40
Toronto 1961
We checked six of the major hospitals that morning and came up blank. Birdie looked a bit peaked and that meant his brain and belly screamed for food.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s try one more thing before we ease your pain.” I went to the reception desk. Behind it sat a no-nonsense woman with a helmet of gray hair, glasses that Salvador Dali would have envied and two cigarettes burning in a cut-glass ashtray, for her split personalities, I guessed, while she pummeled the keys of a Smith-Corona into submission. I stood in front of her for a moment and when there was no reaction, I cleared my throat.
“Ears, nose, throat,” rasped the woman. “Down the hall on the right.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. Just a quick question. Please.”
Exasperated she stopped and looked up at me in anno
