excerpt
“George,” he told Pearson, “I need your help with this hobo
thing. Winifred Stone is going to fight me on it.”
“I’m not on the council, Pete,” Pearson said, “and I sure don’t
have much clout with Mrs. Stone.”
“You’re one of her biggest advertisters.”
“So are you. Has it done you a lot of good politically? She knows
we need the paper to sell cars, and, anyway, she’d throw our business
away before she’d back off in a showdown. What do you want
me to do?”
“Just be at the next council meeting when we open this thing up
for citizen discussion, and make the case. You can get the business
community stirred up.”
“Pete, if we were talking about dozens of derelicts down by the
tracks, I might get upset about it. But there’s never more than a
handful of those guys in that jungle, and they’re always coming and
going. Hell, most people in town don’t even know they exist. What
are you going to do with that hand?”
Torgerson glanced at his cards.
“Raise.”
He put down five dollars.
“Sure,” Pearson said, sighing, “I’ll come to the council and say a
few words. We’re old friends and partners, and I’ve been taking
business away from you. It’s the least I can do.”
Fred Lawrence chuckled, and raised.
Two hands later, Torgerson looked at his watch, tossed his
cards into the center of the table and pushed his chair back.
“You folding, Mr. Mayor?” Pearson asked.
“Only in this poker game, George. I got a meeting with a man
from the railroad. Thanks for your help, pal. I’ll owe you one. We’ll
get those bums out of town, and Poodie James, too.”
“He’s harmless, Pete.”
“He’s going, George.”
Torgerson puzzled for a moment over the hard look Angie gave
him as he waved goodbye, but the hollow moan of a train whistle
made him hurry to his car.
Hellenic Canadian Literature 