BOILER

Chapter 28

The morning came with a cold wind and a clear sky that barely mustered a blue. There had been some snowfall in the night that still lay in corners and gutters here and there. Toland smoked as he walked to the subway, stopping at a burger stand to pick up coffee. The lady serving in there had a small scar that ran vertically between her collarbones, and she scratched at it.

'It's chillier this morning,' she said.

'That's right,' Toland said, counting out the right amount of change.

'I think winter is finally getting serious,' she said.

'It might be. Finally.'

'Been late already with this goddammed damp all the time. None of that this morning, though. It was sharp. I felt it as soon as I set foot outside my door,' she said. She left the coffee on the counter for Toland to take and he did, leaving the change in its place.

'Yeah,' he said.

He left the woman and went down a long, red tunnel into the subway. The hour was early, and each booted footfall had room to travel.

The air got warmer and older at the platform where vitality had been pushed, pulled, and sucked out of it. A lone woman was there. She had short black hair and black lipstick. Her eyes were black, and her arms were folded tight like she was hugging herself, and she was pacing. She stopped and looked along the platform at Toland and folded her arms more tightly before turning away.

Toland balled his fists in his pockets and watched a rat scurry up from the tracks and skirt the platform and a heap of blankets in the corner. It stopped at a carton of Chinese food and picked at it. He stood back to the wall until the tracks whispered of a coming train. It came in smoothly and stopped. Something beeped and the doors opened a little. He stepped forward. The doors stopped, and then there was a noise like old gears were moving. The doors finished opening, and he got on.

The display in the carriage flickered constantly. The floor was bare metal for the most part. The walls were a cream-colour plastic. The car lurched left and sharply right. A woman held a folded paper and dragged a pen up and down the black and white boxes of a crossword. She stopped and scribbled a few letters and continued scanning. The car rattled. The lights dimmed a little then came back up as the train rolled into the next station. A man in mid-life got on. He wore a blue suit and when he sat down his gut hid the buckle on his leather belt and pulled the buttons on his cotton shirt tight into their holes. He read a book with a submarine on the cover. He glanced up at Toland and back to his book. The train travelled some distance, hit a rough spot, and seemed to bounce. The man crossed his legs and turned and hid behind his shoulder. Toland could taste blood on his lip, and he sucked it. Two men were talking. The ride smoothed when one scratched and said: I don't know what it is, but it won't stop itching.

The lights went up and down again. The car screeched to a halt. The man with the itch got off. The stitching in his seat had torn and the padding had been torn out. The car set off again. The next car along seemed to float inside the window of the connecting door and a snare of electric arced up the tunnel wall. The lights went up and down again and Toland got off and out to the cold air.

There were clouds coming in again, turning the early morning in to evening. He smoked while he walked, and he walked until he came to Lowe's Laundry. A team of men were in the street outside, some of them were ripping out the old frame while others brought a new one off a truck. The laundry was still working, and a dry heat was flowing out of it. Toland threw his cigarette, stepped around the men, and got inside. Laura Lowe was reading a paper on a bench at the back of the laundry. She still had a bruised face.