Free One or the Other by John McFetridge Page A

Dougherty before he took one in a shaking hand.
    Holding the match Caron said, “What’s your name?”
    â€œBilly,” the guy said, taking a drag and coughing as he let it out. He was still shaking. “Bill. William Greaves.”
    â€œAll right, Bill,” Caron said. He held up the paper band. “You did not hold up a Brink’s truck by yourself. Tell me who you work with.”
    Greaves laughed. He was taking another drag on the smoke and he laughed and coughed and laughed some more and said, “Holy shit, is that what you think I did?”
    â€œWhere did you get the money?” Caron said.
    Greaves was settling down. He put the cigarette in his mouth and inhaled and tilted his head back, letting out a long stream of smoke towards the traffic going by on the Bonaventure above them.
    â€œI got that from a nice old lady in Westmount. Told her I was a bank inspector.”
    â€œShit,” Caron said, “that still works?”
    Greaves shrugged. “Sometimes.”
    They put him back in the car and drove to HQ on Bonsecours Street. Caron told Dougherty to take Greaves into the detectives’ office on the third floor and process him, making it sound like a big deal, like real detective work, and Dougherty tried to let him know he wasn’t buying it except he was.
    It felt good, sitting at the desk, taking the statement, walking Greaves through and making sure he got everything: how Greaves phoned the old lady and told her he was working for the bank, checking into what might be a crooked teller, how she could help by withdrawing two thousand dollars. Greaves met her in Place d’Armes, two blocks from the bank and took the money, thanking her, telling her there was a problem all right, the teller had slipped her counterfeit bills and he’d have to continue his investigation.
    â€œAnd then you just walked straight to the strip joint?” Dougherty said.
    â€œIt was the guilt. It was weighing on me, I had to get rid of the money.”
    â€œYeah, two bucks a dance, it would take a while.”
    Greaves said, “Two bucks? Didn’t you see her, it was five, and another three dances and she was coming back to my room at the hotel.”
    Dougherty finished up the paperwork, checking it three times to make sure he had everything and then he called dispatch to send a uniform to take Greaves to Parthenais and process him.
    When that was done, when the uniform had taken Greaves away, the detective office was quiet. Dougherty felt good, he felt like he could do this job and be good at it and now he was feeling that he really didn’t want to go back to uniform. Nothing against it, it was good work, useful work, sometimes it felt like he was doing something really worthwhile breaking up a fight before some drunk killed his own wife or helping people at the scene of a car accident, lots of things like that, but detective work — it just felt better to Dougherty.
    He was getting ready to leave when Caron came back into the office, already a couple of drinks in him, and said, “All right, you finished? Let’s go give the girls the reward.”
    â€œThe reward’s for information on the Brink’s job, nothing for this small-time fraud.”
    â€œWe can still show our appreciation,” Caron said.
    Dougherty didn’t want to go back to the strip club but he didn’t want to go home either, so he said, “Okay, let’s go.”
    They were still there around ten when Dougherty realized his beeper was going off.
    He was sitting at the bar with his back to the stage, though he could see the dancer in the mirror, and listening to the song, a girl’s name, something like Lorelei, though Dougherty had never heard that name before, and the words, “Let’s live together,” over and over. He was thinking maybe that’s what he and Judy should do, just live together, not get married at all. Judy might go for that.