Victoria Houston - Loon Lake 14 - Dead Lil' Hustler

by Victoria Houston

  “But Corbin died in the winter,” said Garry. “Do you think the drug cartel had people out there in the dead of winter? Certainly not growing anything.”

  Lew laid a photo of a greenhouse on the table. “Ray shot this with a zoom lens. Could be they have heated greenhouses. More likely, they have their couriers delivering the pot grown and cured over the summer.

  “We all know that Milwaukee, Minneapolis, Madison—even Rhinelander—are major markets for controlled substances. If one plant can produce one pound of marijuana and the street value of that one pound is $2,500, I doubt they stop dealing because the weather changes. Right now, in Loon Lake alone, we are seeing a significant increase in the number of young people being arrested for possession of marijuana. This is a marked change from this time last year and I am willing to bet we’re looking at the source right in our backyard.”

  “I agree with Chief Ferris,” said Garry. “We’re seeing the problem escalating county-wide.”

  “Let’s not waste time, Chief Ferris. You gotta go in with a SWAT team,” said Alan. “ASAP.”

  “He’s probably right,” said Garry reluctantly. “What I don’t like is these cartel guys are so well protected by trees that SWAT team or not—and, Alan, I head up the SWAT team for our five-county region—my people are going to be at risk. Grave risk. We need to strategize.

  “For the record, I am not taking any dogs in there. You think the Mexican cartel is dangerous? Try sending an expensive, well-trained K-9 dog into a wolf rendezvous site right when the packs are at the height of guarding their pups. No way am I sacrificing my dogs.”

  “What’s this about a wolf rendezvous site?” asked Alan. “Never heard the term before.”

  “It’s where a wolf pack keeps the young pups who have been weaned but are not mature enough to hunt,” said Garry. “The packs are very territorial so any dog that is unfortunate enough to wander into the area is considered a threat—or dinner—and is killed by the pack. I know four bear hunters out training their dogs who have had good dogs killed—‘depredated’ is the term used by the DNR.

  “This particular region in the Nicolet National Forest happens to fall between three or four territories so it’s uncertain which of three packs have been killing the dogs. But as a result of the depredations the DNR has established a four-mile buffer around there. In other words, you do not go in there with a dog and, frankly, this time of year when the pups are active and the pack is guarding them—I would not send one of my children in there.”

  “How many wolves are you talking about?” asked Alan. “Hundreds? Thousands?”

  “Oh, gosh, no,” said Garry. “There will be the alpha male and alpha female, which are the only pack members allowed to mate, and the female will have on average four to six pups. The greater question that I cannot answer is how many adult wolves are in the pack plus the number of pups. I don’t know if different packs allow their pups to be together in the one rendezvous site. So my best guess is twenty to thirty wolves counting adults and pups. Maybe not that many but they are vicious killers so numbers are less critical than—”

  From the back of the room, Ray interrupted, “Excuse me, Sheriff Moore. Run that by me again about the wolf pups.”

  “This time of year is when the packs are actively patrolling that specific area to protect their pups,” said Garry. “Just this week the USDA Wildlife Services reported that twenty hunting dogs have been killed since spring.”

  “If… that is the case,” said Ray, “I have a thought.”

  As Ray spoke, Osborne saw the sheriff lean forward in his chair. Garry was well aware of Ray’s talents when it came to understanding wildlife. Alan, on the other hand, looked off with a shrug as if his time was being wasted.

  “Go ahead, Ray,” said Lew.

  “Consider… a wolf howl box,” said Ray. “We borrow a couple from the University Wildlife Research Unit… three should do the trick. They’ve been using them to track wolves… because the wolves are fooled into thinking the howls they hear are from real wolves… and they respond.

  “We set up the howl boxes so the pot growers think they’re surrounded… that they’re being attacked by howling wolves.” Ray grinned. “So you scare ’em out… they aren’t likely to run on foot… and… there is only one road out.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Alan, shaking his head.

  “Well, sir, I am afraid of wolves, aren’t you?” asked Ray.

  “Don’t know. Never been around one,” said Alan. A soft chuckle went around the room.

  Sheriff Moore raised his hand. “Everyone, if I were in a situation confronting an alpha female wolf who felt threatened or that her pups were threatened by me I would be very afraid of that wolf. Just like Ray here. But Ray, I’m not sure where you are going with this.”

  “I think…” Ray looked up at the ceiling as he talked, “if I were a guy from Mexico… or California… forced to live in the deep woods with wolves all around me… well, I would not be happy. And if…” said Ray, raising the index finger on his right hand while making eye contact one at a time with everyone sitting around the table, “if… one dark night… I heard a whole bunch of ’em howling right outside my bedroom… well…”

  “I would leap in my car and get the hell out of there,” said Lew with a grin.

  “They’re sure not going to run deeper into the woods,” said Bruce. “I like this idea—but I’m a scientist, not law enforcement. What do you guys think?” Bruce glanced around the room.

  “So you’re saying we should use the sound of howling wolves to scare the bejesus out of these guys. And when they come hell-bent out of there, we’re ready for ’em? I like it,” said Garry. He looked at Lew. “I’ll put out a call for backup from my five-county region—we’ll be armed and ready without having to go in shooting and risking lives.”

  “Might work,” said Ray. “And if it doesn’t… you’ve still got your SWAT team.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Lew, “but first, Ray, how do the howl boxes work? Do we mount them on vehicles with loudspeakers and—”

  “Oh no.” Ray got to his feet and walked up to the conference table. “A wolf howl box is the size of a laptop,” he said, demonstrating with his hands as he spoke. “Each box weighs less than ten pounds… and runs on batteries. It’s got a microphone and speakers built in… so that it can broadcast the howls… and record the wolves that respond.

  “The howl box was originally developed by wildlife researchers in Montana and it’s amazingly simple in concept… very loosely based on the audio tools used in researching birds… the howl boxes are digitally programmed to perform different types of howls… and to store the responses from wolves in the wilderness… who are fooled into thinking they’re howling back at their friends and enemies. Operating a howl box is easy as pie… I know where we can get one for sure. Want me to?”

  “Please,” said Lew.

  Ray left the room to use his cell phone outside for a better connection. Within five minutes he was back. “Got three… told my buddy who works with the Wildlife Services what we need ’em for… he’s going to refresh the batteries and deliver them in an hour or so… is that okay? I promised to take him out for trophy muskie next week… let’s pray the big girls are biting.”

  “So when do we do this?” asked Alan. “Tomorrow night?”

  “Tonight,” said Lew. “It’s four o’clock right now—how ’bout we plan for two in the morning?”

  “You don’t have time to organize,” said Alan.

  “Yes we do,” said Garry. “Chief Ferris is right. We do it tonight.”

  “You people are crazy,” said Alan. “It’s Sunday, your officers are trying to have a weekend with family.”

  “That is why we do it tonight,” said Lew. “On Sunday nights everyone in the entire United States lets down their guard. They don’t lock their doors or turn on their security systems. We have more break-ins on Sunday than any other day of the week. Pot growers may be criminals but they�
�re human and they enjoy their Sundays, too. We move tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Osborne listened as Lew and Garry outlined the plan for the evening. Police and sheriffs’ deputies from Loon Lake, Oneida, and four surrounding counties would meet at the Pine Tree Diner at midnight. One at a time over the next ninety minutes, the patrol cars would follow one another, lights off, to park along a forest road that was a quarter-mile from the dirt road leading into the marijuana-growing operation.

  “Any cars coming along that forest road after midnight will be stopped,” said Lew. “We’ll put up a roadblock and drivers will be told there has been a fatal accident and the road is temporarily closed. We will also work with the cell service providers for this region to take down cell service—we don’t need anyone texting, e-mailing, or phoning for those three hours.

  “Ray, you and Doc will ride with me. We’ll go in first to give Ray time to set up the howl boxes. Doc, you’ll stay with me and be ready to assist Ray with extra batteries, etc. Before we drive out there this evening, let’s do a test run with the boxes and the remotes to be sure everything is in working order.”

  Osborne left the meeting and hurried home to feed the dog and grab a bite to eat. Then he went back to the hospital. He had promised Erin he would be there by six.

  “Good evening, Dr. Osborne,” said the receptionist with a wide smile as he walked through the empty waiting room.

  He was a little surprised at her good humor. Knocking on the door to Cody’s room, he said in a low voice, “Erin, it’s me—Dad.”

  The door opened a crack and Erin peered through. She gave him a wink as she said, “Close your eyes, Dad, and don’t open until I say so.”

  Osborne did as he was told. “Okay, you can come in now.” The room was quiet for a change—no machines were humming. “Wait… now. Go ahead and open your eyes.”

  Osborne’s jaw dropped.

  A curious figure was sitting up on pillows and wearing a stuffed trout on his head and a toothy smile on his face. “Hi, Grandpa,” said Cody. “I’m all well.”

  “Almost all well,” said Erin at the look of surprise on Osborne’s face. “Treating the strep in his bloodstream turned the corner for whatever strange medical reason. No fever, no headache since lunchtime.” She bent over to hug her son. “We have our little Cody back. And Dad,” she exhaled happily, “they think he can go home tomorrow.”

  Osborne felt the tension flow out of his body for the first time in days. “What a relief. What an amazing relief.”

  “To put it mildly,” said his daughter with a smile. “They plan on moving him out of isolation tomorrow morning after one more round of tests. The only disappointment is that none of these wonderful gifts he got can go home. It’s the rule for anyone who has been treated in one of the isolation wards.”

  “Not even the Lunkers book or his hat from Ray?”

  “No, sorry. Hospital’s pretty firm on that. Too bad, huh.”

  “Well, sport,” said Osborne, “we’ll just have to buy a new book and I’m sure Ray can find you another hat.”

  “No, Grandpa, Ray told me this hat is the only one in the whole wide world.” Cody appeared on the edge of tears.

  “We’ll see about that, Cody. Can we worry about it tomorrow?” asked his mother.

  The little guy sniffed as he whispered, “Okay.”

  “Crying or not, it’s great to have you awake and alert, little guy,” said Osborne.

  Later that evening, before leaving the house to meet Ray and Lew, Osborne, hoping to order another copy of Lunkers, checked Amazon. No luck. It was out of print and the cheapest copy on eBay was $148.00—a lot of money for a “used paperback with curling pages.”

  Hmm. Maybe one of his McDonald’s buddies might have a copy. He’d check around.

  Chapter Thirty

  Sitting inside Lew’s cruiser, Osborne watched as the squad cars flowed in and out of the parking lot at the Pine Tree Diner. As soon as they arrived they were assigned a place to park along the forest road and told to wait for the signal to leave their vehicles on foot and meet near the entrance to the dirt road leading to the marijuana farm. Two police vans from nearby towns were to be positioned as barriers closing off the forest road in both directions.

  “All we need now is to flush those razzbonyas out of there,” said Ray from the backseat.

  “Ready?” asked Lew, glancing back at Ray.

  “Ready as the raindrops, Chief.”

  “Me, too,” said Osborne, looking down at his watch. It was ten to one. Ray had figured it would take him forty minutes to walk in and set up the wolf howl boxes.

  “What would we do without GPS coordinates?” asked Lew rhetorically as she drove slowly past the unmarked dirt road.

  “That plus I compared the Gazetteer map with the latest plat book from the county so I got a good idea just where I want to set these howl boxes,” said Ray.

  “And a flashlight? You need a flashlight in case it’s tough going back in there,” said Osborne.

  “No flashlight, Doc. Too much weight. I got enough to handle and the forecast is for clear skies. I’ll be able to see fine.”

  “Are you sure? I’ve got a pocket-size one you can use.” Ray’s grunt answered that offer.

  “Pull over right here,” said Ray when they were about fifty yards from the road.

  Osborne climbed out of the car to help Ray unload the three howl boxes. Once his eyes adjusted to the dark, the glow from the waning gibbous moon made it easy to see without using a flashlight.

  “All right, Ray, you’re on. Please be careful,” said Lew. “You can abort at any time if you sense something isn’t right. Remember we’ve got the SWAT team to fall back on.”

  “I hear you, Chief. But right now, it all looks good. With the moonlight and the fact I’ll be moving downwind, I should be fine. No way will they be able to hear me. If they do, they’ll think I’m a critter.”

  “Good,” said Lew. “I don’t want you shot before two o’clock—or after.”

  Lew and Doc leaned against the cruiser, watching as Ray headed into the forest, a box in each hand and the third tucked into a backpack slung over one shoulder.

  “I’m worried that’s too much for him to carry,” said Lew.

  “He doesn’t seem to have a problem with the weight,” said Osborne. “I worry he’s going to make noise and alert those guards with their telescopic lens. I worry they have night vision goggles. And I worry he won’t be able to see where the hell he’s going.”

  “Doc, you made the offer,” said Lew, looking around. “He’s okay. My eyes have adjusted and I can see fine.”

  “I guess you’re right,” said Osborne, surprised to find how anxious he was feeling.

  Lew nodded. “This aspen is good cover,” she whispered, trying to assure both of them.

  They waited in silence. Every few minutes they could hear the faint sound of tires as one squad car after another found its way to the forest road. The roadblock had gone up at one A.M. as planned. At twenty after one, the two police vans pulled up behind Lew’s cruiser.

  “Sheriff Moore?” Lew whispered through the window of the first one.

  “Here,” said Garry, his voice a low murmur in the dark. “Have not had a single car come this way in three hours. I think we’re good for no alerts so far. The cell service went down half an hour ago. Any sign of movement down that road?”

  “No. Ray is in the woods setting up the howl boxes. I expect him out in about twenty minutes, maybe sooner.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The early going through the young aspen was frustrating. “Damn it,” Ray cursed softly as one pocket of his sweats caught on a branch and yanked him to a stop. He had taken care to forgo his khaki fishing shorts for the worn navy blue sweatshirt and black sweatpants—the better to disappear into the shadows. But he was hot in the humid evening air and the loose clothes kept snagging.

  He stopped to adjust his backpack then soldiered on. The
aspen gave way to balsam and red pine, much easier going. Off to his right, he could see pinpoints of light, which disappeared after a few minutes. The drug crew turning in for the night? He hoped so. When he felt he had cleared the area where the sheds and living space were located, he stopped to set down the first howl box. He was making sure that it was turned on when he heard footsteps coming his way.

  He backed into a stand of pines and stooped low, hoping the feathery needles of a young white pine would hide him. As the steps grew closer, he realized there were two people. When they passed about fifteen feet away, he could hear the low whispers of a woman coaching someone: a mother and child on their way to a latrine.

  Oops, thought Ray. He hadn’t planned for that. But, of course, there would be no plumbing out here. He stayed quiet until he heard the mother and child pass by again on their way back to their sleeping quarters.

  As he waited, barely breathing, he wondered if this was the little boy who had been treated for the deer tick bite and made a mental note to check himself for ticks later. Lyme disease is hard on the body. It also struck him that although the law enforcement teams planning to arrest the members of the drug cartel imagined armed men as their targets, the reality was there were women and children here, too. Dealing drugs might be the driving reason for the marijuana plantation but some of these folks were people doing the best they could to survive. At least the woman and child weren’t carrying telescopic rifles and they likely had no choice other than to be here tonight: in the wrong place at the wrong time. His final thought before he pushed on was that he hoped the little kid, boy or girl, would be okay.

  Another trudge through stands of evergreens, an area that had looked dense enough to hide him when he had scoured the plat book earlier. He was close to what would be the midpoint for positioning the second howl box when his right foot slipped and he went down into waist-deep water, managing at the last minute to hoist the box in his left arm far enough off to one side to keep it partially on the bank and out of the water. The howl box in the backpack was safe for sure but had the other survived the sudden jarring?