Читать книгу Border City Blues 3-Book Bundle - Michael Januska - Страница 30

KENILWORTH

The first event is for Canadian foals at seven furlongs. Azrael looked the best on one race that he ran with American breeds. War Tank, always there or thereabouts, should prove the contender. Somme a morning glory that has worked well, but seems to fade away in real contests for money may take a notion on this outing to shake the glory off.

Sword ran a remarkably good race only a day or so ago, and may be a little better than rated. Dorius’ last race was a real good one, and should be tabbed. Ultimata is going to step to the front when the starter says come on, and will set a dizzy pace for the first three quarters of a mile, and might want to curl up the last eighth of a mile.

“Don’t believe everything you read in the papers, especially if it involves horses.”

Clara folded the Star back up and tucked it under her seat. “You would know.”

People were arriving at Kenilworth from every direction and by every mode of transportation imaginable. McCloskey parked the Light Six on the shoulder of the road, under the big wall behind the grandstand.

“Hang on — slide over and come out my side before you land yourself in the ditch.”

McCloskey helped her out while cars were whizzing by. They joined a group walking single file along the shoulder towards the gate.

The track was still buzzing from the events of the past weekend. Things hadn’t looked this lively since Man O’ War ran his last race here two years ago.

“C’mon,” said McCloskey, “business first.”

He led her up to the deck. The Lieutenant always had a table in one of the corners overlooking the track. McCloskey let his eyes wander but he saw no one from the outfit.

“Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Isn’t that your neighbour from Ojibway?”

When Billy and Clara were courting, Billy used to borrow Lesperance’s car to pick her up so she could come swimming in the river. McCloskey caught a glimpse of the old man through the bodies milling about.

“Yeah, it is.”

It was unusual for Lesperance to be upstairs. Whenever McCloskey saw him he was at the front of the grandstands or hanging over the guardrail, shouting at the horses.

“Let’s go see what he’s up to.”

Lesperance was heading towards a table near the front.

“Whoa.” McCloskey grabbed Clara’s arm.

“What? Oh.” She moved closer to McCloskey. “Is that your old outfit?”

He surveyed the table. “Some of it.”

“Is the Lieutenant there?”

McCloskey barely recognized him. He was a shadow of his former self, gaunt, pale, and worn-out looking. McCloskey just stared at him. He was having trouble reconciling this image with his memory of the burly gangster that had propositioned him in the pool hall over a year ago.

“Yeah.”

Clara could easily imagine McCloskey seated with these men. At the same time it made her think it was a miracle Billy managed to survive as long as he did. These men looked seasoned, hard, and fearless. It gave her a chill to see them gathered like this. She noticed others looking at them and wondered if her face held the same expression theirs did, a combination of anger, unease, and morbid curiosity. Who were they and how did they come to own the Border Cities the way they did?

One of them got up to intercept Lesperance, and Lesperance started shouting. The Lieutenant looked embarrassed and appeared to be making excuses to a distinguished-looking man seated next to him.

McCloskey had been focusing on the Lieutenant so he hadn’t noticed the other man until now. McCloskey realized it was this man holding court and not the Lieutenant. He wore a white linen suit and a matching wide-brimmed hat. He had thick ginger moustaches and moved with grace and precision. He ignored the Lieutenant and looked away, casually puffing at his cigar.

“What’s going on, Jack?”

“I’m not sure.”

The Lieutenant got up and went over to Lesperance, presumably to tell him to get the fuck back home to his pigs and chickens. Then, right out of the blue, Lesperance swung his fist into the Lieutenant’s gut and doubled him over.

McCloskey was shocked. The old farmer from Ojibway had just creased the man that was supposedly running the Border Cities. While the Lieutenant tried to recover some of his dignity, Lesperance made for the table. A wall of thugs went up instantly and two of them dragged him away.

“Do you recognize him?”

“Who — the guy in the suit? No.”

A minute later it was like nothing happened; the man in the white linen suit went back to telling his story and the boys at the table hung on his every word.

“Maybe he’s an owner.”

“Maybe.”

McCloskey looked around for someone that might be on the same footing as this man. A gentleman with his nose buried in the racing form walked by.

“Pardon me,” said McCloskey, “do you know who that guy is over there?”

“Where?”

“The fellow in the corner with the hairy lip who looks like a plantation owner.”

The man squinted at the table and then made a face. “That’s Davies, Richard Davies.”

“Should I know him?”

“You may have seen his face in the papers.”

“What’s he into?”

“Everything,” the man snorted and walked away.

McCloskey turned to Clara. She was fanning herself with her hat.

“Ever heard of Richard Davies?”

“Yeah, rumours mostly.”

“What have you heard?”

“Well, when the Prince Edward opened I heard his name a lot. And he’s always being linked with business types from Detroit. What do you suppose Lesperance wanted with a guy like Davies?”

“I was asking myself the same question. Maybe his horse didn’t come in and he wanted to lodge a complaint.”

“C’mon, Jack, they’ve got lemonade over there.”

Clara was pointing to the concession stands along the back of the deck.

“We’re leaving.”

“But we just got here!”

McCloskey tugged his hat further down over his brow and the two went arm in arm down the stairs.

“Where we going?” asked Clara.

“To find Lesperance. He was at Ojibway last night and he knows something.”

McCloskey stopped a couple of steps from the bottom to take a look over the crowds. Lesperance was nowhere in sight.

“What now?” Clara asked.

“I’ll drop you off at Henry’s and catch Lesperance at home.”

“You at least owe me a drink.”

There were a lot of cars parked along the road now. He manoeuvred out of his space then did a U-turn and took the county road back into the city. Clara slung her arm across the seat behind McCloskey.

“Is anything wrong, Jack?”

“The Lieutenant didn’t kill Billy and pa.”

“Did you ever think he did?”

“Not really, but seeing him like this …”

It got quiet in the car. Clara watched McCloskey’s expression. He had a faraway look in his eyes and he was twisting the steering wheel in his grip. He cruised right through an intersection without slowing down.

“You should have seen him before. He was a force to be reckoned with. I’ll wager he tried to save Billy and Pa.”

Clara put her hand on McCloskey’s thigh. “Slow down, Jack. You’re making me nervous.”

Jack remembered the expression of fear in the Lieutenant’s eyes when he sent him off to Hamilton.

“He knew something was going to happen in the Border Cities, something bad.”

“You’re not going to do anything crazy, are you, Jack?”

“No. I’m through with all that stuff. Trust me.”

“I want to, Jack. I really do.”

It fell quiet in the car again and McCloskey could feel the tension building. There was nothing he could say to Clara right now that wouldn’t sound like so much bullshit.

“If you want I’ll buy you that drink after you check on Henry.”

“Sure,” said Clara. “Whatever.”

She slumped down in her seat. It suddenly occurred to McCloskey why he’d wanted so much to remove Sophie from that scene in Hamilton. It was because he didn’t want her to end up like Clara.