Border City Blues 3-Book Bundle

by Michael Januska

  “I guess we weren’t quite ready to cut with Davies. It was still pretty cozy, you know? Anyway, Davies had given Charlie the night off, so it was just me that needed a story should he come back to the suite and I wasn’t there. I planned to tell him that a couple of my girlfriends, bored, called up to the room and were asking if I wanted to come out and visit some new blind pig in the west end. I’d probably use Daisy, who had been on the boat with us, as an alibi. I’d telephoned her as soon as we got to the Dominion House.

  “That’s about when the storm started, so we hunkered down over a plate of chicken wings and beer. It seemed like it would never let up.” She looked at McCloskey. “Remember how bad it was?”

  McCloskey grinned. He remembered almost drowning in it.

  She continued. “It was late when it finally cleared. We stayed at the D-H for a bit longer, and then we could see people were starting to head home, like it was all clear. And then this guy comes in with a story. He made money running beer, real beer, between roadhouses, and got caught in the storm at Wolfe’s, way east. When the storm cleared, he left, and on his way back to Sandwich he passed what looked to be some sort of crime scene. He said all kinds of police were outside this house on Riverside Drive. When he slowed down to ask one of the cops what was going on, the uniform was too busy trying to keep people away. All the cop said was that Richard Davies had been killed. End of story, get lost. The guy, who was stopping in at the D-H for a nightcap, told anyone who would listen the story.

  “Charlie immediately drove me to Daisy’s place downtown, saying he was going to lie low, maybe make some queries, and contact me in the morning if it was all clear for him.

  “When I didn’t see or hear from him in the morning, I figured there was some kind of trouble. Then nothing in the afternoon. I didn’t leave Daisy’s place or make any phone calls. Daisy stayed put too — no, she ducked out to get a newspaper.

  “Then Charlie appeared at the door, not long after five. He looked awful. Shaken. He said we had to leave town, but he didn’t say why. That’s when I reminded him about my dream of living in California, of making a go in the pictures. He liked the sound of that and told me this was probably our cue to leave.

  “But then he said he didn’t want to go all the way to California. He said he still had some business to take care of in the Border Cities. By ‘get out of town,’ I knew he meant across the river, over the border somewhere. He also said he would eventually have to get back into the Border Cities again somehow, but only when the time was right. I kept asking him what he was talking about, but he said he didn’t want to get me into any trouble. He said going to California sounded like a great idea, that I should go and he would catch up with me. He said we could stay in touch through Daisy. I told him I had no money, no means. He took care of that; he had some cash on him and said he might be able to wire me some more. We said our goodbyes and our see-you-laters, but that was the last I ever saw or heard of Charlie. I heard nothing through Daisy and I never heard from him while I was on the Coast.

  “Daisy and I did stay in touch. She’s the one that told me in a letter that witnesses saw Charlie shoot a man at Michigan Central Station, here in town, and that man turned out to be you. Apparently, you were a goner, but somehow you pulled through. I’m glad you did, Jack, and like I said, I’m awful sorry Charlie did that to you. I have no idea why he did it. Do you?”

  “No, I don’t. So Daisy never mentioned anything else about Charlie? She never saw him after that?”

  “She didn’t, but there were always rumours.”

  “Rumours like what?” said McCloskey.

  “Rumours like people spotting Charlie here and there in the Border Cities. But she didn’t know Charlie or anyone he hung out with, and she was sure none of these people spreading the rumours did either, so she never knew what to believe.”

  “What did they say he was doing when they saw him? Where was it exactly they saw him?”

  “I don’t know. None of it really meant anything to Daisy so she had no details. And to tell you the truth, I was over him so stopped asking. Jack, that was months ago, what’s the big deal all of a sudden?”

  “It’s a little complicated, Pearl. Listen, I can’t let you stay here. Have you been in touch with Daisy?”

  “Yeah, she’s been to see the show, and we’ve gone shopping a couple times together.”

  “Been over there long?”

  “No,” she said. “The company arrived only two weeks ago, and the show only started last week.”

  “I’ll drive you over to her place right now. Do you think she’ll be home?”

  Pearl thought for a moment, trying to remember what day it was. “Yeah, she should be. But can’t I phone her first?”

  “No, I don’t want to take any chances.”

  — Chapter 26 —

  FIRE AND ICE

  The night watchman was just finishing his rounds when his wandering flashlight lit upon a body half-buried halfway up one of the several coal chutes that emptied onto the floor at shipping and receiving. He telephoned the police immediately from the emergency box outside the office.

  After the incident at Maiden Lane and the one involving the Indian and the dairy horse, the call didn’t get dropped into just any constable’s lap; it got forwarded straight to Campbell. They reached him at his apartment, and Campbell in turn left an urgent message at the British-American for Jack McCloskey. He had a feeling about this one.

  It was a distance, so he took the Essex this time, plowing fresh snow and skidding through slick intersections. Windsor Ice & Coal was a sort of neighbourhood landmark. The complex was south on McDougall, in the heart of the city’s factory district. The massive ice barn standing on cinder blocks, its basement sunk deep in the earth, was right at the corner, and the eight silos that spelled FORD COKE were lined up directly behind it, parallel to the road. Campbell slowed before he lost control and turned left onto Shepherd, dumping the Essex in a snowdrift he could only guess was somewhere near the curb.

  He stepped down from the car and shuffled through the dark over slush and snow collections — it was yet another overcast sky and there were no surrounding homes throwing any stray light to guide him. Several times he almost tripped and fell. It partly had to do with his legs moving faster than everything else attached to them.

  Wake up, wake up. Too often he was yelling at himself inside his head, but outside it was a different dead quiet than what he was used to; it was factories asleep between shifts in the middle of a harsh winter. He scanned the industrial landscape and spotted some fresh snow covered in an amber glow on this side of a doorway in the middle distance. He shuffled over hastily and banged on the door with a gloved fist. When a face appeared in the frosted glass he produced his badge.

  “Detective Campbell.”

  He had become used to shouting over the wind, but there was no wind tonight. It was now a force of habit. Campbell thought for a moment about how one becomes conditioned to certain things, and then he looked down and noticed he was only wearing one glove. He searched his pockets for its match, but before he found it another personage, whom he could only assume was a night watchman appeared, opened the door, and allowed to him enter.

  He felt the need to repeat his half-delirious claim, if only to provide himself with some kind of an anchor. “I’m Detective Campbell.” Unable to find the match, he removed his one glove and stuffed it in its overcoat partnered pocket.

  “Well,” said the night watchman, “you really wouldn’t be anyone else now, would you?”

  Campbell, even after the breakneck drive with the window down, was still struggling to come to his senses. If anyone, the night watchman in particular, had asked him how he got here, he would have had to struggle for an answer.

  You wouldn’t be anyone else now, would you?

  Campbell knew he was coming around because it suddenly struck him what a philosophical question that might be coming from a person covered in coal dust and pigeon shit.
>
  Pigeons?

  “No, no it wouldn’t be anyone else,” he said. “You found something?”

  “Someone, more like. The name’s Reg.”

  Reg held out his hand and Campbell took it and gave it back.

  “Nice to meet you, Reg. Can we …”

  “Yes, yes this way.” Reg started hobbling along. “I see you brought your own torch.”

  “Flashlight?”

  “It’s over ’ere.”

  “What is?”

  Reg looked over his shoulder. “Our interloper.”

  They were nearing their destination when there was another knock at the door. The two looked at each other; Campbell turned his head sharply but the rest of his body followed at a slightly slower pace.

  Note: Need to be eating and sleeping more. Everything’s becoming disconnected.

  “I think I know who it might be,” Campbell said out loud.

  Reg duplicated Campbell’s about-face while Campbell leaned on the walkway railing. The detective pretended to play with his boot for a moment while he regained himself and then they proceeded.

  “Let me get this,” he said as he opened the door. “Reg, this man might be able to assist us in this matter.”

  McCloskey brushed the snow off his arms and shoulders, then removed his homburg and gave it a few gentle shakes until it seemed presentable again.

  “What’s the story?”

  “Reg here,” Campbell said, “has something to show us.”

  They followed the watchman’s flashlight through the bowels of the coal facility until they were standing on the main floor of shipping and receiving. The only light in the space was coming from a bulb that hung over the desk behind a framed, soot-smeared glass partition.

  The night watchman’s flashlight was pointing at the side of a head. There was also a hand. The body appeared twisted under the coal rubble. “I found him ’ere,” said Reg, “just like this. I didn’t touch ’im. Well, I couldn’t get to ’im.”

  “There isn’t a conveyer?” asked Campbell.

  “No,” said Reg.

  Campbell handed his flashlight to McCloskey and climbed the standing river of dusty coal. He wasn’t going to wait for Laforet this time, though the doctor was already on his way.

  “Can I have some more light up here?” Campbell was working in his own shadow. McCloskey and the night watchman closed in and held their flashlights up at arms’ length, aimed at Campbell and his efforts.

  Campbell pulled at the exposed hand and the body easily came loose, sending both him and the body tumbling backwards down the chute and onto the apron of coal that met the shallow pit at the bottom. The detective stood up but his footing was still unstable and he fell backward onto the chute. Reg gave him a hand and he managed to right himself and drag the body by one of its arms onto the concrete floor. He flipped it over and McCloskey shone the flashlight on its face.

  “Lapointe,” he said.

  He knelt down at one side of Lapointe’s head and Campbell knelt down at the other.

  There was a banging on the door.

  “Just in time.” Campbell looked up at Reg. “That will be my colleague, Dr. Laforet. Please, would you show him in?”

  The night watchman followed the request.

  Campbell waited until Reg was out of earshot. “Lapointe is another friend of yours?”

  “Yes,” said McCloskey, unable to take his eyes off the body.

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Monday night … downtown at the hotel.”

  Footsteps could be heard.

  “We need to talk,” said Campbell and then he stood to greet Laforet.

  “Doctor.”

  “Campbell. I can think of better habits to form other than meeting you at scenes like this in the dead of night in winter.” Laforet set down his case and peeled off his gloves, exchanging them for another pair from his case. “What do we have here?”

  “His name’s Lapointe,” said Campbell. “Another acquaintance of our friend here.” Campbell still wanted to help maintain McCloskey’s anonymity.

  Without looking at McCloskey, Laforet said, “You’re a dangerous man to know,” and then he crouched down over the body.

  Laforet shined his flashlight up and down the length of the body and then settled on Lapointe’s face. It could have been his imagination, but even with Lapointe’s eyes closed, he could have sworn he saw a look of horror in it. Lapointe’s jaw was open slightly and his throat was rigid. It looked like it might even be distended. Laforet gripped the jaw and turned Lapointe’s head slightly toward him so they were facing each other.

  “Hold this.” He gave his flashlight to Campbell, who set his own down.

  Laforet pried open Lapointe’s jaw.

  “What is it?” asked Campbell.

  “It’s filled with coal,” said Laforet, and then he felt Lapointe’s throat. He opened his coat and shirt. He couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought Lapointe’s ribs looked cracked. There were bruises under the grease and coal dust.

  “Coal dust under his shirt?” said Campbell.

  Laforet gently felt Lapointe’s chest and torso, and then he stood up.

  “The ambulance is on its way,” he said. “Let’s not move him again until they get here.” He turned to the night watchman. “Can they back into here somehow?”

  Reg looked toward the two garage doors that led to ramps up street-level. “They dug them out this morning; they might still be clear enough.”

  “All right,” said Campbell, “go out to the corner and flag them down. They’ll have no idea where they’re going.”

  Reg complied. They waited until they heard the door slam. Laforet took Campbell aside, safe enough from McCloskey’s ear but not clear enough for him not to get the gist of the conversation.

  “I think I’m pretty much through with taking a clinical, bemused, semi-professional stance with all of this, Campbell. Bodies are piling up in an unfinished morgue like we’re seeing some sort of natural disaster. Is that what it is? Tell me what’s going on.”

  Campbell looked dazed.

  “Wake up.” Laforet was coming too close to slapping him, and as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t because he knew that McCloskey was watching them.

  “I don’t know,” said Campbell. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

  They paused for a few moments of idle chatter, some space, and a chance to decompress before returning to McCloskey. Something was wrong with all of this, thought Campbell. But no one was talking. Why? He would have to speak with McCloskey first thing tomorrow, privately.

  McCloskey watched Laforet bundle himself up and then make his exit. Campbell approached McCloskey.

  “The doctor has to make another call. I’ll wait for the ambulance.”

  McCloskey nodded and Campbell continued.

  “We’re going to have a conversation, first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “All right,” said McCloskey, probably thinking the same thing, but with some reservations. “Where? The British-American?”

  “No, not there.”

  “Your place?”

  “You mean my apartment? No, not there either.”

  “And I’m not going to be seen with you in any of the local diners or roadhouses.”

  “I have to pick up a book tomorrow at Copeland’s. Meet me there at ten.”

  “Copeland’s? The bookstore on the Avenue?”

  “Yes, in the Victoria Building,” said Campbell.

  “Okay. I can go now?”

  Though he suspected there was no threat of this happening, Campbell had to say it anyway. “Just don’t leave town.”

  Whenever they needed to communicate with someone, it was through verbal messages passed from strangers in the street. Someone you wouldn’t recognize would stop you, and it was never the same person twice. You knew where it was coming from, though. You knew it was coming from them. There were certain words these strangers used that always tipped you off. Not
exactly a code, more of a vocabulary, with some personal fact thrown in just to let you know they had the right person, that they knew who they were talking to. And then you would never see this person again. Ever. But you would hear from the Guard again, through someone else.

  He had been stopped in the street a couple of days ago. Was it Tuesday? A man was walking toward him. He had been exchanging words with a friend, he could see that, and then they were saying their goodbyes, waving at each other as they separated, and the man was smiling, like he was recalling some old joke they had shared. And then he was looking at nothing, nothing but snow-covered sidewalk and shop windows, still smiling to himself. He remembered liking the man’s face. He was about to pass this stranger and then the man raised a hand against his shoulder and stopped him. He looked down. The man wasn’t smiling any more.

  Soon, he said, you won’t hear anything but the ringing.

  What do you mean? he said. Who are you?

  They had reached inside him, and somehow he knew they would not let go. Last night they had come to him in his sleep.

  They told him to meet him here, in the car barns at the Hydro Electric Railway hub on London Street. They said they would be waiting for him. He did not know who they were or what exactly they wanted, but he was being compelled. They, whoever they were, were real, but it was a reality that could not be fully explained. He kept it all to himself.