piles according to oil companies and locations to see what kind of pattern would show through. There were a few fill-ups in distant places like Tarrytown, New York, and Springfield, Massachusetts. There were a couple from as far west as Dryden and Kenora, Ontario. I inspected the bunch from places in Grantham. Nothing odd about them. I used some of the same service stations myself. What surprised me were the receipts from Niagara-on-the-Lake. Niagaraon-the-Lake isn’t on the road to anywhere except Niagara-on-the-Lake. Unless Dowden was meeting a boat, and I doubted that, Niagara was the end of the line. What was the attraction, I wondered.
I was still dreaming over Jack Dowden’s shoebox, when the phone rang. It was too late for business, so I answered hoping for personal. It was Anna, the particular personal caller I was hoping to hear from.
“Hi, Benny. You really work for your money in your racket. It’s late!”
“I’ve been busier. I just got back from Martha Tracy’s.” I filled Anna in on the beer, pizza and conversation. I added: “Martha’s a fan of yours. She thinks I could learn about fish forks from you. What’s to know about fish forks?”
“She still looks out for you, doesn’t she?” Anna said. “As for fish forks, I’m sure Martha knows as much about them as I do. I eat mussels with my fingers,” she said, making slurping sounds. “Hey, Benny, when do you let your operatives make their reports?”
“What do you have, H21? I’ll take it down in invisible ink. No, I’ll have to settle for invisible crayon.”
“I found out that the person looking into the history of Kinross Disposals is the guy who writes about the environment in the Beacon, Alexander Pastor. He’s with Environment Front.”
“I should have guessed.”
“Thanks a lot! Next time you can do your own digging.”
“Sorry, Anna. It’s just that I saw him today for a few minutes. It makes sense that it should have been Alex.”
“What’s my next assignment?”
“Get some sleep. That’s what I’m going to do. All play and no work, you know. We should go to the movies again soon, okay?”
“There’s the weekend.”
“You’ve got that wedding.”
“That’s next weekend! Benny, you never listen. How do you stay in business?”
“That’s part of the secret. Good-night, Anna.”
I hung up and reached for my map of the area. Unfolding it over the desk blotter, I found the village. There was Niagara-on-the-Lake on the way to nowhere for a truck loaded with dioxins and PCBs. No bridge over the mouth of the Niagara River. Was the truck headed up the Niagara Parkway to a favourite dumping place? Was O’Mara going to speed up or retard the time on the floral clock with a watering of choice poisons? The map wasn’t passing on any answers so I pulled out the dictionary instead. I flipped through to the end where the abbreviations were kept. I was worried about the term Alex Pásztory had used on me: AV it was. What was an AV anyway? The dictionary let me down like the map. Unless Alex was talking about paying a visit to the Authorized Version or the Artillery Volunteers. There were some Latin things too but they didn’t fit either. I tried to recapture my former line of thought, but Anna’s voice kept running through my head. After another minute, I put the still unlighted cigarette I’d been holding in my mouth back in the package again and turned out the lights.
On my way through the door, the light from the hall hit something white in my mail slot. Another handbill? I reached for it. It was a folded sheet of letter-size paper with a photocopied piece of fancy calligraphy. It was a familiar quotation, I’d seen it a dozen times. It may havebeen a final examination that calligraphers have to write in order to get their masters’ papers. It began:
Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and haste and remember what peace there may be in silence …
The quotation went on and on. The part I’ve quoted
I was still dreaming over Jack Dowden’s shoebox, when the phone rang. It was too late for business, so I answered hoping for personal. It was Anna, the particular personal caller I was hoping to hear from.
“Hi, Benny. You really work for your money in your racket. It’s late!”
“I’ve been busier. I just got back from Martha Tracy’s.” I filled Anna in on the beer, pizza and conversation. I added: “Martha’s a fan of yours. She thinks I could learn about fish forks from you. What’s to know about fish forks?”
“She still looks out for you, doesn’t she?” Anna said. “As for fish forks, I’m sure Martha knows as much about them as I do. I eat mussels with my fingers,” she said, making slurping sounds. “Hey, Benny, when do you let your operatives make their reports?”
“What do you have, H21? I’ll take it down in invisible ink. No, I’ll have to settle for invisible crayon.”
“I found out that the person looking into the history of Kinross Disposals is the guy who writes about the environment in the Beacon, Alexander Pastor. He’s with Environment Front.”
“I should have guessed.”
“Thanks a lot! Next time you can do your own digging.”
“Sorry, Anna. It’s just that I saw him today for a few minutes. It makes sense that it should have been Alex.”
“What’s my next assignment?”
“Get some sleep. That’s what I’m going to do. All play and no work, you know. We should go to the movies again soon, okay?”
“There’s the weekend.”
“You’ve got that wedding.”
“That’s next weekend! Benny, you never listen. How do you stay in business?”
“That’s part of the secret. Good-night, Anna.”
I hung up and reached for my map of the area. Unfolding it over the desk blotter, I found the village. There was Niagara-on-the-Lake on the way to nowhere for a truck loaded with dioxins and PCBs. No bridge over the mouth of the Niagara River. Was the truck headed up the Niagara Parkway to a favourite dumping place? Was O’Mara going to speed up or retard the time on the floral clock with a watering of choice poisons? The map wasn’t passing on any answers so I pulled out the dictionary instead. I flipped through to the end where the abbreviations were kept. I was worried about the term Alex Pásztory had used on me: AV it was. What was an AV anyway? The dictionary let me down like the map. Unless Alex was talking about paying a visit to the Authorized Version or the Artillery Volunteers. There were some Latin things too but they didn’t fit either. I tried to recapture my former line of thought, but Anna’s voice kept running through my head. After another minute, I put the still unlighted cigarette I’d been holding in my mouth back in the package again and turned out the lights.
On my way through the door, the light from the hall hit something white in my mail slot. Another handbill? I reached for it. It was a folded sheet of letter-size paper with a photocopied piece of fancy calligraphy. It was a familiar quotation, I’d seen it a dozen times. It may havebeen a final examination that calligraphers have to write in order to get their masters’ papers. It began:
Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and haste and remember what peace there may be in silence …
The quotation went on and on. The part I’ve quoted
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