Sam Kelly waited patiently in the Canadiana Restaurant for his blueberry pie. Several customers stood at the cash register, paying their bills and talking to the waitress. Margaret smiled warmly as she handed back their change, glancing apprehensively toward the detective. Completing the transactions, she turned to the kitchen and picked up several plates.
She moved confidently across the room and delivered them to another table of guests. When she returned to the police officer she apologized.
The detective sipped at his coffee. Margaret remembered the pie and moved over to a nearby refrigerator.
“Been looking forward to this all morning,” Sam Kelly said.
Me too! Margaret smiled.
“Did you pick the berries yourself, Margaret?” Margaret giggled and slapped the detective’s hand playfully as she slid the pie onto the counter.
“Is it always this busy here in the morning?” He looked around the room.
“Some days,” Margaret sighed, “it’s dead in here. But if there’s a funeral over at Our Lady of Peace we can get pretty busy. I like it 61 busy-not that I wake up hoping someone has died. But time passes by faster when it’s busy.” Dirty shirt collar. Good sign.
“You don’t have any other help?” Sam made sure to keep his mouth closed as he ate.
“Susan comes in mornings. But she’s got kids and there’s always some emergency or other that makes her late. Or so the story goes. But the boss likes her. She’s a single mother and he thinks that he might get lucky. She doesn’t have four kids for nothing. That’s what the boss tells me. Men are such optimists.”
Sam shook with laughter. Have to tell that one to Jack. Shaking his head with delight, he smiled as he washed down the pie with a swallow of coffee.
Margaret took an ashtray out and set it on the counter.
“You don’t mind?”
The detective shook his head and continued to eat his pie. Margaret watched. Love to watch a man eat. Tells you something about how they touch a woman. Meticulous and tidy. Finishes what he starts. I like that.
When Sam finished he pushed the plate aside, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and sighed.
“Wonderful,” he said with a smile. “A pie like that deserves some kind of prize.”
Margaret drew deeply on her cigarette and slowly let out several smoke rings. Do I have to bat my eyelashes?
The detective sipped at his coffee and watched in wonder as Margaret’s rings rose toward the ceiling and dissipated.
“Never could do that,” he said.
“It’s just one of my talents,” Margaret responded with a wink.
The detective blushed. Margaret laughed and patted his hand.
“You lived in this area all your life?” he asked.
Margaret nodded. “Mostly.”
“Ever been married?” he asked.
“Once. No kids. No prospects.” Margaret sucked on her cigarette.
“Sorry,” the detective apologized. “Hazard of the job.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Being nosy.” He smiled.
Margaret smiled. “I like people who are curious. Some people. What about you, Detective?”
“Call me Sam. No on all charges.” He smiled, bowing his head.
Margaret laughed. “Well, it ain’t a crime to be single! Not yet anyway.”
The detective smiled. He liked Margaret. She seemed down to earth, lacked any pretensions. When she smiled, she was quite pretty.
“I like it when it’s quiet,” he said.
“Well, you picked a great place to be a cop,” Margaret said, butting out her cigarette. “Nothing ever happens here in the Six Points. You could be born, live, and die in this area without making a ripple.”
“You sound disappointed,” the detective said.
“Well,” Margaret smiled, reaching for the coffee and topping up the detective’s cup, “I like a little excitement. Gets my juices going.”
“How come you haven’t moved into the city?” he asked.
Margaret smiled. “Always intend to, but I never get around to it.” The detective smiled and stared into his coffee. There was a long pause. Should I ask her? A customer stepped into the restaurant. Margaret moved down the counter. The detective shook his head and laughed to himself. God, I’m acting like a teenager.
Duke’s
Cathy backed away from Terry. She shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and leaned provocatively against the variety store’s front. “I think you should go upstairs. By yourself. I’m not going to let you talk me into going up with you. I just couldn’t handle it. You, Johnny, my parents, your mother. It’s too much. I need some space. I can hardly breathe.”
“Why couldn’t you just have told him?” he cried. About to smash his fist on the front door leading up to his apartment, Terry turned away angrily.
“Keep your voice down,” Cathy pleaded, her voice sliding into the accent of a southern belle.
“Jesus!” Terry complained. “The accent.”
“You know I get that accent when I’m nervous,” Cathy explained.
“And I’m not being histrionic.”
“I didn’t say a thing.” I hate this melodrama!
“No…But I know how you think, Terry.” Quit sulking!
“You think you know me? You should get real, Cathy. Little rich girl fucking with everybody’s head. You’re an actress, Cathy. You love this shit!” Fuck! Why did I say that!
“I do not like this,” Cathy responded angrily. “Why do you always bring up my parents’ money? You’re the one who’s preoccupied with it.
And I’m not trying to fuck with your head. I love you, Terry. I just need some time.” I need a cigarette.
“You should have written Johnny. I thought you guys had an arrangement before he left. Christ, I’m crazy about you. Can’t you see that? I’ve been fucking the guy’s girlfriend for months and now I’m supposed to disappear. He’s the one that should get lost. You think he’s been an altar boy at college? You think he hasn’t been double-dipping into every pussy coming his way?” I’m driving her away. I can feel it. Got to shut up.
Cathy bit down on her lip. “If you don’t keep your voice down, Terry, I’m leaving.”
Terry took a deep breath. He fell back against his front door and slid down to the ground where he sat shaking his head.
“This is so fucking unfair,” he moaned. “I can’t stand… ” I’m losing her.
Cathy sat down on the sidewalk beside Terry. Please stop acting like a baby.
“It’s not all about you, Terry. How do you think I feel having the only two men I’ve ever loved tugging from both sides at me? I’m being torn apart. Sometimes I wish-”
“What? That you’d never met me?” Terry looked at Cathy then turned his head away.
“That I’d never met either one of you.” Didn’t mean that. Yes I did.
Terry turned back to Cathy. Tears ran slowly down Cathy’s cheek.
Terry wiped them away with his finger. All his anger seemed diluted in her tears. He tried to kiss her. She moved away.
“That’s not going to help!” She spat out each of her words.
Terry sighed, putting his face in both of his hands. If we could go upstairs, if we could fuck, this…would go away. Climbing to his feet, Terry stepped away, his back to Cathy. Abruptly he turned back on her.
“I can’t take this, Cathy. I’m aching for you. You don’t know what it’s like to have your body aching so much for someone. Like you’re going to be sick to your stomach. I can’t think straight. If only I could relax for five minutes, just time to think. It’s like my own body is torturing me.”
“What do you want me to do-give you a blow job so that we can have a reasonable conversation?”
Terry said nothing. Yes.
Cathy sighed deeply. Fat chance!
A police car, its lights flashing, raced along Bloor Street past the couple.
Terry stepped back toward Cathy. He looked down at her. “We could get married.”
Cathy remained silent for several minutes. And then in a voice barely audible she said mockingly, “That’s so pathetic.”
“What?” What did she say?
Nothing. Cathy shook her head.
Terry took a package of cigarettes out of his pocket. He offered one to Cathy. They both lit up. For several minutes neither spoke.
“What are you going to tell college-boy?”
“I’m not sure yet. Johnny’s going through a bad time. He screwed up at school. He was on probation to begin with and then he flunked a couple of classes. Latin and Greek, I think. He always hated Latin. Barely got through high school in Latin and then he signs up for the course.
What an asshole! Never went to class. What a jerk! His parents don’t know yet. They’re going to throw him out when they see his marks. He needs a job and a place to live.”
“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 shook 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 asked.
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.
She waved off his gesture, climbed to her feet, and ran to her car. Once inside, she locked all the doors and started up the engine. It stalled. On her second attempt, the engine roared. She sped out of the parking space, squealing around the corner, just missing a cab, and raced down Bloor Street.