LITMIR.BIZ

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we just got here!”

      McCloskey tugged his hat further down over his brow and the two went arm in arm down the stairs.

      “Where we going?” asked Clara.

      “To find Lesperance. He was at Ojibway last night and he knows something.”

      McCloskey stopped a couple of steps from the bottom to take a look over the crowds. Lesperance was nowhere in sight.

      “What now?” Clara asked.

      “I’ll drop you off at Henry’s and catch Lesperance at home.”

      “You at least owe me a drink.”

      There were a lot of cars parked along the road now. He manoeuvred out of his space then did a U-turn and took the county road back into the city. Clara slung her arm across the seat behind McCloskey.

      “Is anything wrong, Jack?”

      “The Lieutenant didn’t kill Billy and pa.”

      “Did you ever think he did?”

      “Not really, but seeing him like this …”

      It got quiet in the car. Clara watched McCloskey’s expression. He had a faraway look in his eyes and he was twisting the steering wheel in his grip. He cruised right through an intersection without slowing down.

      “You should have seen him before. He was a force to be reckoned with. I’ll wager he tried to save Billy and Pa.”

      Clara put her hand on McCloskey’s thigh. “Slow down, Jack. You’re making me nervous.”

      Jack remembered the expression of fear in the Lieutenant’s eyes when he sent him off to Hamilton.

      “He knew something was going to happen in the Border Cities, something bad.”

      “You’re not going to do anything crazy, are you, Jack?”

      “No. I’m through with all that stuff. Trust me.”

      “I want to, Jack. I really do.”

      It fell quiet in the car again and McCloskey could feel the tension building. There was nothing he could say to Clara right now that wouldn’t sound like so much bullshit.

      “If you want I’ll buy you that drink after you check on Henry.”

      “Sure,” said Clara. “Whatever.”

      She slumped down in her seat. It suddenly occurred to McCloskey why he’d wanted so much to remove Sophie from that scene in Hamilton. It was because he didn’t want her to end up like Clara.

      — Chapter 22 —

      FLAPPERS

      Hazel Short was wearing a red waist, black shirt, and yellow stockings. She thought people were staring at her because her outfit was daring and modern. Actually, they were staring because she looked like she was wrapped in the German flag. Her sister Lillian was wearing the same kind of attire but in a different colour scheme: white, pink, and brown. With her ample proportions she resembled a scoop of Neapolitan ice cream.

      Vera Maude was sitting across from her cousins in a booth at Lanspeary’s. They had caught Vera Maude as she was heading out the door for her afternoon break and asked if she wanted to go for a soda. Vera Maude was suspicious but went along anyway.

      Daughters don’t always like to open up to their fathers, even in these modern times, so Robert Maguire had asked his sister to ask Vera Maude out for lunch so they might find out why she’d been acting so peculiar lately. Aunt Gertie said the job was better suited to her daughters. She said she didn’t understand young people today. In her words, they were “an altogether different animal.”

      By the time they were finished their first Vernor’s, Hazel and Lillian had exhausted their favorite subjects — boys, clothes, movie stars, dance music — and were starting to make attempts at a heart-to-heart. This took Vera Maude by surprise; it wasn’t like Hazel and Lillian at all. But rather than fight it, she thought she’d take advantage of the opportunity to pick their brains about a few things.

      The first thing she had to do was gain control of the conversation. She started with flattery.

      “You’re liberated, women of the world....”

      And finished with intrigue.

      “…can I tell you something in confidence?”

      And when she knew she had them she outlined the scenario. It had to do with a good-looking bootlegger, his curious adventures, and whether or not to get involved.

      Hazel jumped in first. “You mean romantically?”

      “Well, no. I mean —”

      “You thinking of ratting him out, then?” said Lillian.

      “No,” said Vera Maude, “of course not.”

      The sisters were confused. Then a dim light went on in Hazel’s head.

      “Aah — you want in!” she said.

      “Whisky, right?” asked Lillian.

      “I can’t blame you.”

      “And if there’s a cutie in the mix, all the better.”

      Whoa, thought Vera Maude, shallow waters. Maybe try a different tack. She started working up the courage to ask.

      “Tell me, girls,” she said, “are you both happy?”

      The sisters looked at each other. This seemed to them like a stupid question.

      “Well … of course,” Lillian chimed. “Sure.”

      Vera Maude continued to struggle to find the words.

      “So much has changed, you know, since we were kids. It’s funny, I mean, sometimes I feel overwhelmed at all the possibilities and other times I ask myself is this it? Is this all there is? War is over. Women get the vote. We all move out of the house, go to business college, and get jobs. I know it’s not perfect but compared to what our mothers had, well, it’s pretty good, isn’t it?”

      What she wanted was someone to tell her that yes, she should be happy; that she was lucky to be a young person in this day and age, and that everything was going to be all right.

      “Yeah, sure, Maudie,” said Hazel.

      She was just thinking out loud, throwing these words out, feeling them roll off her tongue, seeing what kind of reaction they got. She decided to go for broke.

      “Then how come I feel so … empty?”

      Now there was a question. Hazel had the answer.

      “Maudie, honey, you need a man.”

      Her sister agreed. “A man’ll cure what ails you,” said Lillian.

      “Yeah, that’s all it is,” said Hazel, looking as if she had just solved the mystery of Vera Maude Maguire.

      No one could understand why Vera Maude didn’t have a steady boyfriend. Aunt Gertie said she was too wild and unrefined. Hazel said Vera Maude was too smart for her own good. Her sister Lillian agreed. “Boys,” she said, “don’t go for those intellectual types. I should know.”

      Vera Maude still thought of herself as that gangly, awkward schoolgirl holed up in her bedroom with her books and daydreams, wondering when adulthood, and freedom, would come. And as for being smart, she thought the smart folks were the ones travelling the world, writing books, starting revolutions, and challenging our perceptions through art. They weren’t working as assistant librarians in factory towns.

      “Look at us,” said Hazel.

      “We’ve each got a steady boyfriend,” said Lillian. “We go dancing and to the track, to clubs in Detroit, speakeasies....”

      “All

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