Desolation Mountain

by Krueger, William Kent

  “I’ll have it ready for you.”

  The women were fine. Cork felt obliged to tell them about Stephen’s injuries, mostly so that they understood fully the risks that might be involved.

  “I shouldn’t stay here,” Beulah said to Sarah. “I’m putting you in danger.”

  “We’re seeing this through together, nimisenh.”

  “Nimisenh?” Beulah’s eyes teared up. “Migwech, nishiime.”

  “If we need you, Cork, we’ll holler,” Sarah assured him.

  As he crossed the street to the gallery, Cork thought about what had just occurred. Nimisenh, Sarah LeDuc had called Beulah Love. Which meant “my older sister.” And in reply, Beulah had called Sarah nishiime, which meant “my younger sister.” For Beulah, who had separated herself in so many ways from the people of her blood, who’d believed only a day ago that she had no one on the rez to whom she could turn in her time of need, this was a blessing. Once again Cork was reminded of what it meant to be Anishinaabe, a part of this community that, despite its struggle against unrelenting cruelties for generations, had continued to have a strong, welcoming heart. Even in the midst of all the strangeness and menace that had descended on the Iron Lake Reservation, he had witnessed a moment of true beauty.

  In the gallery, Goodsky had the print waiting. “These guys mean business.”

  “I wish I knew what exactly that business is.”

  “White guys beating up people on the rez. Makes my blood boil. Anything I can do?”

  “Just keep an eye on Beulah and Sarah.”

  “Goes without saying. But I want something in return. When you find out what’s going on, who these chimooks are, you let me know.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  * * *

  In Henry’s cabin on Crow Point, Cork found Stephen drinking some kind of tea Rainy had prepared. Stephen looked drained, and there was a sullenness in him that worried Cork.

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Fine.”

  “That’s surprising,” Rainy said. “Those cuts, that knot, most people would be feeling a little pain.”

  “I’ve taken a lot more than a little pain before.”

  “I don’t doubt your ability to endure pain,” Rainy said gently. “I’m just reminding you that there’s no shame in admitting when it hurts.”

  Cork was pretty sure what hurt Stephen most wasn’t his head.

  “Where are Henry and Leah and Waaboo?”

  “They took Trixie for a little walk,” Daniel said.

  “There’s something we need to discuss.”

  “That tone always means trouble,” Rainy said. “As if we didn’t already have enough.”

  Cork filled them in on the ransom details, at least as they stood.

  Rainy looked worried. “Why do they want you to make the exchange?”

  Daniel said, “If it is Tom Blessing behind this, it makes a kind of sense. He knows Cork.”

  “You really believe Tom Blessing would do something like this?” Rainy asked.

  “I have to accept the possibility,” Cork replied. “If we get the flight recorder back, it doesn’t matter who’s behind it.”

  “Why at the town meeting?” Daniel said. “It seems so public.”

  “The meeting’s at the high school. Tom went there, probably knows it pretty well. He may have some special drop site in mind. I like the location. Might be to my advantage.”

  “How so?”

  “Too many witnesses to try something untoward.”

  “Like shooting you?” Rainy said.

  “In a word, yes.”

  “I should be there with you,” Stephen said. “I went to that high school. I know it a lot better than you do, Dad.”

  “You’re staying here. You’ve already taken enough chances for one day.”

  Cork saw that this directive didn’t sit well with his son, but it was nonnegotiable.

  “Tom Blessing.” Rainy crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced.

  Cork checked his watch. “We’ll know in a few hours.”

  CHAPTER 32

  * * *

  When Gerard answered, he was breathing hard, as if he’d been running or exercising. “Do you have something for me?”

  “A question,” Bo replied. “Was it your guys who beat up Stephen O’Connor?”

  “I’ve left the locals to you. And why would I have the kid beat up?”

  “Exactly. Unless you don’t have control over all your operatives.”

  “You’re the only one who ever worries me.” Gerard gasped for air. “So, that’s it?”

  “There’s more. It’s possible we’ll have the flight recorder in our hands tonight.”

  Gerard was suddenly quiet, as if not breathing at all. Then, “How?”

  “O’Connor got a ransom call. Twenty thousand dollars. The exchange is tonight.”

  “Where’s the money coming from?”

  “I’ve arranged for that. My own resources.”

  “And O’Connor’s making the drop?”

  “That’s right. It’s supposed to go down at the town meeting in Aurora.”

  “I’ll have men there.”

  “Not a good idea. They spot your guys, they might run. Twenty grand isn’t much to risk. Leave it to me.”

  “Right,” Gerard said, his voice cold. “And we know how that turned out for you the last time.”

  Bo ignored the reference to the murdered Argentine kid. “I’ll take care of this.”

  “Who’s behind it?”

  “At the moment, it’s looking like one of the Indians who was on the scene early, a guy name of Tom Blessing.”

  “Blessing. The one whose mother croaked?”

  “Compassionately put.”

  “Twenty grand. Sounds cheap, even for an Indian.”

  “Maybe Blessing needs the cash fast. Gambling debt or something.”

  “Find out.”

  “Let’s focus on securing the recorder first. We can worry about rounding up Blessing later.”

  “If you get the recorder, there’s a bonus in it for you.”

  A bonus, Bo thought, after he’d ended the call. With Gerard, and depending upon who’d brought him in, that could easily turn out to be a bullet in the brain.

  He kayaked to the little island just offshore from Gerard’s operations center and downloaded to his cell phone what had been recorded by the voice-activated bug on the window. He reset the instrument, kayaked back to the wooded point where he’d left his Jeep, and listened to the recorded conversations. Mostly they were orders Gerard had delivered to his subordinates and discussions of where to look for what they continued to call the “waves.” His name came up. Gerard spoke of him as “our tick on the skin of things up here.” That made Bo smile. Then Gerard said something that caused Bo to replay the recording.

  “When we get the egg that’s dropped, maybe we can shoot down the eagle, too, and close up shop here.”

  The egg that’s dropped. The eagle. These sounded like images straight out of the vision Stephen O’Connor had related, a vision Bo had readily dismissed as Indian voodoo stuff.

  He started his Jeep and headed toward the double-trunk birch that marked the beginning of the trail to Crow Point. He needed to talk to Stephen again.

  * * *

  The call came a few minutes later. It was Olympia McCarthy’s brother. He informed Bo that he’d just landed at Olson Field.

  “I’m on my way,” Bo said.

  “Look for the chopper. I’m waiting inside.”

  It was going on four o’clock when Bo had the money in hand, twenty thousand dollars in small bills. Per the extortionist’s instructions, it was in a backpack, the kind a high school kid might use to carry books, nothing that would be out of place in a crowd in a high school auditorium. Bo kept the pack on the seat beside him as he continued to the double-trunk birch, then slipped the straps over his shoulders as he began the hike into Crow Point.

  He arrived at the old man’s cabin to f
ind that all wasn’t well. Stephen O’Connor had disappeared. An hour earlier, he’d told everyone he was going out for a few minutes to get some air. He never returned.

  “You didn’t run into him when you came down the trail?” Cork asked.

  Bo shook his head. “And his Jeep wasn’t parked on the road either.”

  “Then he’s taken off.” Cork was clearly upset.

  Meloux, the old medicine man, didn’t seem bothered by the kid’s absence. “You have put a log across his path, Corcoran O’Connor. He has simply jumped the log.”

  “It could get him killed, Henry.”

  “You think he does not know that? And you think he does not understand that you are also willing to put your life in danger? He is his father’s son. Would you have him be someone different?”

  “Did you try calling him?” Bo asked.

  “He’s not answering.”

  “I’m betting he’ll be at the town meeting,” English said. “With all that bandaging on his head, he’ll stand out like a clown. You won’t miss him.”

  “The men who beat him up won’t miss him either.”

  Little Waaboo and his mother sat in the corner of the cabin, the old dog, Trixie, between them. Waaboo looked up from petting the dog. “The monster won’t get him. He’s too smart.”

  “What monster?” Bo asked.

  “It’s a nightmare Waaboo had,” Jenny explained.

  Which brought Bo back to the reason he’d come to Crow Point. “In this vision your son has, he sees a kid shoot an eagle out of the sky, right?”

  “That’s right,” Cork said.

  “And this eagle, as it falls, drops an egg?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The egg has got to be the flight recorder,” Bo said. “What about the eagle?”

  “I’ve been thinking it was the senator’s plane.”

  “And the kid?”

  “The kid is Stephen,” English said.

  “And not Stephen,” Cork said. “Look, the town meeting’s in a couple of hours. I’m heading into Aurora, see if I can track Stephen down before that. Bo, you should probably come with me.”

  “I’d like to be there, too,” English threw in.

  Cork shook his head. “I understand, Daniel, but with all the confusion and the disappearances on the reservation, I think it would be best if you stayed. I’d hate myself if I asked you to come and something happened here while we were gone.”

  “No one knows we’re here,” English said.

  “Maybe. But do you want to take that chance?” He glanced toward Waaboo.

  With a nod that was clearly reluctant, English gave in.

  Rainy walked with her husband and Bo outside and into the meadow.

  “I parked at Crow Point East. That’s what we call the parking area nearest Allouette,” Cork told Bo. “You came in along the path from the Aurora side?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s split up here. I’ll meet you at the high school half an hour before the town meeting.”

  “If you hear anything more, call me,” Bo said.

  He headed toward the trees where the path to the double-trunk began. Before he left the meadow, he looked back. In the yellow slant of the afternoon light, Cork had his wife in his arms, a long goodbye. Bo felt a deep, painful twist of envy.

  CHAPTER 33

  * * *

  Stephen removed the bandaging that covered his cheek. The wound beneath was raw and pink, the stitches black across it. His cheek and eye socket were dark-bruised. Even to himself, he was scary to look at. He’d bought something called Neutrogena Healthy Skin liquid makeup. He tapped a bit onto his fingertip and dabbed the flesh-colored goo over his wound. It wasn’t the magic cover-up he’d hoped for, but he did look less like Frankenstein. He applied it to the whole bruised area.

  His cell phone rang again. His father. He didn’t answer. Next came a text message: Let me know ur ok. Stephen replied: OK.

  He changed his clothes, put on jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, a gray hoodie, a black stocking cap. He returned to the bathroom, pulled the hood over his head, and was satisfied. It was hard to tell he’d been injured, and if he kept his head down, hard to tell who he was.

  He left the house, figuring that if they were looking for him—his father or the men who put the gashes in his head or the people, whoever they were, who were disturbing the spirits of this place he called home—Gooseberry Lane would be one of their stops. He drove to the Pinewood Broiler on Oak Street, took a seat in a booth next to the window, where he could see who came and went. He had a couple of hours to kill before the town meeting. Coffee and something to eat would do the trick.

  “Hey, Stephen.”

  His waitress was Marlee Daychild, the girl he fell in love with in high school. The only girl he’d ever loved, in fact. Their relationship had been a difficult one, for many reasons, most of them, Stephen knew, because of him, because of all the uncertainty, the restlessness that was such a part of who he seemed to be. Like the town of Aurora itself, Marlee was an element of his life that threatened him because of its comfort.

  “When did you start working here, Marlee?”

  “Never mind that. What happened to you?”

  “Nothing,” he said.

  Marlee was Anishinaabe and lived with her mother on the rez. Her hair was black and long, tied back in a ponytail. Her eyes were dark brown and warm with concern and caring. More caring than he felt he deserved. She wore a T-shirt with the word RESIST printed across the front.

  “You got into a fight?” she asked.

  “Just a stupid accident.”

  “Bullshit.” She sat across from him in the booth. “You look terrible.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  Yes, he thought. But he said, “Let it go, Marlee. It’s nothing.”

  Still, she tried again to break through the shell he’d put around himself. “That stupid accident of yours, it wouldn’t have anything do with all the trouble on the rez?”

  “Are you going to take my order?”

  Her brown eyes became hard and sharp, like little drill bits. “Fine.” She stood up and said, “What’ll you have?”

  “Coffee, a patty melt with fries.”

  She wrote on her pad, turned on her heel, and left him to his brooding.

  When she’d gone, Stephen thought about her T-shirt. RESIST. Resist what? But he could feel it inside himself. A stone of resistance. Which was exactly the opposite of the patience and acceptance Henry Meloux had tried for so long to teach him. Stephen wanted to resist everything. What Marlee was offering him. What his father had taught him. The understandings that Henry and Rainy had tried to guide him toward. He didn’t want any more visions. He didn’t want to sit waiting for answers to come. He had no patience now. He had only questions, and he wanted to track the answers like a hunter and, like a hunter, bring them down.

  He stared out the window of the Broiler. Across the street was Ardith Kane’s shop, North Star Notions, the display window already full of Halloween decorations. To the left of it, Pflugleman’s Rexall Drugs, to the right Finn’s Stationery and Office Supply. Rising behind them was the clock tower of the county courthouse. This was all of a piece, a tableau that hadn’t changed across the course of his whole life. He felt trapped. In place. In time. In who he was.

  “Here’s your coffee.”

  He was startled out of his angry reverie.

  “Are you okay, Stephen? Really?” Marlee had put away her own anger, and once again her eyes were soft with concern. “You jumped like you’d been shot.”

  “I’m fine. Just need some coffee in me.”

  She smiled gently. “It’s not known for settling nerves.”

  He managed the ghost of a smile. “You’re right. Things are a little tough at the moment. I just need some time to think. And maybe a little food in me.”

  “That I can help with. Your patty melt will be right up.”

  He ling
ered more than an hour, as the Pinewood Broiler filled and Marlee got busy with other customers. The sun was just about to set when he signaled her for the check.

  “Call me,” she told him.

  “I will.”

  “Promise.”

  And he did.

  * * *

  At the high school, the parking lot was already nearly full. Two State Patrol officers stood at the front door. Stephen joined a small group entering together, and he passed the officers without incident. A loud murmuring came from the auditorium as people gathered, greeted one another, found seats. As with so many of the gatherings that brought Shinnobs into Aurora, the folks from the rez took seats in back. Stephen stood just inside the door, scanning the crowd. He spotted his father in an aisle seat on the far side. Bo Thorson sat not far away. Stephen lowered his head and sat in the dim light of the back row, where he could keep an eye on his father’s movements and Thorson’s.

  A table and two chairs had been set up in the middle of the stage, two microphones on the table. A few minutes after seven, Renée Legris, the mayor of Aurora, and Governor Arne Johnson walked together from one of the wings and took their seats. The audience quieted.

  Stephen knew the mayor. Everyone in Aurora knew the mayor. Stephen had served her burgers through the window at Sam’s Place. Her daughter had graduated from high school a year behind him. She was a nice enough person, but he’d always felt an uncomfortable energy coming from her, a relentless push. She introduced the governor and offered him the floor.

  Governor Arne Johnson was someone Stephen had never liked. His policies had been at odds with so many of the values Stephen held dear. He came from money, not a sin in itself, but it was clear to Stephen that he’d never understood what it was to struggle. Among the policies that Stephen objected to most was Johnson’s stand on the undeveloped resources of Minnesota’s North Country. He was an advocate for the proposed mine.

  The governor opened with an eloquent portrait of Senator McCarthy, which was a very different depiction of her than he’d painted in the past, when their political agendas had clashed, which had been often. He moved smoothly into the issue at hand, the question of granting permits for the proposed mining operation. He defended his own position, which was that moving forward with the mine would be of tremendous benefit to the Iron Range, an area that, in the wake of so many mine closures, continued to suffer economically.