Winter of the Wolf Moon (19 page)

“It’s not that hard,” he said. “You just hit one place and then the next. You get into a rhythm. He’s gotta be somewhere over there, Alex. He has to eat. And you said he was high, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“How many cokeheads you know just sit inside all day?”

“I don’t know, Leon.”

“Potheads are another story. But when you’re on coke, you need
action
. You need to be out all night, making the scene. You know, lights, music.”

Jackie put a Canadian in front of me, looked at Leon and then rolled his eyes. “I need coffee,” Leon said. “As strong as you can make it.”

“Don’t say that,” I said. “His coffee is bad enough already.”

“So I’ve been hitting all the nightspots extra hard, Alex. Because I
know
he’s out there somewhere. And there aren’t that many places to go at night. I mean, compared to all the places you can go during the day.”

“I guess that makes sense,” I said. “Have you tried the hockey rinks?”

“Hockey rinks,” he said.

“Yeah, you said it yourself. He needs
action
. He’s a hockey player.”

“Of course,” he said. “Goddamn it. Of course.”

“If he’s anything like the baseball players I’ve known,” I said. “Or the basketball players. Or whatever.”

“Even if he’s hiding out over there, he’s gonna have to get out on that ice eventually. Hurry up with that coffee, Jackie. I gotta get back out there.”

“Leon, will you just relax for a minute? You’re gonna kill yourself. Eat some lunch at least.”

“Okay,” he said. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I have to pace myself.”

“I’ve been sitting here thinking about what to do with our guys in the motel,” I said. “I tried calling Brandow, but he’s not in. I even tried to call some of my old cop friends in Detroit, see if I could get somebody to run the plate.”

“I already ran their plate, Alex.”

“How did you do that?”

“I called the Secretary of State and gave them the number on my P.I. license. Didn’t you know you could do that?”

“Uhh, no,” I said. “But then … Well, never mind. What did you find out?”

“There is no such license number in the state of Michigan.”

“That’s impossible.”

“That’s what the lady told me.”

I picked up the phone off the bar and called the sheriff’s office again. Bill still wasn’t in. “Damn it,” I said as I put the phone down. “This is driving me crazy.”

“So what are we waiting for?” he said. “Let’s go pay them a visit.”

“I promised Bill I’d let him handle it,” I said. I turned around on the stool and looked at the window. “Hell, I’ll give him until tomorrow morning. If he hasn’t done anything by then, I’ll go over there.”

“I’m with you, partner.”

I looked at Leon. Maybe for the first time, I really looked at him. “Go home,” I finally said. “Get some sleep.”

“Couple hours,” he said. “Then I’m going back. I wonder how many ice rinks there are in Soo Canada?”

It was dark by five o’clock that evening, the daylight slipping away so fast you wondered if it had really happened. By nine o’clock I had called Bill back three more times. The last message I left for him was simple. My promise expires tomorrow morning. Either call me or come to the Brass Anchor Motel to watch me knock on their door.

With the sun down it had gotten even colder. Just stepping outside was an act of bravery. The snow made a sound like breaking glass when I walked on it. I could see a few lights on down the street. Another bar. A restaurant that catered to the snowmobile crowd. Woodsmoke rising from chimneys. Beyond that the motel. I couldn’t see it in the dark, but I knew it was there. I pictured the two men in their room. In their undershirts, maybe. One man sitting by the window. The other man, what? Cleaning his gun? Sleeping? I wished them a good night. Their last night before I came calling on them.

The truck hesitated in the cold. I shouldn’t have left it sitting outside all day without going out to start it. Not when it was this cold. Finally, it started. I pumped the heater on all the way and felt nothing but cold air coming out. Goddamn it all to hell, it is too fucking cold, I thought. It’s bad enough without being
tired and sore, and already feeling like I’m a hundred years old.

I drove home. When I got to my road I put the plow down and cleaned up some of the drifts. Vinnie’s car was there. But then he said it hadn’t started that day, right? I dropped him off at the casino. Either he’s still there or he got a ride home. Whatever. I was too tired to think about it.

You did nothing but sit on your ass all day, Alex, and now you’re so tired you can barely keep your eyes open. You are some physical specimen. Okay, so you have broken ribs and stitches over your eye, and it goddamn hurts when it’s so cold, and now you’re just talking to yourself, so go home and go to bed.

The front door to my cabin was actually closed for a change. But I stood outside the cabin anyway and told myself that nobody was inside waiting for me. Nobody has been here at all today. Nobody is watching you. Those guys are way the hell down the road at the motel. And Bruckman and his boys are way the hell over in Canada, with Leon hot on their trail, God help them. You’re feeling spooked because of everything that happened to you, so just forget it and go inside the damned cabin before you freeze to death.

When I finally went in I saw that Vinnie had spent a lot of time there trying to make things right again. There was food in the refrigerator, some new plates stacked on the kitchen counter. He had even put a new mattress on my bed to replace the one that had been slashed. He probably took it from one of the other cabins.

I got a fire going in the woodstove. The air didn’t
draw well because it was so cold. I had to fight to get an updraft going but when I finally won that battle the fire burst through the paper and wood and started to give some warmth to the room.

I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror at the ugliest, most beat-up and broken man I had ever seen. There was a swelling over my left eye where the stitches were, green and purple against the white of the bandage. I didn’t even want to look at the bruises on my body. I took the pain pills out of my pocket and read the label. Every four to six hours, as needed.

As needed.

You’ve been down this road before, Alex. If you take them tonight you’ll take them again tomorrow morning and then at noon and then with dinner and then tomorrow night you’ll stand here and count how many are left. And then the pills will own you again.

I put the bottle down on the sink and turned off the light. With my clothes still on I climbed into my bed and lay there listening to the wind whistling through the cracks in the walls. I rolled around for a while, trying to find a position that didn’t make my side ache. I thought about the pills again. It was going to be a long night.

The phone woke me out of a half sleep. I looked at the clock as I got up. It was just after midnight.

“Alex, it’s me,” the voice said.

“Leon? What is it?”

“I found him. I found Bruckman.” In the background I could hear the low growl of a jukebox.

“Where are you?” I said.

“I’m in a little bar on the east side of town. I caught
up to them over here at the Straithclair Ice Rink. They were just leaving. I guess they got tossed from a game or something. I followed him to this place. They just started playing pool, so I think they’ll be here for a while. How soon can you get here?”

“Leon, we should call the police.”

“They’re in Canada,” he said. “What are we gonna do, call the Mounties? You think they’re gonna arrest these guys and send them back for us?”

“They’re wanted for assault,” I said. “We should call the sheriff and let him handle this.”

“Like he’s handling the two guys at the motel? Listen to me, Alex. We’ll call the police if you want to, but don’t you want to talk to these guys? Maybe they didn’t take Dorothy, but they’ve got to know
something.
Don’t you want to get Bruckman against a wall and make him tell you what the hell is going on?”

I stood there shivering for a long moment. On the phone I heard nothing but the distant sound of music and laughter. And then the sharp crack of a cue ball.

“What’s it gonna be, Alex?”

“Give me the address,” I said.

I wrote it down, put my coat and boots back on, and headed out into the night.

I got the truck up to forty as I passed the Brass Anchor Motel. It was as much speed as I could coax out of an old truck on a snow-packed road, with 1,200 pounds of snowplow on the front and another 800 pounds of cinderblocks in the back. I pictured one of the two men sitting by the window, half asleep, maybe a cup of coffee in his hand. I could only hope he spilled it all over himself when he saw me rumbling by.

I made it all the way down the main road to M-28, then east a good ten miles before I saw the headlights behind me in the distance. Nice to see ya, boys. Glad to have you along for the ride.

They kept a steady quarter-mile behind me the whole way into the Soo, up I-75 toward the bridge. I didn’t see them behind me as I paid the toll and crossed the bridge into Canada. Far below me, the St. Marys River lay frozen solid.

As I pulled into Canadian customs, I remembered the gun in the pocket of my coat. “Oh goddamn it all,” I said aloud. I’ve got a carry permit, of course, and somewhere in the glove compartment I think I have my private investigator license. There’s probably some official way for a P.I. to bring a handgun into
the country. I’m sure Leon knows how to do it. I could pull over and call him on his cellular phone. If he’s in his car. If I can afford the extra few minutes. There’s probably a form to fill out. Forget it, I’m going through.

The customs agent looked vaguely familiar. I had probably seen him before on a beer run. Why am I coming into Canada this evening? That was an easy one. Canada has strip clubs, Michigan doesn’t. Give him a knowing smile. Do I have any drugs or firearms in the vehicle? I looked him right in the eye and said, “No, sir, I don’t.” He let me go right through.

When I was into Soo Canada, I kept looking in the rearview mirror, waiting to see my two friends. They weren’t there. Now why the hell didn’t they cross the border?

Because they didn’t want to go through customs, Alex. They’re criminals, with five or six guns in the car. And they can’t lie to the customs agent like I can.

I worked my way through town, heading east. Forget about those guys for now, I told myself. You’ve got something else to deal with. I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to do when I saw Bruckman again. I felt a combination of fear and anger, and something else I couldn’t even identify. I started to shiver. I turned the heat up a notch, but it didn’t seem to help.

Easy, Alex. Just breathe in and out. You’ve got to go through with this. You won’t be able to live with yourself if you don’t face him now.

I need a plan. Some way to get into that bar and get Bruckman out. Think, Alex, think.

I picked up Trunk Road on the east side of town and followed it all the way out past an industrial area
toward the Rankin Indian Reserve. The Canadian Pacific Railroad ran next to the road. At this hour the tracks were empty. As I passed the eastern edge of town, the pine trees took over completely. Like most Canadian cities, the wilderness is never far way. I hadn’t been down this road before, but I knew from the map that it was bending back toward the northern shore of the St. Marys River. I kept going until I was starting to wonder if I had gone too far. Then I saw the side street I was looking for.

The bar was a little place about a block away from the main road, close to the river. There was no sign on the building, no way you’d even know it was a bar except for two beer signs, Budweiser in one window, Molson in the other. The signs seemed to glow in a way that told me I was far from home and probably not welcome there.

I saw Leon’s little red car at the far end of the lot. As soon as I pulled in next to it, Leon opened my passenger’s side door and climbed into the truck. “They’re still here,” he said. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them.

“Don’t you have any gloves?” I said.

“I took them off,” he said. “We need to be ready for anything.” He patted the breast pocket of his coat.

“Remind me to ask you about bringing guns across the border,” I said.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t bring your gun, Alex.”

“I did, but I lied about it I didn’t know if I’d get held up in customs.”

“Good move,” he said. “They would put you through the wringer.”

“How many of his friends does Bruckman have with him?” I said.

“Three.”

“Hmm, there were four guys with him at the cabin. He must have lost one. Probably the guy he was arguing with.”

“I already have our plan mapped out, Alex.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “What plan?”

“There’s four of them and two of us,” he said. “We need to do this just right.”

“I know,” I said. “I figure I need to get Bruckman away from his friends, take him outside.”

“What do you think his friends are gonna do if you try that? And once he’s outside, how are you going to contain him? You’ve got no psychological advantage over him, Alex. He won’t feel threatened.”