Cold City Streets

by L.H. Thomson

  “And I’ll strenuously deny any such slanderous rumor in court,” Kennedy stated. “I didn’t get to where I am in life by rolling over and taking a beating, Mr. Tate.”

  “Of course, if we do get this investigation reopened and my client gets off the hook, Mr. Kennedy, I’m sure you’re going to have to explain this all to the police,” Jessie said. “Then there’s the matter of the victim’s wife.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re implying.”

  “I’m implying that my investigator has you staying over at the victim’s city apartment multiple times on multiple nights with Deidre Featherstone. Now, you can tell a jury that you were teaching her how to finger-paint, for all I care,” Jess said. “But we both know exactly what conclusion it’ll draw.”

  “Why?” Kennedy said. “Why would you raise this if you don’t think I was responsible for Brian’s death? Just to give the jury another suspect to consider? That seems a little heartless, Ms. Harper.”

  “Mr. Kennedy, if I believed for one second that you really gave a sweet damn about all of those families you ruined, all of those livelihoods you snuffed out, I wouldn’t even consider it. But frankly, if you ended up going down for this, I don’t think too many people would cry for too long.”

  “What do you want, Ms. Harper? Let’s get down to it. What will it take for you to not ruin my relationship with Deidre?”

  “I just want the truth, Mr. Kennedy,” Jessie said. “That’s all this is really about.”

  He took a deep breath then keyed the intercom. “John, take us up Groat and then back along one-oh-two and down to Jasper, so that we can drop our friends off downtown.” He released the button. “The truth is that Brian was cheating on her, for many years, with many different women. When she found out, she was angry and wanted revenge, but she didn’t want to give up the perks of being his wife. So she slept with me.”

  “And you just went along with this?” Cobi said. “Like a dog?”

  Kennedy eyed him stonily, ignoring the dripping contempt; he turned his attention back to Jessie. “It’s only been about six months, and it’s not a serious thing for either of us. It’s just harmless fun, at this point.”

  At this point, maybe. But what about before Brian Featherstone died? Was everyone okay with things then, or did this precipitate his death? Kennedy showed a distinct lack of empathy, Jessie thought. “And what would have happened if he’d have found out, Mr. Kennedy? Maybe he did. Maybe he got angry, and threatened you somehow. Maybe you went out and hired a solution to several problems.”

  “Over some adultery?” He scoffed at the notion. “What era do you think we live in, Ms. Harper? Nobody cares who’s sleeping with whom anymore. Rich, famous people have sex tapes on the internet and there are entire reality shows based around infidelity. You think I’d kill him over that?”

  “No,” she said. “But maybe he’d blackmail you over it. And then you’d have him killed.”

  He smiled. “Oh please, spare me! For every ounce of bad ink he could generate about me, I have ten about him. He knew that. Now, Ms. Harper, I’ve told you the truth. Are you still going to attempt to implicate me?” He keyed the intercom. “John, pull over up here, please.”

  “We’ll have to wait and see,” Jessie said. “So far, Mr. Kennedy, you don’t come across as particularly likeable.”

  “Which doesn’t, of course, make me a murderer.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “What about you, Mr. Tate? Does the knowledge of my marital indiscretions satisfy your curiosity?”

  “Mr. Kennedy,” Cobi said as he opened the door a crack and prepared to get out, “I’m not even remotely curious about you. I know exactly what you are. And if you ever cheated my family like you did all those others, I’d track you down and deal with you myself.”

  32

  It was unseasonably warm again, and they strolled along Jasper Avenue, the neon lights and backlit signs joining the ornamental lamps, the glow fighting back the evening shadows. There were plenty of pedestrians about still, and it took only a ten-minute walk back to the lot and Cobi’s car

  “You think he did it?” Jessie asked.

  “I think he’s capable of it. I think, in the right circumstance, he could even do it himself.”

  “Yeah. High-functioning sociopath,” Jess said. “Not the first I’ve met.”

  “Probably not the first this week,” Cobi said.

  “Scary thought.”

  “Like you said, it’s human nature. One in a hundred, one in a thousand; depends who you ask.”

  “So…”

  “Yeah?”

  “You didn’t really answer the question. Did he do it?”

  “I don’t know, Jess… tell you the truth, I think we’re still missing too many pieces to say. Kennedy could have done it and he might have done it, even over something small. But I don’t get any sense that he’s lying.”

  “What about the wife?”

  “Maybe,” Cobi said. “But where does she make gangster contacts? Through that rent-a-cop at her house? Nah.”

  He looked over at her. She had a pensive air, the weight of the world on her shoulders and her hands pushed deep into her coat pockets. “You okay?”

  “Yeah… it’s just… you know how things build up, the stress of stuff. I have to deal with David Nygaard at some point, and I have to figure a way to connect a suspect to Brian Featherstone’s murder, and I have to figure out how I’m going to be able to pay you an extra five bucks an hour, and there’s my grandmother’s anniversary on Saturday, and…”

  “You have to clear your head sometimes, not let the weight of your responsibilities get you down. My old man taught me that.”

  “You quote him a lot.”

  “Yeah, I guess I do. He said a lot of smart things, you know? He could be a brutal, difficult man, but he wasn’t stupid.”

  “But you still didn’t want to be a cop, like him. Or to stay in Detroit.”

  “It’s complicated,” he said. “I had a chance for a pro career, and we’d had family issues…problems…”

  “But you could have gone back after. You didn’t need to stay here.”

  “Like I said, ex-fiancée and child. She’s from here, and now he is, too. There’s a lot of ex-players who stay up here, and not just for that reason.”

  She got the sense he wasn’t being entirely open, but Jessie let it go. “Is it so different than down south?”

  “Depends how far south you go… but no, it’s not, I guess.”

  “Did you really hate Detroit that much…?”

  He looked taken aback. “Hate Detroit? Where’d you get that idea? I love Detroit. Greatest city in the world, Detroit. At least, it has that potential.”

  “But you’re always talking about how hard it was back there, how dangerous your old neighborhood was…”

  “Sure, but there’s dangerous neighborhoods in Edmonton. I mean, I know it’s a lot worse there, but it’s different. You know how you get multiple generations of one family who are poor, because they face the same social problems…”

  “You realize who you’re talking to? You just described the plight of a lot of my people.”

  “Well, in Detroit, it’s exactly like that, but hundreds of times worse, because for every one Indian… sorry, First Nations person who moved to Edmonton and couldn’t find unskilled work or withstand the social pressures, there were two thousand black folk who moved to Detroit. At one time, my city was eighty percent white and twenty percent black, and had a population of nearly three million. Now it’s eighty percent black and twenty percent white, and it has a population of maybe seven-hundred-and-fifty thousand. Black folk moved into a neighborhood, whites moved out and took the factory jobs with them. It ain’t much more complicated than that. Same in parts of Baltimore, Philly, D.C…. That’s America, I guess.”

  She left it alone for a moment, and they walked in silence. But the question nagged at her. “And your brother dying… did that have anything t
o do with not going back?”

  He looked circumspect, resigned to it, and he nodded gently. “Sure, yeah.” They walked a little further, and she could tell he wanted to get it out, to talk about it. Eventually, he said, “He wasn’t even supposed to be there the day he was shot, you know. He came up to a little house off East Warren that my friend Skinny was using to… well, for business. And he just came up to find me, you know?” He sniffed a little, the cold air loosening sinuses as they walked. “He was always looking out for me, on account of me being smaller. Allan kind of felt bulletproof, I think, like he could cross all of those social boundaries without any consequence, like he could hang out with gangsters and athletes alike.”

  “He was shot by someone you knew?”

  “Nah… not really. More like Skinny’s competition, though they knew him from his reputation as an athlete and student. Everyone in the neighborhood did. After that, things were real difficult between my pops and me until I got into football; even then he didn’t think it was a real future.”

  His troubles with his hometown were becoming clearer. “So… like I said, why do you love it there so much? I mean, I come to work in Boyle McCauley and I love the people there, but there are reasons I choose not to live there and commute a half hour instead. And you don’t exactly appear Motor City bound.”

  He shrugged. “I guess like most people from there, it’s just a thing you understand, because the city has had such greatness. You always feel like the potential is there for it to be great again. I know I believe it. And who knows? Maybe someday my ex will be comfortable with the idea of being down there and let my son see where his roots set down. No… I’d never hate Detroit. It’s a great city.”

  They’d reached the lot. Once again, Jess fought off the urge to ask him if he wanted to go for a drink. Never mix business with pleasure. You know how that’s worked out in the past. Just say goodnight, and we’ll go home and unwind with a nice bottle of burgundy.

  “You done for the night?” she asked. What are you doing?!? Are you insane!? Stop flirting right now, you idiot. “Got any more plans?”

  “Yeah… I need to stop by and see Sarah and Michael, make sure she knows I’m picking him up Saturday.”

  Any passion drained from the moment with liquid efficiency. Jessie smiled politely. “Awesome. Big day?”

  “We’re taking his puppy down to Laurier Park’s huge off-leash area with the snow all cleared out and tramped down. There’s usually twenty or so dogs down there on weekends, even in winter.”

  They climbed into the car and Cobi turned it over, thankful for the warmer weather with no block heater plug available. He followed the road around the legislature building and out onto One Hundred Fifth Street, then pointed the car back towards the clinic.

  33

  “You’re late again,” Sarah said as she opened the door. “I thought you were going to make it over for dinner. Michael was looking forward to telling you about his week in school.”

  Damn it. Didn’t realize how much time had passed. “I’m sorry. I got caught up at work. At my new job.”

  “You quit Buddy?”

  “Uh huh. Got a job at a law office.” It was basically true.

  “As what? You fixing the copy machine or something?” She said it with contempt, like she knew he could never be anything else. But Cobi figured she didn’t really mean it. She’s just tired, that’s all. Tired of me not coming through for her.

  “I’m working as a legal investigator; you know, interviewing folks, gathering information, reading documents.”

  “No way.”

  “For true. Starting at the same money as the bank, but it’ll go up in three months when I’m done my probationary period.”

  Sarah smiled, a genuine, warm smile, something he hadn’t seen in a long time. “Well, no shit,” she said. She noticed him looking past her into the house. “Uh, Michael’s already in bed, so you can’t talk to him now or nothing.” She touched her neck slightly, like she used to do when he flirted with her.

  “Maybe… maybe I could come in? You know, see you for a while.”

  Sarah frowned, her expression changing. “I don’t think so, Cee. I… I just don’t think we should go down that road again, all right? Anyway…” She turned away slightly, as if not able to survey her own damage, “I’ve been seeing someone, so it’s not real appropriate for you to come in.”

  Cobi felt a pain in the center of his stomach, a hard, sore knot. “You’re seeing someone? Damn… Sarah, you know how I still feel about you. Don’t make me keep telling you I love you.”

  “That’s up to you, Cee,” she said. “I can’t control how you feel about stuff. And I got to live my own life, find my own happiness.”

  She looked stern, and he knew the moment had passed, and he wished that he could reach out and hold it, keep it in the present, make it permanent. But it was already gone. “I guess I’ll see you Saturday morning,” he said.

  “Okay. You okay?” she said.

  “Sure,” he said as he turned to leave. He wondered why she asked, whether out of a sense of familiar obligation or just concern for their son. He didn’t think it was possible anymore that Sarah still cared for him.

  Jessie got home to find Sonny and Cher had ripped open a blue recycling bag and spread its contents across the kitchen floor. They looked up from the mess, one black cat and one white, as she entered. Then Sonny meowed to have his chin tickled.

  “You are both so bad,” she said, too tired to actually scold them. “If I had a more tenuous grip on reality, I’d order you both outside to shovel snow for an hour.” She headed for the refrigerator and rescued a bottle of wine from the door shelf. Then she retrieved a corkscrew from an adjacent drawer under the counter, using the point to peel off the top of the neck foil before quickly screwing the device into the cork. The bottle popped open with a familiar tone, and she felt the stress start to recede slightly.

  Her phone buzzed and she fished it out of her purse as she began picking up the recycling. The number came up as blocked, the same way David’s used to. She ignored, let it kick over to voicemail. She retrieved a glass from the upper cabinets and set it on the light grey stone counter. “Not tonight. No more drama tonight.” Jessie poured the glass slowly, watching the thick red-and-cherry tint of the burgundy as it swilled around the circumference of the glass. Her mother was right, she knew. She did drink more than was healthy, usually three or four glasses a night. It’s not like I’m pounding them back at the Commie, Mom, she told herself. It’s not like you and…

  Her father. She hadn’t seen him in four months, going on five. He was usually in southern Alberta, hanging out with his cronies in Calgary and Medicine Hat. Drinking with the British soldiers and flirting with the much younger wives of much tougher guys. She sighed and downed the glass of wine in three swallows, then refilled it. She wondered why she let him bother her so, as if Cliff Harper ever gave a damn about anyone but himself, deep down.

  Her phone buzzed again. The same message, the number blocked. She wondered what David would say to try and defend himself, explain what he’d done to Cobi Tate. Would he lie and suggest Mr. Tate tried to start something? Or would he admit what went down, maybe concede he knows he has a problem, anger issues to deal with?

  “Oh God, why am I worrying about this stuff?” she said. “In vino veritas.” Jessie took another healthy swallow, then carted the glass and bottle over to the sofa and turned on the T.V. Sonny and Cher came over to join her, purring and rubbing their heads against the edges of her crossed feet before jumping up onto the couch.

  Her phone rang again, and this time she retrieved it from her pocket and turned it off completely. “Two can play at being stubborn,” she said. “And three can play at being my next glass of wine.” She downed the last of glass number two.

  There was a knock on her townhouse door, three times, hard and insistent. “What now?”

  The person pounded three more times before she could get there. “Yeah,
yeah, keep your shirt on, geez.” Jessie looked through the peephole. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” she said. Sonny, the black cat, was unsympathetic, sniffing at the newly reconstituted recycling bag.

  She put the chain on before opening the door a crack. “David, you have to go home. It’s nine-twenty at night, and I’ve already told you—”

  “I love you, Jess Harper,” he said.

  He sounds hammered. “You keep saying that, but you won’t leave me alone. If you love someone, you know… set them free and all that garbage. Just… go away, David, okay?”

  “But Jess… I can change.” He stumbled a little as he said it. “I know it. My father… my father is a better man than me.”

  “I know. He’s a wonderful man. Look, David, Cobi told me what happened…”

  He pinched his face, taking on a pained look, leaning over slightly as if struck by sudden stomach cramps. “Ah… why the fuck did he have to tell you about that? Shit … I wasn’t going to do anything to him, I fucking swear, Jess.”

  “You stuck a gun in his face. You stuck a GUN in his face, David. What were you thinking?”

  “I had a couple of drinks…”

  “You’ve had more than a couple tonight. Is this a new thing for you, getting shitfaced and acting like a crazy man?”

  He looked hurt again. “I jus’ love you sooo much,” he whined. Jessie realized he was too drunk to listen to any sort of reason.

  “David, go home, or I’ll have to call your colleagues to come and get you, which they will, rather than have you embarrassing them in the newspaper or something.”

  “Please, Jess, I never meant to be a shit to you…”

  “You cheated on me. David… you’re a mess, okay? You’re drinking your body weight nightly, you’ll sleep with anything in a skirt that bats a lash at you and your anger thing is… well, I don’t even know what that’s about, since you have the nicest family…”