Winter of the Wolf Moon

by Steve Hamilton

  You come off the bridge and you’re right in the middle of downtown Soo Canada. It’s a big city by Canadian standards, at least four times bigger than Soo Michigan. I drove down Bay Street, past the fish hatchery and the Civic Centre, and pulled into a brightly lit parking lot. It used to be called Brewer’s Retail. Now it’s just the Beer Store. There’s one or two in every town in Canada, from Vancouver to Prince Edward Island. It’s a wonderful place. You walk in and you look at a row of bottles on the wall. You say that one, please, make it two, please. And two cases comes rolling out on the conveyor belt. They don’t roll them slowly. You have to be ready for them. I’ve heard a lot of things said about Canadians, good and bad. But when it comes to beer, they know what they’re doing.

  With two cases in the back of the truck, I headed back to the bridge. I could feel my bad mood lifting as I drove under the streetlights of Queen Street. I paid the buck fifty toll again, and then this time I had to wait at the U.S. customs booth. When it was my turn, I drove to the window, said hello to the man. Another familiar face. He asked me the usual questions. I told him I had two cases in the back.

  “You know you’re only supposed to bring back one case at a time,” he said.

  “Can you blame me?” I said. “This is Canadian beer we’re talking about.”

  He thought about it for a moment. “Go on, get out of here,” he finally said. “Be careful with that beer. You got it secured back there? You’re not going to break any, are you?”

  “This beer is safe with me,” I said. “You can count on it.”

  I drove back through Soo Michigan. The same roads, everything at least a half hour trip up here. No wonder my truck was pushing 200,000 miles. The snow was beginning to come down harder.

  As soon as I passed the sign (“You’re entering Paradise! We’re glad you made it!”), a snowmobile came out onto the road. I jammed on the brakes, heard the bottles rattle behind me. The rider just sat there transfixed like a deer in the glare of my headlights. I couldn’t see his face through the visor.

  If even one of those bottles was broken, I said to myself, there would be hell to pay. I gripped the steering wheel, made myself count to five, and then I opened the door. The snowmobile disappeared in a cloud of white.

  I checked the beer and got back in the truck. I could feel my bad mood making a comeback. Just go to the Glasgow, Alex. Put one case behind the bar. Keep one in the truck. Better put it in the cab so it doesn’t freeze. Sit by the fire, take your boots off. Jackie will make you something to eat. You’ll sit there, you’ll have a cold Canadian. You’ll be a new man.

  I took the case and backed myself through the door. The place was full of snowmobilers. A man walked by me to the bathroom with his suit open down to his waist, his boots clunking with every step and the shiny material on his legs going zip zip. Jackie was behind the bar, leaning over it and talking to a woman. The string of lights that ran along the wall behind the bar were blinking on and off, even though Christmas was long gone. I put the case down. I stood up and stretched my back, looking around the room. There were a lot of strange faces, but that was normal for this time of year. All these men from downstate, filling the place with stories and bad jokes and cigarette smoke.

  The usual scene. And yet …

  And yet what? Something wasn’t right. A certain noise, or a lack of a certain noise. A feeling I was being watched, even though nobody was looking at me. Just a feeling that something was …

  What? What was the problem? I couldn’t say. I didn’t pursue it. I chalked it up to a strange mood on a strange day. I didn’t listen to the voice in the back of my head, that little voice I relied on every day when I was a cop. I could have gone into the room and looked at every man, one by one, slowly and casually, not making any fuss about it. Just make eye contact, smile and nod, move on to the next. Maybe I would have narrowed it down to the man in the corner, sitting by himself. Or the man by the window who kept glancing outside. Maybe I would have sensed that something bad was going to happen that night, and maybe I would have found some way to prevent it.

  But I didn’t. I shook off the feeling the same way the pitchers used to shake off my signs. A single quick tilt of the head and it was dismissed.

  Jackie appeared next to me. “Alex, come on over here,” he said. “I want you to meet somebody.”

  I looked at the woman he had been talking with. The face was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I had seen her before. She was in her thirties, maybe mid to late. Brown hair, a streak of blond on one side. Blue eyes, a dark blue, almost violet. I probably would have found her attractive if Sylvia hadn’t just burned out most of my circuits. She was sitting at the end of the bar, the stool next to her empty, like there was an invisible bubble around her, keeping all the men away. She had her hands folded in front of her on the bar and she was looking up at the Christmas lights.

  “Who is she?” I said.

  “Her name is Dorothy,” he said. “She’s been waiting for you.”

  She looked down in her lap, unfolded her jacket and pulled out a package of cigarettes. It was a leather jacket. Not nearly warm enough.

  It came to me. I remembered where I had seen her before.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “It wasn’t hard to find you,” she said. We had taken the small table next to the fireplace. She sat across from me, looking around the room at all the men in their snowmobile suits. Jackie had come by, dropped a beer in front of me, asked her if he could get her anything. She asked for a glass of water. “I started at that bar, you know, from last night. The one with all the animals.”

  “The Horns Inn,” I said. “You were there with the other hockey team.”

  “Doesn’t that place give you the creeps? All those eyes looking at you?”

  “I never thought about it that way,” I said. “Next time I’m there, I probably will.”

  She smiled. Her eyes were red. She looked tired. “The bartender at that place knew you,” she said. “He told me you were a private investigator. The lawyer you worked for, he hung out there a lot, used to talk about you. Is it true you have a bullet in your heart?”

  “Next to my heart,” I said.

  “Okay, that makes sense then,” she said. “If it was in your heart, you’d be dead, right? How did that happen, anyway?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said.

  She nodded, biting her lip. I could see a small chip on one of her front teeth. “He told me you lived here,” she said. “In Paradise. I knew it’s a small town, so I didn’t figure I’d have any problem finding you. I hitchhiked, can you believe it? I haven’t done that in twenty years. When I got into town, the guy at the gas station told me to try this place. I got talking to Jackie over there.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “He’s a very nice man.”

  “You’re the Indian, aren’t you?” I said. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I probably wouldn’t have noticed it. There was just the slightest hint of it in her face, a certain calmness in her eyes. “Vinnie recognized you. He said you grew up on the reservation.”

  “Vinnie who?”

  “Vinnie LeBlanc.”

  “I don’t know him,” she said. “I don’t remember many people from that time. I’ve been gone for, God, it must be ten years. Until a couple months ago, I haven’t even been in the Upper Peninsula.”

  “He remembers you,” I said. “From when you were kids, I guess.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “Anyway, you’re probably wondering why I was looking for you.”

  “I figured you’d get to that part.”

  “It’s like this, Alex…. Can I call you Alex?”

  “Of course.”

  “What I’m wondering is, do you happen to be free at the moment? I mean, can I hire you?”

  “Hire me?” I said. “Wait a minute. I’m not really a private investigator anymore. I’m not sure I ever was one.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “It’s a long story,”
I said. “Another long story.”

  “Oh,” she said. As tired as she already looked, this seemed to take a little more steam out of her. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

  “Actually,” I said, “I was just talking to a real private investigator this afternoon. I promised him I’d send any business I got his way. Do you want me to call him?”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t want to talk to anybody else. Look, I’m sorry, this was a mistake. Just forget it.” She started to get up.

  “Dorothy, sit down,” I said. “Just tell me what’s going on. Why did you come all the way out here? Just because you heard I was a private investigator?”

  She picked up her glass of water, rattling the ice. She took a long drink and then put the glass back on the table. “All right, this is going to sound crazy, okay?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I was at the game last night,” she said: “I saw what you did to Lonnie.”

  “Bruckman? You were with him?” It was hard to imagine, after all he had said about Indians.

  “Yes,” she said. “He makes me go to all his games.”

  “It was just a league game,” I said. “A bunch of old guys playing hockey because they miss the good old days. All I did was block a couple of his shots.”

  “You don’t know what that does to him,” she said. “You stopped him cold. Then in the bar afterwards, the way you stood up to him. I was listening, Alex. We all were. You made him look bad.”

  “Dorothy, this is really—”

  “You don’t know him, Alex, Do you have any idea how mad you made him? He couldn’t stop talking about it. All night long. He didn’t sleep.”

  “Of course he didn’t sleep,” I said. “He was too high.”

  “You noticed.”

  “Hard not to,” I said. “Does he do that a lot?”

  “Yes,” she said. She looked at the fireplace. The door opened and more snowmobilers came into the bar, stomping their boots.

  “What’s going on?” I said. “Are you in trouble? Did he—”

  “Did he what? Did he beat me? Is that why you think I’m here? Because I need you to protect me?” She looked back up at me. I could see the reflection from the flames in the fireplace in her eyes.

  “I’m just asking,” I said. “Because if he did—”

  “Then I should go to a shelter for battered women and leave you alone.”

  “Do you want me to help you or not?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just … I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

  “What do you want me to do? Do you have someplace to go?”

  “Not really,” she said. “Maybe downstate. I have some friends.”

  “What about the reservation?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m not welcome there. My parents and I …” She didn’t say anything for a long moment, just shook her head. “No, not there.”

  “Let’s say I really was a private investigator,” I said. “I mean, let’s say I really wanted to be one. What would you want me to do?”

  “I would hire you …,” she said, and then she stopped. “I can trust you, can’t I? I really can?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I believe that,” she said. “I don’t know why I believe that, but I do.”

  “What would you hire me to do, Dorothy?”

  “I would hire you to help me get away,” she said. “That’s all. Just help me get away. Before he finds me.”

  “You think he’ll come after you?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I know he will. He’ll come after me. And if he finds me he’ll kill me.”

  “God, it’s cold,” she said. The snow was coming down hard, the flakes already joined together in the air like falling paper dolls.

  She kept her white bag slung over her shoulder, after refusing to let me carry it. “You need a warmer coat,” I said. “Here, take mine.”

  “Don’t even try it,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

  “My truck’s over here.” The parking lot was full of snowmobiles and trailers. “I’ll get the heater going.”

  She stopped and looked up into the darkness. “There’s a full moon tonight.”

  “What moon?” I said. “I haven’t seen the sky in two months.”

  “I can feel it,” she said. “Can’t you feel it?”

  I opened the passenger side door for her. “Sorry about the missing window,” I said. I got in my side, turned the key, cranked on the heat.

  “You don’t feel the moon, do you?” she said.

  “No,” I said. “Sorry.”

  “It’s the wolf moon, you know. The first full moon of the year.”

  “This will heat up in a minute,” I said. “I should keep a blanket in here.”

  “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

  “No,” I said. I stopped fooling with the heater and looked right at her so she would know I was telling her the truth. “I’ve seen crazy. Believe me.”

  “Don’t tell me,” she said. “Another long story.”

  “Yes.”

  “And this window,” she said, tapping the plastic.

  “Another long story,” I said.

  She shifted the bag in her lap. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “I had a cancellation,” I said. “The cabin is empty anyway.”

  “I really appreciate it,” she said. “I just have to sleep for a few hours. Then I’ll be able to think straight.”

  I pulled the truck out of the parking lot, headed north up the main road. There’s a place not far up the road where the trees break and you can see all the way across the bay. Just a few weeks ago we would have seen the freighters docked outside the locks, getting their last runs in before the freeze, waiting for the right weather to make their run to Duluth. But tonight it was so dark we could barely see the ice.

  “Are you sure you can’t feel that wolf moon?” she said. She was lying back against the seat. Her voice was a low murmur that undercut the sound of the wind. The effect was hypnotic.

  “I wouldn’t know how to feel it,” I said.

  “You’ve forgotten. Your ancestors knew how.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “You think it’s an Indian thing, don’t you?” she said. “Having a name for the moon.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No,” she said. “It’s Celtic mythology. I was into all that stuff when I was growing up. Pagan rituals, witchcraft, tarot cards. Anything but Indian stuff. I didn’t want to be an Indian.”

  The snow was rushing into the headlights. It made it seem like we were moving very fast.

  “It’s your moon, Alex. Mr. McKnight from the Scottish highlands. The wolf moon belongs to you, not to me.”

  “I’ve never even been to Scotland,” I said. “Jackie was born there. It must be his moon.”

  “You share the same blood,” she said. “Why do you think you go there every night?”

  “Because I don’t have a television.”

  She laughed. Or came as close to laughing as she was going to that night. “Every moon has a message, you know. You know what the wolf moon means?”

  “No,” I said. “What does it mean?”

  “The wolf moon means it’s time to protect the people around you because there are wolves outside your door.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m not saying you need to protect me,” she said. “That’s not what I’m saying. I can take care of myself.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “That’s the moon talking,” she said. “Not me.”

  “Okay.”

  The snow was beginning to accumulate. She stared out at the road for a while and then she said, “Although if you wanted to just keep driving all night long, I wouldn’t object. See how far away we can get.”

  “Dorothy …”

  “Keep driving,” she said. There was a sudden, ragged edge in her voice. “Just keep going. Get me the hell out of here.”

  �
��This road goes straight up the point about twelve miles,” I said. “And then it’s a dead end.”

  “Story of my life,” she said. The edge in her voice was gone, just as suddenly as it had appeared. “Hey, you know they got wolves out on Isle Royale now?”

  “So I heard.”

  “Speaking of wolves, I mean. You know how they got there?”

  Isle Royale was an island in the middle of Lake Superior. The whole island had been protected as a national park. “They crossed the ice,” I said. “How else they gonna get out there? Take the ferry?”

  “Yeah, you’re funny,” she said. “What I mean is, do you know why they got there? Why they went all the way across the ice to get to the island?”

  “They’re hunters,” I said. “There’s only one reason they’d go there.”

  “Yeah, the moose,” she said. “The moose crossed the ice first. And then the wolves came looking for them.”

  “Naturally.”

  “So imagine you’re one of those moose. You think you’ve finally found a safe place, with no wolves around. And then one day …”

  I kept driving.

  “The wolves will always find you, Alex. Remember that.”

  “I’ll remember,” I said.

  “God, I can’t believe I’m back here.” She slid into a fake yooper accent. “I’m in da Yoo Pee, ay?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “I hate this place so much, Alex. I can’t even tell you how much.”

  “This is it,” I said. I took the left through the trees. The snow had all but hidden my access road again, I was sure I’d have to plow it again the next morning.

  “You live here all year?”

  “Sure, why not?” We passed Vinnie’s place first. “That’s where Vinnie LeBlanc lives,” I said. “The guy who recognized you.” There was no car in his driveway. It looked like there hadn’t been a car there all day. “I haven’t even seen him around since last night. Since the hockey game, I mean. I wonder where he is. He should meet you.”

  “Why’s that?” she said. “So we can exchange the secret Indian handshake?”