Cold Land: A Mystery Thriller

by John Oakes

  Jake let his hands fall and slap his thighs, and he billowed his cheeks. “Sure. Why not?”

  Kenny conferred with AJ, the shorter bald man, and AJ took off at a run before slowing down to a fast walk. Kenny looked up, seeing that Jake had registered AJ’s urgency. He clapped loudly as if to distract from AJ’s swift departure. “Okay! Gavin, pull up that metal panel we salvaged. Jake, gear up.” Kenny walked off without explanation.

  Jake looked around for the oxygen tank he needed to combine with the acetylene tank to make the torch work. Zach hadn’t brought one, so Jake assumed Kenny had it, but it dawned on him that Zach hadn’t known basic handling instructions of the acetylene tanks. Did he not know he needed oxygen too?

  “Where’s the oxygen?” Jake asked, unable to hide his worry.

  “What oxygen?” Gavin grunted, hauling up the iron panel.

  “The oxygen tank you need to pair with the acetylene,” Jake said.

  “Why didn’t you bring one?” Gavin asked. “That was your job.”

  Jake shook his head and blinked up at him.

  Gavin’s eyes narrowed. “I thought Zach was supposed to bring this stuff. Why didn’t you get it from him?”

  “I…” Jake tried to think quickly, but his head felt slow and foggy. “He didn’t have it. I never rented it to him.”

  Jerry and Jake hadn’t found anything but tools in Zach’s vehicle at the motel. And Jake couldn’t think where Zach would have hidden an oxygen tank in his room, as they usually ran four of five feet tall.

  “Why wouldn’t you rent one to him if you need one to cut?” Gavin loomed over Jake.

  Jake shrugged, taking a gamble. “He made it seem like the acetylene was all he needed.”

  “How are you gonna prove you can do this if you don’t have the basic supplies?” Gavin asked derisively. “Not a real confidence booster, bud.” He loomed over Jake in a display of alpha aggression. Instead of kicking Gavin’s kneecaps in and stomping on his neck until he gurgled for mercy, Jake softened his posture, letting meekness speak for him. Whatever made his foe believe wrongly about him was useful.

  Gavin didn’t seem to know what to do with Jake’s mild cowering. Before he could think of something more to say, Kenny emerged from around a corner, pulling a dolly with a big tank that had a regulator valve on top. He saw that Gavin was up in Jake’s face and came to a stop. “What’s up?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Jake said with a helping of mock civility. “Gavin here was just telling me how excited he is to see me cut metal.”

  Gavin stepped back, nodding wordlessly, and Jake got to work attaching all the hoses and valves. Only then he realized he had no protective equipment, but neither had Zach.

  “Got any gloves, or at least some good eye protection?” Jake asked.

  Sure enough, Kenny snapped his fingers. “Ah, shoot. I’ll be right back.” He ran off around the annex to his vehicle, Jake figured. For all Steve had made Kenny out to be some monster, he seemed genuinely excited about whatever he was planning, almost childlike.

  While he waited, Jake opened the valves the way he liked them, like a musician tuning a stringed instrument, then he gave the acetylene valve an extra quarter turn. He pointed the torch at Gavin and sparked near the nozzle, sending a billowing orange flame licking out at him. Gavin yelped and jumped away.

  “Sorry about that,” Jake said. He turned the gas off until the flame went out. “Just blowing out the valves.” That wasn’t a real thing, but Gavin wouldn’t know that.

  Kenny arrived again with gloves and quality safety glasses for Jake to wear. Jake took it as a sign that Kenny had put some thoughtful preparation into his supposed heist.

  When his safety equipment was on, Jake looked over his shoulder and sparked flame without looking. The torch spewed to life again in a more controlled tongue of flame. “You want a straight line? A trapezoid? Hell, want me to carve your initials into it?”

  “Hold on, actually. Turn it off.”

  Jake wasn’t sure what Kenny meant, but he did as told.

  “Take it apart.”

  Jake killed the flame, cranked the tanks closed and unhooked the hose valves.

  “Okay, now put the hoses back on and light it.”

  Jake reattached the hose valves, cranked the tanks open, then showed Kenny how to adjust the oxygen and acetylene valves on the torch.

  “Okay,” Gavin said. “So then you turn that knob, and the flame gets more precise.”

  Jake turned and looked at Gavin’s eyes, then Kenny’s. They were attentive, not just intrigued, but hungry, learning. “Yeah. Then you just keep your inner flame right where you want to make your cut and hit this big trigger. It’s just like a sprayer nozzle in the kitchen sink.” Jake didn’t know the precise term for it, but pressed his thumb into the oxygen release bar on the back of the torch. The flame intensified but remained a jet of blue. “Now you aren’t melting the metal, you are burning it up. Go too fast, you don’t cut all the way through. Go too slow and you leave a messy cut.” He released the trigger. “You didn’t say how you wanted it cut.”

  Kenny seemed a little mesmerized. “Just cut that whole piece in half as fast as you can.”

  Jake adjusted his glasses and tore through the three foot wide and half inch thick metal sheet in about three minutes.

  Kenny seemed moderately impressed.

  “So, you guys wanna fill me in on what we’re doing?”

  Gavin looked down at Kenny who put a hand to his mouth, then gestured wide. “Sit. Sit.”

  Jake turned everything off and removed his protective gear, then sat in a folding chair by the fire pit.

  “What did Zach tell you so far?” Kenny asked, stoking the coals with a dry tree branch.

  “Nothing but where to find you.”

  Kenny threw a grill over the fire pit and placed a dozen brats on it.

  “Nothing better than a bunch of brats,” Jake said.

  “We can thank Kenny for the meat.” Gavin gave a lazy salute and settled into a lawn chair across from Jake.

  “No worries,” Kenny said. “Got em in a fifteen pound bulk buy real cheap.”

  “That so.” Jake folded his hands over his stomach.

  “Yep. But they don’t taste cheap.” Kenny smiled and winked, again seeming much more ingratiating than Jake would have suspected from Cousin Steve’s description.

  “Who doesn’t love a good bargain?” Jake said.

  “No one as far as I can tell,” Gavin said.

  “Well, we’re about to get ourselves a hell of a bargain,” Kenny said. “So our plan is to go tomorrow night and uhh…” He glanced at Gavin.

  “We’re gonna cut through the fence at the impound lot,” Gavin said. “Then we’re gonna cut into the outbuilding where they keep all the keys.”

  Kenny poked the brats with his stick, adjusting their spacing. “Yeah, man. Gonna steal as many of them cars as we can. I got a guy down in Iowa who’ll take them off our hands. A few days later, we get paid in duffel bags full of cash.”

  “Cars? That’s uhh…” Jake shifted in his seat. He forced a laugh. “Well, that’s a real sexy target. Like something out of a movie, eh?”

  “Yeah,” Kenny laughed. “It’s gonna be just like that.”

  “Tomorrow night, you said?” Jake asked, forming a mental timeline.

  “Yeah. When it’s nice and late. One in the morning maybe.”

  “Oh, okay.” Jake huffed. “Have to remember to drink some coffee then, if we’re gonna be up late.”

  Kenny and Gavin shared a glance and a small private laugh.

  By the time the brats were cooked, the other member of the crew showed up. Rob was a thickly-built, curly-haired guy who looked like he spent plenty of time working out, possibly in prison. He seemed surprised to see Jake, but made no mention of it. Jake took note of his discretion and his poker face.

  “How was the drive?” Gavin asked as he took a brat off the grill and placed it in a bun, handing it up to Rob.


  “Made it in good time.” Rob offered no other details verbally, but his clothing was another matter, the telltale green polo shirt and khaki pants most CheapValue employees wore. The area over his substantial left pectoral was frayed from repeatedly pinning on and removing his name tag.

  Kenny walked up and hurriedly introduced Rob to Jake. But before Jake could lean out to shake his hand, Kenny pulled Rob away into the annex. Rob would need to be brought up to speed on the lies being told to Jake. A few minutes later they both returned and Rob engaged Jake in pleasant conversation.

  A remarkable quality Minnesotans had, Jake noticed, to be nice to your face no matter their feelings. Was it a deep seated politeness, a two-faced dishonesty, or something in between?

  Through polite conversation, Jake learned that the three white guys, Rob, Gavin and AJ, had all known each other since elementary school. And though Kenny was a transient in his youth, they’d all met him at a young age on one of his short stays in Mankato.

  Jake had no reason to doubt any of what he was told, except what he knew to be lies. Gavin said he worked seasonally, landscaping in summer, snowplowing, shoveling and salting in winter. Rob said he worked construction, and Kenny said he delivered pizzas and sandwiches.

  Finally, the prematurely bald, stoop-shouldered AJ returned and whispered something to Kenny who nodded. Confirmation from Zach Vane himself that Jake was his legitimate proxy.

  Jake let out a very controlled sigh of relief.

  Gavin handed AJ a brat which he cheerfully bit into like a doggy treat for a job well done.

  “What do you do for work, then?” Jake asked him.

  Without having heard his associates lie, AJ said through a mouthful, “Oh I work at a CheapValue, in the back, unloading trucks and binning product.”

  Kenny hung his head, poking at the coals with his stick. Jake could almost hear him mentally cursing AJ. Gavin looked up at AJ in a death stare, all sorts of little jaw muscles flaring in his thin face. Rob gave AJ an insignificant look, then crossed his legs in a posture of calm, maintaining his poker face. AJ didn’t notice any of it, eyes fixed on the low flames and mouth working like a piston to consume his food.

  In the unnatural quiet, Jake excused himself, easing some of the awkwardness. “Well, I guess I’ll meet you back here after midnight tomorrow? Thanks for the brat.”

  “Midnight?” AJ lifted his chin, gazing at Jake.

  Gavin shot to his feet and pulled AJ away from the fire. “Let’s get you some mustard for that brat.”

  Kenny chuckled to himself, easing the visible tension in his shoulders. “Yeah, Jake. Midnight. That’s the plan.”

  Jake shook Kenny’s hand, and Rob waved him goodbye.

  “I guess I’ll just leave the equipment here, then?” Jake said.

  “It only makes sense,” Kenny said. “I’ll keep it safe.”

  Jake moved everything inside the annex and made sure the tanks were secured upright with a roll of wire he found near Steve’s healing supplies.

  Jake stepped out and brushed his hands. “Gonna be rich in a few days, fellas,” he said in parting.

  “Damn right,” Kenny said. “See you soon, Jake.”

  Jake walked off into the night, wondering just how wrong they both were.

  EIGHTEEN

  Thai Cialis and Pepsi

  Jake met up with Jerry in the parking lot of a fast food joint a half mile away and slipped into the passenger seat.

  “We on?” Jerry asked.

  “Nope.” Jake rubbed his hands together and blew on them.

  “What happened?” Jerry asked in a distraught tone.

  “Seems pretty clear they were happy to have the acetylene torch. And they were happy for me to give them a tutorial.”

  “They said you couldn’t come with?”

  “No, they were more clever than saying it outright. They told me about a completely different heist than what Steve said.”

  “You think Steve was wrong?”

  Jake pursed his lips and shook his head. “No. I think they were real impressed with how clever their little misdirection was.”

  “Are you doing a Minnesota accent?”

  “Sorry, it’s kinda stuck now.”

  “It’s a little much, dontcha know. You think you spooked them?”

  Jake cleared his throat and returned to his normal manner of speaking. “Nah. Quite the opposite. I played the rube for ‘em. Plus, since they didn’t murder me, I take it your chat with Zach Vane went well.”

  “Always easier convincing someone already in jail the importance of avoiding bad decisions.” Jerry groaned sagely. “To do as I asked, he didn’t have to rat anyone out or admit to anything. Just had to say he sent you. Simple as can be.”

  “Well, however Kenny’s man got in contact, Zach held the line.” Jake stopped shivering, as the car’s heat finally reached him. “It’s not that they’re worried I’m a threat. They’re just keeping me out of the profits.”

  “You think they can cut a lock with that torch?”

  “Almost as easy as you tearing through a walleye sandwich,” Jake chortled. “But with how they asked me about cutting, I think they’ve got an idea to make a bigger hole. If it’s a truck they’re after, they might be fixing to cut it apart somehow. Never thought about it before, but a trained hand could take off the side of a semi truck trailer in thirty minutes, maybe less.”

  “Why do that?”

  “Not quite sure.”

  Jerry chewed on his thumb. “Two questions. How do we stop this heist? And who is David Young’s killer?”

  Jake looked down the sad avenue of rundown businesses. “It’s one of these guys, Jerry. Maybe Kenny himself.”

  “This Kenny seem like a killer?”

  “No, he seemed pretty nice to be honest.”

  “What are you saying, then?”

  “The brats, Jerry. Follow the brats.”

  Jerry put both hands on the wheel. “Follow what?”

  “But back to your first question. Let’s say for sake of argument that we’re going to quietly prevent this crime from happening, never mind the criminal acts of conspiracy.”

  “Let’s.”

  “How do we shut it down, while also giving us a chance to look into each of these people and their possible connections to David Young?” Jake didn’t wait for an answer. He produced a fistful of pill packets, old prescription bottles and vials. “I liberated these from Steve Frazzi’s spiritual healing stash. Shady-looking, foreign prescription drugs mostly.”

  “You wanna poison them?” Jerry asked.

  “Nah. Well, sorta. Inconvenience them, more like.”

  Jerry folded his hands in his lap and took a breath. “Seems wrong, but if it’s that versus conspiracy charges, I know what I’d pick in their shoes.”

  “Please, I’ve done far worse.”

  “That’s real heartwarming, Jake.”

  They drove to the address they’d pulled for Gavin Foster and saw there was no car in the drive and no lights on inside. Jake went around back, entering through a sliding door into the kitchen and dining space.

  “Hello? Anyone home?”

  No answer. Jake pulled the fridge open and was greeted with the classic bachelor fridge; beer, leftovers, condiments and another bulk pack of brats.

  “Hmm.”

  Jake closed the door and looked around the kitchen. On the counter by the fridge, two large plastic jugs sat next to other small bottles. Most were from the same company with the same branded logos. Branch chain amino acids, creatine, vitamins. One of the big jugs read “Hardgainer Mass Assault.” Jake picked it up and read the finer print aloud, “Nighttime release formula.”

  So Gavin the bean pole was desperate to put on some muscle. That meant he was very likely to consume the muscle growth powder every night. Jake pulled out his variety of pills and sorted through them, until chuckling to himself, “Oh, that is perfect.” He ground up a couple small herbal laxative pills and sprinkled them directly into t
he plastic scooper in the jug, then planted it in the brown powder. Gavin would take that scoop and mix it with a liquid, and since he was trying to gain mass, that would most certainly be milk. Jake found a half-empty carton of whole milk in the fridge and unstoppered a vial of clear liquid laxative, dumping it in and giving the carton a shake.

  A smile crept across his face as he set the milk back in the fridge. “That oughta make his bowels do the Tijuana Tap-dance.”

  He left everything the way he’d found it and slipped out of the house to the car.

  Jerry pulled away and said, “I got a real good idea for the next house.”

  “Can’t be explosive diarrhea,” Jake said. “That’s taken.”

  They pulled into a neighborhood of boxy homes and got out a few doors down from the house Rob owned. They slinked around back and found the door locked, but a window came open easy enough. Jake helped Jerry through it, and he unlocked the rear. Once both inside, they stepped into a cramped bedroom, taking care not to knock anything over. Baseball trophies lined the tops of the bookshelves and the dresser. Baseball pictures showed a toe-headed boy holding a bat.

  “This is AJ’s room, then.”

  “The guy seems absurdly proud of his little league awards.” Jerry peered closer. “Seems like half of these are participation trophies and the other half are most improved or best sportsmanship.” He stood straighter. “This generation really is something.”

  “Yeah,” Jake muttered, searching the space. “Ask yourself something, Mister Jerry. Back when that started, who were the ones making and buying the trophies. The kids? Or the parents?” He picked up one of AJ’s trophies. “Seems to me, it was your baby-boomer, hippy-dippy generation that came up with the participation trophy.”

  “Yeah, well…” Jerry stuck a thumb over one shoulder. “I’ll check out the master.”

  Jake was a little disappointed Jerry didn’t shoot back with a witty retort. The fella could be hit and miss in that regard. Jake ran a hand under the mattress and pulled out a leather-bound journal. “Oh, what do we have here?”

  Jake began to read, and, once he deciphered AJ’s handwriting, had to seat himself on the bed to properly take it all in.