McConnell House

1939 Part 1

I knew I was done for the moment Patrick Foley walked in the door.

“Hi boyo, how are ya?” He said, walking up to the bar. Pat hadn’t aged since the last time I saw him, back in 1935. He was eternally old then, and he was eternally old now. Still striking an imposing figure, he stood straight as a rod, as if he was being inspected in the army. When he walked, it was as if he was marching to war. His face was full of lines and wrinkles, like a battlefield map, but he still had a head full of hair, all his teeth, and didn’t need spectacles. His police uniform was spotless, with creases down the shirt and pants, as if it was brand new.

Patrick Foley was also the last person I wanted to see, “Fine. What can I get for you?” Pat might not have changed much in the years I saw him last, but I did. Back then, I was scruffy to say the least. I had a beard, hair so long it covered my ears, and wore my standard dirty suit. Today my hair was cut a respectable length, clean shaven, and clean clothes. If I was lucky, Pat wouldn’t recognize me.

“I think you know what I want Ty, pretty sure of it in fact. But for now I’ll take a whiskey.” Foley said, putting his nightstick on the bar before sitting down.

Mr. Patrick Foley just confirmed my first feeling. I was in deep shit. He knew it too. The moment he had walked through the door, he was wearing a shit eating grin, eye glinting with glee on seeing his long lost nemesis in the flesh.

“Not sure what you mean officer. You sure you should be drinking on the job?”

“I'll drink whenever I feel like it boyo. See, the Detective Inspector and me are real good friends. That gives me certain benefits. As for you, you can play possum all you like. I can't prove you weren't in the bank heist with the rest of your commie pals, but there are other was of busting your ass.”

At least he wasn't blaming me for the bridge explosion. It was a few tense months ever since he and Karl failed to blow up McConnell House. The police were everywhere in force, questioning everyone. If you didn't have an alibi, you were brought in for questioning, no matter how unlikely a suspect you were. There was even a Private Investigator from New York looking in on it, hired by Popular Mechanics when it looked like no one was going to be arrested.

Nevertheless, there were no arrests, or any real suspects. It was as if the bombers had almost disappeared. Logic stated that they had to be long gone from Calgary at least.

They couldn't be more wrong, as the two suspects were just a couple blocks away. After the bridge disaster, I dragged Karl back to the bar, there to await their arrests he thought at the time. Karl went straight to the bunk in the back office, not saying a word. I stayed up all night, waiting for the boot heel of the law to crush both of us like cockroaches. It never came.

Next morning, Karl came out of the office like nothing had happened; the old joker was back to normal. Only thing different was you could not mention McConnell House to him, and he started hanging around the bar more often, partaking in more than his share of drink. Karl had become a drunk.

“Is this little pipsqueak bothering you Ty?” Karl said from the other end of the bar, wasted at three p.m.

Foley just smiled, and downed the glass I put before him, “I'll be seeing you around Ty. Keep yourself out of trouble now boyo, I'll be keeping an eye on you.”

“What a clown.” Karl said, after Foley walked out the door. “What was all that about?”

“Nothing Karl, I think he's got the wrong guy.” I said to the now passed out Karl.

Sergeant Foley might have sounded like a little blowhard, but I knew his threat was real. Why he would go all this way, change police forces even to harass me for a crime I did years ago seemed a bit much. However, I knew I was still okay, because if he had any proof I was involved I would be in handcuffs right now. He was hoping I'd slip up.

That night I woke up screaming from a nightmare. In it, Jerry West was telling me about the fame and fortune he acquired from writing a book about McConnell House. He also smelled like BBQ Pork considering he was burnt to a crisp as he was telling me this.

I got out of bed and tripped over Karl, who was passed out beside it on the floor. I hopped around, and yelled at him. He reacted by sitting up, and then climbing into my bed, passing out again. I couldn't sleep anyway.

I got dressed and left the place, not sure where I was going. It felt like ever since the bridge explosion I lived my life in that bar, and that wasn't far wrong. I never thought I would think this, but I almost missed the days when I would just wander, and my only worry was when I was going to eat next. That was easy for someone who's next meal is guaranteed.

So lost in thought I didn't realize where I was going. I ended up right in front of McConnell House, on its new lot across the river. The place still gave me the heebie jeebies, but now it seemed full of life. There was a light in the window, and I could see shadows by it. The new owner and his wife.

He had spared no expense restoring the old place, it had to be the prettiest house in Calgary. That hadn't stopped the rumors and gossip about the place of course. According to the citizens of Calgary, R. L McConnell was the devil, and he lived in that demon house. After all I have been through, I couldn't say that wasn't true.

McConnell didn't help the rumors any. He and his family, a wife and three kids, did not socialize at all. After the move, no one for should could have said they saw them, except for their gardener and maid, who weren't saying anything.

Besides the light in the downstairs room, the place was dark. The kids put to bed by now. I decided to move on when I saw another man shaped shadow at the other end of the fence. It reminded me of the time I first saw Jerry West here by the house.

The shadow turned, and for a split moment I thought it was West himself, but he was too short. It was Patrick Foley. Why he was just standing there staring at the house I don't know, but I wasn't sticking around to find out. I turned around and headed back to the bar, not looking back.