The Canadian Civil War: Volume 5 - Carbines and Calumets

  Chapter 17 –

  So what side are the Americans on?

  I had an account number in my pocket. Whose? Presumably it would show money moving from point A to point B. Did it identify the people who did the shooting? Could it also identify the people who had paid for my murder? If so, how did Goulet get it? As for the consulate, maybe Goulet trusted them, but I didn’t.

  I paused at the corner and pulled up the directory on my phone. I had David Starr’s number. I called it.

  “David Starr’s phone. May I help you?”

  “This is Shawn Murphy. Could you tell me how David is doing?”

  “David succumbed to his wounds yesterday, Shawn. This is Jim O’Conner. Do you want to talk to me now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember how to find the consulate?”

  “I won’t meet you there. How about the Granary? If you don’t shoot me, I’ll buy you a beer.”

  “I’d rather have a Jamisons, but since it isn’t noon yet, I guess we should wait. See you there in twenty minutes?”

  “Yes.” It was a bit of a walk, but nothing I couldn’t do in twenty minutes. I would take a few detours to watch for bad guys, and I had a pistol in my pocket, but I knew if they wanted me dead, they had plenty of opportunities to get me as I approached the Granary. I was taking this on trust. Maybe I was taking it on hope. I did wish my government would be the good guys.

  The Granary was barely open. The sign on the door said they served lunch at twelve. It wasn’t even eleven thirty yet. Chairs were still up on tables where they had been placed the night before for cleaning. Only one table was ready for people – the one where the red-headed “executive” sat. I did a quick scan of the room and sat down opposite him.

  “No gun today?”

  “I’ll leave it in my pocket. If the need comes, we’ll see who is the quickest draw.” He laughed at that, and I have to admit I smiled a bit too. I was never cut out to be a hard case. Just the idea of trying to have a gun fight was too silly to accept.

  “Before we shoot it out, let me apologize again. It is our job to protect you, not to kill you.”

  “Last summer a few of your consulate guards did just that. They took on some LNA goons that wanted to rough me up.”

  “I am glad to hear they did their job.”

  “Here is where it gets odd. One of the LNA goons that wanted to break my head, now wants me to give you an account number. An old enemy now appears to be a friend.”

  “Is he a friend?”

  “He and his men killed off the thugs who attacked our boat in Venice.”

  “Or at least it would appear that’s what happened.”

  “Yes, I understand there are people in the consulate who have another version of events. They are wrong.”

  “I agree. They are wrong. So, do you want to give me the number?”

  “Yes.” I pushed the piece of paper to him. He looked at it.

  “No bank name, or anything else?”

  “All he gave me, I just gave to you.”

  “Maybe our finance people will recognize the bank name from the number. At least we can ask. When we find the account, what do you want from me, and what does he want?”

  “We both had a good friend killed yesterday. He thinks the number will tell us who paid for the massacre. Although in truth, I think he already knows. This may just be proof, or evidence he can use in court.”

  “If he knows who killed those people yesterday, he needs to be very careful.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So, no gun fight. Who buys the beer?”

  “Let’s see where this leads. If it helps nail these bastards, we can enjoy some Irish whiskey.” I stood and held out my hand. “Good luck with the search.” We shook hands and I left. Did I just make things better, or did I make them worse? I walked back to my hotel hoping for the best.