found his negativity, his laconic
cynicism, more than a little discomfiting.
The beer and the chora combined were having an
effect. He found himself saying, "Can you remember Tiger? Street
kid, one leg?"
"Sure." Chandra smiled. "Sure I
remember her— you helped her out, right?"
Vaughan recalled Chandra’s approval, tinged
with just the hint of suspicion, when he’d introduced the cop
to Tiger years ago.
"Tiger died early today."
He could not look into Chandra’s face when
he, said this. He waited five seconds, then looked up.
Chandra was not smiling; his mood had darkened.
Perhaps he sensed that Vaughan was baiting him, taunting him with
another example of how horrible the world was. Vaughan recalled one
drunken meeting when he had, cruelly and cynically, tried to explain
to Chandra the true awfulness of the human condition. It had been
here, in this very booth. He recalled that he’d repeated one
line over and over— if you could
only see what I’ve seen —without
telling the cop too much about his past: his work with the Toronto
police, the minds he’d read.
"I’m sorry," Chandra said now.
Vaughan stared down at his beer. "I don’t
know why I’m telling you this."
"Perhaps by talking, sharing the pain, it
might make it a little easier."
Vaughan almost smiled. The same idealistic Chandra
as ever. He looked up. "Nothing can make it any easier, Jimmy.
That’s bullshit. It might make it easier at the time, briefly.
But nothing can take away the grief that corrodes over the years."
Chandra stared at him. "I thought you said
Tiger died this morning?"
The cop was fishing, but Vaughan was not taking
the bait. There were some things that were beyond discussing.
"Like I said, I don’t know why I’m
telling you about Tiger." He paused. "She was just another
scheming street kid. But she meant something to me." He dried
up; he couldn’t tell the cop why she meant something to him.
Chandra said, tentatively, "I remember you
saying that no one meant anything to you, or words to that effect."
Vaughan shrugged. He pushed his glass around the
table. "I arranged her funeral earlier today. And guess what?"
He forced an ironic laugh. "They’re all booked up down at
the burning ghats during the day. The only time they’ve got
free is at one in the morning. How about that?"
Chandra shrugged. "Tough."
"Yeah, tough." Vaughan said. "It’ll
make a pretty bonfire, though."
The cop cleared his throat, nodded at Vaughan’s
empty bottle. "Another beer?" He turned and called the
waiter.
Vaughan stared at his empty glass. He’d stay
here till past midnight, get loaded, then go down to the ghats and
attend the funeral ceremony which, now that he’d arranged it,
seemed increasingly meaningless. Drunk, he might not be able to
recall all the morbid details. Tiger would have understood.
When the beer arrived, Vaughan sat up and looked
across at Jimmy. "So much for all that shit, Officer Chandra.
You didn’t come here to watch me crying into my drink."
Chandra gave a think-nothing-of-it smile. "I must admit, it was a surprise to hear from you. I’m
pleased you got in touch."
Vaughan wondered if the cop was lying. "So
you got something on Weiss?" he asked.
"Came up with some interesting facts."
He looked at Vaughan. "Can you tell me what you have against
this guy?"
"It might be nothing. I might be being
paranoid, who knows? What did you find?"
"Well, it appears that his identity is
suspect for a start. He has papers to certify he’s a citizen of
the European Federation. But I’ve run checks with Europe and
drawn a blank. He just doesn’t exist. The persona of Gerhard
Weiss is a front. Likewise all his qualification cards and
records—all forgeries."
Vaughan nodded, showing a calm he did not feel.
He’d had no idea what might be discovered by putting Chandra on
the
cynicism, more than a little discomfiting.
The beer and the chora combined were having an
effect. He found himself saying, "Can you remember Tiger? Street
kid, one leg?"
"Sure." Chandra smiled. "Sure I
remember her— you helped her out, right?"
Vaughan recalled Chandra’s approval, tinged
with just the hint of suspicion, when he’d introduced the cop
to Tiger years ago.
"Tiger died early today."
He could not look into Chandra’s face when
he, said this. He waited five seconds, then looked up.
Chandra was not smiling; his mood had darkened.
Perhaps he sensed that Vaughan was baiting him, taunting him with
another example of how horrible the world was. Vaughan recalled one
drunken meeting when he had, cruelly and cynically, tried to explain
to Chandra the true awfulness of the human condition. It had been
here, in this very booth. He recalled that he’d repeated one
line over and over— if you could
only see what I’ve seen —without
telling the cop too much about his past: his work with the Toronto
police, the minds he’d read.
"I’m sorry," Chandra said now.
Vaughan stared down at his beer. "I don’t
know why I’m telling you this."
"Perhaps by talking, sharing the pain, it
might make it a little easier."
Vaughan almost smiled. The same idealistic Chandra
as ever. He looked up. "Nothing can make it any easier, Jimmy.
That’s bullshit. It might make it easier at the time, briefly.
But nothing can take away the grief that corrodes over the years."
Chandra stared at him. "I thought you said
Tiger died this morning?"
The cop was fishing, but Vaughan was not taking
the bait. There were some things that were beyond discussing.
"Like I said, I don’t know why I’m
telling you about Tiger." He paused. "She was just another
scheming street kid. But she meant something to me." He dried
up; he couldn’t tell the cop why she meant something to him.
Chandra said, tentatively, "I remember you
saying that no one meant anything to you, or words to that effect."
Vaughan shrugged. He pushed his glass around the
table. "I arranged her funeral earlier today. And guess what?"
He forced an ironic laugh. "They’re all booked up down at
the burning ghats during the day. The only time they’ve got
free is at one in the morning. How about that?"
Chandra shrugged. "Tough."
"Yeah, tough." Vaughan said. "It’ll
make a pretty bonfire, though."
The cop cleared his throat, nodded at Vaughan’s
empty bottle. "Another beer?" He turned and called the
waiter.
Vaughan stared at his empty glass. He’d stay
here till past midnight, get loaded, then go down to the ghats and
attend the funeral ceremony which, now that he’d arranged it,
seemed increasingly meaningless. Drunk, he might not be able to
recall all the morbid details. Tiger would have understood.
When the beer arrived, Vaughan sat up and looked
across at Jimmy. "So much for all that shit, Officer Chandra.
You didn’t come here to watch me crying into my drink."
Chandra gave a think-nothing-of-it smile. "I must admit, it was a surprise to hear from you. I’m
pleased you got in touch."
Vaughan wondered if the cop was lying. "So
you got something on Weiss?" he asked.
"Came up with some interesting facts."
He looked at Vaughan. "Can you tell me what you have against
this guy?"
"It might be nothing. I might be being
paranoid, who knows? What did you find?"
"Well, it appears that his identity is
suspect for a start. He has papers to certify he’s a citizen of
the European Federation. But I’ve run checks with Europe and
drawn a blank. He just doesn’t exist. The persona of Gerhard
Weiss is a front. Likewise all his qualification cards and
records—all forgeries."
Vaughan nodded, showing a calm he did not feel.
He’d had no idea what might be discovered by putting Chandra on
the
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