Then something I didn’t expect. We cut to the left suddenly, off the Queensway, and drove underneath the Gardner Expressway. I realized I’d never been this far west before.
Driver said, Humber Loop, last stop, and pulled into the bleakest lot I ever saw. A figure eight of track next to an abandoned snack bar with a sign on the wall that said, Don’t feed the pigeons, beneath a dark wet sky, between two concrete overpasses. Last stop.
I was not going to fit out the center doors, so I rolled my rig up to the front.
Is there going to be another car? I asked.
Yup, said the driver. This car’s 501 Humber. Turns around here. You want the car that says 501 Long Branch.
I hobbled down the steps with the case. He closed the doors. Then opened them again.
Oh yeah, he said. Better hope it has AC.
He closed the doors again and left. Went around the loop and back the way he came. That was pretty funny, I thought, what he said about the air-conditioning. Except the rain was really coming down now. I was starting to get a bit of a chill.
On the upside, I was alone. Looked like I was going to be alone for a while. I leaned my load up against the building and took a look around. Every square inch of that wall had a urine trail leading away from it. Right in front of me there was an electrical tower on a big patch of grass. More streetlights than you’d expect, place like that. To my right, though, the tracks headed south into the gloom. Pulled me to it like a safe haven. There was a wide ditch full of cattails over there below the corner of an old wall. No streetlights. Another circle of tracks with weeds growing out from under them. Right in the middle, a pile of dirt and rocks. That was interesting. I walked over to have a look.
The rain tapered off a bit. I should dump the body here. I tried to think the thought again, so it would make sense. I should dump the body here. Wondered if I’d be able to get him out of the case. No, I should stick to the original plan. Farther west. The red brick buildings of Humber College.
I heard a lurch and rumble behind me, turned and saw a streetcar barreling through, back by the building. 501 Long Branch. I suppressed a surge of panic and started to trot over. Driver didn’t see me and didn’t stop. Didn’t see anything suspicious either, I guess. He barreled around the bend, passing the loop, and moved south under the second overpass.
Next car took its time coming and was heading back around the loop. A couple of teenagers got out. A boy and a girl. Made me nervous at first, but they got preoccupied with one another around the corner of the building.
Finally, the Long Branch came through again. The kids got on, side by side, but they had to break their hand-hold to get around the bar that was inside the door. It was right in the center. Handy for the old ladies to hoist themselves up. My case was two and a half feet wide and over a foot and a half thick. The opening was just about four and a half, with a bar in the middle. There was no way I was getting around that. No way.
Sorry, guy, said the driver. You need a car with AC. He pulled away.
Who calls a guy guy these days?
Looked like I was going to get a cool ride whether I wanted it or not. Next car to come through was going around the loop. This dude got off looked like a sailor in an old movie. He was practically black-and-white.
Car after that had the bar. Driver opened the doors, expecting me to get on. I gestured over to my case.
Any chance of an AC car coming?
They’re rolling them off the lines, he said. Account of it’s cooling off. They’re expensive to run. But there might be one or two of them left on the road.
He pulled away. Tell you one thing about these drivers. They’re polite.
I stood for a couple of minutes. Armpits burning. Turning into a chronic condition. I felt faint. I was digging my fingers into my eyes when I heard movement to my left. Realized the sailor was still there. Just by the corner of the building. Probably the biggest fright of the night. He was looking at me. Hadn’t boarded the last car. What was that about?
I eased the case up against my chest, trying to make it seem lightweight, and dragged it past the other end of the building. Pulled out my cell phone and looked at it. No calls. I glanced over at him. He was gazing up at the top of the electrical tower.
I called my land line. She answered. Baby, she said.
Baby, I said, but I didn’t feel anything lower than the pit of my stomach.
I told her what I had done. She said, You did what? And I told her again. She hung up. I was starting to get anxious.
I called back. She let it ring for a bit and then answered. Don’t come here, she said.
It’s my place, I said. She told me it was some serious shit I’d done and she didn’t want to get involved. I asked her why she didn’t warn me that her husband was a psycho freak. He wasn’t my husband, she said.
What? I said.
I’m not the marrying type, in case it wasn’t obvious. He was just a guy I used to see. Guess we hadn’t had our fill. Guess we’ve had it now, whether I like it or not.
A bus pulled in from a road I hadn’t noticed. Down from the Queensway on the other side. The black-and-white sailor got on and it went back the way it came. I was alone again at the Humber Loop.
Don’t be a drama queen, she said. He’s dead and you’re an asshole. Killing’s wrong.
So’s lying.
For an intelligent girl, she said, I sure surrounded myself with some collection of dopes. And then she hung up.
Conversation got things going though. Set me in motion. Like the kid in the TV ad who laces up the shoes and drinks the drink and climbs up behind the eight ball. With his skateboard. I dragged the case down into the ditch below the corner of the wall and opened it. I felt sorry for him. I did. But there was no time for the Catholic shit. I tried to roll him out but the top parts were stuck together. The case and the body. I walked around the other side, turned the case over on top of him, stepped on his back, and pulled. His head popped out and I fell into the cattails. Lay there for a couple of minutes. I hadn’t been that close to cattails since I was a kid. Then I got up and rolled him down to the bottom of the ditch. Walked over to the rusty loop and filled my case with gravel and rocks. Dragged it back and dumped the rocks on top of him. A couple more trips and he was covered. I tried to think of a little prayer. Heard the rumble of the streetcar and dove into the weeds.
It rolled by. No idea what he saw.
After a bit, I stood up and brushed myself off. Don’t think my two-dollar suit looked like it was worth much anymore. Case was a mess too. Only on the inside. Worry about it later. Closed it and latched it and dragged it behind me back up into the glare of the lights. It felt buoyant. Like a balloon. A breeze caught me in the face and woke me up. I noticed the rain had stopped.
Things were good.
Then I remembered I still couldn’t get on these streetcars. Had a picture in my head of walking east along the Queensway, middle of the night. A cheap and filthy suit. Dragging an empty case with the Styrofoam impression of a human body pressed onto the inside. And the bass was still in that closet. See why I’m not telling you the name of that bar? Four grand, it cost me. Some people kill for that. I thought I might dump the case in the lake. But Styrofoam floats. And the case cost a bundle too. I tried to think of the worst case scenario: dump the case, head back to the bar, bass is gone. A ten grand debt — two instruments and a flight case — nothing to show for it. Move up to Wicky. Take up the washtub. Pretty indestructible, the washtub, no matter what the devil might say. Don’t cost anything either. Not so bad. I’d be able to play. Man, I just want to play.