Maid of the Mist (9 page)

'But as the wedding drew near, a great sickness arrived in the village and soon many were dying. The young, the old, the warriors, so many were struck down by it. The tribal elders knew that they had to try and appease the great God Hinum so that he would take away the evil. A canoe was loaded with the finest foods the tribe could gather and it was sent over the Falls as a gift to Hinum. But it was not enough. Still the tribe continued to die. The witch doctors put on their masks and rolled their bones and after many hours they spoke in one voice: "The great God Hinum wants more! A great sacrifice must be made!"

'So it was that Chief Eagle Eye journeyed to Ta Wa Sentha, the holy place where Gitchi Manitou once spoke to his people. Chief Eagle Eye built a great fire and called on the Thunderbird to answer his prayers. After much time the Thunderbird came to him and told him what the sacrifice to Hinum must be.

'Heavy of heart, Chief Eagle Eye returned to the village and told the elders what the Thunderbird had said, and it was agreed that it would be done.

'The next day was Lelewala's wedding. She was getting ready in the longhouse when her father came to her and told her what the Thunderbird had said. He said he could not order her to sacrifice herself, but that it must be of her own free will. Lelewala was distraught, but she knew that she must do what the Thunderbird had said if the whole tribe was not to die. One life was nothing. She also knew that she must do it before Sahonwadi found out, because he would surely stop her. He was young still and in time would find another wife.

'Chief Eagle Eye led Lelewala to the water's edge, to the wedding canoe. There the village had gathered and there were many tears. She said goodbye to her father and mother and climbed into the wedding canoe. She rowed out into the river.

'Sahonwadi, preparing for his wedding on the edge of the village, saw Lelewala set out into the dangerous current and raced into the village. Only then did he learn of what had been decided. Lelewala heard him scream and looked back to see him climbing into another canoe; she cried to him to go back, but he would not listen. Soon they were both caught in the current and racing towards the edge of the Falls.

'He almost caught her. Near the end she reached out to him, and he to her, and their fingers almost touched, but then the mighty Niagara took her, and took him. And in their dying, the village was saved. The great sickness vanished.'

The old man opened his eyes, looked from Madeline to Corrigan, and then behind Corrigan. Corrigan turned as well and was surprised to find that the elderly sports fans at the bar had gathered about them, enthralled by the old Indian's story. Even the barman, leaning back against a stack of beer crates, looked as if he might be about to shed a tear.

'And she told you all this?' Madeline said, and her question seemed to break the spell. The old guys' faces suddenly became animated again.

'Great story, old fella,' one of them said as he turned back to the bar.

'Jeez,' said another, 'would you go over the Falls after your wife?'

'You've met her, wouldn't you?'

'You're damn right I would. Just to make sure she
was
fucking dead.'

They cackled; the barman pushed himself off the crates, wiped at an eye and said: 'Fucking bullshit,' and went down to serve the octogenarian jocks.

'She told me all this. Sure,' Tarriha said to Madeline, then angled his bottle at the bar, looking for another. Corrigan waved down to the barman, holding up two fingers. Madeline hadn't touched hers.

'Well, if she died going over the Falls, how does she know that the village was saved?'

'
I
know that the village was saved.'

'Uhuh.' Madeline looked doubtful. 'So what date was this, about? I need historical verification, I need. . .'

Corrigan rolled his eyes. 'Madeline, please. There aren't
dates,
there aren't
records. . .
Tarriha, tell me if I'm wrong, but it's like a myth, isn't it? It's an old Indian story about the evil diseases white men brought to America, and this girl has gone over the Falls to protest at. . .'

'You mean it's an AIDS allegory?' Madeline asked.

Corrigan shrugged. 'Could be anything. AIDS. Indian rights. Pollution. Drugs. Nike Air Jordans. It doesn't matter; that's what you're looking for, isn't it? A good story.'

Tarriha shook his head slowly. 'You do not listen.
Allegory.
Huh. I have spoken to her. I spent the night in her room. She
is
Lelewala. Her body, her spirit, her broken heart.'

'Uhuh,' said Madeline.

'OK,' said Corrigan, 'supposing for the moment that she is. Why did she come back? What did she say?'

'Because there is a great evil. . .'

'But what is it? Specifically. Why would she suddenly . . .'

Tarriha suddenly slapped his hand on the bar. 'She doesn't know! All she knows is that she was sacrificed so that a great evil would leave her village. And all she knows is that she has come back because some great evil is walking this land again.'

'Can't she be a little more specific?' Madeline asked. 'Animal, vegetable or mineral? Is it President Keneally or Spike Lee or . . .'

Tarriha's eyes narrowed. 'You mock me,' he said.

Madeline's eyes narrowed back. 'On the contrary,' she said, her voice suddenly razor-sharp, 'I think you mock me.'

She pushed herself up off the barstool and lifted her bag. She looked from Tarriha to Corrigan and back. 'I never heard so much
. . . hokum.
I don't know why you've cooked this bullshit up between you or who you're hoping to fool, but it's not me, and it's not my station. There is a story, a damn good story, but this sure as hell isn't it. I think you know what it is and you're trying to hide it.'

Corrigan raised placatory palms. There was nothing flirtatious about her manner now. 'C'mon, Madeline, we're not trying to hide anything . . .'

She wasn't having it. She grabbed her bag off the bar. 'I'll find this Lelewala or whatever her name is, and I'll get the real story, OK? I don't need bullshit time wasters like you two, OK? I don't need it.'

She flounced off down the bar. Corrigan slipped a hand into his pocket, searching, then called down the bar after her.

She stopped. 'What?'

'Here's five dollars for the cab.'

'Fuck off!'

And she was gone, with the old guys whistling and whooping after her.

Corrigan almost followed. He got to the point of finishing his drink, wiping his mouth, nodding down at Tarriha. But then he stopped, sat and ordered another drink for each of them. Tarriha grunted in quasi-appreciation.

'What do you do with a woman like that?' Corrigan asked.

Tarriha nodded thoughtfully for a few moments, then said: 'Big stick.'

He had a few beers on him by then, so he went home.

Not home, but
home.

Nicola opened the door to him. She smiled as best she could. Aimie ran out and up into his arms and he hugged her and she hugged him back and then complained about the stubble on his chin and the beer on his breath. She was out of his arms and away running into the back garden before he was even through the door.

'I worry about her attention span,' Corrigan said.

Nicola led him into the lounge. She seemed relaxed, but swollen. There was no sign of the Fat Man. Perhaps he was off getting his circus pants laundered. Usually Nicola wasn't much on housework, but the place was pristine. Then he remembered.

'The people came about the house?'

Nicola nodded.

'Any joy?'

She nodded. 'Therbeacertfychek . . .' She stopped. She lifted a notepad, flicked through half a dozen pages until she came to a clean one, then wrote:
There'll be a certified cheque with our solicitor in the morning.

'Oh really.' He tapped his foot. He gave her a hard look. 'Don't you think you should have consulted me on this at all?'

She nodded. She wrote:
Sorry. Lovely people. They loved the house.

'Big deal. How much did they sucker you for? If it's a cent less than three fifty I'll call them right back, get them to . . .'

She wrote it down.
$400,000.

'No, seriously,' Corrigan said.

She smiled. 'Imseris.'

She wrote:
They love the view.

'Nick, you have to stand on boxes in the loft to get a view. And then only if the wind's blowing the trees in the right direction and the sun's out.'

A Niagara view is a Niagara view. Location, location, location.

He thought to himself for several moments while she watched him. Then he looked up and smiled. 'I suppose you're pleased with yourself.' She nodded. 'So we split it two ways.'

'Three.'

'You said that clearly enough. If you think I'm giving that fat bastard . . .'

'Aimie!'

He stopped. 'Right enough.'

She wrote:
A trust fund.

He nodded. He crossed to the back window. Aimie was on the swing, singing away to herself. Nicola came up beside him. She glanced behind her, then put her arm around his waist.

He wanted to tell her to take it away. Because, after all, she was selling his house and giving him a third of it and still fucking the fat guy even though he'd broken her jaw. But he liked it there. Around his waist. The warmth. 'Four hundred,' he said slowly, then gave a little whistle. 'And did they seem reasonably sane?'

Nicola nodded.

'Are we going to quibble about throwing the curtains in?'

She smiled, shook her head. They stood silently for several minutes, just watching Aimie swing. Then, for a little bit, he watched Nicola, watching Aimie. She was beautiful.
They
were beautiful. He bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

She grimaced and pulled sharply away. 'Jeezchrist,' she spat, her hand massaging her jaw.

'Sorry, I was only . . .'

'Jeez-zus,' she said again, patting her cheek. She bunched her fists up in frustration, glaring at him, then rushed across to her notebook. She flipped to a new page and wrote in big capital letters,
I'VE A FUCKING BROKEN JAW AND ALL YOU CAN THINK ABOUT IS SEX.

Corrigan held his hands up. 'I wasn't thinking about sex! I just gave you a peck on the cheek!' And then he saw her eyes flit to Aimie in the garden, and knew suddenly what it was all about. The arm round his waist had been below eye level. But the kiss on the cheek had been in full view of his daughter. And his daughter had told Big Fat Fucker about the last kiss, and he'd broken her jaw. Nicola saw the realization dawn on him and looked away, embarrassed.

Corrigan tutted. 'You're scared of your own daughter.'

She shrugged.

'I don't understand you at all,' Corrigan said.

He was having a smoke by the Falls. Just enjoying the thunder. Not close enough to the edge to have the spray put out his cigarette, but close enough. He was thinking about Lelewala and how on earth she could have survived
that.
It was power. It was glory. It was Mother Nature and God, although of the two he only believed in Mother Nature. If there was a God and he had a big white beard, then he was Santa. And Santa was an anagram of Satan and that worried him.

He was prepared to believe in evil, but not in good.

Because nothing that was good ever happened to him.

Or if it did, it was taken away from him.

Lelewala had come back to fight evil. At least according to Tarriha. Maybe she would fight it on his behalf. Take on Big Trousers and sort him out properly. He had only been able to point his impotent Glock at him and inspire some bowel relaxation. It wasn't the same as breaking his neck.

He threw his cigarette into the water. Who was he kidding? He was the beaten man. Second best. Second best to a fat fundamentalist fucker. And Lelewala? Tarriha, for all his superb story telling, hadn't a clue where she was. If she wasn't chasing an evil spirit, she was probably drinking one. She had survived going over the Falls by a miracle, but had clearly been bonkers to go over in the first place.

His phone rang. It was Stirling. His voice was low, almost a whisper. 'I have good news, and I have bad news. Take your pick.'

Corrigan sighed. Then he got bumped from behind by a Jap tourist walking backwards trying to get himself and the Falls into a photograph while his wife barked directions. Corrigan growled. They looked uncomprehendingly at him for a moment, then bowed. Corrigan felt like a git. He smiled and waved an apologetic no harm done and started to walk.

'Sorry,' Corrigan said, 'start with the good. I need to hear some good. And speak up.'

'Can't. But the good news is I've decided against fronting this whole Pongo thing. The interviews. The limelight. It's not me.'

'Fair enough,' Corrigan said. 'What changed your mind?'

'The bad news.'

'Which is?'

'Pongo's just about to walk.'

'Excuse me?'

'You're excused.' There was a pause, and then: 'I'm sorry. I'm a bit freaked. I have to let him go.'

'You
have
to let him go.'

'Yes, sir, I do. With the Chief of Police at my elbow and the Barracuda showing his teeth.'

'Fuck,' said Corrigan, 'I'll be there in a minute.'

Thomas Vincenzi, a.k.a. the Barracuda, was as tall and gaunt as an undertaker. His suit was Italian and so was his demeanour. He wore
don't fuck with me
pointed black shoes and a watch heavier than a hard-boiled ostrich egg. He had the look of a man who had dealt with his fair share of nuts, and the bejewelled fingers of one who no longer had to. He said jump, people asked which cliff.

He was just coming through the door of the station. Pongo was beside him. Corrigan hurried up the steps and said: 'Where the fuck do you think you're taking him?'

'Inspector,' said the Barracuda, 'it's been a long time.'

'Not long enough,' said Corrigan. He pointed at Pongo. 'He's mine. We have him for murder. Maybe manslaughter. And we certainly have him for coke.' Pongo was looking at his velvet-slippered feet.

'No, Inspector, you have one Bernard Rawlins, a driver for the Pongo organization. He's just signed a confession admitting to the drugs and picking the girl up. Pongo was asleep through the whole thing.' He shook his head sadly. 'Happens all the time, Inspector, guys taking advantage of their employer. Ripping them off. Getting them a bad reputation. Particularly Negroes.'