The Hunting Wind: An Alex McKnight Mystery Page 3

  Five minutes later, he had dug out my old catcher’s mitt, along with my first baseman’s glove. Every catcher has a first baseman’s glove or an outfielder’s glove, because every catcher dreams about the day when the manager sends him out into the field, where he can play standing up, without pads and a mask. We stood forty feet away from each other on the road in front of my cabin, and then he tossed the ball to me.

  “Just a couple,” I said. “This is crazy.” When I threw the ball back to him, it felt like something I had never done before in my life.

  “Since when do you throw like a girl?” he said.

  “You’ll have to forgive me,” I said. “They took one bullet out of my rotator cuff, and the other out of my shoulder blade. You kinda lose a little zip on the ball.”

  He threw it back to me. “It feels good, right? Throwing the ball again?”

  “No,” I said. “As a matter of fact, it hurts a great deal.” I threw it back, trying to use the turn of my body to take the stress off my arm.

  “You just need to warm up,” he said.

  “By the fire, with a beer,” I said.

  “I tried looking her up,” he said, throwing the ball back to me. “On my computer, I mean. Maria Valeska.”

  “Randy, that was her name in 1971.” I threw the ball. The pain was starting to go away. Just a little.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said. “She could be married now.”

  “If she’s married . . .”

  “Alex, I’m not expecting that she’s going to be waiting for me after all these years. I know she’s not sitting up in a tower like Rapunzel or something.”

  “Then why—”

  “Rapunzel was the one with the hair, right? The long hair?”

  We kept throwing the ball.

  “Although Rapunzel had blond hair, right?” he said. “Maria’s hair was jet black.”

  “Randy . . .”

  “Have you ever been in love with a girl with dark hair and dark eyes, Alex?”

  I threw the ball. “Do green eyes count?”

  “In California, there are blondes everywhere. Just gorgeous women, Alex. You look at ’em, and it’s like you’re looking right into the sun. But then you blink and you look away, and it’s like you can’t even remember what they looked like. Now a girl with dark eyes, the kind of eyes that just go right through you . . .”

  “Randy . . .”

  “That’s the kind of girl that gets under your skin.”

  “She’s not a girl anymore,” I said. “She’s gotta be what, in her mid-forties now?”

  “About that,” he said.

  “Some woman in her mid-forties, probably been married for a long time, probably has a couple kids. You’re gonna walk up to her door and say, ‘Hello, remember me?’ ”

  “She’ll remember me,” he said.

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t know, Alex.”

  “Randy, do you have any idea what this sounds like? I’m sorry, it just sounds so stupid.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. He backed up a few feet and threw the ball a little faster. It hit my glove with a pop, the same sound I used to hear a thousand times a day. It had been my entire life once, just catching a baseball and throwing it back, again and again.

  ‘Take it easy,” I said. “I’m not wearing a mask here.”

  “Just think about it,” he said. “I look her up and I can’t find her, but instead I find you. And it turns out you’re a private eye now.” He threw the ball again. Pop!

  “No, not really,” I said. But he wasn’t listening. I tossed the ball back.

  “And you used to be a cop in Detroit, which is where she lived.”

  “A long time ago.”

  “And you still live in Michigan now.” Another throw, another pop in my glove.

  “Detroit’s six hours away from here, Randy.”

  “I could always count on you, Alex. You were my catcher, man. I mean, I threw to other guys, but you were my catcher.” He backed up another few feet and threw a hard one. It gave my left hand a little tingle when I caught it.

  “Okay, we’re about done here,” I said. I should have pocketed the ball right then, but instead I tossed it back to him.

  “Don’t you believe in fate, Alex? With you and Leon helping me, I know this is going to work out.”

  “Leon,” I said. “About Leon . . .”

  “He’s expecting us today, by the way,” Randy said. “I figure we can go see him after lunch.”

  “Expecting us?” I said. “For what?”

  “To bring us up-to-date on the case,” he said. “I talked to him a few days ago, you know, when he told me where to find you.”

  “Up-to-date?” I said. “On the case?”

  “I feel a slinky coming, Alex.”

  “Randy, don’t.”

  “I got to throw one, Alex. I’m bringing out the slinky.” He went into a slow windup.

  “Randy, so help me God, if you throw a slinky . . .”

  “Get down, Alex. Here comes the slinky . . .”

  I could have thrown my hands up in the air. Or turned my back to him. It probably would have stopped him. I don’t know why I went down into the position, my glove in front of me, my right hand behind my back. Maybe it was just instinct. Or maybe part of me really did want to see him throw the slinky again, one more time.

  He threw the ball, dropping down into that sidearm delivery. Just like the old days.

  And just like the old days, the ball bounced five feet in front of me.

  I didn’t catch it, but at least I stopped it. That was the one thing I was always good at. Whatever it took, whatever part of my body I had to sacrifice, I could always stop the slinky.

  “I think I hurt my arm,” Randy said. We were sitting at the bar in Jackie’s place, sitting in front of two big plates of his Wednesday corned beef.

  I didn’t say anything. I just sat there with a bag of ice against my right eye.

  “Jackie, this is damned good,” he said.

  Jackie came over, looked at me for the seventh time since we had come in the place, and shook his head. “Alex, tell me again what happened.”

  I gave him as nasty a look as you can give a man with your right eye swollen shut.

  “Are you telling me, Randy,” he said, still looking at me, “that this man forced you to throw to him?”

  “He wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Randy said.

  “And he made you try to throw that pitch you used to throw? What was it called?”

  “The slinky,” Randy said. “On a cold day, without even warming up. I could have ruined my arm.”

  “Well, it serves him right,” Jackie said. “He got what he deserved.”

  “If you guys are about done,” I said, “I could use some more ice.”

  “Hurry up and eat, will ya?” Randy said. “We gotta go see your partner.”

  “Randy, I’ve been trying to tell you,” I said. “He’s not really my partner. I mean, he is, but it’s because we have this arrangement. All his life, Leon has wanted to be a private investigator. His old boss fired him and talked me into taking his job. Don’t even get me started on that. Let’s just say it didn’t work out very well.”

  “But you are still a private investigator,” Randy said.

  “I still have the license,” I said. “But I don’t do anything with it. Leon helped me out of a jam, so in return I agreed to be his partner. You know, just to have my name on the business cards.”

  “And in the phone book.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “We’re in the phone book. Like we’re gonna get a lot of business up here.”

  “And on the Web site.”

  “Yeah, the Web site. I’m gonna have a little talk with him about that.”

  “I’ve got plenty of money, Alex,” he said. “I plan on paying you for this.”

  “It’s not the money, Randy. Are you listening to what I’m saying? I’m not really a
private investigator. Two times now I’ve gone out trying to find somebody, and both times it ended up being a disaster. I’m not any good at it.”

  “You were always a good two-strike hitter, Alex.”

  I dropped the bag of ice and looked at him. “Say that again?”

  “You were always a good two-strike hitter.”

  “Randy, we played a whole season together. Were you ever watching when I went up to the plate?”

  “Of course.”

  “How many times did you see me go after a bad pitch with two strikes?”

  “Offhand, I don’t think I can remember you ever doing that.”

  “How about at least once a game, sometimes twice, sometimes three times. Hell, I remember doing it four times once. Swinging at a ball a foot outside and striking out. In fact, if you had to pick one reason why I never made it as a ballplayer, Randy, just one reason, that would be it.”

  It was all coming back to me, and after already taking one in the eye that day, it wasn’t doing much for my mood. I was good behind the plate, I was great with the pitchers, especially the headcases like Randy, and I had a decent throw to second base. But I never batted over .240, mainly because I struck out swinging too much. It didn’t take long for the pitchers to find out. If they got two strikes on me, I was dead.

  I guess that says something about me. Two strikes and I’ll try too hard to protect the plate. I’ll swing at anything.

  “Well, okay, then,” Randy said after a long moment. “Here’s your chance to make up for it.”

  “Seriously,” I said. “We gotta talk about this.”

  “Hold that thought,” he said. “I gotta hit the little boys’ room before we go.” He spun off the bar stool and started singing. “L’amour, l’amour, oui, ya da da . . .”

  “Where’s Jackie?” I said. “I need more ice.”

  “How does it go?” Randy said, and then he started singing it again. “L’amour, l’amour, oui, son ah something . . . What’s the next line?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s Romeo’s song,” he said. “From the opera, in French. It’s beautiful.”

  “I don’t know the words, Randy. Especially not in French.”

  “L’amour, l’amour . . . Oui, son ardeur . . . Is that it?”

  “I don’t know, Randy.”

  “You try to think of it while I’m in the bathroom, Alex.”

  When he disappeared into the bathroom, Jackie finally came over with the new bag of ice.

  “What am I gonna do with him?” I said.

  “What do you mean?” Jackie said.

  “I mean, what am I gonna do? He really wants to find this girl he met in 1971. How crazy is that?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s a moot point. You know you’re gonna help him.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you have to,” he said. “You spend your whole life up here sitting in your cabin all by yourself. You don’t even have a television, for God’s sake. You’re so desperate for human contact, you gotta come in here every day and make my life miserable. If a new face comes through that door and asks you for help, you’re gonna do it, no matter what. I’ve seen it before, remember? In fact, you know what? One of these days, an alien spaceship is gonna land out there in the parking lot, and a couple of little green men are gonna come in here and ask you to help them. You know, take you back to their planet so you can help them ward off some other aliens who are trying to invade them or something. And of course you’ll just get your ass kicked again, but it doesn’t matter. Because you’ll go. In two minutes, you’ll be out that door and on that spaceship.”

  I just looked at him for a while, with the new bag of ice pressed against my eye. “That’s quite a story, Jackie. Little green men, eh?”

  “Yep. Right in that parking lot.”

  “And they’ll come ask me for help. They’ll speak English and everything.”

  “By the time they get here, yes. That’s why they haven’t landed yet. They’re still studying you. They’ve already picked you out as the biggest sap on the planet Earth. Now they have to learn everything about you before they come get you. Hell, I bet they’ll even have a case of Canadian beer in the spaceship waiting for you.”

  Randy came back out of the bathroom, still trying to sing his song. “What do you say, Alex. Are you ready to go?”

  “Randy, you better take him quick,” Jackie said. “While he’s still available.”

  As he walked away laughing, I threw the bag of ice at the back of his head.

  I followed Randy to the airport so he could turn in his rental car, and then he hopped in my truck for the ride over to Leon’s house.

  He was quiet for a few minutes, looking out the window at the passing trees. “There’s not a whole lot up there, is there,” he finally said.

  “Besides trees?” I said. “No, there isn’t.”

  “It’s kinda nice,” he said. “Big change from L.A.”

  “I imagine.”

  “Hey, we’re headed for Sault Ste. Marie, right?”

  “Yeah, Leon lives in a little town called Rosedale, just south of the Soo.”

  “I’ve never seen the Soo locks before,” he said. “I think we should go up there first, while there’s still daylight. Then we can go see Leon.”

  “What? I thought you said Leon was waiting for us.”

  “He’s not going anywhere,” he said. “Come on, you gotta show me the world-famous Soo locks. When am I ever gonna see them again?”

  “Randy, the locks aren’t even open yet. Not for another week.”

  “There’s another reason why I don’t want to see your partner yet,” he said. “I sort of have to tell you a little bit more about Maria first.”

  “Why? What are you talking about?”

  “It’s just . . . some stuff,” he said. “I want to tell you this myself, so you don’t get the wrong idea.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Take me to the locks, Alex. Some things you can’t talk about unless you’re looking at water.”

  I shook my head and kept driving. “Why is this happening to me?” I said. “What did I do to deserve this?”

  Twenty minutes later, the truck was parked in front of the Soo Locks Park. In the summer, the lot would be full, and the observation deck would have maybe forty people on it. On this overcast April afternoon, with a cold wind coming up off the bay and blowing right down the St. Marys River, we had the place to ourselves.

  Randy stood on the observation deck, looking down at the locks. There were still great blocks of ice floating in the water. He was already shivering, with that poor excuse for a coat wrapped tightly around his body. But it was his own damned fault, so I didn’t feel too bad for him.

  “This is it, huh?” he said. “The ships come right through here, and then what, they get lowered in the middle here?”

  “Lowered if they’re going into Lake Huron,” I said. “Or raised if they’re going into Lake Superior. Twenty-one feet.”

  “How long does it take?”

  “Ten minutes maybe.”

  “Must be an impressive sight.”

  “When you’ve got a seven-hundred-foot freighter coming through here, it’s pretty impressive, yeah.”

  “It opens up next week, you say?”

  “Randy, are you gonna tell me about Maria before you freeze to death?”

  He moved up onto the cement bleachers, where there was at least a little bit of shelter from the wind. “This is going to sound a little crazy,” he said as he sat down. “Damn, this cement feels cold on my ass.”

  “It’s gonna sound crazy? How much more crazy can it get?”

  “Well, here it is,” he said. “Just let me tell you the whole story before you say anything, okay?”

  “I’m all ears,” I said.

  “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “In 1971, when I went up to Detroit, there were a few of us who got called up together. You remember Marvin L
ane, the outfielder, and Chuck Seelbach, the other pitcher? A couple guys from double-A, too. Anyway, we were all new in town and kinda overwhelmed by everything, so we ended up spending time together, just hanging out in the afternoons, before the games. One day, we’re having lunch at the Lindell AC. It was a nice September afternoon in the big city, you know, so we’re just walking around down there in Corktown, feeling like hot shit ‘cause we’ll be going over to the stadium in a few hours for the night game. And we see this place, with this sign on the sidewalk. A big hand, with all these lines on it. MADAME VALESKA, SPIRITUAL READER. I guess she’d call herself a psychic nowadays. But back then, the sign said SPIRITUAL READER. It was one of those buildings with the stairways that go up the side. We all went up there, thinking we’d all get our fortunes told. See if we’d see any game time that night. You know, just as a gag. I tell ya, Alex, this place was wild. It had this incredible red wallpaper, and all these strange paintings on the walls. One was a guy hanging upside down, like on the tarot cards, and another was a skeleton in a black robe—you know, with the big blade thing he carries around to harvest souls. Anyway, Madame Valeska was sitting in the back room, with a crystal ball, I swear to God, and she read our fortunes one by one. All five of us. I was the last guy. By the time I got into see her, I was already in love. This girl, in the lobby, sitting at a little table. She had black hair. And these eyes that just . . . God, I know what this sounds like, Alex. I don’t know how to make this sound any different. But when she looked at me, it was like everything just stopped. I couldn’t even breathe. I finally asked her what her name was. She said it was Maria. And that’s it. That’s how I met her.”

  We both sat there for a long moment. The wind picked up and whistled through the deck. The cold air was making my eye hurt.

  “So what did Madame Valeska say?” I said. “What was your fortune?”

  He laughed. “I wasn’t listening too well. Although I do remember, she said some things that were pretty amazing. She knew that I was about to have the biggest test of my life.”

  “You were there with a bunch of other young baseball players,” I said. “Of course she’s going to say that.”

  “No, there was more than that. She seemed to know stuff about how I was trying to prove to my father that I could be successful doing my own thing instead of going into business with him.”