The Main

Canducci dabs at his eyes once more, then folds his mauve handkerchief carefully into his breast pocket and pats it into place. “It’s a crying goddamned shame, you know that?”

“What is?”

“That way this kid gets me into trouble. That’s what you get for trying to help a relative.”

After LaPointe and Guttma

They are the only customers in the A-One Café. After serving them the one-plate lunch, the old Chinese has returned to his station by the window where, his eyes empty, he looks out on the sooty brick warehouses across the street.

“Well?” LaPointe asks. “How do you like it?”

Guttma

“I don’t think it has a name.”

“I’m not surprised.”

There is a certain pride in the Lieutenant’s voice when he says, “It’s the worst food in Montreal, maybe in all of Canada. That’s why you can always come here to talk. There’s never anyone else here to disturb you.”

“Hm-m!” Guttma

During the meal, LaPointe has filled him in on what he learned from Candy Al, together with a description of the operation known as laundering.

“And you think this Canducci might have killed Green, or had him killed?”

“It’s possible.”

Guttma

Is she a viable? Precisely the kind of space-age jargon that LaPointe detests. But he answers. “I suppose. She had reason, and opportunity. And she’s capable of it.”

“What does that give us now? Four possibles?”

“Don’t forget your Mr. W–. You came close to wringing a confession out of him.”

Guttma

LaPointe chuckles. “I’m not ragging you, kid.”

“Oh? Is that so, sir?”

“No, you’re thinking all right. You’re thinking like a good cop. But don’t forget that this Green was a turd. Just about everybody he touched would have some reason for wanting him dead. It’s not all that surprising that we find a suspect behind every door. But pretty soon it will be over.”

“Over? In what way over?”

“The leads are starting to thin out. The talk with Canducci didn’t turn another name or address.”

“The leads could be thi

“I haven’t passed anybody by yet. And there’s still the possibility that Carrot will come up with a name or two, maybe a bar he used to go to.”

“Carrot?”

“The lesbian.”

“But she’s a suspect herself.”

“All the more reason for her to help us… if she’s i

“And you don’t particularly care?”

“Not particularly. Not now that we know the sort of kid the victim was.”

Guttma

“I know you can’t But I’ve got other things to do besides chase around after shadows. I’ve got the whole neighborhood to look after.”

“Tell me something, Lieutenant. If this Green were a nice kid, say a kid who grew up on the Main, wouldn’t you try harder?”

“Probably. But a case like this is hard to sort out. When you’re tracking a kid like this Green, you meet nothing but dirty types. Almost everyone you meet is guilty. The question is, what are they guilty of?”

“Guilty until proven i

“Lawyers being what they are, probably guilty even then.”

“I hope I never think like that”

“Stay on the street for a few years. You will. By the way, you didn’t do too badly back in Canducci’s bar. We walked in without a warrant, slapped people around, and you handled yourself like a cop. What happened to all this business about civil rights and going by the book?”

Guttma

When he looks up, Guttma

“I was just thinking about your Mr. W–.”

“Honest to God, I’d give a lot if you’d get off that, sir.”

“No, I wasn’t going to rag you. It just occurred to me that if Mr. W–ever did kill somebody, all he’d have to do would be to wait until it got into the papers, then come to us with a confession involving Jewish plots and Cream of Wheat We’d toss him right out”

“That’s a comforting thought.”

“Oh. By the way, didn’t you say something the other night about playing pinochle?”

“Sir?”

“Didn’t you tell me you used to play pinochle with your grandfather?”

“Ah… yes, sir.”

“Want to play tonight?”

“Pinochle?”

“That’s what we’re talking about.”

“Wait a minute. I’m sorry, but this just came out of nowhere, sir. You’re asking me to play pinochle with you tonight?”

“With me and a couple of friends. The man who usually plays with us is sick. And cutthroat isn’t much fun.”

Guttma

“Yes, sir. I’d like to play. But it’s been a while, you know.”

“Don’t worry about it. Nothing but three old farts. But just in case you’re a little rusty, I’ll arrange for you to be partners with a very gentle and understanding man. A man named David Mogolevski.”

11

The evening of pinochle has gone well—for David.

As usual he dominated play, and as usual he overbid his hand, but the luck of the cards allowed Guttma

After a particularly good—and lucky—hand, David asked the young man, “Tell me, have you ever thought of becoming a priest?”

Guttma

“That’s good. It would ruin your game.”

On one occasion, when not even luck was enough to save David from his wild overbidding, he treated Guttma

But David’s thick skin is impervious to such attacks. He thrust out his lower lip and nodded absently, accepting that as an accurate enough description of his character.