Live Bait

by Ted Wood

  When the phone rang he sat up quickly but pushed the photos away before answering "Hello." I had my eyes fixed on his and he held up one hand in a gesture that meant "Be quiet." Finally he said, "Yes, I'll be there," and hung up.

  He stood up and reached behind him for a cardigan jacket that was hanging over the back of his chair. "We have a meeting," he said. "At 1.07 P.M. That gives us thirty-two minutes."

  "We'll take my car." I reached for my keys as I got to my feet.

  I didn't want him driving. I wanted Sam with us, and he wouldn't fit into that metal seagull of Straight's.

  "If you insist," he said fussily. "But I think we'll have to take the subway. We're meeting inside the Eaton Centre."

  "Fine." The subway ran within four blocks of Louise's house. We could be down to the Eaton Centre in twelve minutes from there. I had just enough time to get Sam.

  I didn't bother picking up his photographs. Blackmail is beyond me and a lawyer as shrewd as Straight could read that in my eyes. Besides, I needed his cooperation, not his fear.

  I opened the car door for him, and, as he got in, I caught a whiff of some lime aftershave. It seemed pathetic on a man who could never be anybody's sex object.

  "There's a pair of dark glasses in the glove box, put them on," I told him.

  He blazed at me. "You think that will disguise me? You think a pair of glasses will straighten this back?"

  "You're going to be a blind man," I told him softly. "The help I want to take with me isn't allowed on the subway except with a blind man."

  He didn't understand and started to say so but I cut him off. "I'm in your corner and I know this murderous sonofabitch better than you do. Please put the glasses on." He pulled an angry face, but he did as I asked. They were a very dark pair, clumsy and large on him. I had found them at the site of an accident in Murphy's Harbour. They had outlived their previous owner and I had picked them up and kept them. I don't wear them, but the occasional passenger does. Now it was Straight. They added to the pathos of his crooked back. I knew that nobody but a true bastard would give him any hassle when he took Sam on the train.

  I turned north on Yonge Street before I noticed the blue Datsun in my mirror. I had seen it come out of a side street as I drove away from Straight's house. It could have been coincidence but I watched it as we drove north. There were two people in it and it stayed behind me, two cars back, moving legally. I didn't act immediately. After all, Yonge Street is the most heavily travelled street in Canada. Then, as an experiment, I turned without signalling, just cutting left between a couple of cars and heading down one of the side streets that have been fitted with anti-speeding bumps. I kept the Chev moving fairly fast and we bottomed on the springs as I rolled over the first set of bumps. I slowed, checking the mirror, and saw the Datsun careen around the corner behind me, moving at my speed.

  Straight was holding on to the dashboard, his mouth open to protest. "We're being followed," I told him. "Don't look round." He flicked a glance at me but in the same instant I hit the second set of speed bumps and settled with a scrunch that had my rear end dragging sparks off the roadway.

  The Datsun wasn't as reckless. I gained twenty yards on him at each of the bumps and was half a block ahead by the time I turned on to Avenue Road. I swung north and stuck to the curb lane. Balmoral Street runs off to the west again but just north on my side there was a one-way street much closer. I broke the law and wisked into it the wrong way, causing an oncoming Mercedes to swerve and honk but not loudly enough for the Datsun people to hear.

  Straight said, "What the hell are you doing?" but I ignored him. The road curves fifty yards from the corner with Avenue Road and I pulled around there and backed into the nearest driveway, all the way up behind the house. I waited for a minute, time enough for the Datsun to have missed us and headed west along Balmoral. An elderly man, frosty enough to be Straight's father-in-law, came out of the garage and said, "I say," in the kind of voice you hear in twilight-of-the-empire movies. I beamed at him and said, "No hablo Inglese," which made him open his mouth in astonishment, then I drove out and up to St. Clair Avenue, still against oncoming traffic. Fortunately there was no policeman around and all I had to put up with was waves and abuse from outraged senior citizens obeying the law on the street where they lived.

  In eight more minutes I was outside Louise's house. I told Straight to sit tight and ran in to get Sam. He came easily so I knew there was nobody prowling in the house. I gave him thirty seconds to himself and then whipped the rear door of my car open and he jumped in. I have a leash in the car. It's not necessary for Sam, I could take him to a dog fight and he wouldn't look sideways until told to, but I keep it there for use in places where dogs are not supposed to be.

  I snapped it on to his collar and told him "Good boy" then drove back out to Yonge Street and down to the nearest subway station at Davisville. I abandoned my car at a meter that was magically vacant just when I needed it and with Sam and Straight jogged over to the subway entrance. Outside I handed Straight the leash and told him, "Say nothing, just make like you're following Sam." Then I stepped in front of Sam and told him "Heel" and led the way into the station.

  The Korean at the ticket window looked at Sam and frowned, but before he could speak I cut him off. "Me 'n my buddy are from Sudbury, that's his guide dog. What's the fare?"

  He told me and I put the coins in, then made a show of helping Straight through the wicket. Still leading the way I went down the stairs and headed for the southbound trains. It was ten to one. We had just enough time.

  Straight was behind me and I stopped against the wall so he pulled up there, not looking around. There were a couple of people at the station, a businessman with a briefcase and a girl pretty enough to be a model, carrying one of those leather cases that contain photographs. The businessman looked us over, the girl ignored us. I said to Straight. "You're doing fine. When this is over, you can take up amateur acting."

  "Yes," he said curtly. "I'll be a natural for Richard the Third." The train came into the station and I moved forward, with Sam behind me and Straight behind him. There were lots of spare seats and I took one facing the door. Sam curled at my feet and Straight sat beside me, looking dead ahead, being serious about his part. I could tell that Sam's training was reassuring him, he wasn't sure what was going to happen, but felt better equipped with Sam along.

  When the train started he leaned towards me, whispering. "Who was that following you?" I didn't speak for a moment and he went on nervously, "Did they follow us on to the train?"

  "No. Relax. Whoever it was is long gone. Now what I need to know is, what's the meeting place?" I was recapturing the interior of the Eaton Centre in my mind, trying to plan what to do. It was a good choice of rendezvous. It's a three-tiered shopping plaza under a glass roof. Tourists love it, it's replaced Niagara Falls as our most visited tourist attraction. At this time of day, out of tourist season, there would still be five thousand people in there. Willis would be able to hide in the crowds and melt away without being seen. He had a choice of ways to escape. The subway had two stations right in the place. He could jump on to a train and vanish. One stop up or down the line would put him beyond reach of a search party. Or, he could have his car in the lot, ready to race. Or he could flee on foot. A hundred men searching would be no guarantee of finding him, and all I had was me, and Sam.

  Straight confirmed my guess. "He wants me to come to the foot of the escalator on this level, close to the subway, Lee said."

  I nodded, although he was pretending he could not see me. "That figures. He can stand one or two levels up and check that you're clean. Then he'll come down on one escalator and take you up on the other so that you can't be followed."

  Straight half turned his head to me, then realized he was out of character and checked the motion. "Have you done this kind of thing before?" he asked and his voice was almost respectful.

  "Security is a big part of police work," I told him. "I figure he'll be on the f
ar side, above you, so he can get the best possible view past you down towards the subway. If he sees me, or anybody suspicious, he'll be gone."

  Straight sighed, a quick nervous uptake of air to calm his nerves. "What can we do?" he asked and I could almost see all the cogs turning in his mind, churning out the questions, like why am I here?

  "What we do is this. You take off those glasses and walk out there and wait. Make a point of checking the time, look impatient. That will make him think you want to get away. I'll get off at Dundas and go through the bottom level with Sam. I'll be there before you are. What I want you to do is hang in, at the bottom of those steps. If he tries to call you up, pretend not to notice him. He has to come to us or we'll lose him. Okay?"

  He nodded. "Okay," he said quietly. Just to be sure he understood, I made him go over it again and he did, word perfect. And then we were at the Dundas station with two minutes to go before his stop. We both stood up and he took off the glasses and handed them to me. "I hope you know what you're doing," he said.

  I didn't tell him otherwise. I didn't let him know I was running on instinct. Sure, Willis was wanted for investigation on charges relating to the finding of the hijacked truck. But he was wanted on the strength of my say-so. Any lawyer could get him off in a flash by saying I had set it all up out of vengeance. And the fact that somebody had followed us had me tense. I wondered who, and why, but I hid the facts and clapped Straight on the shoulder.

  "Trust Sam," I told him, "he'll keep you safe as a church." I put the glasses on myself and took Sam's leash. "When the train comes in, get out fast and head for the nearest exit," I told Straight. "I'm on my way. Just stick to the plan and this guy is off your back." He nodded once and turned to the door, gripping the post hard as the train pulled to a stop.

  As always there was a crowd of people waiting at this stop. I made a show of being blind, letting Sam move ahead of me, out to the turnstile and into the concourse. Now I took the glasses off and unsnapped the leash from Sam's collar.

  You have to go down a flight of steps to the bottom level of the Eaton Centre and I pattered down with Sam behind me like a shadow. He was so well behaved that nobody noticed us although no dogs are allowed inside the building.

  I moved quickly through the basement of the Eatons store and on into the concourse. There's a fast food area there with all kinds of take-out food and half an acre of chairs and tables. Away on the far side of it I could see Straight, like a rock in the river of people that swirled around the bottom of the escalators. He was using his head, concentrating on looking around him, not up. That meant he couldn't be called up, out of my sight and beyond Sam's and my power to help him.

  I moved closer, taking care to stay far enough back that I could not be seen from the gallery above this level. The escalators flow out into the floor space in the center of the mall, directly under the big glass roof, against a fountain where some kids who should have been in high school were leaning down to scoop out coins. There is an orange-drink stand close by. I moved in to the far side of it, using it as cover while I waited. A bright little girl with red hair came around inside it and asked if I wanted a drink. I shook my head and waited.

  Suddenly I saw Straight stiffen, glancing up. He looked around, didn't see me, and licked his lips nervously as he moved closer to the foot of the escalator.

  I hissed at Sam and came up under the escalator, moving out far enough to see Straight as he waited, obviously, for someone to come down to him.

  He took a couple of steps to the left, out of my sight. I flicked a glance above me, making sure nobody was looking down on top of my attempt to hide, then moved around the foot of the escalators, through the torrent of people pouring down, nonstop, from the floor above. Straight was at the foot of the escalator, talking to Lee, the boss of the Palace Gates Restaurant. I saw him shake his head while Lee smiled and talked and smiled and waited. I saw Straight lick his lips again, then finally he nodded and went ahead of Lee on to the up escalator. I swore, under my breath. I could lose them both. Willis might be waiting at the top of the escalator. If I stepped out, he would see me and be gone before I could reach the second floor.

  Impulsively I took off the glasses that Straight had been wearing. The merest trace of his lime aftershave clung to them. I held them down to Sam and he nosed them while I fussed him and told him he was a good boy. I let him take thirty seconds, then I told him "Track" and he took off around the corner, nose to the ground.

  The Eaton Centre isn't the best ground for tracking. Half the men in Toronto wear some kind of cologne. Sam must have been teased by a thousand sniffs that could have been Straight's scent but he followed true. After a second's hesitation he ran up the escalator, moving among the people as if they were trees in the bush up north.

  I sprang after him. People exclaimed and tutted but they moved back as I hissed "Police" at them. I was watching Sam and he took off to the left towards an Olde Englishe type pub. I gave a short, sharp whistle and he stopped in his tracks, nose twitching, following the trail in the air. People were commenting, calling out to one another. I thought Willis would be inside the pub, waiting for Straight to be brought to his table. He wouldn't see Sam. But I was wrong.

  Ahead of me, beyond the short row of stores, there was a second balcony. And there stood Willis, his back to the rail, Lee at one side of him, Straight in front of him. And as I came closer he saw me.

  I saw his hand go for his pocket and I pushed Sam, racing forward and shouting "Fight." Sam covered the distance in a moment, hurling himself at Willis's arm, pinning him while he writhed and roared. All around, people were screaming, backing away. I sprang in and grabbed Willis in a headlock. "Put your hands up," I told him. He squirmed against me, but suddenly went limp and slowly raised his free arm. I took hold of the other one and told Sam "Easy." I pulled the hand out of his pocket and put my own hand in. There was a gun in there but before I could take it out he reversed his position and locked me in a hold, head down. I called to Sam "Fight!" and he slashed into action, gripping Willis by the leg. Willis kicked back at him and swore. Sam hung on, I knew he was watching for a chance to grab Willis's arm, but he had them too high, holding me in a full nelson. He was strong and the pressure on my neck was insupportable. I knew he would kill me in a second if I gave up. So I struggled back, and when he was braced as firmly as he could, I dug into the inside of his calf with my heel, scraping down past the nerve center on the inside of the shin so he went weak in the legs, then kicking his foot out from under him so that we fell and Sam was on top of us, grabbing him by the arm in a hold that could not be ignored.

  I felt his hands slip from my neck and I wriggled out from the loose hold and stood over him while Sam, my precious, life-saving Sam, hung on keeping a steady pressure.

  Now I glanced around. Lee had gone. Straight was still there and I told him, "Phone the police and vanish," and he went towards the pub in a rapid, hobbling stride. I didn't take the gun out of Willis's pocket. If anybody saw me with it, the case would be confused beyond belief. Instead I did the old gypsy trick of pulling his coat off his shoulders so that it pinned his arms back. Then I sat on his back and told Sam "Easy."

  Sam stood, panting, and I sat while the police came. It took them only a couple of minutes but in that time the crowd had swelled to a couple of hundred people. Tourists were taking photographs, teenagers were climbing on top of seats and garbage containers to look at Sam and me. I was glad to be against the railing where nobody could come up behind me. Crowds are fickle. If somebody thought Willis was being abused they could turn on me in a moment.

  The policemen were young and handsome, with the little dark moustaches that seem to come with the uniform these days. I told them "I'm a police officer. This man is wanted for hi-jacking and he's armed. He has a gun in his right coat pocket." I stood up and pointed down at him, turning him over to their care.

  They didn't ask any more questions. One of them got out his handcuffs while the other dug in the co
at pocket for the gun. He got it out and broke it open to check it for load. That was a mistake. Willis gave a shout and rolled on to his back and kicked the first one in the testicles, then smashed the second with his elbow, got up and ran into the crowd, along the edge of the railing around the balcony.

  I yelled "Track" and Sam followed him but before he could reach him, Willis stopped and grabbed a baby out of the arms of a woman coming out of a store. She screamed and flapped at him but he pushed her down and turned to face me.

  "Shoot the dog or the kid goes over the railing," he shouted. He meant it. His face was sweating red and his eyes were blazing with fury. The mother got to her feet, screaming, reaching for her child past other people who held her back. She was pretty and black, maybe thirty years old and her scream was out of a nightmare. Her baby was wailing too, and all around us people were yelling and my beautiful dog was waiting like an unexploded bomb for me to give him the order to bring Willis down.

  Willis adjusted his hold on the baby, moving his fingers through the fabric of its woolen jacket. As he did it the wool slipped up over the round little belly and the baby dipped in his hands. The sigh from the crowd was a gust of horror. Willis did not even look at the child. He kept his eyes on me. "Shoot the dog," he said.

  "Then what. You're going to have to face this crowd. They'll tear you to pieces. They won't need any dog."

  "Don't waste time," he said again. "I've got the kid and I'll kill it if anybody gets in my way. The first thing is, shoot that dog."

  Sam must have known we were talking about him. He adjusted the set of his head, cocking it sideways as he stared at Willis, wondering why my command to fight him was so long in coming. In the same view I could see him, puzzled, waiting and see the screaming, terrified baby, hysterical with fear. I heard his mother whimpering "Please, please, please," over and over.