by Dave Conifer
“Let’s see. So far you lost a truck and a boat today. How about if I drive you there myself instead?”
“Sure, if you’re up for it. I’d like to stop by the office and get the rest of my guns out of there,” Willmar said. “They’re not safe in there anymore, and they might come in handy anyway.”
Willmar guided him to the office on Broad Street. He considered changing his clothes there, but decided to wait until they got to the cabin because he was anxious to check on Billy. When they left Philadelphia it was with a trunk load of heavy weaponry and some electronic private eye gear that he grabbed on the way out.
“You know,” Bismarck said once they were back on the road, “I told Billy when he got out that day that he better settle down. Dumb fuck wouldn’t listen. Back then I thought it was just Rip Mankato that he needed to keep away from. I had no idea what he was up against. I bet he wishes he listened now.”
“You can’t make this stuff up,” agreed Willmar.
“I have to say it, but what a fucking loser that kid is,” Bismarck said. “Always has been. Trouble always finds him.” He had a few more swallows of beer and smiled. “But this one takes the goddamned cake, don’t it?”
“I like Billy,” Willmar said. “I’m planning on helping him save himself. Somebody’s tried to kill me twice, now. I’m pissed off.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I like him too. Known him for a long, long time. But I’m afraid it ain’t gonna be much longer, the way things are going.”
-- Chapter 18 --
Fargo and Joanie set out for Brinks Dairy Land just as darkness was falling. Joanie insisted on driving, and she held Fargo to his promise that she would carry the gun. That was fine with him. Hell, he probably wasn’t allowed to carry it anyway. It might be a parole violation, he thought with a laugh. He couldn’t even remember the name of his parole officer anymore.
They followed the river up the New Jersey side all the way to Frenchtown, stopping once in some town he’d never heard of for gas and fast food. At Frenchtown, which made him feel like he was back in Lambertville although it looked nothing like it, they crossed the river. “It’s so wide,” Fargo said. “I thought it would be a little creek this far north.”
“Haven’t you ever seen the Delaware Water Gap?” she asked. “It gets even wider. Beautiful country up there.”
“I’m sure I’ll never see it.”
“Well, driving into strange territory with a gun ain’t helpin’ your chances any.”
The land had been heavily wooded on the Jersey side, but once they were in Pennsylvania there was more farmland than forest. They headed south for a few minutes, backtracking along the river on the opposite bank, before turning onto Geigel Hill Road, which threaded between farms and an occasional copse of trees. “We’re getting close,” Joanie said when they reached Cafferty Road, another in what looked like an endless web of two lane blacktops. “If I read those directions right.”
“Sounds right. We’re on this for a while,” Fargo said. “Then it should only be one more turn.”
“Nervous?” she asked.
“Yeah, I am,” he admitted. “I’m not sure I want Mankato to be there or not after all.”
“What does this guy look like?” she asked. “Just so I know?”
“He’s an ugly son of a gun. Big. Fat as hell. Always had long, greasy hair. He was usually trying to grow some kind of goatee, but it never looked right. Of course, I haven’t seen him in years. He must be in his fifties, at least.”
“You might not even recognize him, then.”
“Oh, I will,” he promised. “I’ll never forget that face. I just hope he doesn’t see me before I see him.”
“That could mean a lot of things,” she said.
“I’m glad we’re doing this in the dark. I’m not sure why.”
“Maybe because you’re a wanted fugitive?” she asked. “Think that might have something to do with it?”
“Yeah, maybe,” he said. “It’ll also make it harder for Mankato to see us. We got the advantage. He don’t know we’re coming.”
“If he’s even there,” she said. “Which I doubt.”
“Even if he ain’t,” Fargo replied, “at least I’ll know I tried.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do this, Billy,” Joanie said. “If he’s there, and you kill him, you got no chance of staying out of jail. You’ll go back for sure.”
“I’m goin’ back anyway. At least I’ll know he’s not out here walkin’ around free.”
When Cafferty Road ended at Markenstein Road, just like it showed on the map, he knew it wasn’t going to be much longer. He had no idea what they were walking into. Neither of them had ever seen a dairy farm. They had already agreed that their only choice was to play it by ear. Farmers usually had guns. Even dairy farmers, they suspected. They’d best be careful while sneaking around.
The farm was easy to find, something they didn’t expect. They didn’t find it. It found them. A brightly-lit white plastic sign for “Brinks Dairy Land” stood like a beacon at the foot of a dirt driveway where it met the road. Not sure what to do, Joanie slowed as they approached. “Should I pull in?”
“I don’t think so,” Fargo said. “Let’s park somewhere and walk back. They’ll see us coming if we drive, and it might be easier to get away on foot and meet at the car if it comes to that.”
“Think it matters where I park? Should I just go on the side of the road?”
“There might not be anything for miles. May as well.” he said. “I don’t think there’s gonna be a lot of traffic running through here tonight.”
As soon as there was room she pulled the car onto the roadside, moving as close to the adjacent field as she could, and switched off the headlights.
“Man, it’s so dark,” he said. The only light was from the Brinks sign, still visible through the rear window. “I guess that’s good.”
“That’s what it’s like out in the country. Last chance, Billy. Are you sure this is such a good idea?” she asked. “Because I’m not. I’m getting less sure by the minute.”
“You never were. I’m scared, I won’t lie, but I’m going through with it. I don’t want to have any regrets. I think this is my last chance to do anything about this.”
“I wish you wouldn’t keep saying that.”
“You wanna’ stay here while I go?”
“Not unless the gun stays here, too,” she said.
“Come on, then,” he said. “You don’t think he’s here, anyway. What’s the big deal?”
~~~
“There’s nobody here,” Russ Bismarck said after he and Ricky Willmar had been pounding on the front door of the cabin for a few minutes. “Damn. I really need to go inside and get dry.” Bismarck wanted to walk around and look in the windows, but Willmar warned him not to. “If he is in there, he’s liable to think you’re the cops. Who knows what he’ll do. All hell could break loose. You could end up with a few holes in you.”
“It sure don’t look like anybody’s here,” Bismarck said again.
“Where in the world could he be if he’s not here?” Willmar asked. “This isn’t good. Did you notice any extra tire tracks on the way in? I’d hate to think somebody showed up and grabbed our boy.”
“I didn’t see nothin’ like that,” Bismarck said.
“So what do we do?”
“Is it locked up?” Bismarck asked.
“I’m not sure if the door even has a lock,” Willmar answered. He twisted the door knob and gently pushed the door open, but only a crack. “Billy?” he said softly into the cabin. “Anybody home?”
There wasn’t anything inside except silence and darkness. “I’m still spooked about what happened this morning,” he told Bismarck. “I’m not sure what to think right now.”
“What time is it?” Bismarck asked. “Maybe he went out to eat.”
“It’s about seven,” Willmar answered. “I hope he’s not walking around in town. His face is probably on the wall at the
post office by now.”
“Do they still do that?”
Willmar laughed softly. “Nah. Not for parole violators.”
“Isn’t he a murder suspect now too?”
“A person of interest, at least. And that was yesterday.” He reached inside the door and felt around for the light switch. It was the second time in a stretch of twelve hours that he’d stood in a doorway without knowing what awaited him on the other side. It had been a long day.
“I think it’s okay,” Bismarck said after a few moments passed. “I’ll go in first. You had enough excitement.”
~~~
They walked along the double yellow line right up the center of the road, with no traffic visible in either direction, until they reached the Brinks sign. “Now what?” Fargo asked.
“Don’t ask me,” Joanie said. “I don’t even want to be here.”
“Did you see that little shed before?” he asked, pointing to a blocky building about fifty yards up the driveway. It was low and wide, with white, fluorescent light pouring out from a wall of windows. “Almost looks like a Seven-Eleven.”
“I don’t think we could see it from our angle when we drove by.”
“Maybe we should check it out,” Fargo suggested. “Might be somebody who knows Mankato in there.”
“That’s not very sneaky. You losin’ your nerve?”
“Maybe.”
“Good,” she said. “There’s nothing stupider than crawling around here in the dark, poking our noses where they don’t belong. It’s a sure way to get killed.”
“But it might be Mankato in there. You never know. Got that gun ready?”
“It’s always ready,” she answered.
“I hope you’re serious,” he told her. “We don’t know what’s in there.”
“I’ll make sure the safety’s off when we get closer.”
They walked silently up the driveway. As they got closer they realized it wasn’t a coincidence that it looked like Seven-Eleven. “It’s a little store,” Joanie said. “They must sell milk and cheese or whatever they make here.”
“Don’t seem like we’re gonna find anything out in there,” Fargo said.
“What else are you planning on doing? Peeking in windows? We can start with this one.”
They both turned back toward the road when they heard a pickup truck slow down enough to turn into the driveway before the engine revved and it picked up speed. Joanie grabbed Fargo’s elbow and pulled him to the side of the driveway. They squinted into the truck’s high beams before turning away. The truck kicked up a wake of dust that Fargo could taste after it passed. “Damn,” he said as he spat the grit from his teeth. “We shoulda’ been hiding. That guy got a good look at us.”
“I’ll say. I hope it wasn’t your friend.”
“I don’t like this. Maybe we better go look around in the store and call it a night,” he said.
“Now you’re talking,” she agreed.
He expected to hear a tinkling bell when he yanked the door open, but all he heard was the bottom of the door scraping against the threshold. A leather-faced woman who looked like she could kick Fargo’s ass sat on a tall stool behind a counter. “Evenin’ folks,” she said without a hint of a smile. “We’re closing up in fifteen minutes, just so you know.”
“Thank you,” Joanie said. “We’ll just be a minute.” They walked deeper into the store, their eyes swinging from left to right. Then up and down. It was the same everywhere they looked. The store was silent except for the buzz of the fluorescent light tubes overhead and the crunch of their feet on the dirty wooden floor.
“They don’t really have nothin’ but milk,” Fargo said under his breath. “She’s probably wonderin’ what the fuck we’re lookin’ at. It’s all the same.”
Before Joanie could answer they noticed a teenager in an apron at the end of the aisle. She held a broom, but wasn’t using it. As a matter of fact, she wasn’t doing anything at all except staring. “Hi,” Joanie said, but the girl just stood, frozen. “She ain’t right,” Joanie whispered to Fargo after looking away from the girl. “Let her be.”
“Finish up now, Hannah,” the woman from the counter called from across the store. “What are you waitin’ on, girl?” Hannah got busy with the broom again, but Fargo saw her watching over her shoulder every time he checked. “After you’re done here, help your sister in the kitchen, you hear?”
“I’ll just grab a couple gallons,” Joanie said to Fargo. “You need it at the cabin anyway. You can ask about your friend while we’re paying for it.”
“Yeah, let’s do it. This place gives me the creeps.”
“Eight dollars even for two gallons,” the woman said. There was no cash register, just a notepad and a pocket calculator. “You folks from around here?”
“I’m from Bristol,” Joanie said.
“Down by the city?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty country around here.”
They heard tires on gravel. When two headlights appeared in the window Fargo was sure it was the same pickup truck, and after the lights went out he saw he was right. A male version of the woman with the calculator hopped down from the driver’s side and approached the entrance. One thing’s for sure, Fargo thought. That ain’t Mankato. The man from the truck and the woman nodded at each other after he plodded in, clad in Wranglers and a blue windbreaker. He stopped long enough to slam the side of his boots against a freezer case, spraying the floor with muddy crumbs. No wonder it’s so fucking filthy in here, Fargo thought. He couldn’t tell if the two bumpkins had just met or had been married for thirty years. The man walked behind the counter and grabbed a hand truck, which he wheeled into one of the aisles. Seconds later the sound of milk crates thumping onto the floor broke the silence. Fargo suddenly wanted to take care of business and get out. They didn’t belong there.
“You know this is raw milk, right?” the woman asked. “Pasteurized is over there,” she said, waving toward where the girl with the broom had been.
“It’s what?” Fargo asked.
“This is fine,” Joanie assured her.
“Just checking. Some folks don’t know what they’re missing, but we want their business, too.”
Raw milk, Fargo thought. Don’t like the sound of that. “Ma’am,” Fargo said, as Joanie poked through her wallet. “We were wondering if you ever heard of a man named Rip Mankato. I mean, Walter Mankato. A friend of mine told me we could find him here.”
Fargo would remember later that the woman’s hands, which had been unsnapping the latch on a metal box, stopped cold after he asked. It was only for an instant, but he saw it. That name meant something to her.
“Walter Mankato?” she recited slowly, before shaking her head. “No, that name doesn’t ring a bell.” She looked over Joanie’s shoulder at the man with the hand truck. The steady thump of his work stopped, but he stayed where he was. Fargo turned quick enough to catch his glare between two columns of empty crates.
“Most people know him as Rip, not Walter,” Fargo said.
“Never heard of him.”
“Just thought I’d ask,” Fargo said.
“Is that why you’re here?” she asked suspiciously.
There was no point in answering, Fargo decided. Especially because that would slow them down. “Come on, Joanie,” he said, pulling her toward the door.
“You folks have a good evening, now,” the man called from the aisle. Fargo waved his hand without turning around. They walked quickly down the driveway after exiting the store. She’s just as freaked out as I am, Fargo thought when Joanie grasped his hand and squeezed. Did something just happen?
~~~
“I gotta’ get these clothes off, Russ,” Willmar said once they were inside.
“Go in the bathroom,” Bismarck said. “I’ll get the bag of clothes from the car.”
Willmar ripped everything off as quickly as he could, no easy task because everything was wet and he was weak with cold. Each article of clothing was tosse
d into the corner as it was shucked. He started patting himself down with a stiff towel he found on a hook, but then he thought of something better. The water took a minute or two to warm up. After that he enjoyed the best shower of his life.
A pile of work pants, sweaters and boxer shorts was on the toilet when he finally turned the water off. He wasn’t sure what would be worse – wearing another man’s underwear or going commando in that man’s pants – so he gritted his teeth and chose the former. At least he’d be warm, and he’d forget about it quickly. His hair was still damp when he walked out while dabbing at it with the towel.
“Better?” asked Bismarck.
“Are you kidding? Thanks for the clothes. They almost fit.”
“Guess you can tell I used to be a lot bigger. They look good on you.”
“I’m getting worried,” Willmar said. “It’s not like he would go out to catch a movie or something. I’m afraid somebody came for him.”
“You’re getting paranoid,” Bismarck told him. “Whoever’s after him got what they wanted. He’s scared, and he’s out of the way now. That’s all they were tryin’ to do. You just don’t get it. Guys like me and Billy, we don’t matter. Nobody’s gonna go to any trouble over us so long as we shut up and mind our own business.”
“Oh yeah? Then why are the police hassling him? And his parole officer? Why was the prosecutor about to reel him back in?”
“The damn police are always hassling Billy. Always have, and probably always will.”
~~~
They heard the truck behind them as they walked. “Keep going,” Fargo whispered. They moved into the grass along the side of the road when they heard the truck roar up beside them and slow down to meet their pace.
“Give me the gun,” Fargo hissed. She dug it from her pocketbook and passed it to him. Just as he was feeling around for the safety lock the truck roared away as fast as it had appeared, fishtailing onto the road with wheels squealing on the pavement. The red taillights disappeared quickly. Joanie grabbed his arm and held tight as they continued down the driveway.