“The snowplough. The boys followed it up the road. We need to sit down and plan what we do next. I hate this fucking snow. It’s made a mess of things.”
“Yes, but remember if we can’t move, neither can the police. Any sign of them?”
“Not that we saw. The radio said the pigs are looking all over Ontario for you.” An expanse of white teeth spread across her face, but I wouldn’t call it a smile. “It was brilliant of you to suggest they ditch the getaway car in the opposite direction. The pigs are scrambling to catch you at the U.S. border.”
“What about the target. Is he still there?”
“As far as we know. Snowed in, like us.”
I shrank at the word “target,” particularly when they both glanced at me. I pretended to examine a thread dangling from my sweater. If this meant what I thought it meant, all the more reason for killing us.
“You guys want to talk. We’ll get out of your way, okay?” I propelled Jid out of the room before they had a chance to stop us.
I could hear voices echoing from the kitchen. I didn’t want to join them and was debating detouring into the den when I heard Gerry ask, “Where’s Meg?”
“Who in the hell’s Meg?” answered a raspy tenor voice.
“What have you done with her?” Gerry persisted.
I had better let him know we were alive, so I continued past the den and into the kitchen. Two sets of cold, inquiring eyes stared back at me.
“Good, there you are,” Gerry said, standing against the counter, rubbing a shoulder.
He’d pulled off his wool toque to reveal his bristly brush cut and was in the process of unzipping the bulky work jacket that looked old enough to have belonged to his trapper father. Though a gun was no longer pointed at him, the blond guy standing beside him still held one in his hand, while the other had slipped his into his belt.
“You’ve got the boy too,” Gerry continued. “Claire said she thought he was visiting.”
Claire was Gerry’s wife and prided herself in knowing everyone’s business on the reserve.
“Who are these guys?” He jerked his head in the direction of the three men.
The blond one with his unkempt hair and unshaven face and his black leather jacket with Black Devils patches on full display could’ve been a carbon copy of Slobodan, while the other, in his red down-filled jacket, neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair, and businessman’s paunch, had an air of respectability about him. The gun said otherwise.
Slobo had taken up one of the chairs at the table, in front of a bowl brimming with Eric’s homemade granola. With his mouth half full, he yelled, “Shut up!”
Gerry clamped his mouth shut, started to open it, then, seeing the ferocity reflected on the Serbian’s face, closed it again and kept it that way.
“Good you guys made it,” Slobo continued.
“It looks like life in the clink treat you good, Tiger.” The biker patted his flat stomach, where the Serb’s was bulging over his buckle. “Perhaps you should have stayed inside.” He spoke with a slight French accent. Likely he was Bébé Jean, although at more than six feet he could hardly be called a baby.
“Food is shit. But lots of it.” Slobo spooned more cereal into his mouth. “You see cops?”
“Not a one. They are too busy looking for you along the border.”
“Hey, are you the guys that —” Gerry stopped when he saw my glare.
“So what happen now?” the Quebecer asked.
“It’s up to Jo,” said the other man. “It’s her gig.”
At that point, the woman, with Larry and Professor following unsteadily behind, walked into the heat of the kitchen.
FORTY-SEVEN
Blood oozed from what looked to be a severed head of a snake on the top of the tattooed man’s head. I didn’t see any other bullet wounds, but he was rubbing an egg-size lump at the back of his head.
The Serbian stopped eating. Removing his hands from the table, he straightened up against the back of his chair in anticipation of a confrontation. Professor walked over to the table and took the chair across from him but refused to acknowledge the challenge with so much as a glance. Despite the man’s weakened condition, I could sense his inner power and strength.
Slamming the chair against the wall behind him, Slobo stood up and joined the other two men.
Clutching his stomach, Larry shuffled into the kitchen. Instead of taking up a chair next to his protector, he continued across the kitchen to Jo, who was rubbing her hands over the heat of the woodstove.
He mumbled nervously, “You got my stuff?”
“What are you talking about?” She continued rubbing her hands.
“Stuff. You know, stuff.” His voice rose an octave. “Tiger said you were bringing some.”
“You talking about heroin? You an addict?” She faced him, not bothering to hide her contempt.
The two newcomers, who’d been ignoring the injured man, now regarded him with interest. I thought I detected sympathy in the eyes of the respectable-looking man, but the blond biker curled his lip in derision.
Larry squirmed with embarrassment. “I really need some.”
“Sorry. Tiger didn’t mention it. You’d better not crap out on us and do something stupid. We can’t afford it.” She turned her back on him and resumed warming her hands.
For a moment I thought Larry was going to lose it, but he managed to keep himself together, dragged his feet back to where his lover was sitting, and took the chair next to him.
Professor placed his arm around Larry’s trembling body and said softly, “It’s for the best, P’tit Chief. You’re going to make it. You’ll be a much better man for it.” He kissed him gently on the forehead.
The blond man looked away while the other stranger watched with interest, which made me wonder about his inclinations. After a few seconds he said, “Hell, what happened to you, Viper? Nothing wrong with you when I hauled you out of the van yesterday.”
So he was involved in the escape. Not so respectable after all.
Professor jerked his head toward the Serbian. “One of your upstanding members. My price has just gone up.”
“You bastard,” the man growled. “Wait till the boss hears about this.” He punched Slobo in the jaw, knocking his head sideways.
Before the Serb could respond, Jo was yelling, “Stop!” She slipped between the two men. “Fighting isn’t going to get us anywhere. Tiger will pay the increase.”
From the surprised look on her boyfriend’s face, I could tell he hadn’t anticipated this outcome. But he didn’t attempt to contest it.
“Look, guys, Viper has said he is up to the job, so we need to finalize our plan,” she continued.
“D’accord,” the Quebecer agreed, while the other man said, “It’s your show, sweetheart.”
Jo shot back, “The name’s Josephine. I’m not your sweetheart, never have been, and never will be. Are you going to work with us, or do I tell the boss?”
The man drummed his fingers on the counter. Finally, he nodded. “Yah, I’m in.”
“Good. First we need food. You,” she said, pointing at me, “your kitchen, you cook.”
“Sure.” Now was not the time to tell her I didn’t cook.
“You, driver, help her.”
Good. Gerry liked to brag that his fried eggs were the best on the rez.
“Jean, Viper, Freddie, you come with me. Larry and Tiger, you stay here.”
“But sunce, you need me.” Slobo pushed away from the counter and walked over to his girlfriend.
“Tiger, honey, remember what we discussed. It’s better you stay out of this.”
“But I more better than that faggot,” he spat out.
“I know you are, honey, but not this time. He is the man we need for this operation. Besides, I want you to guard these three. They try to escape, I give you permission to shoot them. We’re too close to completing the job to have them ruin it.”
“Better we kill them now.”
&n
bsp; “Not yet. We might need them.” She ran her fingers up and down his thigh and then squeezed hard. He yelped. “When we no longer need them, I’ll give you the honours.”
Before the full implication could sink in, she was demanding breakfast be on the table by the time they returned. There wasn’t an “or else.” It had already been said.
I watched her stride out the kitchen door without a single flick of her eyes in my direction. The three men followed. I listened to their boots clomping in unison down the hall like a death knell, until it stopped when they went into the den.
Larry remained seated at the table, appearing not the least upset at being left out of the action. The biker resumed his chair across from him and placed his revolver in full view on the table. Crossing his arms across his chest, he leaned back, balancing the chair on its back legs. Gloating was the only expression I could use to describe the expression on his face.
“You heard her. Make food,” he rasped. “I starving.”
Larry raised himself from the chair. “I’m cold. I’m going to sit by the stove. Jid, do you want to join me?”
The boy hesitated, uncertain. I gave him a little push in the injured man’s direction. I had a sense that Larry would do what he could to protect a fellow Algonquin, especially one young enough to be his son.
I watched the boy drag a chair to where Larry sat in Aunt Aggie’s rocking chair. His movements were that of an old man. His youthful exuberance was gone. He was as terrified as I was.
“You better know how to fry eggs,” I said, turning to Gerry. “I always break the yolks. Given the mood these guys are in, I don’t fancy giving them another excuse.”
Gerry appeared equally stunned. “Do you really think they’ll kill us?” he whispered. “I tell you, I was sure scared when they stopped my truck and waved guns in my face. I didn’t know whether I was going to make it to your house in one piece. But I was sure hoping you wouldn’t be here. I didn’t want to get you into trouble. So how long have they been here? Who in the hell are these guys?”
“Shut your mouth,” Slobo shouted. “Get to work.”
Gerry backed up, almost knocking over the garbage can behind him. He looked as if he were about to open his mouth to say something but then clamped it firmly shut.
I motioned for him to follow me into the pantry to get the eggs. Luckily, I had three dozen of them in anticipation of the Christmas crowd. While I passed Gerry a carton, I whispered, “Did you hear anything about a prison escape?”
“Yeah, the radio and TV were full of it.” His dark brown eyes opened wide. “Oh my god, they really are those guys.”
“Yup.”
“Holy shit. They said all the guards were killed.”
“I know. Did you see any sign of police anywhere?”
“Nope. Decontie and I were talking about it just before I started my run. He was happy that with all this damn snow, they were nowhere near here. He asked me to check on you to make sure you were okay. I guess not, eh?”
“He didn’t happen to mention a strange phone call from me yesterday?” I had to ask, though I knew the answer.
“Nope, nothing. So what do we do now?”
Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps, I said, “Make breakfast.”
And I almost collided with Slobodan as he crossed the threshold of the pantry. In my panic, I backed into the Christmas tree. “Ouch!” I cried out but didn’t dare move away from the tree.
“What you doing?”
“Getting eggs.” I held a carton up to show him. “How many eggs do you think people will want?”
“Fuck, I don’t know. I eat four with plenty bacon.”
I had little over a half pound remaining in the fridge, so bacon was going to be a problem. But maybe there was some other kind of meat we could use. Bread was also in short supply, but there were half a dozen stale muffins in the bread box. There were nine to feed, including myself. My stomach was in too much turmoil to hold anything. I doubted Larry was up to eating, and Gerry likely already had breakfast. So it was really the four men and the woman we had to worry about. I could fill Jid up with cereal.
Removing enough plates from a shelf, I spied a box tucked away in the corner of another shelf.
Shoving it into my pocket, I headed back into the kitchen and said to Gerry, “We’ll have scrambled eggs instead.”
FORTY-EIGHT
By the time Jo and her escort were tramping onto the kitchen linoleum, Gerry and I were placing platters of eggs and bacon on the table, including the ham Gerry had fried up after finding a tin in the cupboard. Jid was removing the last piece of toast from the stovetop toaster. He added it to the rest of the toast and put the basket beside the jar of blueberry jam and peanut butter. We were ready.
Without a word, the men took up seats at the table and began piling eggs, bacon, and ham onto their plates.
Jo was more circumspect. After taking a seat beside her lover, she surveyed the eggs and said, “I thought we were having fried.”
While Gerry struggled for an answer, I replied, “You wanted breakfast in a hurry. Scrambled eggs are faster to make than fried. Here’s some hot salsa to go with them.”
Satisfied with my answer, she spooned a healthy portion onto her plate and doused it with the salsa.
Gerry and I tried not to watch too closely.
“Aren’t you eating?” she asked.
“I’ve already had my breakfast,” Gerry rushed to answer. He was standing by the stove watching over the percolating coffee to ensure it didn’t boil over.
“I’m not hungry,” I replied.
Jo was acting a bit too suspicious for my liking. I placed a spare chair at the opposite end of the table from her and her rapist boyfriend and spooned a small amount of eggs and ham onto a plate. I figured a mouthful or two wouldn’t hurt.
The fluffy eggs looked innocent enough. I hoped these killers thought so too. Though Gerry had fried them up in the heavy cast-iron pan, I’d prepared them. I didn’t want him having the responsibility of adding the poison. I’d tossed in the entire contents of the box of mouse poison I’d found in the pantry. I doubted there was anywhere near enough to kill anyone, but it might leave them feeling miserable.
To help disguise any bad flavour, I added fried onions and red pepper. Because the box described it as being cheese-flavoured, I tossed in lots of grated cheddar. It smelled delicious. The men seemed to think so too, for they were shovelling it down their throats. They didn’t seem to mind the odd piece of grit. Gerry and I hadn’t come up with a way to disguise that. If anyone asked, I was going to say that it was the spices, a special salsa mix added to give them oomph.
I’d given Jid a bowl of Eric’s homemade granola, one of his favourites, and told him not to eat any eggs because there weren’t enough to go around.
Gerry had distracted Slobo while I poured the tiny granules into the eggs. But as I’d walked to the cookstove to throw the box into the firebox, I’d noticed Larry watching. I thought he was going to say something. Instead he merely shrugged and turned back to flipping the pages of one of Eric’s hockey magazines. When Larry suggested Professor should try some granola, I knew that he had seen me. I set the bag on the table with a container of raspberry yoghurt and several bowls.
Jo, as if taking a cue from the tattooed man, set her partially eaten eggs aside and poured herself a big bowl of granola. “Much better for you than cholesterol-ridden eggs, eh, Viper?”
She kept her eyes on me the entire time. But if she suspected, why didn’t she warn her men?
I was doing my best to avoid staring at the eggs, as was Gerry, although I caught him sneaking a peek or two. I managed to swallow a couple of mouthfuls then surreptitiously slid the rest into my napkin.
“Délicieux. Usually I am not a fan of eggs,” Jean said, placing his fork on his empty plate. “I have had sufficient.”
“Good,” Slobo said. “More for me.” He shovelled another large portion of eggs onto his plate and doused it with
salsa.
Eat up, eat up, was my only thought. I hope you bleed to death.
“Bet you don’t get good food like this in the slammer, eh, Tiger?” Freddie said with his mouth half full of egg. “Better than the wife’s. But don’t tell her I said that.”
If I had expected an immediate reaction, it wasn’t happening. Though the three men had devoured enough eggs for eight, they didn’t appear the least affected.
This must have satisfied Jo. “You can’t be too healthy,” she muttered and finished the eggs on her plate and then helped herself to the remaining ones on the platter. “They smell too good.” She raised a forkful to Gerry and me. “Compliments to the chefs.”
I chuckled inwardly. It was the first time anyone had ever complimented my cooking. Perhaps it would become known as Meg’s killer dish. I noticed Gerry couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across his lips.
“Okay, guys,” Jo said, slamming down her knife and fork beside her empty plate. She looked at her watch. “We leave in an hour.”
Our smiles vanished.
“But we have enough time for another cup of coffee.” She brought the coffee pot from the stove and poured herself a mug full. “Good stuff. Anyone else?”
Professor set his empty mug in front of her. “I could do with some more fuel to steady my aim.”
I thought I heard an intake of breath from Freddie as Jo stopped pouring. Her ice-blue eyes seemed to bore right through the tattooed man’s piercing amber ones.
“What does it matter?” He shrugged, training his eyes on me. “Pour the coffee, Jo. I need it after what your man did to me.” He touched the wound on the top of his head. “Another half inch and you would be having a lot of explaining to do.”
Slobo smirked while Jo glanced briefly in my direction and Gerry’s before continuing with the pouring.
Though my mind was a whirl of questions, I pretended I hadn’t noticed this byplay and concentrated on removing the dirty dishes from the table.
“Aim” only meant one thing to me. Pointing a gun at something or someone. I didn’t think Professor was going hunting, at least not animals. I assumed it was what was taking place in an hour’s time. The location must be close by, which would explain their reason for choosing my house as their base of operations. But more importantly, who was their target?
A Cold White Fear Page 19