One or the Other

by John McFetridge

  “You know how I love subtitles.”

  “Really, did you like it?”

  “It was okay. I mean, it’s kind of nice to see that everybody has the same problems, trying to make a living, trying to get by.”

  “Yeah, puts things in perspective.” Judy reached across the table and put her hand on Dougherty’s and said, “We can appreciate what we’ve got.”

  He squeezed her hand and said, “Yeah, it’s good.”

  The next morning they had a late breakfast, coffee and croissants, and read the paper. Next to the endless election coverage — too close to call — there was a story about four men who had escaped from the Leclerc medium-security prison in Laval, north of Montreal, and Judy said, “Are you going to have to work overtime on this?”

  Dougherty read the article and said, “Little Johnny Wisnosky.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “One of the Point Boys, or he wants to be. He went in for armed robbery. Remember that one, the bank in NDG? We got him downtown, in the Holiday Inn. He was beating up a hooker and some tourists in the next room called.”

  “No,” Judy said, “I don’t remember. Sounds like a real winner.”

  Dougherty put the paper down on the table and said, “And the other geniuses, Sylvio Lamoureaux and Andre Poitras, they’ll be caught before my next shift.”

  “But look at that,” Judy said, “English and French working together.”

  “Better tell your father.”

  “What about your folks, they talking about moving?”

  “They’re talking about retiring. It’s still five years away, four maybe, but that’s what my dad’s talking about.” He finished his coffee. “They might retire to New Brunswick, but it’s hard to picture my dad living in the country.”

  “Or your mom,” Judy said. “She talks about it like she spent her whole life there sometimes, but she’s been in Montreal since she was eighteen.”

  “Maybe earlier,” Dougherty said. “She’s vague on exactly when she got here. During the war sometime.”

  “She might be the one to have trouble moving to the country.”

  Dougherty stood up, saying, “Still, hard to imagine people moving across the country for politics. Giving up their jobs and houses.” He walked to the kitchen and put his mug in the sink.

  “But what if it’s not the same country,” Judy said. “What if Quebec does become a country?”

  “Can you really see it happening?” He leaned back against the counter. “But anyway, what would really change? I’d still have my job, you’d still have your job. What difference would it make?”

  “You do need to hear my father talk about it.”

  Dougherty started out of the kitchen and said, “No one needs to hear that.”

  They went for Sunday dinner in Point Claire at Judy’s mom’s place and tried not to talk about the election but it kept coming up. There was even talk about the American election, how did a guy named Jimmy get elected president?

  On the drive back to LaSalle, Judy said, “My mom seems to be adjusting to single life.”

  Dougherty had no idea what she was talking about and said, “What?”

  “She sounds like she’s going to start sleeping with half the men in the neighbourhood.”

  “Where did you get that?”

  “Didn’t you? The way she talks.”

  Dougherty laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t get that.”

  Judy was shaking her head. “I don’t know, it’s like Peyton Place out there.”

  “Yeah, Peyton Place, not Love American Style. It’s not Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Judy said. “For some of them. My mom said she’s making up for lost time. Did you see all the self-help books? One of them was called Open Marriage.”

  “I think that’s about the election,” Dougherty said, “that’s what we’re going to do about separation, Quebec can date other countries.”

  Judy said, “I’m serious.”

  Dougherty was laughing a little. “How can you take that seriously?”

  “What about Gillian and Abby? What’s it doing to them?”

  Dougherty shrugged. “Your sisters are all right, you worry too much.”

  “I worry just enough.” Judy turned her head away from Dougherty and looked out the side window of the car. They were pulling off the expressway and passing the big General Foods plant and the Seagram’s distillery. “They’re like the kids in my classes, people think they don’t know what’s going on but they feel everything.”

  “No one knows what’s going on,” Dougherty said.

  “It feels like everything is falling apart.”

  “But it’s not really, it’s business as usual. It’s just a lot of talk.”

  “Except my parents,” Judy said. “They’re really getting a divorce.”

  It was quiet for a moment and then Dougherty said, “Yeah, that’s true.”

  Judy was still looking out the window, and Dougherty wanted to say something reassuring but he didn’t want to say something that sounded trite and that’s all he could think of at the moment. So he didn’t say anything.

  When they got home he was surprised that Judy wanted to make out and even more surprised by how passionate it was. Like they were holding on to each other for dear life.

  The next morning, Monday, Dougherty was putting on his uniform and Judy said, “You working late tonight?”

  “Yeah, a double. Election day. First overtime they’ve approved since the Olympics. They think there could be trouble.”

  “Well, someone’s going to be really disappointed,” Judy said.

  She was sitting up in bed, not needing to get ready for another hour. Then she just walked a few blocks to the high school.

  Dougherty came over to the bed and leaned down and kissed her and said, “But not me.”

  He started to stand up and she grabbed his tie and pulled him back down and said, “And not me, either. This is good.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  He started out of the room and Judy said, “So, we should get married.”

  “Well, I’m working the double shift today.”

  “Let’s do it next spring. Just a small ceremony.”

  Dougherty said, “Okay, let’s do it.”

  He felt good all day. There was an accident in the early afternoon, a guy in a sports car cut off a bus and got nailed, the back end of the car was banged up but no one was hurt. There was a lot of yelling, of course, the guy driving the sports car screaming about separatists and the bus driver yelling about turn signals and brakes.

  Dougherty got in between them and said, “Right now you two need to separate,” and the guy driving the sports car seemed to take it personally but the bus driver started to laugh. When the bus was towed away and the sports car was loaded onto a flatbed, the bus driver said to Dougherty, “All day like this,” and Dougherty said, “It’ll be over soon.”

  The driver said, “You think so? Maybe it’s just starting.”

  Dougherty said, “Let’s hope not,” but he still wasn’t too concerned. He was thinking about getting married, maybe he and Judy would have kids. It was looking good.

  At eight o’clock the polls closed, and the early results starting coming in.

  There was a TV in the squad room, and most of the guys sat around watching.

  At ten o’clock a call came in that as the hockey game was ending in the Forum a brawl broke out. There were cops on the scene, but it was getting out of hand, so Dougherty and Gagnon got into a squad car and headed down de Maisonneuve to help.

  Gagnon said, “I still don’t believe it, mon Dieu, the separatists won?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Dougherty said, “it’s just politics.”

  As they pulled up in front of the Forum
, Gagnon said, “You tell them that.”

  The brawl had spilled out onto St. Catherine Street, a few dozen guys punching each other.

  “It’s probably because the Habs lost,” Dougherty said. “They were playing the Blues.”

  Gagnon said, “I don’t think they lost.”

  Dougherty blasted the siren a couple of times and most of the crowd took off, but a few guys came towards the car looking like they wanted to keep fighting.

  Gagnon said, “What should we do?”

  “What do you mean? Get out of the car.”

  Dougherty got out and was about to yell something when he stopped. He wasn’t sure if he should yell in English or French. The wrong choice could turn it from a little brawl into a big riot.

  One of the guys coming towards them yelled, “Fucking seppie bastards.”

  Dougherty yelled, “Okay, take it easy,” and held up both his hands showing them he wasn’t holding his nightstick and this could still end now. “Everybody just settle down.”

  “They won! They fucking won! Can you fucking believe it!”

  Another cop car pulled up, coming down St. Catherine Street the wrong way on the one way and also fired off its siren and a couple of cops got out.

  Dougherty said, “Okay, time to go, come on.”

  By then the crowd was breaking up anyway. There weren’t really that many brawlers and the rest of the hockey fans were coming out of the Forum then and heading for the Métro and the parking lots.

  Dougherty was moving into the crowd, looking for anyone who still wanted to throw a punch but those guys had moved on. As he was coming back to the car, he saw a guy getting into a four-door sedan in the parking lot across Closse Street, and he thought he recognized him.

  When the car pulled out of the lot Dougherty was sure of it, and he jumped into the squad car and started after it. As he pulled away from the curb, Gagnon jumped in front and he slammed on the brakes and yelled, “Get in, quick.”

  The sedan headed down the hill on Atwater and Dougherty followed.

  Gagnon said, “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve been looking for that guy.”

  “How can you even tell who it is?”

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  “Pretty sure?”

  The sedan turned onto Notre Dame and then turned again onto a street lined with three-storey row houses.

  Dougherty turned the corner and saw the sedan was stopped and a guy was getting out of the driver’s side. Then Dougherty was sure.

  It was Martin Comptois.

  Then a guy got out of the passenger seat and Dougherty said to Gagnon, “You get him,” and pressed the brakes and opened the door. Dougherty moved fast and was almost beside him before Comptois turned. Dougherty said, “Eille, bouge pas.”

  Comptois smiled and said, “Qu’est-ce que tu veux, man?”

  Dougherty glanced over and saw Gagnon had his hand on the other guy’s arm so he said to Comptois in French, “Don’t you remember me? I came to see you in Cornwall. I knew you were out.”

  “You keeping tabs on me?” Comptois was still smiling, and Dougherty grabbed his arm, twisted him around and had his hands cuffed before Comptois knew what was happening.

  “Another girl got raped,” Dougherty said. “So, I knew you were back in town.”

  The smile was gone. Comptois said, “Fuck you.”

  “No,” Dougherty said, “someone’s going to fuck you. Lots of guys.”

  He shoved him into the back of the squad car and saw Gagnon doing the same with the other guy.

  Back at Station Ten, the place was full of cops still staring at the TV in disbelief. The three parties had split the vote and the PQ ended the night with a majority government. Most of the cops were like Dougherty, they didn’t have strong feelings about it one way or the other, they still had jobs to do, but everyone knew it wasn’t just an election like any other. It was big.

  The cells were empty when Dougherty and Gagnon dumped in Comptois and the other guy. Dougherty hadn’t even asked him if he was Marc-André Daigneault, but he was pretty sure. The thing was, he really had no evidence at all.

  He went back into the front of the station and found Delisle and pulled him aside.

  Delisle said, “Holy shit, what’s going to happen? Are we going to be our own country?”

  “We’ve been our own country for a hundred years,” Dougherty said.

  “Shit, you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah,” Dougherty said. “That’s for the politicians. Right now, look, I put a couple guys in the cells.”

  “You didn’t process them?”

  “I’m going to. In a while. Look, can you just keep them for a while.”

  “What are they charged with?”

  “Nothing right now,” Dougherty said. “Just let me work something out.”

  “You can’t just leave them there.”

  “They won’t say anything.” Dougherty started out of the station and said, “Like you said, it’s a big night, no one knows what’s going to happen. They can wait a few more minutes.”

  Dougherty got back in the squad car and drove over the Champlain Bridge to the south shore. As he drove along Taschereau, he wondered how his parents were doing, if they were as shocked as everyone else. He drove into Longueuil and stopped in front of a small house with a half-finished front porch.

  There was a party going on inside.

  Dougherty knocked on the front door and a moment later it swung open and a man was standing there with a beer in one hand and a smile on his face, saying, “Salut, mon ami, bienvenue dans notre nouveau pays!”

  Dougherty said, “Salut, Réal, Francine est là?”

  “Oui, oui, entre. Comment ça va?”

  “Bien.” Dougherty stepped into the living room full of people and pushed his way through until he saw Legault in the kitchen. As he walked towards her she saw him and smiled. She had a beer in her hand and Dougherty figured she’d had a few before this one.

  She spoke French, saying, “Dougherty, did you come to join our side? The winning side.”

  Dougherty got close to her and said, “I arrested Martin Comptois and Marc-André Daigneault.”

  Legault was still smiling — it didn’t seem to register with her for a moment — and she said, “What for?”

  Dougherty half-smiled and said, “Nothing. I just saw them and I grabbed them. They’re in the cells now. Look,” he paused and then said, “there’s never going to be any evidence against these guys.”

  Legault said, “I know.”

  “They’re going to have to confess.”

  She said, “Yeah, so?”

  “So, I don’t think I can get that myself. I need you.”

  Legault nodded and put down her beer and said, “Okay, let’s go.”

  On the way into Montreal, they made up a game plan where Legault would offer each Comptois and Daigneault immunity if they testified against the other. They didn’t expect either one would take it so then Dougherty would go in and “do what you do,” as Legault put it.

  Dougherty had been feeling that because all he could do, all he was good at, was smacking guys around, his career had peaked and he was where he was going to be forever, but now he was thinking if it worked to put these two bastards away, that was enough to make being a desk sergeant for the next thirty years worthwhile.

  He said, “I did see some rope in their car, we could say it matches the piece you found in the pavilion on the Jacques Cartier Bridge, and we could say the partial print matches, but I’m worried if we try that they’ll know we don’t really have anything and they’ll clam up.”

  “I think you’re right,” Legault said. “I think we talk to them, we play good cop bad cop and we get one to turn on the other.”

  Dougherty said, “Save your neck or save
your brother, looks like it’s one or the other.”

  “Is that a song?”

  “Yeah,” Dougherty said. “The guys who back up Bob Dylan, I saw them at the Forum a couple of years ago.”

  “I was at that concert,” Legault said. “Réal is a big fan of Bob Dylan.”

  Dougherty said, “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

  “Nothing but Gilles Vigneault in our house?”

  “Well, tonight anyway.”

  Legault said, “How many houses do you think will be playing ‘Mon Pays’ tonight?”

  “All the ones that aren’t packing.”

  Legault turned and looked at Dougherty and then saw the look on his face and smiled. Then she was serious again and said, “Bien, let’s do this.”

  And when they did, it was much easier than they expected. Legault made them both the offer, and Dougherty smacked them both, and the next time Legault went in to talk to them Comptois said it was all Daigneault’s idea and Daigneault said it was all Comptois.

  They had been selling drugs for a while and sometimes women, girls, would offer them sex instead of money. When they moved from pot to coke not all the girls they knew wanted to make the change, and the first time Comptois forced it Daigneault was surprised and just watched. After that it happened more easily. “I didn’t want to,” Daigneault said, “it was the drugs.”

  And Legault said, “Then you shouldn’t have taken them.”

  He said, “Once you start . . .”

  Legault waited a moment and then said, “Tell me about Manon and Mathieu, what happened?”

  And it was almost exactly what Dougherty had said it was. They thought it was two girls and they stopped them on the bridge, on the sidewalk, and when it turned out one of them was a boy they got mad. “It was the drugs,” Daigneault said. “The coke.”

  “No,” Legault said. “It wasn’t the drugs it was you. You and Comptois.”

  She got them both to write it all down, full confessions, and they both did.

  It was almost dawn then, and Legault said she was going home. She phoned her husband and he came and picked her up. When she was leaving, she said to Dougherty, “What happens now?”

  “I give all this to Carpentier. It’s up to him.”

  Legault said, “I will tell the parents. If there are charges or not, at least they’ll know the truth.”