LITMIR.BIZ

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welcome, ‘I’m Charlie,’” she says, and then turns to busy herself with straightening things on the counter behind her.

      Seated at a table, Levesque proceeds to pour half a pound of sugar into his own coffee, stirring and stirring. McKelvey is reminded of someone mixing cement. He takes a pull on his coffee and is relieved to discover it is not as bad as the bowel-blitzing sludge the old-timers are swilling down at the Station. It’s a wonder they’re still alive, though he supposes what hasn’t killed them has in fact made them stronger.

      Levesque noisily slurps a taste of his coffee and, satisfied with his chemistry, he sits back and clasps his hands. McKelvey notices a Mason’s ring. Levesque says, “So then, friend, what brings you to the whirling metropolis of Ste. Bernadette?”

      Levesque is a squat man, shaped like a block, and he is unable to accept the fact of his balding. The long strands of brown-grey hair that remain have been swirled in a loop in the centre of his head, likely held there by a combination of sheer determination and hairspray. McKelvey notices everything — clothes, posture, eyes, gestures — the smallest indicators that for years were his stock and trade as a cop on the beat in Toronto, in fraud investigations, and finally on the Hold-Up Squad. He sees Levesque now, sitting across from him with a wide grin, his sports coat too tight and the bad comb-over, and he is reminded of a case he once worked when he was on the Fraud Squad. A pyramid scheme of sorts, worth about a million all told, and it turned out the mastermind behind the whole operation was an unemployed shoe salesman — and Levesque reminds him of everything about the perp.

      “It’s been a long time since I was back home,” McKelvey says. He glances over at the counter and he catches Peggy’s eye. He gives a small smile.

      “You were born and raised here? I didn’t know that. Well, welcome home, Charlie. I bet the place has changed a lot.”

      “You could say that.”

      “Sure as hell has changed in the four years since I moved here. Came through town on my way out east from Kenora. I was running a business up there, had the rights to a process whereby you remove this substance from pulp, you know, from the mills, this substance with a name I can’t even pronounce — placto-u-nameen something — about fourteen consonants in it and sixteen chemistry elements. Anyway, it’s used in the production of industrial-grade adhesives. We never got off the ground because of the goddamned banks and the assbackward government in this country, but …”

      McKelvey watches the man and notices the exact spot where he loses himself, his words simply evaporate before him. Rather than jump in to pull Levesque from the strange tangent, he sips his coffee and waits. He has nowhere to be, no plans.

      “Anyhoo,” Levesque says, drawing back. “Stopped for a few days in Ste. Bernadette and bingo, four years later I own half the town.”

      “Duncan at the hotel was mentioning something about that. You want to open a casino resort?”

      Levesque laughs again, and again it is too loud in the small coffee shop. Like someone trying too hard at a party to laugh at all of the host’s jokes.

      “Oh, I’ve got plans, you could say that. Yes, sir, I’ve got plans. But we’ll have time for all of that, my friend. Right now let’s talk about how I can help you. You’re looking for a short-term rental, is that right? Something maybe semi-furnished?”

      McKelvey sits back and exhales a long breath. What he is looking for he can’t quite say. Short-term, long-term, a parade, a trip to the moon, a little peace and quiet. His eyes move to the front window, the view of Main Street. A few cars roll slowly by. No pedestrian traffic. He misses Front Street with its shops and restaurants, the grocery store open twenty-four hours, the swirl and smells of the St. Lawrence Market with its hanging meats and strange slippery seafood. He misses Garrity’s Pub just below his condo, the way his whole mood would change when he crossed the threshold. He is suddenly overwhelmed with the sense that he has been foolish, both for coming all the way up here with no real purpose, but also for trusting this used car salesman to look after his primary need at this point in time, which happens to be shelter.

      “Duncan mentioned my old house might be available,” McKelvey says.

      “Where did you live?”

      “20 King Street.”

      Levesque’s eyes brighten, and McKelvey can practically see the dollar signs turning like lemons and crowns rolling on a slot machine.

      “It’s your lucky day, Charlie,” Levesque says. And he smiles.

      Levesque’s car is a 1995 black Cadillac sedan, something with a lot of miles on it, but McKelvey figures that looking out at the hood ornament makes the man feel as though he has somehow arrived. They slip inside the vehicle and Levesque turns the key. It takes a moment to catch, the teeth in the starter grinding against bone, and then the car fills with a booming voice from some self-help tape.

      “True leaders wake up every day and they ask themselves this one question —”

      Levesque reaches out and switches the volume off. He flips the sun visor, grabs a package of cigarettes, and pops one in his mouth.

      “Don’t mind if I smoke there, Charlie?”

      “It’s your car,” McKelvey says. “I smoked on and off for forty years.”

      And it is hard to believe, hearing himself admit this out loud. For close to four decades he stuck cylinders of nicotine and tobacco into his yap. This would be twice as long as his son lived on this planet. Life is not fair. Gavin would be twenty-two this year. Probably finishing college. And here he is, old and skinny, sitting in a pimp’s car beside some shoe salesman sucking on a goddamned cigarette. He wants a pain pill. Something to close around him like a glove.

      “What was the longest you stayed off them?” Levesque hits the button to roll his window down a few inches.

      “Six, seven years one time,” McKelvey says. “When my son was born, both my wife and I quit. I guess I quit with her just to be in solidarity. She stayed off them. But you know, eventually you start sneaking your way back.”

      “I can’t quit them. I’ve accepted my failings in that area, you know. I’m going to smoke. I’m a smoker. Probably kill me one day, but …”

      Levesque sucks at the cigarette. It is a Player’s Light Regular. McKelvey’s old brand. The sailor on the cover with his stoic face …

      “I’d take one, actually,” McKelvey hears himself say. And he senses within himself this mechanism at play — if it had a sound, it would be a click. Something he attempted but failed to properly convey to his therapist, the one to whom he was referred by his family doctor. Dr. Shannon saying he should see a therapist a couple of times a week, keep a journal of his “feelings” — anything and everything, just to write it out. The “mental stuff,” Shannon explained, being just as important as the “medical stuff” during cancer treatment. The thing is, McKelvey wants to know why he should care. As though keeping a journal or discussing his fears — or sparing himself from the ravages of tobacco, for that matter — will be the tipping point in his so-called “breakthrough.” There is no trick to this; it is simply one foot in front of the other. Whatever waits for him up ahead has been waiting there all the days of his life.

      “Oh, I don’t know, friend.” Levesque laughs, and this time it comes across as sincere, a chuckle between friends. “I don’t want to be aiding and abetting a recovered addict. But you’re a grown man, I suppose. Fire away.”

      He hands the pack over. McKelvey lights one. His first in ninety days. The nicotine rushes to his head and he feels nauseous, dizzy. Stoned, perhaps? Yes, that’s it. The power of this drug is revealed in its true light when you have spent some time away from it. He enjoys the rush, the buzz. As always, it simply feels good to feel different. And then, like an alarm sounding his guilt, the cellphone he has shoved in his jacket pocket goes off. He fumbles, gets it free, and looks at it while it continues to ring.

      “I think you have

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