A Trick of the Light (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache, #7)

by Louise Penny

A young man slouched to the front of the room. His head was shaved and there were tattoos around his skull. One was a hand with the finger up. “Fuck You” was tattooed across his forehead. His entire face was pierced. Nose, brows, lips, tongue, ears. The Chief didn’t know if it was fashion or self-mutilation. He glanced at Bob, who was sitting placidly beside him as though his grandfather had just walked to the front of the room. Absolutely no alarm. Perhaps, thought Gamache, he had wet-brain. Gone soft in the head by too much drinking and had lost all judgment. All ability to recognize danger. Because if anyone screamed warning, this young man at the front did. The Chief looked at the president, sitting at the head table, keenly watching the young man. He at least seemed alert. Taking everything in. And he would, thought Gamache, if he was sponsoring this boy who looked capable of doing anything. “My name’s Brian and I’m an alcoholic and addict.” “Hi, Brian,” they all said. Except Gamache and Beauvoir. Brian spoke for thirty minutes. He told them about growing up in Griffintown, below the tracks in Montréal. Born to a crack-addicted mother and a meth-addicted grandmother. No father. The gang became his father, his brothers, his teachers. His talk was littered with swear words. He told them about robbing pharmacies, about robbing homes, about even breaking into his own home one night. And robbing it. The room erupted into laughter. Indeed, people laughed all the way through...