Don Gutteridge - Desperate Acts

“But, luv, I’d already given that slimy snakefair warnin’ – ”

“Have you forgot it’s me that gives out thewarnings in this establishment?” Gillian said in a way that wasitself a kind of warning.

Tobias Budge’s thick brows arched upward asif they’d been poked with a pitchfork. For a second somethingrebellious smouldered in the pits of his eyes, but it was promptlyextinguished by the hair-trigger smile he routinely manufacturedfor his customers, which he now turned fully upon them. “I seem tohave frightened the ladies,” he grinned. “And all that excitementmust’ve made you fellas thirsty. Who’s fer a flagon of ale – on thehouse?”

The roar of approval from his clienteledrowned out the rebuke that his wife hurled his way, and, momentslater, Etta, Gillian and Brodie found themselves swept back towardsthe stairwell as the crush of parched sailors and their companionspushed up against the bar in quest of free beer.

“Are you up to looking after us tonight?”Brodie asked Etta above the din. “You’ve had quite a shock.”

“I’m fine, Mr. Langford,” the girl said,glancing sideways at Gillian with a slight tremble of her lowerlip. “Mr. Budge always helps me out.” She peered hopefully over atthe hubbub around the bar, but as big and burly as the barkeep was,he could not be seen.

“ I’ll be assisting you tonight, Ettadear,” Gillian said in a voice that managed to be both soothing andjust a touch menacing. “And you, young sir, should be getting up toyour meeting. I can hear Sir Peregrine’s foghorn already.”

“Yes. Thank you. You’re right,” Brodie said,momentarily nonplussed. He bowed to the women, as he had seen Marcdo so many times, then turned and entered the nearby stairwell. Hepaused on the third step to glance back. Etta wasn’t staring afterhim. She was looking towards the bar.

***

By the time Albert Duggan reached the corner ofPeter and Wellington, he was whistling. He had turned anear-disaster and lethal humiliation back there into somethingapproaching a triumph. But he was not surprised. He had always hadboundless faith in his own abilities, though a callous world hadnot yet seen fit to crown his efforts with the success theydeserved. Not, that is, until the past few weeks. Despite Budge’soutrage and the girl’s reluctance, he had found out what he neededto know. And Budge would soon be sorry – though he would have to bevery careful with that one.

Ah, life was good. And sure to getbetter.

Constable Horatio Cobb sauntered along WellingtonStreet with the ease of a man at home in his element. For almostfive years now he had patrolled the streets of his town withdiligence and dedication (in his own modest assessment). He haddispensed a necessarily rough justice without fear or favour,keeping at first the King’s, and then the Queen’s, peace. He hadweathered dozens of tavern brawls, outmuscled a hundred drunks,survived the people’s revolt intact, and had materially assistedMarc Edwards (or the major, as he affectionately called him) infive murder investigations. He had kept his nose (a handsome,purplish projectile tipped with a decorative wart) out of politics,as far as that was possible in these trying times – though he knewwhere his sympathies lay. So it took more than a serious shift inhis routines and a change of venue to disturb his legendaryequanimity.

The city council, notorious skinflints, hadsurprised everyone, including themselves, by coming to theconclusion that the five-man constabulary they had established in1835 – to ensure public safety and keep the poor from becomingoverly meddlesome – was now inadequate. The town was, some said,approaching a population of ten thousand. Immigrant ships continuedto debouch their wretched occupants upon Toronto’s wharvesthroughout the sailing season. The majority of them moved on to thehinterland, but many stayed in the city. Its northern and westernboundaries were inching outwards, blighted by pockets of squatterson public lands, by the ramshackle cabins of the working poor, andby tents and lean-to’s tucked into the parklands reserved for thefuture occupation of the affluent. In the older sections of townthe demand for living space was met by overcrowding, by the dubiousseverance of existing lots, and by workers’ huts erected cheek byjowl with the smoking factories they laboured in.

All of which, the council concluded, hadresulted in an alarming increase in crime – petty theft, drunk anddisorderly, domestic violence, and burglary. It was the latter inparticular which caught the attention of the people’srepresentatives, for it seemed that the mansions and fineresidences along Front Street – with their silver spoons and jadejewellery and such – had become prime targets. Moreover, the ownersof said residences were increasingly unamused. Thus it was that thecity fathers suddenly saw where their duty lay. Two more full-timeconstables were hired, and four supernumerary ones placed on call.The most vulnerable streets would now be patrolled around the clockin two shifts: seven to seven. Three teams of two were set up toput this ingenious plan into effect. Cobb had been paired with EwanWilkie, and assigned the south-west patrol. This was relatively newterrain for him (he had patrolled here occasionally when relievingone of his mates or supervising special events like the opening ofthe Legislature). He and Wilkie had chosen to take theseven-to-seven night-shift on alternate weeks, and so far – thoughthe burglaries continued – Cobb had found the arrangementsatisfactory. (Missus Cobb – his Dora – was often out all nightapplying her midwifery magic in the east end, and they had had somesplendid early-morning reunions!)

The more difficult adjustment had been themoving of the police quarters from the Court House to the CityHall, an elegant brick building that faced Front Street at the footof the market. Cobb had come to love the stuffy, two-room suitejammed into the rear corner of the Court House close to the countymagistrate’s chamber and the tunnel that led conveniently to theadjacent jail. But with six constables now, their chief, a clerk,and the expanding filing-cupboards, new facilities had becomenecessary. So, at the back of City Hall, lower level, threespacious rooms had been found for their use – with a smallholding-cell just inside the main door. Chief Constable WilfridSturges was given an office, though he continued to spend much ofhis time on the streets and in the salons of power, whether he waswelcomed or not. The reception-room housed a filing-cupboard, adesk and the writing instruments of Augustus French (the clerk), awoodstove, and coat racks for the constables and visitors. Thethird room was reserved for interviews or incidental uses – like asnooze on the sly. And since most of the town’s anti-social actswere of the misdemeanour variety, the presence of the municipalcourtroom just above them, presided over by the mayor or analderman, was happily convenient.

Still, three months after the change ofvenue, Cobb found himself walking up the stone path to the oldquarters before catching his mistake, muttering to himself aboutthe perfidy of aldermen, and sheepishly retreating to King Street.This evening, however, he found his thoughts drifting inevitablytowards the recent spate of burglaries. Last week, while Wilkie hadapparently been checking out a noise behind the LegislativeAssembly building (the apprehension of a gunpowder plot was highamong those who had good reason to fear such an expression ofdiscontent), a thief or thieves had – at four A.M. – entered nearbySomerset House, the abode of Receiver-General Ignatius Maxwell.They made off with a pair of silver candlesticks before beingsurprised by an alert footman (kept alert, it was said in thetaverns, by an equally alert maid). Other servants had beendispatched to seek out the night patrolman, who was discovereddazed, heavy-lidded and uncomprehending in the bushes beside theAssembly.