Hair-Trigger Read Free Page B

added, “I had a friend who came first.”
    The cab turned onto Dundas from McCall, a few blocks from 52 Division, passing the Henry Moore sculpture outside the Art Gallery of Ontario. As they drove down the next street she pointed out a three-storey building set back from the road behind an iron gate. After paying the driver, he followed her up a path past some bushes and a bicycle rack.
    While she was unlocking the second door, Rowe looked through the window to the office, and scanned the mailboxes, bulletin board and list of tenants. They walked by a community room where people were watching TV, and climbed the stairs. On the third floor a girl coming out of a small kitchen said hello to her.
    After they reached her room he went back down the corridor to the men’s lavatory. It looked sterile for a rooming house. Flushing the urinal, he took a long drink of water from one of the taps to try to dilute the alcohol, and looked himself over in the mirror.
    Her single bed was pushed against the wall. Above the opposite counter was a shelf with a few books and papers, then a row of cupboards where a photo of her with short hair was taped. “Nice picture,” he said. “Where was it taken?”
    â€œIn Montreal. A place like this.”
    Her window overlooked Beverley. “If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”
    â€œTwenty-seven.”
    â€œYou look younger.” Rowe checked the foreign literature on her shelf and noticed a copy of what seemed to be The Koran . “I thought people in India were Hindus.”
    She giggled and pushed herself against him with her head down. “I lied.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI’m Afghan.”
    â€œAfghan?”
    â€œI’m from Afghanistan.”
    â€œWhy did you say you were from India?”
    â€œIt sounds better. It’s a very big country next to us, and it’s more . . . interesting.”
    He put his arm around her. “I don’t know much about Afghanistan, but I’m sure you can be proud of it. And maybe you’re too pale for an East Indian.”
    After helping her out of her clothes, he set her down on the edge of the bed and stood in front of her while he slowly unzipped his pants. She sat awkwardly with her thin arms crossed, then looked up at him with a shy smile as he touched her cheek. Rowe noticed her downy mustache as she put her fingers around the base of his erection and took most of it into her mouth.
    Later, lying beside him, she fingered the greying hair on his chest and wanted to know if he had a girlfriend. Rowe said he’d been seeing someone, actually, and asked if he could smoke. She told him apologetically that it was against the rules. He lay back again, glancing at his watch as he put his arm around her. “So, what do you do for a living?”
    â€œI’m getting welfare.”
    Her looks seemed to be waning as he took in her thick brows and the circles beneath her eyes, noticing that her face was quite gaunt. He still found her fragile body language disarming, however. “What kind of work have you been looking for?”
    â€œAnything, I think. I had an interview at a restaurant, it was for a dishwasher, but the man started touching me in the kitchen and wanted me to . . . have sex with him. He had my address when I filled out the paper, and wanted to come here. I didn’t know what to do, so I said yes. It happened quickly and I didn’t have time to think about it, but I didn’t want to do it.”
    â€œThat doesn’t sound too good.”
    â€œNo. And I probably wouldn’t get the job, either. It would be for nothing.”
    â€œDid he come over?”
    â€œHe came but I didn’t answer the buzzer. He was pressing it for half an hour, and finally went away. I saw him leave out my window.”
    After a while she fell asleep. When he heard her light snoring, Rowe saw that it was after three. As he tried to ease