Disclaimer: "The Main" is a novel by Trevanian, a police story set against the backdrop of the Main, also known as Rue Sainte-Catherine, Montreal's teeming undercity. Although the story and crime resolves, it does so at the very end of the novel, leaving me wondering as to what happened next. Since we had a class project due, I wrote up a conclusion to the story, imitating Trevanian's style. If you have not read the Main, you will not understand what follows, and I'll spoil the ending for you, so don't read this first. LaPointe and the rest of the characters belong to Trevanian.
P.S. Whilst LaPointe might enjoy reading Emile Zola, it is doubtful that you will, so don't try. I cannot be held responsible for the consequences and ensuing medical bills.
Aftermath: Concluding "The Main"
Trent Roman
LaPointe walked down the Main once again. It wasn't something that he was going to do very often it seemed. At least, not in an official function. He knew that long after his upcoming forced retirement, he would still walk the streets of the Main at night, putting the street to bed as it were, just like old times. However, he would no longer carry with him the influence and power that his present position of lieutenant – no, make that captain now – was associated with. Still, he knew that the bommes and the criminals have better respect him. Retired he may be, he still knew enough about each boss, pimp and whore to lock 'em up for some time. Some of the others, like the eternal bomme Dirtyshirt Red, would always respect him, not out of fear, but rather out of a genuine bond that develops between a beat cop and his bommes, much like a master and his pets, though Lapointe (and no doubt the bommes) wouldn't much care much for the analogy.
Walking past an old Pakistani rug store (Bankruptcy sale - everything must go!), LaPointe spotted one of those people who seemed to always be everywhere on the Main. The Vet. The aging man with a floppy hat and a limp he got in the war. The Vet did not look where he was going, nor did he have to, being a resident of the Main for so long. In his hands he held a piece of paper, and all his attention seemed to be focused on it. This piqued LaPointe's curiosity. He purposefully got into the Vet's path. The Vet stopped a few feet from LaPointe, only then looking up.
"Oh, hi lieutenant."
Apparently news of his impromptu promotion hadn't gotten out into the Main's information stream yet. That was fine with LaPointe. He didn't really care about rank. He didn't really care about anything, except his street and justice. And maybe Marie-Louise. He wasn't sure yet.
"What do you have there, Vet?"
"Oh, I got my money from the army. Going to go get myself nice and drunk now, yes sir."
"All right, just don't cause any trouble."
As the Vet walked away, his attention still focused on the paper, LaPointe pondered on what he had said. If the Vet really wanted to get drunk, he would be by now. It was no small secret that the Vet's "cozy kip" had been destroyed. Maybe he was going to use the money to find another. That meant staying sober, cause there wasn't enough cash that came with that paper for both. This could be a glimmer of hope for the Vet. Or not. LaPointe kept on walking.
He was headed towards the Knife Grinder's shop. It had snowed last night, and he had to check up on the snow-obsessed Knife Grinder. He did this every time it snowed, ever since a particular incident a few years back. One of the residents of the Main had brought him a knife that he wasn't using anymore. People did this out of pity for the old nut case. But it had started to snow, big flakes falling down gently. The Knife Grinder had leapt up and screamed at the flakes, gesturing wildly. Unfortunately, he still had the man's knife in his hands, and had made a deep cut in the man's arm.
When LaPointe arrived, the Knife Grinder, true to his name, was grinding a knife. Over all the noise he was making, the Knife Grinder didn't hear LaPointe approaching until he was almost on top of him.
"Oh, hello, lieutenant. Nice weather we're having, eh? Well, except for that confounded snow. Did you know, every year, when the snow comes, people slip in it? Think about it. That's a lot of people who have slipped in the snow. It's dangerous, you know. Especially when it's coming down hard like now."
LaPointe didn't bother mentioning that there was no snow falling, he simply nodded in agreement. After a short discussion where he assured himself that the Knife Grinder wouldn't try carving people thinking they're snowflakes, LaPointe kept on walking.
Soon he found himself walking near the area were Moishe used to live. Moishe had promised to commit suicide after LaPointe found out he was the murderer. Indeed he had. LaPointe, upon entering police HQ this morning, found on his desk, under the other, more important crimes, a report stating that a man from the Main had killed himself. That was it. No details. Quiet, just like Moishe had been. And LaPointe hoped it would stay that way. The three stabbings had gotten substantial media coverage. Most people wouldn't even think of associating the suicide to the stabbings. But others had enough street smart, or paranoia, to relate the two incidents. And he didn't want his friend's reputation ruined, even though it would be posthumous.
His round done, LaPointe returned to his apartment. Marie-Louise had left him a small note on the door. She had gone out to get some supper and had taken twenty bucks. Alone, LaPointe picked up one of his favorite Zola's, and sat down in an old, comfortable chair to read.