“Don’t tell me he asked to live with your folks?” Terry said, shaking his head.
“Where else is he going to go? My parents have always liked Johnny.
He’s personable. And our place is huge. Johnny could stay in the basement apartment. Now that Grandma is in the home, she doesn’t need it.”
“They hate me,” Terry cried, flicking the ashes of his cigarette on the ground. “Your parents hate me and they love all-American Johnny. The guy is such an asshole and your parents like him. Have they got dog food for brains?”
“They don’t hate you,” Cathy said. My mother thinks you’re a loser. She coughed, then took a puff on her cigarette. “You don’t say anything. I think they’re a bit afraid of you. It would help if you smiled once in a while and spoke to them. My dad is real keen on eye contact. He’s a lawyer after all. And they definitely don’t like the way you dress. And your hair.” My father is surprised that you don’t have a police record.
“And my mother?” Terry asked.
“Well,” Cathy hesitated, smoke slipping through her teeth. “If she was a little more discreet with her personal life…”
“Shit! They hate me. They hate anyone who doesn’t have a Mercedes in their future. And they love good old Johnny. They don’t mind if he gets kicked out of college. He’ll get the Mercedes the old-fashioned way.
He’ll inherit it. Christ, is this going to come down to who your parents like? Have you had sex with Johnny?”
“No!” Like I’d tell you.
Terry turned and looked at Cathy.
“Well,” Cathy hesitated, her eyes dropping, “what was I supposed to do?”
Terry ran his fingers through his hair. He gritted his teeth angrily.
“You’re supposed to say no! I’m your boyfriend!”
“He was crying. I didn’t know what else to do. He needed me so much. It’s terrible when someone needs you so much.”
“He was crying? He begged you? And you didn’t find that pathetic.
Funny how his entreaties work while mine fall on deaf ears.” Terry angrily walked in circles. He kicked at a newspaper box, sending it into a pirouette before it landed back on its legs again.
“I need you!” He turned on Cathy. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you?” Cathy looked up, cigarette smoke rising up through her hair, a tear running down her cheek.
“Oh shit!” Terry said, looking down Bloor Street. “Who’s that?” Hydro Towers
Mary staggered to one side, then grabbed onto Hank’s arm.
“Steady girl.” He swung his arm around her shoulder, his fingers straying over the straps of her dress.
Mary laughed, her face falling into Hank’s chest. “It’s these shoes,” she said.
“It’s the gin,” Hank responded with a laugh, slipping a finger under one of her shoulder straps.
“Listen!” Mary looked up at the hydro towers above them. “You can hear the electricity in the wires.”
“Electricity doesn’t make any sound,” Hank replied.
“What’s that sound then?”
They both listened.
“Hell, I’ve never noticed that before.” Hank laughed.
“I wonder if it’s in code.” She began to giggle.
“Quiet,” Hank said. “I think I can make out what it’s saying.” Hank’s finger slipped along the strap over the edge of Mary’s shoulder.
Mary could barely contain her laughter.
Hank smiled. “It’s asking who the good-looking blonde with the great knockers is.”
Mary broke out laughing, falling into Hank’s arms. He bent down.
Their lips met. His finger slid under the edge of her dress and tapped on her nipple.
“You sex maniac,” Mary whispered into his mouth.
Their tongues met.
“I hope you have air-conditioning,” he said.
“I have fans.” Mary slipped out of Hank’s arms. “It’s not too bad if you open all the windows. Bloody landlord won’t put in air. Anyway, I’m on the rag so there won’t be any tonight.” She laughed and punched Hank playfully on the arm. “But if you’re a good boy, I-”
“That’s all right,” Hank said, rubbing Mary’s shoulder as if he were trying to warm her up. “I’m not in the mood. The heat. We could talk.”
“Not about my ex again,” Mary moaned, slipping back under the wing of his long arm around her shoulder. “I don’t mind going dow-” Hank placed his finger gently on her lips.
“I can wait. They say that the greatest spice to a meal is appetite.” Mary laughed. “You are sweet.”
“And I’m curious,” Hank said. “It’s like a mystery novel. You’ve told me the ending but I don’t know how you got there. You’re husband walked out one night and didn’t come back. Why would he do that?”
“He went out for cigarettes. Or the paper. Or a quart of milk. Isn’t it always the same story?”
“You had a fight? Am I right?”
Mary nodded. She pulled the strap of her dress back over her shoulder.
Hank laughed. “What was the fight about?”
“We were always having fights. It was what we did best.”
“It must have been a pretty serious fight if he didn’t come back.”
“I don’t remember. Maybe it was about money.” Mary took a package of cigarettes out of the small bag that hung over her other shoulder. “We never had enough. Bill was a professional hockey player. I guess I never told you about that. He was always coming home with bruises and cuts.
Most of the time he was so hurt he couldn’t get it up. Played for the Toronto Toros. What kind of name is that, eh? Toros? Like the team was Mexican. We were always moving around from town to town. I guess I’ve been in every bus station from Tulsa to Hamilton. He got cut the winter before. I don’t mean injured. He got fired. We’d pretty well gone through all his money. Terry was only about five or six at the time. He adored his dad. But Bill couldn’t find any other work.” Hank took a lighter from his pocket and lit Mary’s cigarette.
“He was a fringe player,” she continued. “And those long bus trips with the team can be boring. All the players fooled around, or drank, or both. Bill was good-looking so it’s not surprising that he had a little something on the side. Well, I forgave him that. I was no angel myself.
But when we moved back to Toronto to play for the Toros, I thought we’d be able to put down roots. But Bill was just fodder for the cannons.
After one season they didn’t need him anymore. Twenty-nine years old and at the end of his career and I was still a kid myself. I was fifteen when we got married. I was so naive. Marrying a hockey player-well, I thought I’d struck gold. Turned out to be fool’s gold.” A cloud of smoke billowed out of Mary’s mouth and disappeared into the night.
“We were always at each other’s throats.”
Mary leaned over and kissed Hank on the lips. Hank brushed Mary’s hair from her smile.
“What happened that night?”
“Bill lost another job. Working for the township. I got him a job with the parks department, cutting grass, marking ball diamonds. They let him go. He said the job was boring. I found out later that they caught him in a park under a tree, sleeping. He was probably drinking. He accused me of fooling around on him with this guy Jimmy that got the job for him. I wasn’t fucking Jimmy. He was just a friend. But Bill was so bloody jealous. Or else he needed to blame someone like he always blamed the referee when he had a bad game. Anyway, I accused Bill of messing around with Joe Mackenzie’s wife, June. She was always in the Zig Zag picking up someone. June and I were old school friends. It was no stretch to imagine that June and Bill were doing the horizontal tango.
Not that I cared. But I couldn’t stand the idea of him spending money on her, money that was rightfully mine.”
“Did he hit you?” Hank asked.
Mary looked up at Hank and smiled. “Why would you ask that?”
“He sounds like the type.”
Mary s
hook her head. “No, he never hit me. Not that I would have blamed him. I could be a real bitch. Bill was an enforcer when he played hockey, but with me he was a little teddy bear. He would just whimper.
God, I hated that. Drove me nuts when he’d start whimpering. I could have handled the occasional slap, but being around him when he sulked drove me through the roof. We had rent to pay and he’d be sitting at the kitchen table sniffling away, whining about the tough breaks he’d had. A rough tough hockey player crying like a baby. I felt like hitting him. And I did one time. He let me. Said he deserved it. I think he liked being slapped, but I never had the heart for it.”
Mary put her arm around Hank’s waist and leaned on him, her head against his shoulder as they continued to walk toward her apartment.
“Sometimes I just get so tired,” Mary said. “I want to forget everything. Just throw my cares down a deep well and start over again.” Mary stopped and moved away from Hank.
“Who’s that?”
“Where?” Hank asked.
“In front of my door,” Mary said.
Leem’s Nursing Home
The old man dragged himself up so that he was sitting up in his bed.
Sam Kelly pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down. Light filtered through the sheer curtains, exaggerating the lines on the old man’s face.
On the wall opposite the window were a series of pictures, some of police officers, one of Jesus Christ. There was a plaque with a set of fire regulations. The detective looked at the old man. God, he must be a hundred years old.
“Kids put me here,” the old man muttered, a drop of spit running down his chin. There was a gap in his smile where his words seemed to whistle, giving the impression that the old man lisped.
“Seems like a nice place, Ed,” Sam looked around the sterile room, swearing that he would never allow anyone to put him in such a place.
“It’s my old beat,” the old man said, gesturing with his head to the world outside. “Kinda funny, ain’t it? I look out the window here I can see myself in the squad car passing along Bloor, never imagining that I’d end up here. Who the hell thinks they’re going to get old? I don’t know what we think we’re going to turn into, but this isn’t it. And now someone from the force shows up. I thought you fellas had forgotten all about Corporal Kaye. Hell, why should you remember? That’s what you realize when you get older. Old people forget because there ain’t no reason to remember. The history books don’t tell the story. The story is too big with too much pain. Eventually we’re all forgotten. My world is dead, Detective, on a slab in the coroner’s office.” The old man’s thoughts drifted away. His eyes glazed over for a brief moment. Then he was back. “Don’t get many visitors. The kids never show up, but I can’t blame them. They got their own lives. My grandson, Jeremy, doesn’t like the smell in here. He hates the smell of bleach and the smell underneath-me, rotting.” The old man coughed, then cleared his throat and swallowed. “But he comes anyway. He’s a good boy. Once a month he shows up with magazines and chocolate bars. I don’t read them. Teen magazines, the latest gossip on the latest one hit wonder. But 69
I never tell him that. We eat the chocolate bars together. Told him I didn’t have much to leave him but I promised him he could have my badge. He wants my gun. Wish my Ellen was here. She was a great gal.
Boy, could she dance. Would love to have seen her grandchildren. She died before we knew Jeremy was on his way. It’s a terrible thing to pass on and not know if you’re going to leave anyone behind. It’s like part of her history had been kept from her. Like her existence had been erased.
But what does that matter anyway?”
Detective Kelly nodded and reached into his pocket for his cigarettes.
“Better not,” the old man said. “They got their rules here. And they enforce them. Did you see my nurse? Big Negro woman named Sally.
She’d have made a good cop. You light that cigarette and she’ll have you out on the sidewalk in no time at all. Never met a woman that strong.
Tosses me around in here like I was a doll. Ellen wouldn’t have approved. Didn’t approve of Negroes. Don’t think she ever met a Negro, but she didn’t approve. Jeremy likes Sally.” Sam Kelly moved his chair closer to the bed.
“Ed, I’ve come on police business.”
The old man’s eyes lit up. He struggled to sit up straight. The detective rose and helped him to adjust his pillows. Then he turned and looked out the window over Bloor Street. The sun was going down. He spotted Joe Mackenzie crossing the street and entering George’s Barbershop.
“It’s an old case, Ed,” the detective said, turning around and taking a seat again. He took out a pad from the breast pocket of his jacket. “I’m hoping you can help me.”
“Well, my memory ain’t that great anymore.” Ed grinned. “But fire away and I’ll see what I can dredge up. Wish I had a smoke. Helps me think.”
The detective nodded, then related the tale that the barkeeper at the Zig Zag had relayed to him. The old man listened quietly. The detective hoped he hadn’t drifted off.
“Could have been a practical joke,” Ed said. “I knew fellows who’d say anything if they thought it might get them a free drink.”
“Jack’s been around awhile. He’s heard just about every con. I don’t think he would have been taken in.”
Ed rubbed his chin with his right index finger.
“Jack?”
“The bartender in the Zig Zag.”
“Don’t know any Jack. Hell, I never heard of the Zig Zag.” The detective described the location of the Zig Zag.
“A couple of doors over? Wasn’t that a drugstore?” Ed asked.
The detective nodded.
Ed laughed. “Maybe I could get old Sally to take me over there for a drink some time. We’d make an odd couple. Do you think they’d serve a Negro?”
The detective nodded. “Been the law for years.”
“The law and the way people are… are two different things.”
“They’ll serve her,” the detective said with a smile.
The old man nodded with satisfaction. “So, where did they find the body?”
“The corner of Bloor and Botfield.”
“Where the kids pick up their newspapers?” Ed asked.
“Ya,” Sam responded. “But they don’t make deliveries anymore.”
“Don’t make deliveries?”
“Haven’t for years,” the detective added.
“God!” The old man thought for a moment. “What do kids do for money?”
The detective shrugged.
Ed shook his head. “No paper routes. Negroes being treated like human beings.”
“There’s no record of any deaths there,” the detective continued.
“Fellow said an ambulance and a police car showed up. A policeman interviewed the fellow. That could have been you.” Ed shook his head despondently for a moment, then waved his index finger in the air as if he was trying to catch a memory.
“Ya, there was an incident that sounds similar. It was my birthday. I showed up a few moments after the ambulance drove off. We passed each other on the street. A guy was standing near the telephone booth, smoking a cigarette, and staring down at the sidewalk. He looked like the last man on the planet. I pulled the squad car up to the curb. Didn’t look like he noticed my arrival. When I spoke, he looked at me with a startled expression. I asked him if he was the gentleman who had phoned for an ambulance. He nodded. Looked pretty shaken up. I took down a name and an address but…” The old man shook his head. “I can’t remember it. He was standing there staring at this brown stain on the sidewalk. Like someone had spilt coffee. That sort of stuck in my head. He kept muttering, ‘I could have saved him. I should have done something.’ God, I wish I could remember his name. But that was years ago. And he couldn’t have gone into the Zig Zag and talked to that bartender. There was no bar then. It was a drugstore, right?” 71
“Who was the deceased?” the detective ask
ed.
Ed said nothing for several minutes. “No one knew.” The detective looked up from the pad where he’d been taking notes.
“The fellow didn’t have any ID on him when the ambulance picked him up,” the old man explained. “A John Doe. No one ever claimed the body. We asked around but no one knew any old man. I asked here at the home, it was under different management then, and they weren’t missing anyone. I wish I could remember the fellow’s name who found the old man.”
“It should be in your report,” the detective said.
“Good luck in finding that,” Ed said with a smile. “We didn’t keep very good records in those days.”
“Did you investigate further?”
“I-,” the old man hesitated. “I can’t remember.” The detective smiled and put his pad away.
“Miss the force,” Ed said, his energy spent, drool running down his cheek. “Wish I’d died in action instead of wasting away in this place.” Sam Kelly rose and shook the old man’s trembling hand. As he was about to leave, a thought occurred to him.
“Your wife…”
“Ellen,” the old man answered.
“She didn’t disappear by any chance, did she?”
“Ellen? No, she died from the big C. Lung cancer. Never smoked a day in her life. Secondhand smoke, they say. I guess that’s my fault too.” Shadows
Cathy stopped to catch her breath. She peeked out from the shelter of the Zig Zag entrance into the night. She looked back down Bloor Street.
There was no one there. She looked across the street at the Six Points Plaza. Old Joe Mackenzie walked his beat along the store fronts. She was being paranoid. It was the fight with Terry. It was Johnny. It was everything. She was overwrought. Her imagination was working over-time. She looked back again. The street was empty and except for the streetlights, dark. She took a deep breath and dashed out of the shelter and headed for her car. When she turned into Botfield where her car was parked, she bumped into something and fell to the ground.
“I’m sorry,” a giant of a man said. “Are you all right?” He reached down to help her up.
The Hole Page 9
