Читать книгу Riverside Drive - Michael Januska - Страница 13

JUST LUCKY, I GUESS

McCloskey woke from a deep sleep when the engine stopped. He rubbed his eyes and looked out the window. An illuminated sign in the near distance blinked.

ALL DAY BREAKFAST

They were parked at a roadhouse. He slid his cuff away from his wristwatch and then attempted some simple math, but his mind was still somewhere back down the road.

“Where are we?”

“Brantford.”

The driver flashed his headlights. Another vehicle parked several car lengths away flashed back.

“Wait here.”

McCloskey watched the drivers exchanging words for a minute or two before he was gestured to come forward. The blast of cold air woke him fully.

“You’re in good hands, Killer. We’ll see you when you’re finished your tour.”

The other driver told McCloskey to get in and then they pulled away slowly through the drifting snow. He introduced himself as Slip and briefed McCloskey on the situation in Hamilton.

The story went something like this: not too long ago, Brown got into a routine of absorbing members of rival gangs they had subdued. He envisioned a sort of Grand Army of the local underworld, with himself as its Napoleon. This scheme worked well enough at first, but lately Brown had to question the loyalty of some of these soldiers. There were too many unfortunate coincidences, and a pattern of double-crossing was developing. It had come down to Brown struggling to maintain control of his outfit while simultaneously trying to keep resurgent gangs at bay. Drastic measures had to be taken before the Montreal boss was forced to intervene. A couple of days before, Brown turned to Green for help. After the incident involving the McCloskeys in Windsor, Green was looking for help as well. The lieutenants came to an agreement that was mutually beneficial.

The driver parked at a warehouse down on the waterfront. He led McCloskey inside and through a maze of massive containers that eventually opened up to an arrangement of crates that seemed to suggest an office. A bare bulb hung in the middle of the space. Either this was all Brown needed to run his operation, or it was all he had left. Brown smiled and extended a hand.

“Killer McCloskey.”

McCloskey nodded and gripped the hand firmly. “Lieutenant Brown.”

Brown was a small man but not insubstantial. There was tension in his body, but he wasn’t nervous or agitated. He was taut, precise, and lean.

He filled three small glasses then handed one to Slip and one to McCloskey.

“Slip paint a picture for you?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve got your work cut out.”

“I can handle it.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear.”

They drained their glasses and set them back down on the battered wooded crates in front of them.

“There’s a flophouse in the east end being used by some of the more questionable members of the outfit. You and Slip are going to put a match to it and shoot anyone that tries to escape. Catch my drift?”

This guy doesn’t mince words or waste any time, McCloskey thought.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re going to be hitting fast and hitting hard. That’s how we’re going to get through this. Slip will tell you who’s who and what’s what. You carrying?”

McCloskey suddenly remembered that his gun was at the bottom of the Detroit River. “No, sir.”

Brown snapped his fingers and a tall man in a big coat appeared out of nowhere. This was Brown’s shadow, a walking arsenal who went by the name of Lynch. He pulled two British service revolvers out of his coat, .455 Webley Mark VI’s. McCloskey was familiar with them. They were like hand-held artillery and could do serious damage.

“One for each hand.”

McCloskey took them.

“When you’re done, I want you both back at the Connaught Hotel.”

Less than thirty minutes later, McCloskey was taking aim at a fellow trying to negotiate a leap from the window of a burning building. The fool probably figured if he played it right, he could slide down the roof of the veranda and land on a pile of snow. McCloskey put a bullet in his hip and watched him tumble off the roof and land on the frozen pavement, missing the snow by inches.

A shot rang from the house and a bullet hit the car adjacent to where McCloskey was standing. He remained focused, spotting a figure in another window. He threw some lead in its direction and the figure fell backwards into the flames. More shots followed, but they were coming from the other side of the house. Slip reappeared.

“I got one,” he said. Glancing over his shoulder to the pavement he remarked, “I see you were busy.” There were sirens in the distance and McCloskey tucked away his revolver. “Let’s get out of here.”

The next morning there was some unexpected news from Windsor: Billy McCloskey was alive and recovering nicely from his bullet wound. According to the doctor, if he had been standing at a slightly different angle or if the cold had not slowed the bleeding, he’d be dead right now. Of course Jack was relieved, but then came a raft of questions.

Was Billy under the impression that his brother was the shooter? Did Billy actually see the shooter? Who could it have been? Was it an accident or did someone in that mob actually want Billy dead? And what was Billy telling the investigators right now? McCloskey’s moment of relief suddenly evaporated. He had no choice but to wait and see how things played out.

McCloskey expected to be called back home, figuring Billy’s survival must have taken some of the heat off. That may have been the case, but there were new developments in Hamilton as well. The mandate now for Brown’s outfit was to extend their influence to the tips of the Golden Horseshoe — the region stretching west from the Niagara River along the peninsula, around Lake Ontario, and then back east to Toronto’s borders. To that end, Brown was told by the boss in Montreal that he could retain McCloskey’s services indefinitely. Apparently Green had no say in the matter.

Lieutenant Brown was unrelenting in his campaign, and McCloskey became the go-to guy in virtually every operation.

It looked like it was going to be a long winter, but then spring arrived early in the form of a fresh-faced girl sporting a sleek blonde bob. McCloskey was waiting for Slip in the mezzanine of the hotel when he spotted her sprinting up the stairs from the lobby. Her knees played peek-a-boo with the hem of her dress, and she jiggled in all the right places. When she passed McCloskey, she glanced at him with eyes like blue saucers.

“Down, boy,” said Slip. “That’s the boss’s girl.”

“The boss’s girl? How come I never seen her? Does she live here in the hotel?”

“Yeah, but you didn’t hear it from me. She’s his best-kept secret. Now forget you ever saw her.”

She looked young, sweet and, according to McCloskey, had no business hanging around guys like Brown.

Slip just smiled and shook his head. “Just remember what I told you,” he said. “Now c’mon. We gotta be somewhere.”

A few days later McCloskey saw her having breakfast downstairs. That’s twice in one week, he thought. It must be a sign.

“Mind if I join you?” he said. “My name’s —”

She looked up at McCloskey’s devilish grin. “I know who you are.”

Her tone was playful, like she knew the score.

“Call me Jack.”

“Nice to meet you, Jack. I’m Sophie.”

He gently took her hand.

“Sophie.” McCloskey said it a few more times in his head. “I like that.”

“It’s kind of grown on me. Do you like eggs, Jack?”

Sophie pointed out the waiter hovering impatiently.

“I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

They got to talking about this and that, and eventually McCloskey got around to asking her how she got mixed up with a guy like Brown.

“Just lucky, I guess.”

“No, really.”

She told him the story of how Brown pulled her out of a chorus line in Montreal. Rescued her was what he liked to say. Now she was sitting on the shelf in his trophy room.

“So why stick around?”

“The money’s good and I like the hours.”

McCloskey tried to guess her age. Sure, she was young, but she had a worldly air about her, so he guessed older.

“I turned eighteen the first of April. That makes me an April fool.”

McCloskey almost choked on his scrambled eggs. It made her laugh and she had a great laugh.

Slip happened to be walking through the dining room at the time and spotted the two of them playing footsy. He made a beeline for McCloskey and grabbed his arm.

“What did I tell you?” said Slip.

Slip gave Sophie a look, as if to say Leave my boy alone.

“What? We’re just —”

“I know what you’re doing. C’mon, let’s go.”

“Don’t tell me — we gotta be somewhere.”

McCloskey looked back at Sophie and shrugged. Sophie just smiled and waved goodbye.

Regarding his brother Billy and the incident in the alleyway, McCloskey was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Was it possible that everyone was still under the impression that he pulled the trigger? Did Billy know the truth? Was he just waiting to play that card?

And then his mind would invariably turn to their father. What could Billy have told him? McCloskey was tempted on a number of occasions to jump in his car and drive home so that he could settle the matter once and for all.

It felt like he had already been down this road: trying to get home, wanting to find his place, and hoping to set things right. But something always came along to make it all that much more complicated. He admitted to himself that sometimes it was himself, but most times it just seemed like fate was working against him.

A couple weeks after Jack’s aborted breakfast with Sophie, Brown called McCloskey to his suite, and McCloskey arrived at the door the same time she did. She appeared quite agitated but he kept his distance. When the maid opened the door, Sophie stormed in. McCloskey cautiously followed.

She proceeded to make what is commonly known as a scene. Evidently Brown had just sent her a message cancelling their plans for the evening, and this wasn’t the first time. It was all a bit awkward and McCloskey had the distinct feeling that Sophie was taking advantage of his being in the room.

Desperate for a quick resolution, Brown glanced over at McCloskey. If he could trust this guy to get him out of a tight spot in the streets, he should be able to trust him to get him out of one at home.

“Listen, if I let Killer here take you dancing tonight, will you shut up?”

Sophie had Brown right where she wanted him. She managed to conceal her delight and looked McCloskey over like he was applying for a job in the kitchen.

“Sure, he’ll do.”

“You bring Alice and Fay with you too.”

“Sure, sure.”

Brown took McCloskey aside and laid down some ground rules: no other man was to speak to Sophie, and Sophie was not to speak to any other man. McCloskey was to keep his hands and his ideas to himself, and Sophie was to go nowhere without Alice or Fay.

“Got it.”

In the weeks that followed, Jack and Sophie recruited not only Alice and Fay but any bellhop and chambermaid they could trust in order to be able to rendezvous at a safe destination: out of the way diners, neighbourhood dance halls, and movie houses. They also took these opportunities to share stories and discovered how much they really had in common. Sophie called her and Jack orphans in a storm.

Early in June, McCloskey was sent out on a reconnaissance to a narrow strip of land that stretched from Hamilton’s North End to Burlington on the other side of the lake. A channel broke the strip, and on the marsh side, the lakeside as well as on the inside of channel were several dozen boathouses, many nothing more than tarpaper shacks. He had been sent out by Brown to secure the territory, which was ideal for smuggling.

There were a couple watering holes and clubhouses. People came for the duck hunting and fishing mostly, and to get away from the city and the factories. It reminded McCloskey of Ojibway. It quickly became a sort of retreat for him, and eventually he started bringing Sophie along with him. It became their place.

But the more time they spent together, the more potential he could see for her to get drawn deeper into the world of guns and bootleg liquor. He knew the best thing would be to get her out of Hamilton and back home to her family. But to steal her away would also mean deserting his post, and after that it was anyone’s guess what his fate might be. For all he knew he could end up with a bounty on his head.

But the more McCloskey thought about it, the more he thought it might be another turning point for him, a chance to re-invent himself yet again. After he got Sophie out of Hamilton he could go back to Windsor, explain everything to Green, reconcile with his father and brother and maybe even broker a deal between them and Green. Once that was done he could join Sophie in Montreal. But before McCloskey could get the wheels in motion, the wheels started falling off.

Green was receiving reports that McCloskey wasn’t pulling his weight in Hamilton, was getting careless, and — worst of all — was rumoured to be carousing with Brown’s girl. Then word reached Brown from Windsor that not only was Billy McCloskey recovered from his bullet wound, he was also back to his old tricks with McCloskey Sr.

Green and Brown knew that if their boss found out about any of this, it wouldn’t just be Jack McCloskey’s head on a pike. Something had to be done.

Saturday, July 22

Though Sophie had her own suite just down the hall, every once in a while she spent the night at Brown’s. Last night was one of those nights.

It was early morning, and Brown was in his office. The door between the office and the bedroom was slightly ajar, and in a waking state Sophie could hear Brown on the phone. That wasn’t unusual, but when she heard McCloskey’s name, her ears pricked up.

It quickly became obvious that Brown was talking to Green. She sat up quietly and tiptoed over to the door.

She heard Brown say that McCloskey’s recent carelessness was threatening to undo all the work that had been done, and he didn’t have any choice in the matter. He would let Green “know by Monday.”

Sophie didn’t know what that meant exactly, but she knew it couldn’t be good.

Later in the afternoon, she was standing outside the fifth floor beauty salon waiting with Fay for an elevator. When the car finally arrived, it was packed with people. Sophie spotted McCloskey in the back and jumped in before the doors closed, leaving Fay behind.

When the elevator reached the lobby, Sophie got out and walked straight out the front door and into a waiting taxi.

McCloskey’s car was parked as usual right outside. He jumped into his vehicle and followed the taxi as it drove out of town.

He had no idea where she could be instructing the driver to take her, but it was obvious to him that he was meant to follow. It had to be some place where they could be alone.

The taxi eventually pulled into a motel somewhere along the peninsula east of Hamilton.

McCloskey watched Sophie step out of the taxi and then waited for it to drive away. McCloskey parked away from the road. He met up with her in the office, where they got themselves a cabin near the lake. The manager took one look at McCloskey and knew better than to ask any questions.

It was a relief to get out of the heat of the city. The two stripped down and collapsed on the bed, tired but not sleepy, listening to the cicadas in the trees.

“What are we going to do?” asked Sophie.

McCloskey’s head was full of dead-end ideas and questions he didn’t have answers to. He had become so tired of his life, and while he could see the possibility of a new one with Sophie, he knew that people like him ultimately ruined people like her. He had never felt this way for any other girl. Was it love? He wasn’t sure. His heart had always been a stranger to him, something he couldn’t quite fathom, though not for lack of trying. All he knew was he had to get Sophie out of harm’s way.

“Let’s not think about that right now,” he said.

They grabbed some towels and headed down to the beach for a moonlight dip. McCloskey got a fire going and waded out into the water. Sophie couldn’t swim so McCloskey gave her a piggyback. She panicked when the water came up to his neck and he laughed. When he wouldn’t turn around, she screamed and threw her legs over his shoulders. He relented and waded back to shore.

When he dropped to his knees Sophie rolled onto the sand, just a few feet from the fire. McCloskey climbed on top of her. She looked golden. He leaned over her and gazed into her eyes, searching for answers, clues even. What he saw was a life just as complicated as his.

Sophie spent the night at Brown’s again and was awakened this time by shouting in his suite. The door was closed, so she couldn’t make out all the words. She got up, grabbed a glass off the bureau, and put it to the wall. The other voice sounded like it belonged to Slip. Brown was telling him about a telephone conversation he just had with Green. Apparently, there was a confrontation back in Windsor between Billy McCloskey and one of Green’s men, and the gang member got himself shot up. And then Brown said something about her and Jack. It sounded like Slip had shadowed them to the motel. The conversation ended with Brown clearly saying that if they did away with the McCloskeys, it would resolve a number of issues and cut their losses.

Sophie got a message to Jack via a chambermaid, and within the hour he was running with Sophie down the platform at the train station. This is it, he thought. This was the moment that he had been more or less waiting for, though it wasn’t the way he had imagined it would play out. No matter.

“Kiss me, Jack!”

For the first time in his short, violent life, Jack McCloskey had a sense of his own mortality. He watched Sophie take her seat in the car then followed her on foot as it rolled down the track. He was able to keep up until a fence at the end of the platform blocked his path.

There was a commotion behind him. He turned to see a group of Brown’s men running his way. He threw himself through the nearest doors of the station and once inside zigzagged through benches and luggage carts. Out front there were other vehicles parked around his, so he had a few seconds of cover. When he pulled away, shots were fired and a couple hit his door panel. He raced out of the parking lot and headed west out of the city.

Was it only a year ago that he had left Monroe? It had been a tough decision. He remembered coming to it after a series of compromises: first a job, then a match or two, and a life on my own terms. Then and only then would he make peace with his father and brother.

So where did things sit now?

He had become a mercenary for another gang in the syndicate, fallen in love with the gang leader’s girl, stolen her away, and deserted his post. It seemed like his life was forever spiralling out of control. Had it always been like this? He was heading home yet again. Would it be different this time? Had Sophie awakened something in him? Possibly.

The sun was setting. He hit the accelerator and passed every vehicle he came upon. It occurred to him that Brown now knew Sophie’s whereabouts and destination and could intercept her at any station between Hamilton and Montreal. Jack had left her completely exposed.