OPP - Ontario Provincial Police. They don’t have cool red uniforms.

Erik Thorbiornsen stared at the grey afternoon sky, shivering in his unfortunately thin jacket, a brown paper bag hanging from one hand. His lunch was either a grease covered little ball of lead in the pit of his stomach, or a lead-like little ball of grease. He couldn’t decide which.

In the distance, Ray Fujimoto, pre-law student, self-proclaimed ninja, nuisance, and Erik’s roommate, was scrambling over boards and piles of bricks. The sleeves of his grey bunny hug were rolled up above his elbows and his dark fingers were probing intently in the dirt and rubble. Erik snorted softly and went back to watching the road and ignoring Ray.

A single car drove past, but the occupants took no interest in the tall student leaning casually against the fence surrounding the construction site in just such a way that he blocked the ‘No Trespassing’ sign. Erik kept expecting a tumbleweed to blow past, but even tumbleweeds had decided to take the day off and stay inside. He turned the collar of his jacket up and pulled the thin fabric closer to his body. “Ray, if you don’t hurry up, I’m going home. It’s freezing out here.”

“Almost done!” Ray called cheerfully without a hint of repentance in his voice.

Erik scowled and jammed his hands under his arm pits. The next time Ray interrupted his . . . well, he’d just been playing a video game, but this early in the term that was a legitimate way to be spending time, he was almost sure of it. Anyway, the next time Ray interrupted anything he was doing to ask for his help with something, Erik was definitely going to refuse. Definitely. Even if Ray offered to buy lunch, although he usually picked up the tab for the food anyway. Even then, he was definitely going to refuse to let Ray coerce him out of the apartment.

Apartment? Hell, next time Ray wouldn’t even get him off the couch.

Unless Ray agreed in advance to buy lunch somewhere that wouldn’t give them both indigestion, anyway. But other than that, he was definitely avoiding any of Ray’s hopeful requests for help in the future. Definitely, definitely . . .

“Done!” Ray announced. “Bag, Thor, bag,” he demanded impatiently.

Erik looked down to find Ray’s grinning face starring up at him, smeared with dirt, and with crumbling mortar clinging to his dark hair. With a scowl, Erik removed his hands from the warm and wind-protected spots under his arms and held the paper bag open in front of Ray. “Really done?”

“Really done,” Ray confirmed cheerfully, dumping the contents of his cupped hands into the bag. He brushed the remaining bits of dirt, mortar, brick, and sawdust off his hands. Some of the mortar left greyish streaks on the black leather of his gloves, and on his dark fingers. With an abstract expression on his face, he tried to work bits of grime out of newly acquired cuts on his bare fingers.

God forbid Mr. I’m-a-ninja wear work gloves for his stupid plan, or even gloves with fingers. Now he’d probably be bleeding on the furniture – were there any bandaids in the apartment? Probably not – and on the gaming stuff. Not that blood on the furniture mattered so much, or would even be noticeable . . .

Ray plucked the paper bag from Erik’s unresisting fingers and tapped his roommate’s forehead. “Yo, Thor, let’s go. You were the one whining about it being cold, ruthlessly destroying a perfectly good cultural stereotype.”

Erik rolled his eyes. “Most Canadians don’t stand around outside doing nothing during the first cold snap of the fall when there’s a minus five wind chill, idiot.”

“You could have just said no, Thor. Or worn a warmer jacket.”

“Whatever,” Erik snorted, but some of the tension drained out of his shoulders as he shoved his hands into the near-warmth of his jacket pockets. “Let’s go, man.” As an afterthought, he removed one hand to flick briefly at a chunk of mortar in Ray’s hair.

Ray looked up, following the motion of Erik’s hand automatically, then grinned. He ran both hands through his hair, messing up further, and set off at a jog.

Ray balanced precariously on the back of the couch, leaning away from the wall to inspect his handiwork. Apparently satisfied, he let himself fall forward, bracing himself against the wall once more. “Shoe!”

Erik gritted his teeth and, resisting the urge to hurl the shoe at his roommate’s head, tossed it to him lightly.

Catching it with ease, Ray flashed Erik a grin. “Thanks, Thor.” He shook his hair out of his eyes, causing water from his brief shower to fall on the couch, creating dark damp patches on the already motley looking piece of furniture.

Considering the damp couch, and Ray’s position on it, Erik had elected to sit on the rarely used table. He kicked irritably at one of the chairs and watched as Ray finished nailing a poster to the wall with the heel of his shoe.

The poster tube had arrived a few days earlier from Ottawa, along with some other things Ray claimed couldn’t fit into his luggage on the plane. Erik had generously, or so he thought, offered to let Ray use some of the tape he’d used to put up his own small collection of posters, and Ray had cheerfully declined. As though stealing old nails from a construction site was so much better than a bit of cheap tape.

“You know, the manual says you aren’t supposed to put holes in the wall.”

“It’s not a hole, it’s a nail.”

“It’ll be a hole when you move and take the posters down, dumbass.”

“Just a little one.”

“A lot of little ones, Ray.”

“They won’t notice, Thor. Honestly, you’re more paranoid than my mother.” Ray shook his head disapprovingly, getting more water on the couch, and jumped down.

“I’m not paranoid,” Erik snapped.

“You are,” Ray returned easily, hands in pockets.

“I’m not. Anyway, you’re the one who’ll get shit from the building manager.” Erik felt slightly mollified by this idea. “They’re your posters.” He eyed the one Ray had finished putting up. It was very shiny. And black. And Japanese. Very shiny, black, and Japanese. It looked like it was for a movie. Erik mentally dubbed the theoretical movie Ninja Thing.

Ray began to grin, dark eyes gleaming with sudden inspiration. “I could put nails in your posters.”

“Ray!”

“Just offering,” Ray smiled, tossing his shoe back to its mate. “So, what’ll we do for supper?”

Erik put a hand over his stomach. “I still feel sick from lunch.”

“Huh. Well, we could go over to Ash and Dust’s, see if that Bob guy’s feeling generous again, or . . .” Ray’s head turned abruptly, a finger lifting to his lips as though to silence the already quiet room. “What’s that smell?”

Erik sniffed. “Pancakes.” The smell made him homesick. He gave the chair another kick. “Dammit, I hate this place. You can always smell what the other people on the floor are cooking.” A glance was briefly spared for their own tiny kitchen. Only a couple weeks, and the counters and stove were already acquiring a layer of dust.

Eyes gleaming, Ray jumped over an empty pizza box and landed on the table next to Erik. It creaked ominously under their combined weights. Quickly, Erik began to get up, but Ray grabbed his shoulder.

Reflexively, Erik pulled back. His eyes narrowed with suspicious. “What is it?” he asked, eyeing his grinning roommate warily.

“Thor, my boy,” Ray said, “I have a cunning plan.”

“This is insane,” Erik said. He was beginning to consider making a recording of that phrase and playing it back whenever the situation required, if only to spare his vocal chords from stress.

“I find this negative attitude of yours to be very discouraging, Thor,” Ray said, pulling a mask up over the lower half of his face.

“Discouraging enough to stop?” Erik asked hopelessly.

“No,” Ray replied absently, his voice muffled by the dark fabric over his mouth. “Hold this.” He handed Erik the recently removed window screen.

Automatically, Erik took the screen and put it down on the couch. “I think this is vandalism.”

“It’s our window. Besides, it goes back in.” He braced himself on the windowsill, sticking his head and shoulders outside. “Probably.”

“You’re going to plunge to your death.”

“It’s only three storeys.”

“Someone’s going to see you and call the cops.”

“Where’s your faith in ninjas, Thor?”

“I have no faith in ninjas.”

“Your life,” Ray said with a sigh, “must be a sad one.”

Erik made a face.

“Besides, there’s trees.”

Unable to argue about the existence of trees, Erik fell back on “This is insane.”

“Do you want pancakes or not?”

“I’m still full,” Erik lied.

“You’ll change your mind soon enough,” Ray said with a grin, and flipped himself out the window.

Resisting the temptation to look out the window and see if Ray was already plunging to his death, Erik pulled the curtain shut. He grabbed his biology textbook and sat down on the couch next to the window screen. Did he wish Ray success or failure? Success would mean breaking-and-entering into a neighbour’s apartment. Someone would surely call the cops if Ray succeeded into breaking into one of the apartments. Failure, on the other hand . . .

We understand you were the roommate of the deceased, Mr. Thorbiornsen. Did you get along with Mr. Fujimoto? Did you know him well? Were you having an argument with him? Was there a reason for you to push Mr. Fujimoto out of the window, Mr. Thorbiornsen?

Erik shuddered and tried to focus his attention on a diagram of an eukaryotic cell. He traced a few unnaturally colourful organelles with his fingertip, trying to stamp their names and the few, brief notes Dustin had made about them into his mind. The studying was of little success, trying as he was to cram scientific jargon into a brain currently filled with visions of irate police and RCMP officers.

Ray was the son of a Japanese diplomat. If he was found dead after his stupid stunt, would the OPP investigate? No, they wouldn’t be concerned with anything outside of Ontario. Some special police force from Japan, then? A squad of elite ninjas?

Erik shook his head fiercely to clear it of this last though. Obviously Ray’s delusions were rubbing off on him. With his energy and desire to ignore Ray’s stunt temporarily renewed by the horrifying thought that his roommate’s insanity was starting to get to him, Erik reapplied himself to his biology textbook for twenty successful minutes.

Abruptly, Erik shut the textbook. Very calmly, he went over to the phone and lifted the receiver. Tucking it under his chin, he began to punch in Dustin’s number. Dustin was his best friend. They’d known each other since they could walk. With such a long history behind them, surely Dustin wouldn’t mind lending Erik his car for a couple weeks so Erik could flee the country.

Mexico, he thought, was probably a better idea than Alaska. But there would almost certainly be a Japanese embassy in Mexico . . .

“O’Hara, McCloud, and Mackenzie,” growled Ash’s voice after the tenth ring.

“Uh, hey Ash, is Dust – ” There was a scrabbling noise at the window. Erik swore in relief. “Never mind, man. Talk to you later,” he said hurriedly into the receiver before slamming it down. A few quick strides and one foot through a pizza box later, he was at the window, pulling the curtain aside.

Ray was already halfway through the window, a black garbage bag slung over his shoulder.

“Idiot,” Erik snapped. He grasped Ray’s empty hand, pulling him fiercely through the window and into the room. Much to Erik’s disappointment, ninjas appeared to be like cats. Ray somehow ended up standing on both feet, and not sprawled on his ass with his head bashed against the wall like Erik had hoped.

Tugging his mask down to hang around his neck revealed the normal, insane grin Erik was beginning to associate with his roommate. Still grinning, Ray held the garbage bag out to Erik, which the blond took with reluctance. “Pancakes!” Ray announced cheerfully, slamming the window shut without bothering to put the screen back in.

Erik gave the bag a tentative lift, not sure he wanted to look inside. “You know, Ray, here in Canada we have these things called restaurants. In a restaurant, you can buy food other people make without having to resort to breaking into a neighbouring apartment and stealing the food there. And Ray? Some of these restaurants, they make pancakes.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Thor?” Ray asked, sounding almost-hurt, although his voice was briefly muffled by fabric as he pulled off his heavy black shirt.

“I couldn’t fit it in my luggage, so I left it at the Lake,” Erik snapped. “Ray, these aren’t really pancakes, are they?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“This is a garbage bag, Ray.”

“It’s kind of hard to fit tupperware in your pockets and still be stealthy,” Ray said as he took the bag back from Erik.

This, Erik decided, had to be ninja logic.

“Do we have plates?” Ray asked as he dumped the bag on the table. Absently, he shoved a few loose papers and three books out of the way and onto the floor.

“I think I saw some last time I opened the cupboard,” Erik said, resigned. “I may have imagined them, though.” He pulled at a corner of the bag, peering inside.

Ray threw a shoe at him.

“Fuck!” Erik rubbed his head, glaring balefully at Ray, who was standing on tiptoe to peer into the topmost cupboard, with only one shoe on. “What was that for?”

“You said you weren’t hungry,” Ray said, still staring at the plates.

“You were gone at least half-an-hour. My stomach’s had time to settle.”

“Great!” Ray turned to flash Erik a dazzling grin. “You can get the plates down, then.”

Erik made an irritable but consenting noise and squeezing past Ray into the tiny kitchen. Looking into the cupboard revealed that, sure enough, there were on the top shelf. Three of them. He took two of the plates and stared at them. One was formerly white and chipped, with a heavy blue border around the edge. The other one was an ugly shade of yellow with a pattern of equally ugly green leaves. When had they bought plates? Had they been left here by the previous tenants?

“Thanks, Thor.” Ray pulled the plates out of Erik’s hands, balancing cutlery – two forks and a knife – on top. He set everything on the table and opened the garbage bag.

They really were pancakes. Kind of oddly shaped, already buttered, and burnt on one side. Ray separated the plates and began dividing the pancakes evenly between the two.

“Ray,” Erik began, watching from behind his roommate, “did you really steal those pancakes from someone on this floor?”

Ignoring Erik’s question, Ray reached into the bag again, pulling something out. He grinned up at Erik over his shoulder, cheerfully sidestepping the question with a light inquiry of “Syrup?”