“Sir, I don’t feel comfortable lying. If Ray DeLuca outright asks me for information… ”
“Don’t get near enough to him and you won’t be put on the spot. Keep your Sunday school manners intact, eh?” Tipton nodded, agreeing with his own point. Then he waved his empty glass in Jasper’s direction. “You get down to that scene. You’re the man I trust to calm that panic and keep things in order. Take Jones with you.”
Jasper nodded and turned to leave. But his hand froze on the doorknob. “Sir, may I speak freely?”
Tipton raised an eyebrow. “Go ahead.”
“Nothing good will come of our playing Montague’s game. This city is his stage, and we are all puppets. It’s money and power he wants, and he’ll get it at the expense of everyone—businessmen, officials like yourself, even the women and immigrants he preys upon. Something bigger is coming. These anarchists who have been holding rallies in the city—they see through his game. There will be more violence. More explosions. The people are hungry, and they think Emma Goldman and her crowd can give them the voice they want. And they’ll take any means to get it.” Jasper shook his head. “You’ve been in this job a long time. Surely you see that Montague is not the ally you want him to be.”
“Forth, there is so much about the workings of this city that you don’t understand. How old are you, anyway?”
“Twenty-seven, sir.”
“You’re young. I’ve been at this longer than you’ve been alive. Keep to your task. You’re a good officer and a good man. You leave the big fish to me.”
* * *
*He was bold to say this. Usually when someone mentioned breeding, Merinda would reply, “Breeding? What am I now, a cow to pasture?”
?This was not the first time—nor would it be the last—Jasper Forth was on the precipice of a moment of wooing, only to be struck dumb by her cat eyes boring into him.
?Jasper couldn’t help but wonder why the chief insisted on talking about administrative matters when there was a trolley car sputtering into flame nearby, full of injured passengers. But there were many things he didn’t understand about his supervisor, so he kept this opinion to himself.
CHAPTER TWO
Bloody Trolley Blasts Rattle Toronto
The law students at Osgoode Hall in their spit-shone shoes and starched collars were in for a smoky shock this morning when an explosion at the intersection of Queen and University blasted a streetcar to smithereens. Chaos ensued with the arrival of the medics as well as the fire brigade, who attempted to dispel any last threat from the fiery, singed streetcar. The seriously wounded were immediately attended by medics and taken to nearby St. Michael’s. The deceased, shrouded with black cloth, were immediately removed to the morgue.
The Hogtown Herald
Another one.” That was all Ray DeLuca could say to his jack-of-all-trades assistant, Skip McCoy, as they surveyed the wreckage of the trolley. Skip had already been on the scene when Ray arrived panting. The second explosion in a week. Wires stretched like jagged limbs from the car’s carcass, bursts of flame flickered, and debris soiled the landscape.
They walked among the chaos, the medics, and the officials, hearing among ripples of gasps charges against faulty wiring. Six seriously injured passengers were quickly transferred to St. Michael’s Hospital at Victoria Street. Ten bodies lay in a row, already covered in cloth. Ray could hardly tear his eyes away.
Skip and Ray wove their way through the panicked crowd, smoke stinging their eyes, medics maneuvering stretchers while the police bellowed or pressed whistles to their lips. Ray, who prided himself on being as quick as a fox when it came to sidling up to a scene and making it to the midst of the action, was surprised that Skip had beaten him to the scene of some of the events of the highest magnitude in the past few weeks.
Skip was the first to catch an anarchist group circling around the embassy in a raucous rally the day before Emma Goldman arrived. Skip was the first on the scene at Queen’s Park when the trolley workers first picketed for an upcoming strike. Skip was beating Ray at his own game. Usually Skip trailed Ray wherever he went and took excellent direction. But now?
Ray shoved his way through the line of fire brigade officers, nearly stumbling over an injured young man. On the far side of the wreckage, a tall, broad-shouldered man assessed the damage.
“Jasper!” Ray called, jogging the last few steps between them, being careful to avoid the wiring, steel rods, and bricks.
Jasper Forth ran his hand over his face. He looked tired. His usually pleasant and open countenance was shaded with fatigue and concern. He put a hand on Ray’s shoulder, slightly shoving him back. “I’d be careful. A few fires are still burning.” He looked around.
Ray’s brow furrowed. “I feel like we’re reliving this accident. Osgoode Hall was what—three days ago?”