Stanley Park by Timothy Taylor

Author:Timothy Taylor [Taylor, Timothy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery, Contemporary
ISBN: 0676973094
Google: GjGEupw996UC
Amazon: B005GHF2GO
Barnesnoble: B005GHF2GO
Goodreads: 13532985
Publisher: Vintage Canada
Published: 2001-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Jeremy was afforded the opportunity to discover how an irredeemably guilty conscience expressed itself. After all those years of early mornings and late nights, countless Camel Lights, and maybe more than his share of Irish whiskey, he would have expected a good long swing in the hammock to hit the spot. But not a half-hour went by in those first weeks when he did not think about his betrayal of Jules. The circumstances left him less than drifting—he was becalmed and agitated, a bad combination. And without constructive purpose, the sine wave of his week, of his life, simply switched off. He stopped drinking entirely. The weather turned sour. Clouds lowering the skyline, threatening rain. Not producing until he was well out of the apartment without his umbrella, at which point they would open in short, vindictive bursts. The streets would shine, then dry. The clouds would threaten again. Repeat.

Jeremy tried taking walks but found them dissatisfying. Quite aside from getting regularly doused, there were only two places he ever went. Two places he would end up. One was walking around the lagoon in Stanley Park. He found himself waiting for the Professor to emerge from the woods and was repeatedly disappointed when he didn’t. This development was new and depressing. He realized he had no sure way of finding his father, and that without The Monkey’s Paw, Caruzo wouldn’t know where to find him.

Otherwise he’d launch himself out the front door of the Stanley Park Manor, walk numbly through the streets up through the West End towards downtown. He followed a track like a computer-controlled supertanker on the high seas. Only the end points mattered, the points on the arc were irrelevant. As a result, Jeremy would emerge from the Stanley Park Manor and (having opted not to go to the lagoon) would end up standing at the doors of the locked up Monkey’s Paw.

He had keys, naturally, so he would go in and sit in the front room. Or, if it was getting dusty, he would sweep. If there were spiders in the big wash-basin, he would get out the disinfectant and do the entire prep area and the dish pit. He even polished the fish poachers once.

Dante phoned him at home at seven o’clock in the morning. They had spoken only once since Jeremy inked the deal and turned his back on the past. A short conversation, Dante in an airplane somewhere. Jeremy tried to bring up Jules—he found indignation, a small wedge of it—but Dante cut him off with a cold non sequitur before the name was even said.

Dante said: “From where I’m sitting, I can see mountains.”

Jeremy said: “Pardon me?”

And Dante went on: “From where I am, I see the mountains. I see all of them. I see the entirety of a single one and the way they join together. I see the way they rise to points and fall away in snow-covered slopes. I see the way people die falling off them.”

And then he had to go.

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