you anything?”
“Let’s get to the point.”
McCloskey swallowed a big piece of his pride and got right to it. “I need your help.”
That seemed to tickle Fields. He let out a snort, the Henry Fields equivalent of a belly laugh. “McCloskey, I only tolerated you and your family because of Clara. Now that Billy is dead, that connection is gone and as far as I’m concerned you’re fair game.”
McCloskey looked at himself in the mirror behind the bar. Part of him was already regretting this. “My pa and Billy were murdered.”
“That’s rich. I made a few telephone calls. There was a fire in the cabin that housed your father’s still. The still exploded, the cabin caught fire, and they were killed trying to save their liquor. End of story.”
“That’s not true, at least not entirely. There were obvious signs of a struggle in the house. They were dragged into the cabin. For all we know they may even have been burned alive.”
“Maybe they had it coming.”
Under normal circumstances McCloskey would have beaten Fields within an inch of his life for a remark like that. He swallowed a bit more of his pride and continued. “If the people who did it think I’m going to take this lying down, they’re wrong.”
McCloskey could sense patrons turning an ear towards the bar. And then the murmuring started. For anyone interested in the social climate in the Border Cities, the British-American was the barometer and right now the barometer was suggesting a storm was on the way.
“Clara said I should cut my losses, but seeing as I’ve got nothing left, I think that puts me at a distinct advantage.”
“I can’t be a party to your vigilantism, McCloskey. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just lock you up and throw away the key.”
McCloskey was getting tired of this dance, but he wasn’t going to let go of Fields until he had what he wanted.
“Listen, Henry, this is bigger than a family of bootleggers operating out of a farmhouse at the edge of town and you know it. If you really want to fight the good fight you’ll forget about chumps like me and start going after the crooked cops, gang leaders, and political bagmen because they’re the ones running this burg, not the mayor, not the chief of police, and not the president of Ford or Walker’s. You talk a good talk, Henry, but they’ve got you right where they want you. Can’t you see that? You’re window dressing, a straight and narrow poster boy for a police force that’s as dirty as any whore on Pitt Street. You’ll live and die in the dead end that they’ve steered you into unless you make your move right now.”
It was Fields’ turn to study his reflection in the mirror. McCloskey finished with a twist.
“The Lieutenant was probably told to make an example of my father and Billy. Wouldn’t you like to take the opportunity of making an example out of him?”
There was a barely perceptible slackening in Henry Fields’ shoulders.
“It’s not like it was before you left, Jack.” And the tone of his voice changed. “The Lieutenant’s boss is working out of the Border Cities now.”
“Then all the more reason to strike.” McCloskey lowered his own voice. “Where are you going to be a month from now, Henry? Walking a beat? And who’s going to watch your back when you’re sent alone into those dark alleys?”
Their eyes met in the mirror behind the bar. McCloskey could tell he had him.
“You’ll leave town when it’s all over?” asked Fields.
McCloskey was prepared to say anything at this point. “You won’t have to tell me twice.”
“I’m not just clearing a path for you to take over the Border Cities?”
“I don’t want the job. I want out and I want my freedom.”
It was Fields’ turn to swallow his pride. “All right,” he said, “what are you looking for from me?”
McCloskey shifted over to the stool next to Fields. “I want to know who was involved. Go nosing around Ojibway; talk to the old man next door — Lesperance. I want to know what the cops know and I want to know where the Lieutenant figures in all of this.”
Fields had conditions.
“Okay, but we don’t meet in person again until this thing gets sorted out. We communicate by telephone — and you don’t call me, I call you.”
Everything was coming together again. There was a purpose to his being here. “Deal.”
Fields stood up and replaced his hat. “This isn’t a deal, McCloskey. I don’t bargain with thugs and bootleggers. If there’s been some wrongdoing here, I intend to get to the bottom of it.”
McCloskey figured that was for the benefit of their audience. He watched Fields pass through the doors of the hotel and then turned around to face the crowd.
“I’ll be in my room if anyone needs me.”
SECOND GEAR
(MONDAY, JULY 24)
— Chapter 13 —
BOXCAR BLUES
Despite the heavy shelling, the line was preparing to advance. The bridge had been blown, barbed wire cut, and an artillery barrage was creeping ahead of them. The plan was to take back the trenches they were forced out of a week ago and hold that position until reinforcements arrived.
The whistle blew.
Jack McCloskey was the first one over the top. He didn’t get far, though: less than five yards out he was knocked down by a series of explosions that seemed more timed and deliberate than the shelling.
Intelligence had failed. The enemy was well equipped and on the move, cutting in from the left and right underneath the barrage and preparing to steamroll across the Allied defences. Thick, acrid smoke blanketed the field. Jack lost sight of Billy.
As the mortar eased up the artillery grew heavier, pulverizing the battlefield, churning up a gruesome sea of rubble, mud, and broken bodies. It became impossible to make heads or tails of anything. When the artillery became sporadic again, Jack could hear the injured soldiers’ shouts for help. He located the trench he had leapt out of, or what was left of it. The walls had collapsed and there was water streaming into it. He saw limbs. Some were still attached. He moved a piece of wood frame and saw an arm. When he pulled it the body followed. It was Billy, semi-conscious and badly bruised.
Jack pulled his brother’s arm across his shoulders and dragged him back through the gunfire to a foxhole behind the line. He made Billy as comfortable as possible and then looked around for help. He saw a paramedic wasting time trying to revive something that looked like it should have been hanging from a meat hook in a butcher shop. Jack gave a shout and waved him over. While the medic tended to Billy, Jack tried to catch his breath.
His moment’s peace was shattered by an unearthly cry. He peaked
