to respond to even one thing she said, he wondered.

“Uhhhhhhh…”

“Look… just so you know,” Bayaan said as she turned around, her long waves swinging across her back, “I know quite a few people in Regent Park.” Ox sharply drew in his breath. “And they speak very highly of you.”

She gave him a small wink before turning on her heel toward the next subway corner. Ox wobbled his way inside. If he’d been looking for a way to clear his head, taking Trixie for a walk sure wasn’t it.

***********

“I can’t decide which one’s worse—bringing the baby to the Weston’s Club that day, or bringing the baby to a martial arts gym,” Ox frowned at Holden as it passed through his mind for the umpteenth time since Trixie had been born that she may have a stranger upbringing than most kids.

“I told you,” Holden said, exasperated, “My mom will only watch her while I’m at work, and I’m on shaky ground there too. If I even so much as go for a beer after work, that’s it, no more free childcare. And I thought grandmothers were supposed to be doting.” Ox rolled his eyes and wondered how he could love this guy so much while still committing to the opinion that he was a dolt.