“When did you catch me?”
Service couldn’t help laughing. “Dotz, you clueless knucklehead, do you think I was just out for a walk? I led you around, and I made sure you lost me. And now here I am, like magic.”
Service had never seen the boy in the field until today, but the boy clearly had some skills, and now he wanted to see how he handled being off-balance. His answer was a shrug.
“Can’t be too great; you just nailed me and I’m nothing.”
“Dotz, your ass has been nailed for a long time. Game wardens don’t show themselves until they decide it’s time. I set the trail for you, and broke it off. That’s why you were looking around, trying to figure out where I went and what you should do next.”
“Some woodcraft,” the boy said disconsolately, reaching for a cigarette.
“You did okay, Dotz, not great, but okay. I’m a professional, and you’re not, it’s as simple as that. You ever think about law enforcement, conservation officer work?”
“Is that like a bribe to get me off your story?”
Service lit the kid’s smoke and laughed. “One, I don’t bribe people and two, I’m not a story. What makes you think I am?”
The kid inhaled and exhaled naturally. “I have my sources.”
“Ah yes, the old unnamed confidential sources. That’s all so much bullshit, Dotz, and you know it. You’ve got bubkes.”
“You saying the story isn’t true, that you’re not on suspension?”
“I’m saying anything happening with me isn’t news. That’s what I’m saying. My business is mine alone, and I don’t like being followed—ever—by anyone.”
“But that old man, Allerdyce, he’s living out to your camp with you, and you’re not living with your woman in Harvey. So I guess she broke things off because of the suspension and you’re hanging out with a known felon. That can’t be too good for a female state police detective’s career.”
The kid seems to have done some serious snooping and speculating. In fact, Service had moved back to the Slippery Creek Camp partly because Tuesday Friday’s supervisors had made it clear that it was one thing to live in sin, and another thing to live in sin with a potentially dirty cop. The kid’s knowing this no doubt meant someone in the Negaunee State Police office was talking off-piste. This wasn’t good. Cop shops were notoriously ripe and fertile grounds for rumor-mongering and loose-lipped gossip.
“You’ll hear a lot of bullshit and wishful thinking as a reporter. You’ll need to learn how to weigh your sources—the same way cops have to evaluate complaints and witnesses.”
“There a method for that?” Dotz asked.
Service tapped his belly. “Time, experience, and this.”
The young man studied him for a long time. “You really don’t care if they fire you?”
“They’re not going to fire me,” Service said.
“That’s not what I’m hearing.”
What? If this kid actually believes this, Grady thought, maybe there is something to what he’s following. He’d heard nothing from Lansing since Chief Waco had extended his suspension. Put the kid off-balance now, see how he reacts. “Listen Dotz, you ever get interested in a CO career, let me know. I can vouch for your skills in the woods, and if your old man wasn’t happy with your journalistic career choice, that’s another point in your favor, because I’m pretty much for anything people like your old man were against.”
Dotz grinned. “You know what they call you in the legislative halls of Lansing? Le Grand Boom Boom. They fear you and they’re afraid of you down there.”
This was news. “Le Grand Boom Boom?”
“You’re like a walking bomb. Everything you touch ends up exploding. My family knows people who are scared shitless of you.”
Interesting, even surprising, information. “Your father one of them?”
“Not my old man,” Dotz said, “Not anymore. He’s beyond being scared now.”
“Not a problem when he was alive?”
“We rarely talked when he was alive.”
What a bizarre comment. If the kid’s father had this sort of feeling, he’d most likely gotten some of it from Bozian. The question now, was Bozian sticking his bulbous beak back into state business? There was another GOP governor in place. Surely the so-called Wonk-in-Charge wouldn’t appreciate that sort of interference. “Want some old woods-cop-think, Junior?”
The boy shrugged.
“Every story or case is a kind of picture. And every picture has an artist. Every picture and every case have certain details in them. Every one of those details is chosen by the artist. But in choosing to show us A, B, and C, the artist may be choosing to not show us M, N, and O. You following me?”
“So a cop asks himself what’s not in the picture and why not?”
“There you go, like old Rummy Don used to preach to reporters, there’s the known-unknown and the unknown-unknown, and the whole damn thing’s a nasty swamp. You need to stay out of my backyard, Dotz. If you think you’ve got a story, go for it, but step back and think things through before you plunge blindly forward.”
Dotz seemed to be thinking. “Most state employees who could lose their pensions wouldn’t be so . . . you know, like unconcerned.”
“Most state employees work for a paycheck and no longer have actual pensions. I think if you look around, you’ll find that COs are a different breed. We like our pay, of course, but we look at what we do as a calling, same as journalists are supposed to look at their work. Or used to.”
“You wandered way all over the place today,” the boy said. “What’s up with that?”
“Let me restate your question. What you’re trying to ask is how the hell can you find your Subaru?”
“I have a good mind-compass that will get me out just fine, but I’m wondering if there’s not a more direct route than the one we came in on?”
Grady Service smiled. There was something he liked about this kid, and realizing it came as a mild surprise. “Yah, c’mon, we’ll walk out together.”
“Where’s the old guy?”
“You haven’t seen him?”
The boy shook his head and looked around nervously.
“He was the best in his business in his day. And he’s still got it. Fact is he’s probably not a hundred yards from us right now, and he was probably closer than that to you the whole time you stumbled around in the snow.”
“What do you mean, in his day?”
“He hasn’t been busted in years, because he’s turned over a new leaf, the straight path of the righteous.”
“Lot’s of people say differently.”
“I know, but check the courts, Dotz, see what his record says.” Service stopped walking and handed the kid a card. “If you have questions, call me. Don’t guess and don’t take anything as gospel until you have at least two sides and two sources for each.”
Service stopped again. “Point to your Subaru. Show me a rough direction.”
The boy hesitated before pointing, then tentatively raised his arm. “You’re only off by sixty degrees,” Service said, pointing. “Not bad, but not great.” After a pause, Service conceded, “Actually it was overall a pretty lame performance. If you’re gonna be in the woods, you need a lot of work, Dotz. Otherwise, follow your GPS around the cities and towns and stay out of the woods.” The kid nodded and laughed. Service liked that too.
Chapter 7
Lansing
Ingham County
The bar was tucked into a seedy industrial area that was called Mextown in the fifties and sixties. Now it was just called the north side. In his day it was Mextown and the bar he wanted to find was called the North Lansing Country Club. By the looks of it, not much had changed since his last visit.
Service checked his watch. Nearly half-past ten, the magic hour when night rats crawled out of thei
r cracks and crevices. He made his way to the bar past vases packed with the same plastic flowers he’d seen so many years ago. The female barkeep was young, chemically blond, genetically perky. “Pour the gentleman a drink?” she greeted him.
“Beer.”
“We have flavors these days,” she said with a smile.
“Wet and from a tap, not from a can or a bottle—you pick for me.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility for a girl. Half-pint or pint?”
“Full pint and two double Jacks back.”
“You expecting a date?” she asked.
“I expect your boss will be having a drink with me.”
“I’m the boss at night,” the girl said.
“Nicely played, now go tell her Grady Service is here.”
A familiar voice behind him said hoarsely, “Saw youse come in and thought, ‘My god, what is he doing here?’” Honeypat Allerdyce waved the barkeep away. “It’s okay, Loris, he’s an old and dear friend.”
The girl brought back the drinks. Service pushed a double shot to Honeypat. She raised her glass, said, “You look damn good,” and threw it down in one go.
“Back atchu,” he said, draining his double. Honeypat had once been married to Limpy’s late, crazy, and no-good son Jerry. Rumor had it she had also been Limpy’s sometime scromp-mate, which he suspected might have been true. All he knew for sure was that she had tried to take Allerdyce’s business away from him and failed, which necessitated she run for her life. Service had stumbled across her years ago here in Lansing, firmly in place as the boss-lady of a high-dollar companion service, a description that fooled no one. Honeypat was fifty or so now, and looked remarkably younger. She was never what one might think of as classically and technically beautiful, but she was one of those women whose parts did not add up to the whole that you met, and the effect was immediate, overwhelming, and real. Whatever it was that attracted men, she had it—maybe even defined it. And, like others, he knew he was not immune to it, but over the years he had been able to resist. So far.
“Loris, bring us another,” Honeypat told the barkeep. She turned back to Service and put her hand on his arm. He could feel her heat. “You had dinner?”
“I’m good.”
“I need pupus,” Honeypat said.
Service was lost.
“Hawaiian for hors d’oeuvres,” she explained. “Spent much time in Hawaii?”
“Only on the way to Vietnam,” he told her. “Not much local color on a troop transport.”
“Loris, give us one order of sweet potato frits, mayo on the side.” To Service, “Heard they put youse on the shelf—and why.” She arched an eyebrow.
“Did you?”
“Limpy as your partner, oh . . . my . . . god! Are you out of your bloody mind?”
“By some accounts,” he said, sipping his draft beer.
She laughed. “You’ve always been out of your mind, Service. It’s just one part of your charm. Why the pleasure of your company tonight?”
“Who told you I was shelved?”
“Lots of the white-shoe, white-belt, white-skinned, hit-white-golf-balls-at-the-white-country-club politician set. Odds are being offered on whether you’re out of the game permanently.”
“What kind of odds?”
The heat from her nearby skin was intense. “Fifty to one you’re gone, but you know how odds shift with the winds and events.”
“You got any of the action?”
She snickered. “Darlin’, Honeypat doesn’t ever gamble.”
She’s changed, dropped most of her Yooper accent. “What if you did?”
“I’d never bet against you, Service. Never.”
“Why’s everyone so sure I’m gone?”
“The governor plays the naïve Boy Scout, but he’s got his big bug eyes on the White House next. Hates anything that might make him look bad or unethical.”
“Me?”
“Limpy has a rep,” she said. “Casts a long shadow.”
“He was just a fish and game violator, not a serial killer.”
“He’s a legend, a poster boy for bad. And there he was partnering with the poster boy for Good and Righteous White Hats. What’s up with that? Did you really partner with him?”
The bar had a tacky Tex-Mex décor, including cowboy hat sconces and piñatas over the bar wrapped with tiny red and green Christmas lights. Once tacky, always tacky. “Guilty,” he said, as Loris delivered the fries and new shots.
“What were you thinking?” Honeypat asked.
“Deer season, who knows more about deer poaching than Limpy?”
She nodded. “A given, but as a partner?”
“In my truck for the whole season.”
“Wah!”
“Best deer season ever,” he added. “For anyone.”
She dipped a fry in mayo, played with it, held it to his lip. He turned his head.
“You sure caught you a lot of attention.”
He took his own fry, followed it with the double Jack.
“Why are you here tonight?” she asked again.
“You know people, things, stuff.”
“Holey moley, are you saying that now you want to partner with me? Sweet! Be still my beating heart!”
“That’s not what I said, or meant.”
“Sometimes takes tits to get tats,” Honeypat said. “It’s the Lansing way. Mine too.”
“I just want some information.”
“How much you pay?”
“Name a price.”
She rubbed her face on his upper arm, put a long-fingered hand on his thigh.
“Too much,” he said.
She pulled back. “Heard you hooked up with a good-looking Dickless Tracy. She must be good.”
She keeps track of me? Service wondered. Why? “That’s none of your business.”
“Everything’s my business, Service. Information is power down here.”
“Couple of things, then. Kalleskevich, a developer and lawyer. And an outfit called Drazel Sisters L.L.C Satellite Services & Earth Surveys.”
“Kalleskevich plays the long game and the short game.”
“What’s the difference?”
“How much cash he pockets, and how soon. And how many people he crushes to get there.”
“You know him?”
“Define know.”
“The kind of stuff he’s into, his business, investments, you know, a detailed profile.”
“Guys like him are secretive, got legions of lawyers to create walls to keep it that way.”
Service sighed. This felt like a dead end. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
She leaned close. “Hell, I’ve been doing everything I can for years to get you to bother me. Mebbe I might have a little something on Kalleskevich.”
“Yeah?”
“A date.”
“What date?”
“You heard me, there’s this wild-child, hey. Sometimes this woman she works some big gigs for me, likes to get down and dirty. You’d like her. Forty, hard body, no limits on anything, if one has the cash.”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
“I ever?” she asked, looking him in the eye.
“All the time when Jerry and your father-in-law were ducking me.”
“Hey, that was part of that game, a woman’s role in those days,” Honeypat said. “It’s an entirely different game down this way. Now isn’t the good old days.”
“What’s this ‘date’s’ name?”
“Her performance name is Oheneff. Omni Noctifugus; it means all-night-lightning. She has a PhD in classics, whatever that is. She teaches out to the college.”
The college to most Lansingites was short for Michigan State University. “You’re making this up.”
“Cross my heart. Would I lie to you?”
“Would you?” he threw back at her.
He studied her grin and she said, “Top or bottom, both are good for me.”
“You’re relentless.”
“And shameless,” she added. “But I always get what I want. Otherwise, why bother, eh?”
“You haven’t always gotten what you wanted,” he corrected her.
“Net wins and losses,” she said with a little smile. “Wins and losses, nobody goes undefeated. Not nobody, not ever.”
A Hispanic man came over to Honeypat and whispered in her ear.
She turned back to him, glaring. “You leave something out in your truck?”
“Allerdyce.”
Her face drained of all color. “He’s here—in my parking lot?”
“No worries, he’s not coming in.”
“Does he know I’m in here?”
“Did you tell him?” he challenged.
She looked at him scornfully. “I ain’t into suicide.”
“You don’t know how he is now.”
“Now? Rattlesnakes bite darlin’, end of story.” Honeypat looked frantic. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“It’s been years since he’s even mentioned your name.”
“Snakes don’t plan to bite,” she said. “They strike from instinct.”
“I’m telling you he’s not the same man you knew.”
“Wah, that one’ll never change. He can’t. You want to hook up with Oheneff, yes or no? I don’t have all night to happy-jaw with you.”
“Hook up, yes, but not for the usual business reason.”
“Price will be the same,” Honeypat said. “Two bills, and for the record she considers it a healthy sport, not a business.”
He peeled two one-hundred dollar bills from his wallet.
“Close enough, to start, depending on what you want. Feel free to negotiate with the lady.”
“How’s it work?” he asked.
“My business is the original paperless office, darlin’. It’s all off the books.” She reached into a pocket and gave him a white cell phone the size of a cigarette pack. “She’ll call you on this. When you finish your business, you give the phone to her and she’ll take care of it. She’ll need two or three days to arrange it.”
Bad Optics Page 5