Hook, Line, and Homicide

by Mark Richard Zubro

  Ben asked, “Should we call the police?”

  Fenwick said, “We could chase the Mustang.”

  Madge said, “We are not going to go up and down the highways of rural Canada in the middle of the night.”

  Fenwick said, “You always take the fun out of everything.”

  “Let’s not do another round of debate on the meaning of fun,” Madge said.

  Ben asked, “Did someone get their license plate number?”

  Turner said, “I did.” He quickly got pen and paper out of the glove compartment and wrote it down. After noting it, Turner said, “I can describe the kid who attacked me. He was the driver. I don’t know his name, but I recognized him from around town. They must have known that we might be able to identify them. Why do something so blatant?”

  The other three agreed that at least some of them looked familiar.

  Fenwick said, “Either they planned to kill us all or somebody’s daddy owns half the North Woods. Do we want to press charges? None of us is hurt.”

  Madge said, “They’re not afraid of being recognized and must not be afraid even if they are caught. Even somebody directly related to Mayor Daley can’t get away with that in Chicago.”

  Turner said, “It’s puzzling.”

  Ben added, “If we say something, it could redound back on us.”

  “How so?” Madge asked.

  Ben said, “If they have powerful connections, they may feel an even greater need or even more empowered if nothing comes of our report.”

  Turner said, “Corrupt Canadian police?” He remembered the scandal he’d read about police misconduct in a murder investigation in the papers the summer before.

  Fenwick said, “The cops who showed up earlier seemed willing to take sides in a pretty prejudiced way. We’ve got to be careful.”

  They all nodded.

  5

  Flashing Mars lights and a wildly swaying Maglite flashlight beam met them upon their return to the pier. Ben said, “That’s our dock.”

  Turner pulled into the parking lot and the four of them rushed from the SUV to the edge of the pier. Paul noted that the Fenwicks’ SUV wasn’t back yet. Had something happened to the kids? On the sand next to the dock was a city of Cathura police car. Ian held the flailing flashlight. The foot-long thing in his hand wavered erratically as he gesticulated wildly.

  Paul, Ben, and Madge were the first to arrive, with Fenwick puffing up behind.

  Paul could hear Ian’s voice. He was addressing an audience of four: two cops, and the resort owner and his wife, Michael and Gertrude Zoll. “Just kids’ stuff! Are you out of your mind? I chased the little bastards halfway to the North Pole. They were laughing at me. Laughing. I didn’t dare go far in the woods. They were screaming and yelling homophobic slurs.”

  Zoll said, “Now, now. We get kids doing all kinds of stupid stuff. They call each other gay at the drop of a hat. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  The cops hadn’t been among those present at the incident in town. Zoll addressed the police officers. “We get minor vandalism all the time out here. You know that. How often do we call you? Couple times a week in the summer?”

  The cop said, “It’s hard to patrol every inch of the woods.” His name badge read VINCENT SCHREPPEL. The word Chief was stitched in yellow underneath it.

  Ian said, “This isn’t the woods. This is a dock. Are you telling me criminals get to run amok in the North Woods?” His tenor voice echoed through the night.

  “What happened?” Turner asked.

  Ian said, “These people won’t listen.”

  Schreppel said, “We had a report of a break-in.”

  “Break-in? Break-in! If I hadn’t gotten back when I did they’d have destroyed both boats. There was less destruction on the Titanic.” Paul had never seen his friend so angry. He looked at the boats. They were still afloat. Nothing looked broken or damaged.

  Paul tapped Ian. “What happened?” he asked again.

  Ian focused on him. “I went for a walk along the lake. Damn bugs could eat you alive. I came back sooner than I intended. I got here and our boat was swarming with teenagers.”

  “How many were there?” Paul asked.

  “It was dark. There was only that one light at the end of the pier. I hadn’t taken a flashlight with me. I know you told me to. I didn’t. There were at least four or five. All males. All white. Late teens, early twenties. I surprised them when I came on board. They panicked and ran. They plowed into me and nearly knocked me into the water. I got up and chased them. Once we got into the woods, I nearly got lost. The fuckers were chanting their goddamn slurs from among the trees. A few minutes later, I heard a car roar away. They were on some road I couldn’t find in the dark. I really got turned around finding my way back.”

  “What kind of damage did they do?” Paul asked.

  “Take a look.”

  Ben and Paul climbed aboard. The Fenwicks hurried to check their boat. Ian stood on the deck as the other two entered the main cabin. The Zolls and the cops remained on the dock.

  Paul turned on the lights. The kitchen was a mess. Drops of cleansers still leaked from crushed bottles. Liquid from plastic drink containers formed pastel pools on the floor. Hunks of food from the refrigerator swam in the murky mess. Smashed bits of the portable plastic chess set Jeff had not put away made tiny islands in the juices. Dented and scarred pots and pans lay in a mound near the stove. The only bedroom attacked had been Ian’s. It was nearest the front.

  Ian said, “I think I got to them before they could get to the other rooms.”

  Paul checked the boys’ bedroom. Everything looked fine. In their bedroom Ben checked the Agatha Christie book he always took along. They kept the extra cash and traveler’s checks in the Agatha Christie book. Or as Ben put it, he always kept the cash in the Christie. Their funds were untouched.

  “What did they get of yours?” Paul asked Ian.

  “They got my traveler’s checks. I left them on the nightstand. They took my watch. I had my wallet with me. I’ll have to call American Express. They ripped up a bunch of the clothes. Tore pages out of every book, ruined most of them.”

  “You took a chance when you confronted that many of them.”

  “They were cowards. They ran. If I’d have been a bit quicker, I’d have gotten one of them. It’s good I got back when I did. They could have ruined all of our stuff.”

  Ben said, “They could have all turned on you. Even you might have a hard time with a bunch at once.”

  The Fenwicks came aboard. “Nothing happened to our boat. Are you okay?”

  Paul said, “Yes, some damage. Nothing irreplaceable.” The five of them went back on deck. The cops and the Zolls joined them.

  Schreppel asked, “Did you want to file a report?”

  Ian said, “Of course, I want to file a report. Why wouldn’t I?”

  Schreppel said, “The resorts have all kinds of problems with this. We do what we can.”

  “Why don’t they hire security?” Ben asked.

  Schreppel said, “We patrol as often as we can. It happens. You didn’t get a good description. It could have been anyone. I’m sorry.”

  Ian said, “I lost my watch and my traveler’s checks.”

  Schreppel said, “Better cancel them first thing in the morning.”

  “I knew that,” Ian said.

  Zoll said, “I’ll do whatever I can to make things right. I’m sorry it happened to you.”

  Ian said, “It happened to us for very specific reasons. There’s other boats here. Nothing happened to them. They made slurs.”

  Zoll said, “What can I do to help?”

  Ian made his report. Ben and Paul cleaned. The Fenwicks helped. Ben said, “At least the kids weren’t here for this. They should be back soon.” They would have to resupply with groceries after they got back from their morning fishing.

  After the cops and Zolls left, Ian groused from the kitchen counter. “They didn’t believe me. They wouldn’
t listen. This was a direct attack on us.”

  Paul said, “And if it was, how is that going to help us catch them? Or get a new supply of groceries?”

  “Is this place safe?” Ian asked. “I don’t want to be the next Matthew Shepard.”

  “Is any place safe?” Ben asked. “You can get hassled by homophobic teens on Clark Street in Chicago as well as far out in the middle of nowhere.”

  Ian said, “Zoll is a shit. He wanted to placate me. He’s trying to save the reputation of his resort. He’s a homophobe or a closet case.”

  Ben asked, “Could this have been done by the crowd from the restaurant?”

  “Who’s that?” Ian asked.

  Ben explained.

  Paul asked Ian, “Was one of them kind of a frumpy, heavyset woman?”

  Ian shook his head. “It was twilight. I just didn’t get a good enough look.”

  Ben asked, “If it was them, how would the timing work on that?”

  Paul said, “We came straight back here after the parking lot. They must have done it before they began hassling the First Nations kids.”

  “Just before,” Ian said.

  “If it was the same ones,” Paul said.

  When Jeff and the Fenwicks’ kids returned, Paul and Ben sat with Jeff and talked about what happened.

  “Are we leaving?” Jeff asked.

  “We’re going to be careful,” Paul said.

  Jeff said, “I don’t want to be chased away from our only vacation.”

  Paul said, “We’ll take every precaution.”

  6

  After playing chess with his dad, Jeff was rereading a Walter R. Brooks Freddy book. Ben was tuning the strings of a dented five-string guitar that the last people who’d rented the boat had left. Ian was nestled in a large chair on the screened-in portion of the upper deck with the Tripp book. Paul heard a sharp slap and the reporter groused, “Nobody told me the bugs here were as big as elephants.”

  Brian would be out with friends until late. Paul wasn’t sure his older boy ever did much sleeping on the vacations.

  Paul settled into the boat’s only easy chair. Ben came over and sat between his legs, rested his left arm on Paul’s right leg. “Aren’t you going out tonight?” Ben asked.

  On the first night of their vacation Paul always took out the small rowboat onto the lake. He did this the first night of every one of their trips.

  “I wanted to stay close for a while,” Paul said. “It’s been a little bit of an unusual night.”

  Ben said, “It’s quiet. Jeff ’s fine. Ian will never be fine.”

  “I heard that,” Ian called. “Too much truth can ruin a vacation.”

  Ben whispered, “You should go. You always do. I’ll take care of things.”

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes,” Ben said. “You enjoy the time alone and you don’t get much of that. If you’re worried, don’t go as far this year or don’t stay out as long. We’ll be fine.” He kissed him. “It’s okay.”

  Paul nodded. The alone moments in an active household and an active job were few and far between. He checked on Jeff and then clambered on deck and untied the rowboat. Ben waved as he rowed away. As Paul glided along the shore, he heard Ian’s voice grumbling about the bugs and humidity.

  Paul knew these waters. His father had brought him here since he was four. In a very short time, he would be unable to hear any sounds his family might be making.

  Paul rowed for twenty minutes and then let the boat drift. He arranged the extra life jackets and seat cushions into a sort of couch on the bottom of the boat. He lay on them, his head resting near the stern. He watched the stars drift overhead. He loved these moments. He didn’t have to think about criminals or crime or kids. He forgot everything in the glory of starlight and clouds and moonlight. He felt the tension of city living and responsibility drain from him. For a few minutes he thought of contentment and bliss.

  The boat ambled along in the current.

  Ten minutes of drifting later, he heard several gusts of raucous laughter echo from the near shore. Noise from campers or trysting lovers was a fairly common occurrence, and normally it did not jangle his nerves. But this time, he was fairly certain it was Brian laughing. The kid’s basso gusto laugh was hard to mistake. Paul was sure Brian said he was going to a late movie in Kenora. The laughter burst out again, a rumbling lilt in the darkness. Paul lifted his head. He was in a channel between two islands. He was supposed to be running with a light, but this channel was well known to him. Other boats were too large for this narrow byway between two islands. On a shore about thirty feet away was a campfire. He saw a boat about the same size as his pulled onto the beach. In its lee was a small fire. The light could be seen for miles in this wilderness. He saw two people. They were slathering Bug-Be-Gone spray on their naked torsos, arms, and faces. One was Brian. The other was Kevin Yost. He saw Kevin kneel behind Brian and begin applying Bug-Be-Gone to his back. He saw Brian lean into the other boy’s arms. Then Kevin leaned his head forward and kissed his son. Brian did not pull away.

  Paul slipped his oars into the water. He was a master oarsman and could row silently when he wished. At this moment, he very much wished to leave undetected.

  This far north you half expected to meet a bear in the woods or to be startled by or to startle some woodland creature. The intrusion of humans, one of whom was his son, was unexpected. Paul had made love in the woods before. To his knowledge he had never been discovered doing so. Seeing his son gave him an odd chill up his spine.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t think his son was a sexual being. The boy paraded about in his boxers at home and dressed fashionably straight. To this moment, as far as Turner knew, his older son was relentlessly heterosexual. He’d dated a huge number of girls and had given no indication that he was interested in boys. There was no question about what Paul had just seen. He had no intention of discussing it with anyone, least of all Brian. He rowed silently and powerfully away.

  Paul rowed for nearly half an hour, sticking carefully close to the shore, farther along which they had docked. It wouldn’t do to get lost in the night. If he did, he would have to wait for morning either to find his way or wait to be found, and even that could take a while.

  The moon and the stars were gorgeous. He sat on the boat seat and watched the ripple of the water in the streaming moonlight. The stars glittered on the mirrored water.

  Upon his return, Paul said nothing to Ben about what he’d seen. Jeff was asleep. Ian was snoring. Brian had not returned. Ben and Paul crawled into bed and cuddled for a while. Paul felt Ben’s breathing settle into sleep.

  Paul lay staring at the pine ceiling. He felt conflicted about what he’d seen. At the simplest level, his son had lied about where he was going. Obviously he was not at the movies in Kenora. It was possible that they had done something as simple as changing their minds and deciding to do something else. Certainly plans to go make out in the woods, straight or gay, were not announced to one’s parents. It was too early for them to have gone to the movies and come back again and gotten as far out as they had. As teenage lies go, it was in the midlevel range.

  Paul knew he didn’t care if his kid was gay. And was he gay? A kiss in the woods was more than just being friendly. One of the demarcations Paul kept in his head between straight and gay guys was that more straight guys than people expected would hold still for a blow job, but the truly straight ones drew the line at kissing a guy. And had Kevin and Brian done more than kiss?

  Paul also didn’t know if his son was still a virgin. According to studies he’d read, the average age for someone losing their virginity in this country was sixteen, which Brian was. Paul realized statistics didn’t mean much when it came to your own kid.

  Who could he talk this over with? And why did he need to talk it over? Ben would understand. Fenwick would be supportive. Mrs. Talucci would be fine with it. Paul realized his hesitancy had little to do with whom he wanted to talk to. It was h
is own reluctance. He mostly didn’t want to think about his kid’s sex life. As a kid, you didn’t think about your parents’. As a parent, you didn’t want to think about your kid’s.

  He listened to the wilderness for half an hour. Soft waves murmuring against the hull. Loons calling. Mosquitoes whining. Dim mutters of other humans. A far-off train whistle. A logging truck lumbering by on a distant highway. Finally, he heard thumps on the deck. He heard Brian mutter, “I’m home, Dad.” His son would know he was awake waiting. He heard the refrigerator door opening. He knew Brian would be drinking from the only unbroken bottle of an esoteric brand of nonsweetened organic juice. His son would not be using a glass.

  7

  Paul awakened in the dim morning light to the soft murmuring of voices. It was his sons comparing techniques for getting some breakfast without awakening the adults. Ben whispered in Paul’s ear, “They never catch on, do they?”

  Paul smiled. He arose, threw on jeans, a sweatshirt, socks, and heavy shoes. He saw a light in the galley section of the Fenwicks’ boat. Madge appeared briefly at the window. They exchanged waves.

  Everyone, except Ian, was up. The reporter had told them to let him sleep. Promptly at five Kevin arrived on the dock.

  Neither boy gave any indication that something unusual had happened the night before. Paul didn’t notice them giggle in intimate ways or stagger against each other in accidental bumps that might indicate…what? Hot sex under the stars? A secret romance? Each boy looked like he could use a lot more sleep, but Brian was used to sleeping until late in the morning in the summers and five in the morning was early for just about anyone. Turner yawned and took a gulp of his coffee. He turned the wheel and guided the boat away from the dock. Mist shrouded the land and water.

  Ian staggered out the door of the houseboat and onto the deck. He wore tight white boxer briefs, white socks, and a dark blue hooded sweatshirt. He looked from houseboat to houseboat and from each of the silent anglers preparing lines, sipping coffee, or setting lures.