Border City Blues 2-Book Bundle. Michael Januska

to the floor. Henry pulled the pillow off his face, gasping for air.

      Clara cursed McCloskey out loud. She knew he had to have something to do with all of this, and if she never saw him again it would be too soon.

      Over at the Border Cities Star, the final edition was being proofed. There was a new headline: WELLINGTON’S DEFEAT. All told, three men died at the shootout at the Elliott — one constable, a motorcycle cop, and some nameless gangland thug. The paper called it “Wellington’s Defeat” because the police had originally gone to the Wellington Hotel at the corner of Elliott and Wellington instead of the Elliott Hotel a few blocks south on Wellington. That mix-up gave most of the gang time to escape or at least prepare for a confrontation with police. No one knew how it happened. There was talk of an investigation.

      — Chapter 18 —

      THE METROPOLE

      The staff was testy. The air was stifling. Her new shoes were attempting to assassinate her feet from blind corners. Vera Maude moved slowly from room to room, assuming up discarded magazines and shelving abandoned books. The day couldn’t end soon enough for her.

      And the rumours were piling up about the shootout this morning, blocking her path to the truth. What she needed was facts. Her problem was she didn’t know where to look for them. There was no card catalogue indexing clues, no place to look up bootleggers: see Braverman. When Daphne came back it was Vera Maude’s turn for lunch.

      “Tag — you’re it.”

      “Abyssinia.”

      Vera Maude passed through the outer doors of the library and walked straight into a wall of hot, humid air. There was some relief as she made her way across the lawn, but when she reached the sidewalk she felt like she was standing on a hot plate. Tonight she would say a little prayer to her gods again for rain.

      She stopped to wriggle her sunglasses out of her purse. They were the best investment she ever made: thirty-five cents, and she could give any guy the once-over without looking like she was coming on to him.

      The streets were filling up with the usual lunchtime cast of characters: professionals from London Street; students and instructors from the School of Business; stenographers, secretaries, and the grand old ladies from west of the Avenue that took their lunch at the Prince Edward Hotel. There were dark suits with long faces going in and out of the Licence Inspector’s office, the crusader’s chief bureaucrat and red tape dispenser.

      In quiet moments did he reflect on the futility of his work? Or was he all about the revenue from the fines?

      Vera Maude briefly toyed with the idea of taking a detour around the Curtis offices and accidentally running into Braverman.

      And then what? Ask him for directions? Tell him what I really think about his tie?

      With each step Vera Maude became more irritated by the layers of clothing that clung to her body. Her cami-knickers and stockings were starting to feel like a wool sweater and a pair of hip-waders.

      She cut over to Ferry and continued north to Pitt. She thought of this section of downtown as the Wrench Quarter, since it was home to Bowman Auto Supplies, Drouillard Gasoline, Riverdale Tire, Ferry Car Storage, Thompson Auto, just to name a few, and the Industrial Café where the motorheads that worked these joints fuelled up every morning. Vera Maude often ate lunch across the street at the Metropole. It was one of those new self-serve lunch bars that got its start catering to moviegoers.

      It was a long, narrow space with an open kitchen in the back corner. The self-serve counter ran along the wall away from the kitchen to the cashier at the front. Tables covered in red and white gingham and chairs with curved cane backs were arranged about the floor. The walls were decorated with scenes from the great European cities: the grand architecture of London, the boulevards of Paris, and the ruins of ancient Rome. These images contrasted sharply with the fishing and hunting postcards from Niagara Falls, Grand Rapids, and Thunder Bay that adorned the cash register. Vera Maude picked up a cheese sandwich and poured herself some lemonade. She found a table near the front window.