New Dark Ages by Warren Kinsella

Author:Warren Kinsella [Kinsella, Warren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dundurn
Published: 2018-10-04T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 21

We were up in Canada again. Our lodgings in Ottawa were officially called the Beacon Arms. In the local punk scene, however, the hotel — a dump of biblical proportions — was referred to as “the Broken Arms.” It was on a busy street in downtown Ottawa, not far from the hangout for all of the Canadian congressmen or senators or whatever they’re called.

It was at a pay phone near their Parliament Hill that I finally reached FBI special agent Theresa Laverty. She was back in New York City and I had been patched through to her by the FBI field office in Fort Myers.

“Special Agent Kurt Blank reporting for duty,” I said, once Laverty was on the line. “No bodies to report, ma’am.”

Laverty laughed a bit. “That is correct,” she said. “I can confirm that the RCMP and Canadian police agencies are saying the same thing.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said. “But are you any closer to figuring out who killed Johnny Raindrops and the tranny in New York, or … uh … the guy from here?”

Shit, I thought. I’d forgotten the Ottawa guy’s name. I’d talked to him at the Barrymore’s gig and I’d already forgotten his fucking name.

That was speed for you.

“Nuclear Age …”

“That’s it,” I said, remembering. “Nuclear Age. Nothing new in his case?”

“Nothing,” Laverty said. I thought I could hear an announcer’s voice in the background.

“He was a nice guy,” I told her. “We talked about the Ottawa scene and politics in Canada. He was real­ly interested in politics, I remember. I think politics are super boring, but he actually made it sound interesting.”

“Politics is certainly interesting here this year,” Laverty said.

“Yeah. How is that fascist fucker Earl Turner doing, anyway?”

“Officially, I’m not permitted to have political views,” Laverty said dryly. “But unofficially, I can say that he is doing quite well, unfortunately. He was at the bottom of the primary pack, and now he’s near the front. His ads are working, apparently.”

“I guess you know about our former friend Danny.”

“Yes, I know about him,” she said. “His transformation has been pretty … surprising. I understand that a reporter from Portland has been asking questions about his involvement. Also about how Turner is raising funds.”

I didn’t ask Laverty how she knew about all that. Were the feds tapping reporters’ phones? Was the FBI spying on Earl Turner?

Working for him, more likely.

“Yeah, that’s this guy named Ron McLeod,” I said. “We know him.”

“He was the one who did that profile of you and your friend X last year, wasn’t he?”

“That’s him,” I said. “It was stupid. We didn’t want him to write about us, but he did anyway. Reporters suck.”

“No argument here,” Laverty said, then paused a long time. “How are you doing, Kurt?”

I knew what she was talking about, but I pretended I didn’t. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, thanks.”

There was another long pause. The phone line crackled. Behind me, a bus full of Japanese tourists had pulled up onto Parliament Hill. I heard a second muffled announcement over the phone line.

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