Winter of the Wolf Moon Page 22

  When I got closer to the shoreline, I looked for the opening where we had come through. All I saw were trees.

  Goddamn it, I can’t waste energy like this. I’ve got to get to the main road. Where did we come through?

  I walked along the edge of the trees, looking for the opening. The snow hung on the branches, making a solid curtain. I tried walking close to the trees, hoping they would shield me from some of the wind.

  Down here, a few more yards, then you gotta double back. You can’t get lost. You cannot get fucking lost here or it’s all over. Is that it there? No. Wait, maybe. Yes, there it is!

  I found the depression in the snow where the Jeep had been. This must be a boat launch in the summer, I thought. Now, how long did we have to drive down here once we left the main road?

  I headed straight down the access road. In the dim light it was no more than a narrow opening in the trees. My feet were numb. My hands were hurting. I didn’t know which was worse.

  I lost my footing and fell into the snow. When I got up, I wrapped the pants more tightly around my neck and kept going. What did that article say about the next level of hypothermia? You get the “umbles.” Fumble, stumble, mumble, grumble. Is that me yet? I kept walking, rhyming the words in my head. Fumble, stumble, mumble, grumble, bumble, rumble, crumble.

  At least the snow isn’t as deep here. And the wind isn’t so bad. It’s downright balmy, isn’t it? I do believe I’m starting to feel quite warm here. This would make a lovely vacation spot.

  I fell down into the snow again. I pushed myself back up to my knees and stopped.

  Get up, goddamn it. Get on your feet. If you stop, you’re dead.

  I got up. I kept going.

  Just keep walking. Straight ahead. The road is this way. Get to the road.

  Bumble. Tumble. Trumble. What’s trumble? It’s the name of a street. But it’s spelled Trumbull. Michigan and Trumbull. Tiger Stadium is on the corner of Michigan and Trumbull.

  Keep walking. Get to the road.

  Things to do when I get back home. Take a hot bath. Sit by the fire. Drink some hot coffee.

  I fell down again.

  Get up. Get up or die.

  I got up, snow clinging to my face.

  Move to Florida. Lie on a beach. Get a suntan.

  I kept walking. One foot and then the other, through the snow, straight ahead through the trees.

  How long did we drive down this road? I don’t remember. How long have I been walking? I don’t remember starting. I’ve been walking in the snow all my life.

  God, my hands hurt. God, my face hurts. My feet aren’t numb anymore. My feet hurt now, too. This is how Bruckman felt. Curled up there in that shack. Waiting to die. I wonder if he felt that water when he went in.

  Humble. Lumble. Is that a word? Jumble.

  Finally, I came to the main road. There was only a few inches of snow. It had been plowed recently.

  This is it, Alex. This is the main road. Where’s the rescue party? Where’s the receiving line? Where’s the man with the big trophy and the beauty queen ready to kiss you on the mouth? Sorry, ma’am, my lips are frozen.

  Which way? Right or left? Which way did you come? Which way did you turn when you came in? If you turned right then you gotta go left. If you turned left then you gotta go right. Or is it the other way around?

  Fuck, like it matters. Like it makes any difference. Just keep walking. Or don’t. Just lie down right here and wait for them to come get you. They’ll be here any minute.

  I’ll walk. Might as well. It’s such a lovely night. I’ll go this way. There seems to be a little more light this way.

  What’s that, headlights? Here they come. I see headlights.

  No, false alarm. Just your eyes playing tricks on you. Eyes are funny that way. Always playing tricks.

  You know. Maybe I’m crazy. I don’t even feel that cold anymore. My hands aren’t cold. Wherever they are. My hands. I’m sure they’re here somewhere. I hope I didn’t leave them somewhere.

  Headlights. Here they come. For real this time.

  Nope. No headlights. I keep seeing lights. Down the road. But not headlights. Maybe it’s a UFO. That could be it.

  The trees. On the side of the road. All that snow on them. They look like monks wearing white robes.

  What’s that music? It sounds like a saxophone.

  I should lie down here. Take a nap. I’m sleepy. What time is it? It must be late.

  No. Keep walking. Alex. Alex.

  The music is getting louder. It’s too slow to dance to. Just as well. I’m too sleepy to dance. I should lie down.

  No. Alex.

  It doesn’t matter. I don’t care anymore.

  This snow is soft. I’m going to lie down now.

  What is that music? I know this song. I hear it every night.

  What is that light? It’s a UFO. I was right. The aliens are here. I’m going to lie down now.

  I’m lying in the snow. It is so soft.

  The aliens are here now. The machines are next to me. One on each side. The aliens are looking down at me. One big eye in the center of their heads.

  Welcome to the planet Earth. I hope you like it here. We call this white stuff snow. It’s very soft. Perfect for lying on. Now if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I spent two more days in the hospital, the same hospital I had gone to after Bruckman—make that the late Lonnie Bruckman—and his friends did their number on me. The same doctor shined a light in my eyes, asked me what the hell was wrong with me. I was supposed to go home the last time and rest for a few days.

  “I missed the hospital food,” I said.

  “You’re lucky to be alive,” he said. “You’re also lucky to have your fingers and your toes still attached to your body.”

  A couple snowmobilers had found me, a man and his son. The man was a scoutmaster and a volunteer fireman, one of those guys who are ready for anything at any time. He had the emergency heat packs. He had the electric hand warmers that connected to the snowmobile battery. He even had the pad on the seat that warmed your ass while you were riding.

  “Those snowmobiles are amazing machines,” the doctor said. “Do you own one?”

  “No,” I said. “Not at the moment.”

  “You need to get one,” he said. “They’re a lot of fun, too.”

  When the snowmobilers got back to Paradise, they called the sheriff’s office. An ambulance was sent out to bring me to the hospital. My core body temperature was eighty-seven degrees, three below the severe hypothermia line. They applied heat to my neck, armpits and groin on the way to the hospital. When I got there, they put me in a full body wrap. My temperature came back up, about two degrees an hour.

  “Ninety-six degrees,” the doctor said, looking at the display on the thermometer. “How do you feel?”

  “I still feel cold,” I said.

  “You’ll feel better,” he said. “You’re still dehydrated from the vasoconstriction.”

  “The vasoconstriction,” I said. “Of course.”

  “We were concerned about all the blood,” he said.

  “The blood …” I said.

  “You were a mess,” he said. “But you didn’t have any bleeding injuries. That wasn’t even your blood, was it?”

  “No, it wasn’t,” I said. “It’s a long story.”

  “Somebody else’s blood,” he said, shaking his head. “Do me a favor. When you’re ready to tell the story to somebody, make sure I’m in the room. This I gotta hear.”

  I did tell the story to Sheriff Brandow, and I did make sure the doctor was there to hear it. Brandow listened to everything I said and wrote it down without saying a word, then he sent his men out to find the ice shanty.

  “They’re going to find two dead men in their underwear,” I said. “I don’t know what you guys are going to do about Bruckman.”

  “As far as I’m concerned,” he said, “we can just wait until spring.
If Champagne and Urbanic want him now, they can go in after him themselves.”

  I passed those exact words on to the agents when they came by to see me. They weren’t happy.

  “Let me get this straight,” Champagne said. “We’ve got two of Molinov’s men. Dead. We got Bruckman. Dead, and under the ice somewhere. We got no live bodies. We got no bag.”

  “You’ve still got each other,” I said.

  “It’s a good thing you’re in the hospital,” he said. “Because you’re going to need some type O in about one minute.”

  I caught Urbanic’s eye. He was trying not to smile. After Champagne stormed out of the room, I asked him how he could stand having a guy like that for a partner.

  “You were a cop once,” he said. “You ever had a partner you couldn’t stand?”

  “Yes,” I said. “He got killed.”

  “Do you miss him?”

  “Every day,” I said.

  “I’d feel the same way,” he said. “And besides, you should see him hit a golf ball. We’ve won the DEA Two-Man Best Ball seven years in a row.”

  I was still thinking about that when Leon stopped by. He had more private investigator magazines for me and a small box.

  “I’ve got a present for you,” he said.

  I opened the box. Inside were at least a couple hundred business cards. “What’s this?”

  “Read it,” he said.

  I took out one of the cards. “Prudell-McKnight Investigations,” I read. There were two guns under our names.

  “You see, that’s your service revolver, and that’s my Luger.”

  “It’s looks like they’re shooting at each other,” I said.

  “No, no,” he said. “It’s like the two musketeers. All for one and one for all. Or both. Or whatever.”

  “You actually had business cards made up,” I said.

  “I thought they’d cheer you up,” he said. “I’ll be back later, after work.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  “I don’t like seeing my partner lying in a hospital bed,” he said. “I won’t feel right until you’re back on the case.”

  “The case,” I said. “How much time have we spent thinking about this? How much trouble did we get into? Well, me, anyway. Not to mention two trips to the hospital. What do we have to show for it?”

  “Well,” he said. He thought about it. “We’ve eliminated some suspects.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “You’re right,” I said. “We have done that.”

  “Just get better,” he said. “Then we’ll get back to work.”

  “Leon,” I said. “Seriously, I don’t know what the hell we’ve been doing, but I will say this. I’m glad vou were helping me.”

  “See ya later, partner,” he said.

  “See ya later,” I said. “Partner.”

  When he was gone, I looked through the magazines he had left for me, then I took a nap. When I woke up, the two snowmobilers were there to see me, a man and his thirteen-year-old son from Traverse City. They both had crew cuts and firm handshakes. I thanked them and gave them my phone number, invited them up for a week in one of the cabins, whenever they felt like coming up again.

  Bill Brandow came back again that evening. This time he had a brown paper bag with a cold Canadian beer in it. “I figured you could use this,” he said.

  “The doctor will kill you,” I said.

  “I’m going to be buying you drinks for a long time,” he said, “so I thought I might as well get started now.”

  “And it’s just what I need right now,” I said, feeling the bottle. “Something cold.”

  He looked down at the floor. “Guess I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Bill.”

  “I shouldn’t have played along with those agents,” he said. “You were right. I’m an elected sheriff. They can’t do anything to me.”

  “Yeah, but that Champagne guy is such a smooth talker, you couldn’t help yourself.”

  “I see I’m going to be paying for this for a long time,” he said.

  When he was gone, Jackie came by, the man who would rather kiss his ex-wife than leave his bar and go out driving in the snow.

  “What did you do,” I said, “close the place?”

  “My son’s there,” he said. “I just had to come by and make sure you were okay.”

  “You didn’t come here the last time I was in the hospital,” I said.

  “Yeah, but you were just beat up then. By the time I even found out about it, you were out. If you’re going to freeze to death, on the other hand, I wish you’d pay your tab first.”

  “Good seeing you, too,” I said.

  The doctor came by again, and then Leon again after work, and then around dinnertime I looked up and thought I must be hallucinating. Chief Maven was standing in the doorway.

  “What, no flowers?” I said.

  “I just had to come by and see for myself,” he said. “They found you lying in the snow in the middle of Luce County, without a coat on, and you didn’t even lose a body part to frostbite?”

  “My parts are all here,” I said. “All the original equipment.”

  “How’s that saying go?” he said. “ ‘God looks after fools and idiots’?”

  “I think it’s fools and drunkards,” I said.

  “Either way,” he said, “ain’t you the living proof.”

  When he came close enough to stand over me, he put his gloves in his pockets and folded his arms. He looked tired.

  “Why did you come here?” I said. “Really.”

  “I came here to ask you a few questions,” he said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “That cabin on Mackinac Trail,” he said. “I’ve already read the statement you gave to Brandow, but I have to ask you this myself. Did you really hit that thing with your snowplow?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It wasn’t intentional.”

  “You meant to plow the driveway and missed.”

  “Next question,” I said.

  “You saw what was done to those people,” he said. “After you accidentally caved in the whole side of the place with your snowplow.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “And those men in the ice shanty,” he said. “The dead men they found lying in their underwear. Pearl and Roman? Is that what they called themselves? They’re the ones who killed those people in the cabin?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the other man?” he said. “Molinov? You saw him kill Pearl and Roman?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  He nodded his head. “Okay, last question. Was it fast or was it slow?”

  “What are you asking me?” I said.

  “You saw what those men did,” he said. “When they died, was it fast or was it slow?”

  I looked at him for a long moment. “It was fast,” I finally said. “They never even saw it coming.”

  He nodded his head again. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.” He took his gloves back out of his pocket and put them on.

  “That’s all,” he said. And then he left.

  I sat there, staring at the far wall. The doctor came in a few minutes later and broke the spell.

  “I’d like to keep you here a couple of more days,” he said. “Make sure your stomach is ready to digest food again. Hell, I’d like to keep you here for a month this time, make sure you don’t do anything stupid as soon as you get out of here.”

  “I feel fine,” I said.

  “You don’t feel cold anymore?”

  “No,” I said. Which was a lie. But I couldn’t take the hospital anymore, and the endless parade of visitors. Everybody I knew had come by to see me.

  With one exception.

  I left the hospital at eight o’clock the next morning. I was wearing the new coat Leon had brought me. My old one was under the ice, after all, presumably still wrapped around Lonnie Bruckman
’s body. But that was okay with me. I had gotten twelve good years out of that coat.

  My truck was waiting in the parking lot, just as Leon had promised. I told him I didn’t want him to pick me up. I didn’t want to see anybody that morning. I just wanted to have a few hours by myself to do something important. He understood that, without needing any kind of explanation. The mark of a good partner.

  I headed west that morning. It was cold, like most days. It looked like it would snow again soon, like most days. But I wasn’t thinking about the weather. When I hit the turnoff for Brimley, I took the road north onto the reservation. I parked the truck in the casino lot and went inside.

  It didn’t take me long to find him. He was working a five-dollar blackjack table. There were three, players, two women and one man. I joined them.

  “Alex,” he said, without looking up. When he was done shuffling, he slid the shoe to one of the woman and handed her the cut card.

  “Vinnie,” I said.

  After the cut, he started dealing. “Are you playing?” he said. He kept looking at the cards as he dealt them. He dealt himself a jack, so he pushed the other card over the sensor to see if he had blackjack. He didn’t, so the hand continued.

  “I’m playing,” I said. I took out the envelope from my pocket, the one the renters had left for me. After my adventures at the ice rink, I had one hundred-dollar bill left.

  When the hand was finished and the bettors paid off, he took the bill from me. “Changing a hundred,” he said. The pit boss gave him a nod.

  I waited until the next hand was underway. “You didn’t come see me in the hospital,” I said.

  “I’ve been working,” he said. “Dealer shows nine.”

  “You came and saw me the last time,” I said. “Suddenly you’re too busy? Did they change your hours?”

  “Twenty-two,” he said, after the first woman drew a ten to her twelve. “Alex, I can’t talk right now.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” I said. “I think I know why you didn’t come by.”

  “Twenty-five,” he said, after the man drew a nine to his sixteen. “Alex, please.”

  “You should have split the eights, sir,” I said to the man. From the look on his face, my advice was not appreciated. “I think you didn’t come by,” I said to Vinnie, “because you were consumed by guilt.”