18
Toronto 1961
“I can still see the smoke coming out of your ears,” Birdie said.
“The guy gets under my skin a little,” I muttered.
“No kidding.”
We crossed King Street toward the car. I almost stopped on the streetcar tracks. “You’re right. I shouldn’t let him get to me.”
“Doesn’t do anyone any good,” Birdie replied. “Especially Miryam. Dual loyalties.”
I grunted. As usual, he hit it bang on. All her life, Miryam had been pulled in different directions. I felt similar conflicts. With a crook for an old man propelling me into law enforcement, just to scrub him out of my life. It was a grand plan but like most grand plans, doomed to failure.
I fired up the Chevy and pulled away from the curb. I headed west a few blocks to Bathurst Street, hung a right and pointed north. Twenty minu
