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living room, drinking a fifth of rum, slowly convincing himself that diverting funds from the employee payroll at work was a viable solution to his problem. Enough alcohol could have convinced him of anything.
    He knew that the down-to-the-last-penny municipal auditors would uncover the loss in no time at all, and trace it back to him soon after that. But what other choice did he have? He’d heard that some fighting dogs practised their attacking skills on gamblers who reneged on their bets, so Department auditors were nothing to fear in comparison.
    Losing my job and going to jail, or dying a slow nasty death. Some choices!
    It was at this point in Janus’s fevered planning that Uncle Joe, still having difficulty falling asleep in his new home, shuffled through the living room on his way to the kitchen to make some warm milk. They were both surprised to find themselves looking into each other’s dimly-lit faces.
    “Allen? You do not sleep?”
    “I...I guess not, Joe. Did I wake you?”
    “No, no. You know I never sleep. You too?”
    Janus opened his mouth to answer, but had to shut it quickly to stifle a sob. The old man must have sensed that he was upset, and came to sit on the sofa next to him.
    “You are not happy, Allen.”
    Janus resisted the impulse to respond sarcastically to the obvious. He knew Joe was trying to comfort him, and his limited English wasn’t his fault.
    “I guess not, Joe. No, I’m not happy.”
    “You need money, yes?”
    Janus was stunned at Joe’s insight. Was there some way the old man could have known? He wanted to ask, but wasn’t ready to admit to his financial straits unless he was sure there was no use keeping it a secret. So he turned and stared wordlessly into Joe’s face, until the latter reached across and slapped him lightly on the back of his hand.
    “Is obvious, yes? What make a man not happy? Woman? No. Terry and you love each other very much. This I see. Health? I don’t think. Everybody seem good. Not like living in village with fresh air, but better than Madame Brière next door with respirator all the time. So, only money keep man awake when he must go to work early in morning. Yes?”
    Janus smiled at Joe’s simple logic and its uncanny accuracy. “Yes,” he answered softly, feeling innately that this man could be trusted.
    “How much you need?”
    “A lot.”
    “I help.”
    “No thanks, Joe. I mean really a lot.”
    “So, how much is a lot?”
    Janus paused. Was he really about to confide in him? He surprised himself by answering Joe’s question.
    “Fifty-two. Thousand.”
    “Dollars?”
    Again Janus stopped himself from responding sarcastically. Surely Joe didn’t think Janus owed fifty-two thousand Neo-Euros, whatever that came out to. But he held back from replying to the man’s compassion with arrogance.
    “Yes. About fifty-two thousand dollars.”
    “To who you owe so much?”
    “I-I’d rather not get into it.”
    “Bad people, yes?”
    “How...?”
    “If not so bad then maybe you tell to me. Maybe you tell to your wife.”
    “She...You can never tell her about this.”
    “I do not tell to her, Allen.”
    “Then again, maybe she has a right to know how much trouble I’m in.”
    “Big trouble, yes?”
    “Yes, Joe.”
    Janus took a deep breath, and in a few short phrases told Joe about betting on the dog-fighting and the losses he’d incurred. He’d needed to get the truth out as much as he needed a source of quick cash.
    When he finished Joe nodded solemnly before saying: “I give money to you.”
    “What? Where would you come up with that kind of money?”
    “What you think, in Italy I live in street? I sell house. I sell car. I sell table and chairs. I come to Canada with only small bag of clothes and my money.”
    “How…how much do you have?” Janus hated himself for asking, but at the same time was curious to know just what kind of kitty the old man had.
    “A small less than fifty-five. Thousand. Dollars,” Joe finished