Читать книгу The Klondike Mysteries 4-Book Bundle - Vicki Delany - Страница 31

“What are you doing here at this time of night, son?”

Angus almost leapt out of his skin as the deep voice sounded in his ear. The other boys scurried off into the shadows behind the buildings.

It was after midnight, but in Dawson in June, still bright enough to read by.

“Nothing, Constable Sterling, sir. Nothing. Hunting rats, that’s all.”

In the shadows, one of the boys swore as his shin made contact with a piece of rough lumber. His friends whispered hushes were almost as loud as a steamship whistle when it caught its first sight of town.

“Rats, eh? Mighty big rats around tonight. Your mother know you’re out?”

“She doesn’t mind, sir. She says it’s fine.”

“Angus.”

“Sorry, sir. No, she thinks I’m at home. You won’t tell her, will you?”

“Come on, I’ll walk you home. Those rats had better be off home too.” More scurries in the dark. “And no, I won’t tell your mother. She has enough on her mind what with worrying about the Savoy and the trouble there yesterday.”

“That death, Mr. Ireland, it won’t hurt my ma, will it?”

“It might, Angus, it might. Murder has a nasty way of touching everyone it comes into contact with. Makes men mistrust each other. Everyone wants to cast blame, to throw suspicion away from himself. Even the innocent try to hide. It’s a nasty business.”

“But my ma didn’t have nothing to do with it. She didn’t even know this Ireland fellow.”

“Sometimes that scarcely seems to matter. Watch it!” Sterling grabbed Angus by the arm and pulled him out of the way as a man, stinking of weeks on the creeks and cheap drink, flew around the corner. A screaming whore and her red-faced pimp followed him. At the sight of the uniformed Mountie, all three settled into a somnolent stroll.

“Evening, Constable. Nice night, ain’t it?” The pimp, a sallow-faced fellow, spoke through a mouthful of rotten teeth.

“Hold up there, you,” Sterling called. “Do you owe this lady something?”

“No,” the drunk mumbled.

The woman winked at Angus. She wore a lot of paint on her face, and her skirt was hitched into her belt, making it too short to be decent. Once-white bloomers peeked out from under the skirt. Suddenly Angus felt as if he had a raging fever. Sweat dripped down the back of his shirt and an uncomfortable, but not entirely unpleasant, feeling stirred between his legs.

“Then we’ll have to take it to the Fort,” Sterling said. “Come on, all of you.”

“All right.” The man fumbled in his pockets. “Ain’t worth two bits, that lump of lard.” He tossed a tiny nugget into the mud.

The woman spat. “Couldn’t get it up with block and tackle, he couldn’t. I ain’t got all night to watch him play with it.”

“Watch your mouth, Iris.”

The pimp scrambled through the mud in pursuit of the gold. “Don’t you come around here again,” he said to the drunk, who sprinted away.

“Get back to work.” The pimp raised his fist to the woman, but Sterling warned him off with a growl. She ducked her head and disappeared into the shadows.

“Why do they do it, Constable?” Angus asked when they were alone again.

“Do what, son?”

“Those women. Why do they do what men like that tell them? Why don’t they say no?”

“Lots of women aren’t like your mother, Angus. They don’t know how to get by on their own. Other than that, I can’t say.”

“There are some things I don’t want to ask my ma about any more.”

“I can understand. Remember this, when you’re older and you start thinking about women, you don’t want to do anything that’d make your mother ashamed of you, if she hears about it. Not that you have to tell her everything, mind.”

“Yes, sir.” Angus didn’t really know what Sterling was talking about. But the constable’s cheeks were turning red, and Angus decided it would be best not to ask any more questions.

No doubt everything would be perfectly clear as soon as he was a man.

They walked in companionable silence, enjoying the warm air of the strange northern half-night. Past midnight, yet the streets were a jostling mass of men. Most were heading towards the dance halls or staggering away, but there were a good number of men with not enough money left in their pockets for either another drink or a place to spend the night. They wandered through town, waiting for morning to catch the first boat out of town or join the next group of workers heading to the gold fields. A few women dotted the crowd, the majority not at all respectable. Several NWMP officers exchanged greetings with Sterling and Angus.

“How was the day’s work?” Sterling asked.

“Awful. Just awful. I’d sooner die than spend my life working in a store like Mr. Mann does.”

Sterling laughed. “Man’s gotta do what he can to get by.”

“Well, I won’t!”

“If you’re lucky, son, you may not have to. But don’t look down on men who…”

“Sterling. I need to talk to you.” Graham Donohue stepped out from the doorway of a tiny cigar store. A lamp burned inside, and a pretty young woman in a dress cut daringly low came to the door to see what was going on.

“What are you doing, Donohue, hiding in the shadows?”

“Keep your voice down. Come over here.” Donohue beckoned.

Sterling walked over. Angus tagged along behind. “Isn’t this a bit melodramatic, Donohue, even for you?” the Mountie said.

“I have to talk to you. Is that Angus MacGillivray behind you?”

“Yes, sir. It’s me.”

“If you have something to say about Ireland, we’d better find Inspector McKnight,” Sterling said.

“No! You have to listen to me. Angus, go home. This is men’s business.”

Angus looked at Sterling. The constable nodded. “Get off home, son. Sounds like this is a police matter.”

“Yes, sir.”

The men moved around the side of the building. The woman standing at the entrance to the store shrugged and went inside. Angus had never had reason to go into a cigar store. But now that he was making some money working for Mr. Mann, it would be nice to get a present for Ray or Constable Sterling if he could find out when their birthdays were. He followed the woman.

She raised one eyebrow. “You’re a young one. Looking for something special?” She ran her tongue across her lips, and Angus felt himself flushing.

He walked to the side of the store, very uncomfortable but trying to look as if he were cool and casual and looking for something to buy.

Men’s voices came through the window.

“What are you up to, Donohue? You put yourself right in the picture. I was surprised the inspector didn’t arrest you on the spot. Can’t remember what you were doing yesterday afternoon!”

“You have to believe me. She was standing there listening to every word. What could I say?”

“Who was standing where?”

Angus started to move away from the window. He didn’t like the way the woman’s cat-like eyes watched him. And from what he could see of her merchandise, there wasn’t anything he’d be interested in buying. Unless the good stuff was kept behind the curtain that blocked off half of the room. But one word caught his attention.

“Fiona. Why the hell did McKnight let her stay?”

“It was her office.”

“Do you let women listen in on all your interrogations? Not much of a police force, if you ask me.”

“That was hardly an interrogation. More like a friendly chat. If you have something to say, Donohue, say it. Otherwise you’re wasting my time.”

“I couldn’t tell you where I was yesterday afternoon, not in front of her.”

“Donohue,” Sterling said in a low, warning voice.

“I spent Sunday afternoon with Cracking Kate.”

“What!”

“You heard me. Cracking Kate. In her place. I got there about eleven. I…uh…fell asleep. Woke up around three. Then I…uh…left around four.”

Angus didn’t know anyone named Kate. Seemed strange that Mr. Donohue would spend the afternoon sleeping in a woman’s rooms. In Toronto or Vancouver, her reputation would have been ruined permanently. But things were different in Dawson. He leaned closer to the window.

“You idiot. You’re telling me you frequented Cracking Kate’s crib. She’s one of Joey LeGrand’s whores. Are you a fool?”

“It’s none of your business what I do, Sterling. I’m telling you now ’cause I could hardly say that in front of Fiona, could I?”

The cigar-store woman also edged closer to the window. If her ears could have perked up, like a dog’s, they would have. She saw Angus watching her and touched her index finger to her painted lips.

Sterling’s laugh was mean, ugly, the like of which Angus had never heard from the Mountie before. “You’re right about that. Fiona finds out you’re putting money into Joey LeGrand’s pockets, you’ll be lucky to leave town with your scalp, never mind other more private body parts. You fool.

I’ve half a mind to tell Fiona myself: Joey’s women have got to be the worst-treated whores in Dawson. If you don’t have the pox, you will soon.”

“I don’t need your approval, Sterling,” Donohue growled. “I’m telling you where I was on Sunday between the hours of noon and three. Like your inspector asked.”

“Someone has to talk to Kate.”

“She’ll remember me. Isn’t every man pays for three hours of sleep time. You won’t tell Fiona? This is police business only?”

“I won’t tell Fiona. But I have to tell Inspector McKnight. What he does with the information is out of my hands.”

“Look, Sterling, it was the first time I’d visited her. I had a rough couple of days. Seeing Ireland…”

“Save it for your priest.”

The woman had wiggled her slender body beside Angus, so that both of them were pressed up against the wall. She snorted.

“Shush,” Angus whispered.

“Angus, where are you?” Sterling yelled. He ran into the cigar store as Angus and the woman stumbled all over themselves to reach the centre of the room. Angus admired the merchandise. The woman wiped a speck of dust off the counter top.

“What are you doing here?” Sterling shouted.

“Looking for a gift, sir. For Mr. Walker.”

Sterling grabbed Angus by the arm and almost jerked him off his feet. “I catch you in a place like this again, I’ll have your hide, boy.”

He looked at the woman. She placed the countertop between them. Behind the rouged cheeks, her face had faded to a pasty white.

“You allow this boy, or any other underage lad, across the step again, I’ll have you on charges for corrupting the morals of a minor. Do you hear me, Greta!”

“Yes, sir, Constable Sterling, sir. I weren’t doin’ nothing. He wandered in all on his own. Me and the boy, we was lookin’ at the cigars. Tha’s all.”

“So help me, Greta…”

“I wanted to buy something for Ray, really,” Angus wailed. He had no idea why Sterling was mad at poor Greta. She was just trying to make a living selling cigars.

“Get outside, Angus,” Sterling shouted.

Angus ran. Clearly there was more happening in Greta’s store than the selling of cigars, but right now Angus had more important things to think about: Graham Donohue. His mother’s admirer had visited a Paradise Alley whore?

Sterling caught up with him halfway down the street. “My conversation with Donohue is absolutely none of your business, Angus.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t know how much you overheard, but you won’t repeat a single word to anyone, do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That was an official police conversation, Angus. Not to be repeated to anyone else. Not even your mother. Particularly not your mother.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I understand.” “I doubt that you do. But, please, don’t go into that store again. You want to get a present for Walker, I’ll take you shopping, how’s that?”

“Fine, sir.”

“Go home, Angus. You have to work at the store tomorrow, and I’ll be on my way to the Creeks. Waste of bloody time.”

“The Creeks? What are you going there for, sir?”

“Police business, Angus. I’ll be away for a couple of days. I’ll tell you about it when I get back. Now get off home.”

“Good night, sir.”

“Good night, son.”

Angus walked to Mrs. Mann’s boarding house deep in thought. Graham Donohue, his mother’s friend, paid money to a whore. And to make matters worse, if that were possible, to one of Joey LeGrand’s whores. Angus’s mother hated Joey, although he didn’t really understand why. There were plenty of whores in Dawson; you couldn’t be a boy running through the streets without knowing that. One of his friends, Billy Rodgers, bragged to all the boys that he’d had a whore. For free, Billy said, “’cause she’d wanted young meat for a change.” Billy’d puffed up his chest and strutted about like a peacock in the London zoo, and Angus hadn’t believed a word of it.

But what was going on in the cigar store, anyway, that had made Constable Sterling so mad? There hadn’t been many cigars for sale, and the few there looked to be of poor quality. The woman minding the store had been wearing a lot of rouge, and when she’d looked at Angus she had made him very, very uncomfortable.

But then again, lately, a great many women made Angus MacGillivray uncomfortable.

He’d always liked the company of women; women were nicer to be around than men and boys. Some men didn’t like women much. They called them bad names, and laughed at them, and sometimes even hurt them. But not men like Constable Sterling and Ray Walker and, he had thought, Graham Donohue.

Sometimes, Angus wondered if Mr. Donohue would ask his mother to marry him. Maybe he’d take them to live in America. Angus didn’t know what he thought about that. He loved Dawson, untamed, unpredictable; there probably wasn’t another town in the world where boys his age were as free to run as wild as they pleased. All of his life it had been Angus and his mother, only them, together. He hadn’t been entirely sure how he felt about the idea of having Graham Donohue as his father. But now he knew he didn’t want that to happen. It was late, and he was tired from working in the store, and sore from his boxing lesson, and his head hurt from thinking too much.

He decided to forget about it for now—he’d figure everything out someday.