Mildred said, “He ain’t gonna forget his loved ones, Garnet. Now let’s go.”
Keith said, “’Bye, folks. Thanks for dropping in. I’ll give you a buzz when I’m mobile.”
Kate offered to walk them down to the lobby and Gabe took her arm, lumbering along beside her down the hall, all smiles.
When they were out of earshot Keith said, “God help me for saying this, Steve, but sometimes I can hardly believe I’m related to that man.”
He’s…colorful,” Steve said. He picked up the chair Mildred had been sitting in, walked it closer to the bed and sat facing Keith with his elbows on his knees.
“You’re very generous,” Keith said, chuckling. “Garnet’s all right. He’s just been out of touch for too long. When we were kids there was this crazy old coot named Misner used to live in a hovel across the field from us. Garnet thought the sun rose and set on that guy. Spent all his time over there. He wanted to be just like the man and now he is. All that to say, he’s the way he is more through conscious effort than genetics. Sounds like I’m apologizing and I guess I am.”
“No, Mister Whipple,” Steve said. “I thought he was great. All of them. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.”
“Let me put it this way, then. Can you imagine taking him to church? Or out to a nice restaurant? Sure, he’s a giggle, but…it’s a dose-related thing.”
“Small doses only.”
“Exactly.”
Keith tried to change position in bed and couldn’t manage. Steve got up and gave him a hand, hoisting him up by the armpits and adjusting his pillows. Keith thanked him, then pushed the button on the pain pump.
“I’ve been trying to cut down on this thing,” he said, “but these damned fingers, they really throb.”
Steve only nodded.
After a brief silence, both men watching for Kate to return, Keith said, “I wanted to thank you for driving Katie home yesterday, Steve. I was worried about her going all that way alone, so soon after the accident.”
“I was glad to do it, sir,” Steve said, afraid suddenly and for no rational reason that Keith could read his mind. He’d been thinking about that kiss in Kate’s bedroom, running with it.
“So…you saw her place?”
Steve said, “Yeah,” not sure where this was going.
“You didn’t find it a bit…?”
“Disorganized?” Steve said, catching on.
Keith chuckled. “You really are generous. She gets it from her mom. God, that woman used to drive me crazy. And to look at her you’d’ve never guessed. Well dressed, always neat as a pin, hair just so. And she was a marvel in the kitchen, half an hour in there banging about and you sat down to a fabulous meal. You know the kind I mean, you want to put your feet up afterward and snooze?” Steve said he did. “But go out there behind her, it looks the place’s been nuked. Cupboards hanging open, plates and utensils everywhere, puddles of sauce on the counter, the cooking island drifted with trash and that big black garbage bin right there beside it, closer to her hand than the island. God help me, she was messy. So unlike me. Left to my own devices…well, you saw my place.”
“I did, sir,” Steve said. “In that regard we’re a lot alike.”
“But you know what? I loved that woman from the first moment I saw her. Long as I live, I’ll never forget it. It was a church social and she came at me out of the sun, lit up like an angel, and that smile. Green eyes aimed straight at me…” Keith stopped a moment, rubbing the corner of one eye. “But I never tried to change her, no matter how tempted I got to take a crack at it. She was perfect for me just the way she was. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, son.”
Caught off guard, Steve said, “Yes, sir, I believe I do.”
Keith smiled and gave him a nod.
“What’re you boys talking about in here. Should my ears be burning?”
It was Kate. Steve stood up as she came in.
“Smart, too,” Keith said, winking at Steve. “And call me Keith. I feel old enough without you young bucks calling me ‘sir’.”
Smiling at Kate, Steve said, “Excuse me a minute, folks,” and left the room.
* * *
Kate sat in Steve’s chair, feeling his warmth against the backs of her thighs. She looked at her father and said, “Steve asked me to go out with him tonight to a blues club. Would you mind?” Then cast her eyes down, feeling like a teenager again.
“Of course not, sweetie. Lee’s coming in later to play cards anyways, so I won’t be alone. You two go ahead, have a nice time.”
“Thanks. I might even end up staying, you know, at his place.”
“That’s fine, Katie.”
Kate reached into her handbag, taking out a small pad of paper. She tore off the top sheet, folded it in half and placed it on the bedside table. “I wrote down his phone number and address. His apartment’s just a few blocks from here. His beeper number’s on there too, just in case. If you need me…what?”
Keith was grinning, shaking his head. “You’re just like your mother. You’re your mother through and through. Stop being such a worry wart. I’m in the hospital, I’ve got my dope, I’m fine. Now go have some fun.”
Kate stood up and gave him a kiss. “Thanks, Dad. Call me if—”
“Will you get out of here?” Keith said, laughing.
“Okay. I’m gone.”
––––––––
Hicks said, “Okay, slow down, he’s turning.”
Mayer checked his rearview and decelerated, guiding the van onto the plowed shoulder. The transport that had been trailing them roared by on the rural highway, rocking the van. A half-mile ahead Raybould’s sedan turned into Rideau Downs, the harness racetrack, closed now for the season.
“Why here?” Mayer said.
“Who knows,” Hicks said. “Corsino’s got his finger in everything.” Raybould’s car was no longer visible from the highway. “Let’s go.”
Mayer drove to the entrance, dousing the headlights before turning in, the big raceway sign looming overhead, dark and crusted with ice. Mayer said, “Which way?” Raybould’s car had disappeared.
Hicks pointed to the right-hand corner of the main building. There was a light on over there. “Give that a try.”
Mayer rolled ahead, guiding the van by moonlight toward a pair of snow-covered livestock trailers, side by side near the midpoint of the concrete building. He slipped the van between them, killed the engine and they both got out.
Mayer said, “Cripes, it’s cold,” knowing it was fear more than the temperature, wishing he’d stayed out of this. He kept hearing the old bull street cop who’d trained him a lifetime ago in Division: “Once you get dirty you never get clean. Keep your hands in your own pockets, boy, and you’ll do fine.”
Hicks drew his weapon. “Just keep thinking about all that money, Bry. Aruba, bikini thongs, colored drinks. Whatever you want.” He raked back on the slide, chambering a round. “Now come on.”
Mayer drew his sidearm and followed his partner. They got to the corner of the building in time to see Raybould, a hundred yards along the building’s flank now, handing his gun to one of Corsino’s men, a big bastard in a white fedora and matching wool coat. The guy stuck the gun in his coat pocket then gave Raybould a quick frisk, taking his ankle gun, too. He opened a door and Raybould followed him inside.
Mayer said, “You see the size of that guy?”
“Big as a two-hole outhouse and twice as smart,” Hicks said. “Fuck him. Let’s do it.”
They jogged to the metal door and flanked it. They could hear the guy through the door now, coming back down the stairs, big boots on metal steps. The door opened and the guy stepped out, humming something, and Hicks cold-cocked him with the butt of his gun. As the guy fell Hicks plucked the hat off his head and put it on his own. “Hey, Bry,” he said, “how do I look?”
“Like an asshole,” Mayer said. “Help me get him out of the way.”
* * *
Steve said to Kate, “It’s one of Toronto’s best kept secrets. Only your hard core blues men even know it exits. You wouldn’t believe some of the people who’ve just shown up there unannounced. Legends. John Lee Hooker, James Cotton, B.B. King. Dan Akroyd’s a regular, and I saw Bruce Willis there once. Man blows a mean harp.”
They were cruising north on Yonge Street in Steve’s Cherokee, the Pantages Theater coming up on Kate’s right, the theater crowd streaming out now, dispersing to clubs and cafés.
Kate said, “Who’s playing tonight?”
“House band, Bad ’n’ Rude. Great musicians. They come on around ten-thirty, play a set, then open it up to any musicians in the crowd. And there’s always a house full. You’re gonna love it.”
Steve turned right onto a narrow side street and had to brake to avoid a wino crossing the road, a tattered blanket shrouding his shoulders and head. The man wheeled toward them, the Cherokee’s low beams underlighting his face, and he scowled into the glare for a beat before weaving out of the way. Steve drove on, turning right again partway down the block into an unmarked alley. Kate shuddered as they bumped along the alley, the image of that wino still in her mind. She felt as if she’d just come eyeball to eyeball with the Grim Reaper.
Steve said, “Here we are.”
Kate had a look. Apart from the sign—The Blue Room, in sputtering, cobalt neon—the place looked like the back end of a warehouse. Windows boarded up, crumbling brick, a beat up slat fence on one side of the small parking area, a couple of rusty dumpsters on the other. She said, “You go all out to impress a girl, don’t you.”
Steve smiled. “Have a little faith. You liked the restaurant, didn’t you?”
Kate said she had, though her first impression of the place had been even more guarded than this, a seedy looking joint in the Asian district, no sign, down a narrow staircase littered with trash into what turned out to be a quaint Chinese outfit run by a fussy little guy named Jimmy Chan. Most of the other patrons had been Chinese, and once Kate got a look at the menu she understood why. Though she’d drawn the line at the chicken feet, she ended up enjoying herself, sampling all sorts of exotic fare. They’d stayed an hour longer than planned, listening to Chan tell stories about his days as a Hong Kong pimp in his giddy, broken English.
Steve got them parked, then looked over at Kate. “Still game?”
Kate said, “I’m game,” and smiled. The guy was irresistible. She glanced at the entrance to the bar—a heavy, dungeon-style wood and wrought iron door—and saw two biker-types in leather club jackets escorting a guy in jeans and a Jim Morrison T-shirt out the door, the guy not putting up much of a fight. She could hear the live music now, brassy and loud, pulsing out through the open door.
“Bouncers,” Steve said. “The place started out as a biker bar back in the seventies, now its owned by them. They’re excellent peacekeepers.”
Kate saw one of the bouncers talking to the guy now, one hand on the man’s shoulder. The guy pushed the bouncer’s hand away and the bouncer grabbed him by the throat. Kate said, “Did you bring your gun?”
Laughing, Steve reached across her lap—he smelled good, clean skin and shampoo, and Kate had the urge to kiss him on the neck—and opened the glove box. He took something out, a roll of tan felt or maybe cotton with something wrapped inside.
She said, “If that’s a gun, I was only kidding.”
“It’s not a gun,” Steve said, closing the glove box. He winked and opened his door. “It’s a surprise. Now come on. And don’t worry, I’m a cop.”
Kate took his arm as they made their way across the parking lot, the night air cold, making her shiver. She tried not to look at the shoving match that had broken out between the bouncers and the guy in the T-shirt and of course she did. The guy wanted back inside for his coat and the bouncers wouldn’t let him go.
Then they were inside, Steve taking her hand, guiding her through the crowd to a reserved table near the stage. Kate noticed the pleased smile on the singer’s face when he saw Steve and as they sat she said, “You know that guy?”
Steve said, “Yep,” and hailed a waitress. He asked Kate what she was drinking and Kate said she’d stick with white wine. She’d had a couple of glasses at the restaurant and was already feeling tipsy. She’d have to be careful. She was a cheap drunk and not a very graceful one.
She watched Steve order their drinks, the waitress flirting with him, and thought about calling her father; but it was late and even if she caught him awake he’d just chew her out for being a worry wart.
She looked up at the band, breaking into a fast shuffle now, an original, the singer said. A big group for the size of the place, Kate thought. Four horn players doing the old revue-style footwork, two black girls in pink sequins singing back up, three guitarists and the skinniest drummer Kate had ever seen. The lead singer was a balding redhead with big white Gary Busey teeth. His voice reminded her of calm blue water, deep and cool. Steve was right, they were great.
He touched her hand, leaning in close to speak in her ear. “So what do you think?”
“Nice,” Kate said over the music. She looked at the thing he’d taken from the glove box, resting under his hand on the table now. “Are you going to tell me what that is?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll lose interest.”
Steve said, “I don’t think so.”
The waitress brought their drinks, wine for her, beer for him, and Steve paid her. They glanced at each other after the waitress left, comfortable together, then settled back to enjoy the music.
* * *
Raybould didn’t like it, walking into a snake pit like this without his guns. At first he refused to give them up, but the goon in the hat insisted, telling him it was the only way he was going inside.
Now he stood where the goon had left him, in the delivery bay of the kitchen that serviced the dining lounge the heavy hitters did their betting from. The place was enormous, all stainless steel and cold green tile.
Twenty feet away, Connie Corsino stood behind an open grille cooking T-bones, a bib apron over his suit pants and shirt, seventy years old if he was a day. He looked up at Raybould and smiled, still some sparkle in those eyes. The steaks smelled good.
“Al,” he said, like they were old pals. “Come ahead in.”
Raybould approached the grille, his cop eyes taking in the layout. A three-by-ten stainless steel counter between him and the old man. A set of swinging doors back there for the busboys and waitresses, opening onto the lounge. A wiseguy in a muscle-shirt sitting close to his boss in a tipped-back chair, eating a steak sandwich and watching the news on a wall-mounted TV. Two other bodyguards loitering nearby in sunglasses and dark suits. Looking at them Raybould had to bite back a laugh. Guys like this broke him up. They worked so hard at the image.