The Fix

I took out my wallet and extracted my last bill—a twenty. I was happy to see that the Queen’s face had not been botoxed and that her dear old eyebrows had not been waxed. It was the Queen we know—the person who looks so much like Helen Mirren. Then I turned it over and studied the beautiful Haida image of a canoe full of animals, a raven, an eagle, and humans, all paddling like mad. I called to my friend.

“Wib, look at this—no life preservers! The guy is standing up in a watercraft. Plus look at how low that boat is riding in the water—they’re way over the legal limit.”

He gazed at the bill with dimming eyes. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

“Wib, Wib,” called the hostess from across the room. “Where are you going? We haven’t even talked, you naughty boy!”

But Wib was already heading for the door. There was dangerous Canadian money out there, and he was going to put a stop to it.