Winter of the Wolf Moon am-2

by Steve Hamilton

  The closet was on the other side of the bathroom wall, next to the front door. I went to it and sorted through all of the clothes that had been thrown onto the floor. At the bottom of the closet I found the shoe-box open. The gun was still there, the cylinder open and empty. I picked it up and put bullets in it, one by one. Somehow it made me feel better.

  I looked at the door. The molding was in splinters. Somebody had just kicked it in. I always knew it wasn’t a good door. I always figured that way out here in the middle of the woods where nobody could see the place, if somebody really wanted to break into the place, they’d find a way no matter what I did. I was apparently right.

  “Bruckman,” I said aloud. He did this. But why didn’t he take the gun? I went back through the place and looked everything over as well as I could. There was nothing missing. Unless…

  Unless whatever it was he was looking for wasn’t here for him to find. With that thought, I reached into the pocket of my coat. The compact weight had been there all along, on the edge of awareness. Now I remembered the hockey puck and held it up in the dim light to read the inscription once again. Gordie Howe, Number 9.

  Could it mean that much to him? An autographed hockey puck?

  Or did he break in just to trash the place? Just to get back at me for trying to help Dorothy get away from him?

  I stood there for a long time, looking at the puck. I felt the anger building. And along with the anger, there was a sick sort of fascination with just how crazy this man could be to do this. Or how stupid. Or both. He should be far away from here by now. But instead he decides to stay around just so he can do this to me.

  With that anger and that fascination, there was something else. A little burning spark of anticipation, something almost like gladness. Because now I knew that he was close. And if he was close, then I had more than an even chance of finding him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  When I woke up the next morning, I saw the underside of the bunk bed above. For a moment, I forgot where I was. Then it all came back to me.

  My cabin. I couldn’t imagine one man doing so much damage. He probably had his whole hockey team with him.

  I had called the sheriff’s office the night before. It was Saturday, so Bill wasn’t in. The deputy had wanted to send someone out to see the damage, but I had told him not to bother. No sense sending some poor sap all the way out here on a cold winter’s night just so he could look at the place and say, “Yep, somebody doesn’t like you very much.” I had left a message for Bill and wished the man a good night.

  Then I had started to clean up as well as I could, picking out the silverware from the mess on the kitchen floor along with whatever plates weren’t broken. Everything else I had swept into one big pile. There wasn’t much I could do with the cushions that had been slashed. I had collected up all of the material and the stuffing and had put it all into trash bags. When I had done enough to feel like I had at least started to undo the violence, I tried to sleep. But I couldn’t make the mattress into something comfortable again, no matter how much I tried. So I got in my truck and came around the bend to my second cabin, the same cabin that Dorothy had stayed in.

  The snow had finally stopped, but the wind was still blowing. It was a low, relentless wail that sounded like the cry of a wolf. Before I had gone to bed, I had stood in front of the sink and tried to turn the water on. Nothing. I remembered then how I had turned the water on for Dorothy that night, and had told her to keep it dripping so the pipes wouldn’t freeze. She obviously hadn’t. Too busy getting kidnapped, I guess. Now, the pipes were frozen solid. I didn’t feel like dealing with it at that moment, so I crawled into the bed. As I listened to the wind, I thought about how this was the same bed that Dorothy had slept in, assuming she got any sleep at all before her Prince Charming arrived to take her away.

  Did she really open the door for him? She must have. Otherwise he would have broken it down, just like he did mine. She opened the door for him, then he grabbed her and took her away. If I ever see her again, that will be the first question I ask her. Why did you open that door?

  I dragged myself out of bed. It was cold enough to see my own breath, the fire in the woodstove having gone out. I got into my boots and coat and went out into the morning, where the wind was waiting to make my face go numb. Another glorious winter day in Paradise.

  I started the truck and got the heater going. I felt so stiff that I’d shatter if you dropped me.

  It hadn’t snowed the previous night, but the wind had made drifts across the road. I plowed my way down to the end and back. When I passed Vinnie’s place, I saw that his car was gone. He was probably at the casino, dealing an early shift of blackjack. The wind had erased most of his hard work on the driveway. I plowed him out, just to piss him off.

  When I was back at my own cabin and out of my truck, I noticed that my door was open again. I could hear my phone ringing inside. I took the gun out of my coat pocket and peeked around the door. It looked like the same mess I’d seen the day before. With the lock broken, I thought, the wind must have blown the door in. There was snow on the floor, halfway into the room. At this rate, I might as well let the bears have the place to sleep in for the winter.

  The phone rang again. I picked it up.

  “Alex, is that you?” It was Leon Prudell. “Is everything all right? I’ve been calling all morning.”

  “Everything’s just wonderful,” I said.

  “I found his place,” he said. “Where Lonnie Bruckman was staying. I’m over here right now, with the landlady.”

  “You’re kidding,” I said. “How did you find it?”

  “I’ll explain when you get here,” he said. “You’ve got to see this place.” He gave me the directions to a neighborhood on the east side of Sault Ste. Marie. It wasn’t far from the ice rink and the bar where I saw Bruckman the night of the hockey game.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I said.

  “I’ll be waiting, partner.”

  I let that one go. I figured he’d earned the partnership, at least for the day.

  Before I left, I called the sheriff’s office again and asked to speak to Bill directly, but the woman on the phone told me he wasn’t in. I left my phone numbers, one for the cabin, one for the cellular in my truck, and asked that he call me as soon as possible. Then I went back out into the cold. No hot shower, no breakfast. I’ll stop at the Glasgow, I thought. Grab a coffee and something to go.

  When I got there, Jackie was sitting in front of the fire, rubbing his hands together. “It’s gonna snow,” he said when he saw me.

  “Your psychic powers are amazing,” I said. “Imagine, snow in the U.P. in January. Is this coffee fresh?”

  “No, I mean it’s gonna snow. A lot. Yes, of course it’s fresh.”

  I poured a cup. “How much is a lot? You got any rolls or anything? I’m in a hurry.” I poked around on the counter behind the bar.

  “A lot means feet instead of inches,” he said. “Look in the kitchen.”

  I went back into the kitchen and grabbed a couple cheese danishes. The place smelled like he had just made one of his famous omelets. It made my stomach hurt, but I couldn’t wait. I had to get out to the Soo to see that house. I wasn’t sure what good it would do, but at least I’d be doing something.

  “Thanks, Jackie,” I said on my way out. “I’ll be back later for an omelet.”

  “No thank you, master,” he said just before I closed the door. “I live to serve you.”

  On a good day I would have taken Lakeshore Drive all along the bay to Six Mile Road, but with the wind blowing all over the place, I figured I’d be better off staying on the main roads. I noticed the car behind me just as I left Paradise. When I hit M-28 and headed east, the car was still behind me. In the rearview mirror I could see that it was a midsize sedan. There were two men in the front seat.

  Just for the hell of it, I stopped at a little store in Strongs and went in and got a newspaper. I didn’t see the car
in the parking lot, but when I got back on the road it was behind me again.

  Well, well, I thought. So maybe I wasn’t just imagining it. I really am being followed. But who could it be? Bruckman, maybe? With one of his hockey goons? Wouldn’t that be convenient? Here I am looking all over for him and he could be right in back of me.

  I tried gunning it for a few miles, just to see if the car would stick with me. It did, keeping at a constant distance of about a quarter mile behind me. Then I slowed down to thirty miles per hour. If the car wasn’t tailing me, it would have gotten closer. It didn’t. It stayed back there, just close enough so that they could react to anything I did, but far enough away that I wouldn’t notice it in my rearview mirror. Or so they apparently thought.

  I stopped again in Raco, went into another little store and then peeked out the side window. The car had pulled off the road. I stood there watching it, wondering what to do.

  “Can I help you find something?” the man behind the counter asked. He was an older gentleman with a kind face.

  “No, thank you, sir,” I said. “I’m just waiting for some friends to show up.”

  “They say it’s gonna snow today,” the man said.

  “So I hear,” I said, as I opened the door and went out. I’m sure the man was shaking his head as I left.

  Okay, boys, I said to myself as I got back in the truck. Let’s try something different.

  When I got back onto M-28, the car was behind me again. I started looking for the right kind of road to turn onto, something with a little bit of cover so I could open up some distance on them without being obvious about it. We were about to leave the Hiawatha National Forest and I knew everything would be wide open soon, so I’d need to find something within the next couple miles.

  A side road came up on my left, leading north through the pine trees toward Brimley. This could work, I thought. I took the turn and punched it, spinning my wheels in the snow for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the truck found some purchase and I was moving again. I went as fast I could safely go, looking for some kind of turnoff. Somewhere that I could hide the truck and then wait for them.

  I saw a couple driveways, but they were long and open. I went around a curve and almost missed another driveway. A good one. I pumped the brakes, trying to stay on the road. I squeezed the steering wheel, trying to will the truck to stop. When it finally did, I slammed it in reverse and backed up. Perfect, I thought, if I can just back into this driveway before they catch up to me. Hurry up, goddamn it. Careful, careful…

  I stopped the truck. I was about twenty feet from the road, behind a stand of pine trees that were all but smothered by a thick cloak of snow. I had just enough of a sight line to see them coming, and just enough distance to get my truck back onto the road to stop them. Whoever was in that car, I’d be getting a good, close look at them in just a few seconds.

  I took a long breath. I patted the gun in my coat pocket. You never know, I thought. If Bruckman’s in that car, it might come down to this.

  My heart was beating fast. Relax, Alex. Slow down. Breathe. Make yourself breathe.

  I waited. Any second now.

  No sign of the car. It might be slow going for them. It’s not an easy road with this much snow. Just be patient.

  I waited.

  Nothing.

  Where are they? They should be here by now.

  Keep waiting, Alex. Just a little more. Give them time.

  I waited.

  Damn it. They saw through my little game. They’re not taking the bait.

  I waited another minute, and then I slammed the gear shift into first. Nice going, Alex. Now they know you spotted them, too.

  I went back the way I came, back toward the main road, swearing at myself, at Bruckman, at the snow, and everything else I could think of.

  And then I saw them.

  The car was stopped, the front wheels off the road. One man was standing waist-high in the snow, trying to push the car backwards.

  They’re stuck, I thought. Son of a bitch, they’re stuck in the snow. I’ve got ’em. Just drive right on up, nice and slow, see what they do.

  The first thing I noticed as I got closer was that neither one of the men was Bruckman. The second thing I noticed was that they both had hunting caps on. I didn’t recognize the man pushing the car, or the man driving, as much as I could see of him. But I didn’t take much notice of the other hockey players that night, so I couldn’t be sure.

  I pulled up next to them and stopped. I rolled down the window.

  The man kept pushing and swearing softly to himself. The driver kept working the wheel. They weren’t going anywhere. Neither of them even looked at me.

  I just sat there, watching them. The road was nothing but snow and pine trees. No houses to be seen in either direction. A few lazy snowflakes started to fall. If this was the big snowstorm everybody was talking about, it had a lot of work to do.

  Finally, the man outside the car gave me a furtive little look and then a little wave. His face was red from all the pushing. “S’all right,” he finally said to me. “We’re okay here. Thanks anyway.” A totally natural response when you’re stuck in the snow and a man in a truck pulls up.

  I didn’t move. I kept watching them.

  “We’ve got to get it rocking, for God’s sake,” the man said to the driver. “Forward and back, forward and back. Come on!” But the two men couldn’t settle into the same rhythm. The man gave me a wave again. “We’re fine,” he said. “Go on.” He still wouldn’t look me in the eye.

  “Looks like you boys could use some help,” I said.

  “No, no, really,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “You’ll never get unstuck that way,” I said. “You’ll be here until spring.”

  “We’ve got it,” the man said. “I feel it coming now. Look out, please! You’re in the way there!”

  “Nah, you’re stuck all right,” I said. “I’m gonna have to pull you out.” I opened the door and stepped out of the truck.

  “No, really!” the man said. “Please! You don’t have to do that!” The driver was shaking his head now and pounding on the steering wheel.

  I went around to the bed of the truck and pulled out a long length of heavy chain. I held most of the chain in my left hand, and kept just enough free in my right hand to knock somebody’s teeth out if I had to. My gun was in my right coat pocket. “We’ll have you out in a second,” I said. “You boys are lucky I came along.”

  “Yes,” the man said. “Yes, we certainly are.”

  “Here, give me a hand with this,” I said. “I’m gonna see if I can tie this on to your back end here.”

  The man hesitated for a moment. I saw him give the driver a quick look. “Sure,” he finally said. He climbed out of the snow and came around to the back of the car where I could get a good look at him. I gave the chain a little swing with my right hand. If he tried anything, I was ready.

  When he was close enough, I looked him in the eye. He might have looked a little soft from a distance, but those eyes gave him away. Even with that ridiculous bright red hunting cap with the flaps hanging down on either side of his head, I could see he was a rock.

  “See if you can hook this up under there,” I said. “I can’t bend down real well today. I’m still sore from playing hockey.”

  I gave him the chain and stepped back a little bit. I put my right hand in my coat pocket. The man looked at the chain like he had never seen one before, and then he got down onto the snow and looked up at the back end of the car. “Down here?” he said.

  No, genius, I want you to stick the chain up your ass. “Yeah, right there,” I said. “See if you can hook it onto the frame there. You ever play hockey?”

  “No, never did,” he said from under the car. While he rattled around with the chain, I looked at the Michigan license plate and recited the number in my head a few times. It’s a Ford Taurus, I told myself. Dark green. I looked up at the driver. He was as motionless as a wa
x dummy now, facing forward. I still hadn’t gotten a good look at his face. “Come on out of the car,” I called to him. “You don’t want to be in there when I start pulling.” Actually, he would want to stay in there and steer while I was pulling the car, but I figured it was worth a shot. The driver opened the door and got out.

  “Hi, I’m Alex,” I said. I kept my hands in my pockets, my right hand wrapped tightly around my gun. I didn’t want to shake hands with the man, so I shivered a little bit for him and said, “God, it sure is cold out here.”

  “Sure is,” he said. Even with the glasses and the little mustache, he looked as tough as his partner. His hunting cap was blue and his flaps were snapped up. Now that I had seen both of them, I still didn’t recognize either one of them. I didn’t think they were hockey players, or anybody who would hang around a guy like Bruckman, for that matter. But if they weren’t with him, what the hell were they doing following me around?

  I looked up and down the road. I could pull the gun on them right now, I thought. Tell the man on the ground to stay put, point the gun right at the other man’s head, and then politely ask them to start talking.

  I decided against it. I had the plate number. I could describe both men. I could pick them out again if I had to. And I had the advantage of knowing that they were following me now. And the further advantage of them not knowing that I knew.