The main floor had round tables jammed tight together. Your neighbor could end up sitting on your lap and you wouldn't know it. The stand-up bar stood opposite the stage. I walked into a blast of Dixieland straight from New Orleans. After being in purgatory for a while, I felt warmed by the sound. The heat lay like an extra layer of air along with the fug of cigarette smoke and the buzz of voices talking over the music.
The bar staff had thrown open the windows and doors so the music and talk spilled out into the street. I headed straight for the bar and that's where I found her. Except it wasn't her. Just someone who reminded me of her. She nursed something in a tall glass. She stood taller and willowy with a thrusting bosom in a low-cut red dress with sequins festooned down the front. Her hair was cut long on one side and swept over her forehead and down into a flip. I checked out her ankles; bony as flints on an archeological dig. I turned the other cheek. I caught the bartender's eye and that required Olympian effort. The drinkers piled in three deep and had a yawning thirst.
“I'll have a Canadian Club and whatever the lady's drinking,” I shouted.
She fired a gap-toothed smile in my direction. “Why thank you,” she said. “Rum and coke for me. That's awfully sweet.”
I grinned back at her. “I'm just a sweet guy.”
“Are you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, somebody didn't think so, honey. Judging from that nasty bruise you got.”
I touched my temple and winced. “Oh, that. That was just a simple misunderstanding.”
“Really?”
“Really,” I affirmed.
The barkeep brought the drinks and I tossed him five bucks and told him to keep the change. He shot me a grin and a thumbs-up.
“You like jazz?” she asked me.
“Mo,” I said.
“You like jazz, Mo?”
“That's why I'm here, sugar.”
“Evelyn,” she said.
“Pleased to meet you, Evelyn.”
“Likewise.”
“Shall we find a table?”
“Lets.”
Along with her ankles, she boasted skinny legs and heels skyscraper high. I found a table in the corner and we settled in. Several drinks later the pain had receded. We talked but I don't remember anything we talked about. The music went into my head and stayed there. Some time later, I found her hand on mine and discovered my hand on her thigh. She let me keep it there. After a few more drinks, I think we got up and left. The music disappeared. Suddenly I found myself in the back of a cab. The cabby was a beefy white guy with an unlit cigar stub jammed in his face. His porcine eyes kept flickering into the rearview. I sensed disapproval. I felt disdain radiating from the front seat.
“You got a problem, buddy,” I said. His eyes flicked away. I leaned forward propping my elbows close to him. “I said, you got a problem, buddy?”
“Hey,” Evelyn said. “It's okay baby, really.”
“What about it,” I shouted.
The cabby shook his head once. “No problem.”
“Good. Keep it that way.”
I don't know why I felt so angry but I think I would have ripped that guy's head off if he'd made a move. Instead, I looked out the window and watched the lights turn into a blur. Sometime later, the cabby pulled up to the curb. I stumbled out, leaning on Evelyn. I threw ten bucks into the cabby's face and told him roughly to keep the change. He didn't bother to pick it up from the floor but gunned the cab down the street.
“You've got a bit of a temper, Mo.”
“Huh? Oh yeah. Sorry. That guy–made me angry–I…”
“Thanks,” she said.
“What for?”
“Sticking up for me. Most guys wouldna done that.”
“AAhhh…” I waved my hand and almost fell over. Evelyn laughed and grabbed me.
“This way,” she said and I looked up at what seemed a mountain of stairs. No way I could make it up there.
“Where's the elevator?”
Her laugh spilled out kind of tinkling, like broken glass showering the pavement. “Come on.” She wrapped my arm around her shoulders and swaying together we teetered upward. At the top, she rooted around in her purse for her keys. They jangled in her hand. Her fingers were long and slim. “Now when we get inside, you got to be quiet, okay?” She touched my lips. “Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
She unlocked the door careful not to jiggle the keys too much. We stepped inside and she pushed the door closed behind us. I leaned back and felt my knees begin to buckle. We were in a living room of some kind. I saw the shapes of furniture. Something had burned earlier and the odor hung heavy. “You need to use the toilet?”
“Uh-huh.”
“It's over here.” She took my hand and led me to it. “Go on. Do your business.”
“Oh, I will,” I said.
I should have figured it out from the number of toothbrushes but alcohol makes you thick. I snapped the light on and looked at myself in the mirror. I saw a dark face with a five o'clock shadow and a demented expression stare back at me. No wonder the cabby had been spooked. I looked like a maniac. I ran the cold water and doused my face. I noticed some Ipana toothpaste. I managed to uncap it and squeezed a blob on my finger and ran it around inside my mouth. Then I urinated–mostly in the basin I hoped–profusely. I pressed the lever and washed my hands with a gooey bar of soap. I didn't see a hand towel so I dried my hands on my pants.
“You okay in there,” Evelyn whispered through the door.
“Uh-huh.”
I opened the door. She smiled at me. “Come on. This way.” She led me to the bedroom and clicked on a table lamp. The bed was unmade. “You get undressed and I'll be right with you.”
“Okay.” I had some thoughts about what I was doing there but the fog had descended earlier and hadn't lifted yet. It must be someone else. A small chair stood beside the bed. I got undressed, tossed my clothes on it then slid under the covers. They felt clammy but it wasn't my skin that felt it. I stared up at the shadowed ceiling.
After a few minutes Evelyn came into the room. She sat on the other side of the bed and kicked off her shoes. Then she stood up and unzipped her dress. It slithered to the floor. She bent down and picked it up and placed it on the dresser. She unhooked her bra and slid her panties off. For a slim woman, her breasts were heavy and full, the nipples dusky. Her buttocks were cream colored. Before clicking off the light, she turned and smiled. That gap-toothed grin. Kind of endearing. Then she disappeared. I heard her move across the floor and felt her weight on the bed and the covers moved.
“C'mere baby.” Her heavy breasts pressed against my chest and her full lips lay on mine while her hand worked its way down to my crotch. When I rolled her over I grunted in pain but she didn't seem to notice and I felt her slim thighs part, her pelvis arched and she breathed in my ear. I disappeared into her. Her callused heels slid up and down the back of my thighs and she dug her long, slim elegant fingers and sharp nails into my back. We panted like animals. I drowned in her heat. There was fire and more fire as the flames licked me sweetly up and down. She bucked and heaved and cried out softly sinking her teeth into my shoulder as she whimpered and finally let out a long sigh. She wouldn't let me go after that and I stayed where I was. The night melted in a sequence of motion with caught breath punctuated by yelps and whimpers. I'm not sure whose. We both seemed to need something but it had to be somebody else, I thought. It couldn't be me.
I awoke to find two pair of bug-eyes staring at me with unabashed curiosity from the end of the bed. A young boy of about three and his older sister, maybe five. Her frizzy hair had been pulled into pigtails and tied with pink ribbons.
“Jesus,” I exclaimed and shrank back under the covers. My immediate reaction–shame and embarrassment.
“Don't take the Lord's name in vain,” the little girl said. Another Birdie in the making I thought. “What's your name?” she demanded.
“Mo.”
�
��What kind of name is that?”
“The only one I got,” I said.
“That's a silly name,” the little girl retorted while her brother stared at me wide-eyed like I was some kind of monster or demon he'd seen in a puppet show.
“Marcus? Carmen? Where are you?” Evelyn called, then appeared in the doorway dressed in a robe. She crossed her arms and the robe fell open. “What are you two doing in here? You're disturbing Mo. Now out, the pair of you. Go on and have your breakfast. It's waiting for you. Go on now.” Carmen gave me a haughty look as she marched out while Marcus merely scampered off. “Sorry about that. How are you feeling?”
“A little hung over.” I sat up with the covers pulled up to my chest. I didn't know what to say.
“You hungry?” she asked. I shook my head. “How about some coffee then?”
“That'd work.”
“I'll leave you to get dressed.” She turned and called out. “You two better be at the table now.” She turned back and smiled at me. “My babies.”
I nodded and she closed the door after her. Now that the alcohol had worn off, it wasn't only my head that throbbed but every muscle and ligament. Even the cracks between my toes ached. I half-staggered into the kitchen. The two children sat in front of a black and white RCA Victor television watching cartoons. They seemed riveted. Didn't move an inch or utter a peep. Maybe that's what television did? Hypnotized the masses. The kitchen had enough space to hold a small table where three could just squeeze in. I slumped down and Evelyn placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. The saucer was badly chipped. “You don't look too good. I got some Bayer in the cabinet.”
“Yes,” I croaked. “That would be good. Better get me four.”
“But the bottle says two tablets.”
“Trust me. I need four.”
She frowned then shrugged and came back with the bottle and placed it on the table in front of me. She sat down. She watched me tap out four tablets then down them one by one. “You got some bad bruising all over you. I didn't see it in the dark. What happened? You look like you got beat up real bad.”
“Something like that.”
“Maybe you should go to the hospital. I could go with you. I work down at St. Mike's. I'm a nurse down there and I've seen plenty of beat-up bodies and worse, I can tell you.”
“I'm sure you have but I'll be fine, Evelyn.” She gave me a skeptical look. “Really, it's okay.”
She laid her hand on top of mine. “Baby, you in some kind of trouble?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Then what kind of work you do where you get beat up like that?”
“It doesn't happen often,” I said.
She snorted. “Doesn't have to happen much before it gets out of hand. You could have broken ribs or internal injuries.”
“I don't.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the guys who did this were experts. They knew what they were doing, that's why.”
She pulled her hand away. “You're not some kind of gangster are you, Mo?”
I tried to laugh but it hurt so much I just shook my head. “Well it's your business I guess.” I hadn't buttoned my shirt and had rolled the cuffs up. She pointed at the tattoo low down on my forearm. “You in the war?”
“Wasn't everybody?”
“Was it bad?”
“Isn't it always?”
She conceded my point. “Fair enough. You don't want to talk about it. No man ever wants to talk about it.”
“The kids,” I said. “Their father. Where is he?”
She shrugged. “Don't know. He ran off when I was pregnant with Marcus. Haven't seen or heard from him since.”
“Sorry.”
“Don't be. He was a jackass and more's the fool me.”
I shouldn't have said it but I did. My brain lags my tongue, sometimes. It was really none of my business. “Who was here with them last night?”
“What?” Her thin brows came together in a furrow.
“Your kids. Who stayed with them while you were out?”
Her lips went into a line. “They were asleep. They always sleep through the night.”
I couldn't keep my gob shut. It slipped out before I could blink.
“Evelyn, but what if something happened? An emergency, a fire, something. They'd be on their own. Alone.”
She pushed her chair back. It scraped along the floor and I felt like it scraped my skull. “Don't you be telling me. I got to have a life too. You don't know what it's like raising kids on your own. How hard it is. You men. You just come and go as you please…”
“Sorry. I didn't mean….”
She stood up now angry and defiant. “Oh yes you did. Don't you judge me and what I do.” She turned her back. “You better leave now.”
“Evelyn.”
“I said now and I don't want to ask you again.”
I sighed and stood up slowly. I picked my jacket off the back of the chair.
Just as I was fixing to leave she said, “Who's Adele?”
“What?”
She still hadn't turned around but I heard the hardness in her voice and the anger steeling her shoulders. “Last night. You called me Adele.”
“I don't know. I must have been dreaming,” I stammered.
“You must think I'm a fool.” She dipped her head. Her shoulders began to quake.
I didn't have an answer for that.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I said.
As I left, the two kids didn't even look up.
At the bottom of her stairs, I took a good look around. She lived not more than two blocks away from Aida Turner. The Junction–the city's dumping ground. I decided to walk back and clear my head. It was early yet, a little past eight o'clock but the day already had heat seeping into it. The pills had kicked in and I felt a little better. The exercise would do me good.
20
Callaway reached me at home. When I walked in, the phone rang. Claimed he'd been calling for a few days.
“I was on a rest cure,” I told him.
“Rest from what?” he spat.
“The usual.”
“That says a lot.”
“I know. So what have you got?”
“The patrol cop you asked about. The one who pulled Alison Foster and her friends over? You remember that much?”
“Sure. What's his name?”
“Don't laugh. It's Paddy Kernahan.”
“Let me guess…Irish?”
“Got it in one. I guess that rest cure did you some good.”
Kernahan lived in Leaside, a leafy suburb just northeast of the city's core, about twenty minutes drive on a good day. I called Kernahan and he was home working on his garden, he said. He didn't sound too friendly but said I could drop by. To be honest, I didn't think Kernahan could tell me much but it formed part of moving forward. I told myself that Henry had been gone a long time and to find out what happened to him would also take time. We lifted rocks to see what was underneath. I hoped something would slither out.
I stripped off my clothes and dumped them in the laundry hamper. I had a maid come in a couple times of week to tidy up and she took care of the washing for me. I shaved carefully and stepped into a hot shower letting the water pound my skin for a while. When I felt clean on the outside, I dried off and got dressed. Then I called Birdie. I didn't have a direct number for him, just a contact where I left messages. I told him to pick me up in half an hour. While I waited, I made some coffee and burned some toast. I began to feel normal. The swelling had gone down on my temple and the bruise had faded. It glowed a light green and purple now with a yellow tinge. Not bad enough to scare little kids if Evelyn's were anything to go by. Half an hour later, I stood outside on King Street scanning the Toronto Telly dragging on a Sweet Cap when the Chevy appeared. I folded the paper, flicked the butt down a sewer grate and climbed in.
“What happened?” Birdie asked. I never could figure out how he knew things. It was like he could read
my soul.
“Tell ya later.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Ah, don't be like that. I will tell you later.”
He grinned. “Just yanking your chain, master.”
“Go on, ya big lug.” I gave him Kernahan's address and told him who he was.
“He still on the force?” Birdie asked.
I shrugged. “Yeah, I think so.”
Kernahan's house ended up being a neat little bungalow on Millwood Road where it crossed Bessborough Drive. The brick looked clean like it had been washed down every other morning. The lawn neatly trimmed. A figure I took to be Kernahan pushed a hand mower up and down in precise rows. Each window had a freshly painted wooden shutter. A guy with too much time on his hands. We pulled up at the end of the driveway. The property lacked a garage, just a carport where a Rambler rested on its haunches. Kernahan resembled a lean gull short of bread crumbs who stopped his mowing when he spotted us. He mopped his brow with a kerchief he yanked out of the back pocket of his denims. As we approached, he shook a cigarette out of a crumpled pack. I heard the snick of a lighter and saw the tight cloud of smoke. He watched us carefully as we strode up the drive. He flicked his eyes up and down at Birdie but his expression didn't change. I spotted the anchor tattoos and didn't have to speculate that he'd seen active service. He just had the look.
“Officer Kernahan?”
He nodded curtly. Before I could say anything else, the front screen door banged open and a blond tyke of about four came shooting out.
“Tommy. Back in the house,” Kernahan barked. The kid stopped on a dime. He stared for a long second, then turned around and went back inside.
“We're….”
“I know who you are,” Kernahan said.
Birdie took a step forward but I put my arm out.
“Just want to ask you a few questions, that's all, Officer Kernahan and then we'll leave you in peace on this lovely Saturday morning.”
Looking for Henry Turner Page 11
