“Just that night?” Jack sighed.
Mary smiled. “What? What are you thinking?”
“Did he ask about any other disappearances?” Mary stared at Jack for a moment and thought. She took a sip of her drink.
“He asked me about an incident that happened when I was a kid.”
“Incident?” Jack asked.
“A friend of mine disappeared. Now that I think of it, a lot of questions that he asks are about people who have disappeared. Do you think he might work for the police?”
“I know most of the cops,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Sam Kelly would have mentioned something about him.”
Mary reached into her bag for another cigarette but then thought better of it.
The Bed
Mary sighed with relief as Hank released his grip of her shoulders and slid off to one side of the bed. For a moment she remained on her hands and knees, her face pressed into the pillow.
“That was nice,” Mary purred. She turned over and burrowed under Hank’s arm. “Can we do it some more?”
Hank chuckled. “Just give me some time to recover. I’m not eighteen.” Mary slid closer, leaning her head on Hank’s chest.
“Do you think my breasts sag?” she asked.
Hank ran a finger around Mary’s ear. She moaned with delight.
“Your breasts are perfect.”
Mary moaned softly. “I could do this all night.”
“Don’t you have to work tomorrow?” he asked.
Mary giggled. “Fuck work! Oh, Hank, you make me feel so alive. I haven’t felt this good in years. We could take pictures.” There was a long pause.
“Why would your husband leave a sexy woman like you alone in bed to get a package of cigarettes?” Hank asked.
Mary played with the short hairs on Hank’s chest.
“That’s a question I’ve asked myself a thousand times. My ex had a wandering eye. Variety is the spice of life, I suppose.”
“Were you faithful?” Hank asked.
Mary hesitated. “No. But he deserved it. Why are we talking about my ex anyway? I’ve got a Polaroid camera in the dresser. We could have a little fun.”
Hank ran his hand down Mary’s arm. “What if he didn’t leave you?
What if something else happened to him?”
The Incident
“I don’t know who he was,” Jack said. “But he came in here the other afternoon, asked for a drink and downed it, and then asked for a second.”
Sam Kelly nodded, scribbling notes on a pad.
“He was sweating, Sam,” Jack said, “and pale as a ghost. After his second drink he stares at me and says, ‘I just let a man die.’ It gave me the willies. I’ve been tending bar for a lot of years but this was one for the records.”
Jack paused for a moment, reliving the conversation with the stranger.
“He said he killed someone or he allowed someone to die?” the detective asked as he scribbled away with a short stubby pencil.
Jack took a breath. “He said he was standing at the corner just outside here, at the corner, and he was bending over to buy a newspaper. I don’t know which paper. Is that important?”
Sam Kelly shook his head.
Jack continued. “He was bending over the newspaper box when he heard something behind him. He turned around. An old man was lying on the sidewalk, his feet in the telephone booth, his mouth open. The old man seemed to let out a small cry. Oh yes, and the receiver on the phone was dangling loose. ‘I let him die,’ he said over and over.” 49
“Did he notice the old man before that moment? Did he drive or walk to the newspaper stand?”
“Walked, Sam,” Jack replied. “Said he lived in the neighborhood, but I’ve never seen him before. He didn’t notice the old man at all. He told me that the corner was empty when he arrived. Sam, how could you miss an old man lying on the ground? Oh ya, he said that the emptiness struck him as odd because usually there was always someone in the plaza or walking along the sidewalk. There was no one on the street or in the plaza. He used the word empty. There is always someone coming in or out of the drugstore. It’s open twenty-four hours. And the Canadiana Restaurant has a do on every night. But he used the word empty. The landscape was empty. And it was dead quiet. Sam, you can always hear Highway 27 from here. It’s constant. Like living next to the ocean. That roar is always there and yet he said he couldn’t hear the highway.” Detective Kelly looked up from his pad.
“Couldn’t hear anything?”
“Do you think that’s important?”
The detective shrugged. “It is strange. You get used to the roar of traffic but it’s always present. But he noticed the silence. There’s nothing else that stood out about this fellow, no scar or accent, no tic, no idiosyncrasy?”
Jack thought for a moment. “He was upset. And he sweated a lot. Real sweet smell. And his clothes.”
“What about his clothes?”
Jack shook his head. “It’s so obvious, Sam. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before. He was wearing shorts. On a cold fall day, this guy was wearing shorts. And one of those ugly Hawaiian shirts.”
“Maybe he was jogging,” the detective suggested. “You mentioned that this guy called for an ambulance. There should be a record of that.
And a squad car should have been sent as well. I’m surprised I didn’t hear about it.”
“An old man’s death can’t be that uncommon,” Jack suggested.
Detective Kelly scribbled a few more notes in his pad before placing it back in his pocket.
“People die everyday, but not in the streets. I’ll look into it,” he said.
“I appreciate it, Sam. Been preying on my mind. The police talked to him. He told me that. A few minutes after the ambulance left, a squad car arrived and a cop asked him a few questions. It seems that the old guy was on the line to the police. He’d had an argument with someone.”
“The police questioned him?” the detective asked.
Jack nodded then blushed with embarrassment. “Didn’t I tell you that, Sam?”
The detective reached for his pad.
CHAPTER SIX
Wiggy leaned against the wall of George’s Barbershop, smoking a cigarette. Occasionally he took the cigarette out of his mouth to spit tobacco juice onto the street where it sizzled on the asphalt.
“I guess they call that hot,” he said, glancing over at Terry who was silently drinking from a can of soda. Wiggy nudged Terry’s shoulder with his hand. Terry ignored Wiggy.
“I thought that was all ancient history?” Wiggy said, looking out over Bloor Street. Above the bank an airplane descended from behind a cloud.
Wiggy spat again. The plane was carrying a sign behind it. Mild, isn’t it?
The spit sizzled again and Wiggy laughed.
“Apparently not,” Terry responded, wiping his chin with his arm.
“When’s Johnny getting back?” Wiggy asked. “I’ll bet he has some awesome tales about college. Man, those college parties! Dudes zeroed across the floor. Chicks upchucking in the toilet. Dope passed around like bubble gum. And the pranks. So cool. Tying people naked to flag poles. Hoisting the wheels off professors’ cars. Panty raids. Man, I can’t wait until I go.”
“You ain’t going to college,” Terry said with a smirk.
“Who said I ain’t?” Wiggy demanded.
“You’ve got to graduate from high school first,” Terry answered.
“Where’d you hear all that shit about college?”
“I heard it,” Wiggy responded defensively. He stepped several feet to his left. The sound of the airplane was louder now. Wiggy looked up.
The sign that the plane had been dragging behind it had disappeared.
Terry laughed. “Where’d you hear it?”
“I just heard it,” Wiggy repeated. “Jesus, who got your shorts tied in a knot?”
Terry spat on the sidewalk. There was no sizzle. He took another drink. “You don’t know shit, Wiggy.”
Wiggy fidgeted. His cigarette fell out of his mouth onto the ground.
For a brief moment he considered not picking it up. Terry watched Wiggy pick up his cigarette and place it back in his mouth.