Icepick

by Philip Depoy

  ‘Bite me,’ Pan Pan managed to say.

  I crawled on to the platform and sat up. I couldn’t stand because of low branches. But there was John Horse, standing in the doorway. That’s how big the house was.

  Duck appeared, grinning.

  ‘You climbed a tree in your suit,’ he said.

  I nodded. ‘I’m glad to see you too.’

  ‘Bear Talmascy,’ John Horse began.

  I held up my hand. ‘I know.’

  ‘Yudda …’ he went on.

  ‘Fine,’ I assured him. ‘We waited for the ambulance before I thought of coming here.’

  ‘Bear Talmascy has lost his mind completely now,’ John Horse said.

  ‘He’s on the run from the guys – from some not-very-nice people,’ I said. ‘He’s not only insane, he’s scared.’

  John Horse nodded. ‘The men who financed his scheme, they want their money.’

  I stood. ‘I made sure they got paid, so they wouldn’t be after me – you and me, for messing them up. Um, Mister Redhawk.’

  That’s all I needed to say. John Horse understood.

  ‘Well, come in the house and shut up,’ he said. ‘We’re hiding.’

  Sharp was asleep in a corner of the room, cradling her big knife like it was a rag doll.

  Pan Pan scrambled up on to the platform then, cursing under his breath. When he saw the kids, he softened. A little.

  ‘That man shot up the whole place, all over the diner and the docks and everything,’ Duck began explaining.

  That man. The kid didn’t know that Bear was his father.

  ‘Let’s whisper now,’ John Horse announced to everyone.

  ‘What’s your plan, exactly?’ I asked John Horse. ‘Hide up here until Bear dies?’

  ‘So many people out to kill him,’ John Horse answered. ‘That shouldn’t be too long. But just in case, I sent word to Philip. And to Echu Matta.’

  I knew what that meant. Bear Talmascy wasn’t long for this world. Because if Echu Matta saw him again, she’d obliterate him.

  ‘Thanks for helping Philip out of the swamp, by the way,’ he went on.

  ‘He told you about that?’ I asked. ‘When?’

  ‘I heard,’ he said, not looking at me.

  Sharp sat up then.

  ‘Foggy?’ she said sleepily.

  I went over to her. ‘Hey. Glad you got some sleep. I’m not convinced you should be out of the hospital, you know.’

  ‘I wasn’t sleeping,’ she said very softly. ‘I was talking with my mother.’

  ‘You were dreaming,’ I said tentatively.

  ‘What’s the difference?’ she asked me.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s kind of funny,’ Pan Pan interrupted, ‘that we’re up a tree trying to get away from a bear? Like on The Beverly Hillbillies and stuff.’

  I stared. Everyone did.

  It was clear that Pan Pan was not reacting well to the culture shock, from Brooklyn to Fry’s Bay.

  Then it hit me. Pan Pan Washington was in Fry’s Bay. That wasn’t right. Like some kind of hallucination from some of John Horse’s funny tea. Pan Pan was planted up to his nuts in Brooklyn. Excuse the expression. You could hardly get him to cross the bridge to Manhattan if there wasn’t a girl involved. What the hell got him to come all the way to Florida? The whole rigmarole with the dead body in the bay? That would have got me a frantic call, not a visit. People out to kill him? He had a hundred places to hide. What in God’s name made him take such a trip? I mean, the guy loved me, and the feeling was mutual, but that wasn’t what brought him to my door.

  But before I could go any further down that road, there were strange noises in the woods.

  John Horse nodded. Everyone in the treehouse froze.

  Could have been park visitors, but that would have been unusual. The real possibilities were Rothschild’s federal agents, John Horse’s Seminole mob, or Bear Talmascy and his lost mind.

  I reached for my pistol. Pan Pan already had his out.

  ‘Does Bear know this house is here?’ I whispered.

  ‘Did you?’ John Horse asked me.

  His head was tilted and he was grinning.

  ‘Yes,’ I told him. ‘There’s a girl.’

  He nodded. ‘Hachi.’

  ‘She told you.’

  He shrugged. ‘I heard.’

  Another story for another time, but Hachi: pale blue summer dress, twice as smart as me, and a whole lot nicer – she’d brought me to the treehouse. More than once.

  Then there were gunshots.

  Then came the screaming.

  ‘I know you’re here somewhere!’ Bear shrieked.

  And he fired his gun again.

  I looked at John Horse. ‘He knows you’re here?’

  John Horse sighed. ‘He could have followed us here. Or maybe Echu Matta told him about this place. Or maybe his owl nature gave him insight.’

  ‘Baby!’ Bear howled. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Baby?’ Pan Pan wondered.

  I got it. ‘He thinks his wife is here.’

  ‘He drugged her, stole her, used her and sold her.’ Pan Pan shook his head. ‘And now he’s calling her baby?’

  ‘Why is that man calling our mother baby?’ Duck whispered.

  Sharp had roused herself and her knife was in her hand. ‘He fell in love with her after he kidnapped her. He wants her to be his. He wants a family. But I know the stories.

  ‘One story. Once there was a bear. He had the biggest house there was, and everyone was jealous. It was a cave in the middle of the woods. But Bear needed a big house. He had a fine wife; he had two children.

  ‘They were very happy in the house. They did everything together. They ate together, they laughed together, they slept together.

  ‘One night there came a knock on their door. It was loud. They all got up. They opened the door.

  ‘Standing there was Skunk. He bowed.

  ‘“I was just passing by,” said Skunk, “and I noticed what a mess your house is. Through the window.”

  ‘The bears looked around. Their house was a mess. But they were bears. Large bears. What could they do?

  ‘“I could use a nice warm place to sleep,” said Skunk. “I will be your housekeeper. I’ll keep your home neat and tidy, if you’ll just let me sleep in the corner.”

  ‘Bear thought. It would be nice to have a tidy home.

  ‘“All right,” said Bear. “Come in.”

  ‘Never let a skunk into your home.

  ‘The instant that the skunk was in, he turned and lifted his tail. He sprayed Bear with his poison.

  ‘Bear howled. He sneezed. He coughed. He ran from the home. He ran and ran, trying to outrun the smell.

  ‘Then Skunk looked at the rest of the bear family.

  ‘“Take off,” said Skunk, “or I’ll do the same to you.”

  ‘Mother Bear gathered up her children and left. She didn’t follow her husband. Now Skunk has the biggest house there is.

  ‘Another story. When the world began, Bear owned Fire. Bear kept his family warm on cold nights, and had light when it was dark. Bear carried Fire with him wherever he went.

  ‘But one day, Bear and his family came upon a place where the ground was covered with acorns. Bear put Fire down so he could gather acorns to eat. The acorns were sweet and crisp, better than any other food Bear had ever eaten. Bear began to roam, eating the wonderful food. He went farther and farther away from Fire.

  ‘Fire was happy enough at first, sitting on the forest floor. But as the sun went down, its wood was gone, and it began to sputter and smoke.

  ‘“Help, Bear!” said Fire. “Feed me or I’ll die!”

  ‘Bear was too far away to hear.

  ‘But Man heard, trudging through the forest.

  ‘“Help, Man,” said Fire. “Feed me or I will die!”

  ‘Man had never seen Fire before, so he asked, “What do you eat?”

  ‘“Feed me wood!”

  ‘So, Man gathered s
ticks and gave them to Fire. All at once Man was warm. All at once Man could see in the night.

  ‘The next morning Bear came back. But Fire was angry with Bear.

  ‘“You abandoned me!” said Fire to Bear. “I almost died! Man saved me. Go away. I belong to Man now!”

  ‘Then Fire blazed up white, so hot that it drove Bear and his family away. His wife left him for being so careless, and took the children with her.

  ‘And now Fire belongs to Man.’

  Sharp concluded her stories.

  ‘Bear gave his home to Skunk, and abandoned Fire when it needed him most,’ she said softly. ‘Bear doesn’t get to have a family.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  Meanwhile, down below in the park, the commotion had continued. Bear was thrashing.

  I was staring at Sharp because I didn’t quite understand why she’d chosen to tell us Seminole stories in the middle of gunshots. Sure, she was a strange one. And maybe she’d been having weird dreams before she woke up. But it seemed like something more, like some part of her knew that Bear was her father.

  Then I realized I’d gone back to thinking of her as Sharp instead of Topalargee. Maybe it was the same reason certain people nicknamed me Foggy: because they liked me. Sounds like a description but it’s really a term of endearment.

  More gunshots. This time bullets ripped through the leaves close to our treehouse.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said to no one in particular. ‘I’m going to have to go take care of this guy once and for all.’

  I headed for the door.

  ‘No!’ Sharp whispered harshly. ‘That man will kill you!’

  ‘Foggy …’ Pan Pan began.

  John Horse had a different response. He grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let go.

  I smiled.

  ‘Is this where you told Echu Matta to meet her children?’ I asked John Horse.

  He squinted, then nodded.

  ‘Right,’ I went on, ‘so the thing is I promised to reunite these kids with their mother. And if this moron shoots her, that can’t happen and I’ll be a welcher. Am I a welcher, Pan Pan?’

  ‘Foggy,’ he said again.

  ‘So, you understand, I really am going down there to explain things to Bear.’

  I shook off John Horse’s grip and motored for the door.

  ‘Stop him,’ Duck said to his sister.

  ‘No,’ she told him. ‘He’s right. He has to go. He’s the only one who can stop the bear.’

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Duck nod, suddenly understanding.

  ‘Like when we were up the tree,’ he said. ‘He ran at the bears then, too.’

  And suddenly Rothschild’s fear took hold of me: that we’d died in the swamp and now we were all trapped in some kind of weird hell where Jews attack bears.

  But it passed.

  I was out the door and on to the platform before the next bullets tore through the leaves.

  ‘Bear!’ I shouted. ‘Stop shooting. I’m coming down.’

  There was a heartbeat of silence. Then: ‘Who the hell is that?’ he called out. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘It’s Foggy Moscowitz. You know. The guy who found you in Oklahoma.’

  He fired three more shots in the direction of my voice.

  ‘If you kill me,’ I told him patiently, ‘I won’t be able to tell you where Echu Matta is.’

  Another heartbeat.

  ‘I’m reloading,’ he warned.

  But he didn’t shoot.

  I got down the ladder, my gun in my hand but down to my side. I looked around.

  There he was, hair wild, eyes bloodshot, face as red as cherries.

  ‘Look what you did to my sharkskin suit,’ I told him.

  He was breathing hard, like he’d been running, but he managed to snarl, ‘Where’s my wife?’

  I shook my head. ‘You don’t have a wife. You let a skunk take over your house.’

  I didn’t know why I’d said it. Maybe just to be spooky, maybe to see if he knew the story. Didn’t matter. It had consequences.

  Bear busted out crying. ‘You think I don’t know that? You think I’m stupid?’

  ‘I think you did irreversible damage to your spirit.’ The Seminole shtick seemed to be working; better than swapping bullets.

  ‘I–I was trying to get my family back,’ he said, a little desperate. ‘That’s all I wanted. I wanted to find my wife and my children.’

  ‘By kidnapping and selling the women?’

  He shook his head so hard it hurt the air around it. ‘No! No! That wasn’t me!’

  I stared at the sweat on his face and the look in his eye. And then I realized what had really stolen the Seminole women. The red face, the breathing. Bear had a coke habit. A long one, and a bad one.

  ‘I can get you some help,’ I began.

  But that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He growled, aimed and fired.

  The bullet zipped past my ear.

  I dropped, then shot.

  I got him in the thigh. I thought that would make him stop and think.

  It didn’t.

  He unloaded his gun in my direction. Luck and salty eyes made his aim bad. I only got hit once, left forearm.

  I stood up and looked at his empty pistol. ‘I don’t want to shoot you any more, Bear,’ I said.

  He lowered his head and charged, moaning.

  All I had to do was take a step to the side and hold out my foot. It was like a vaudeville routine. He tripped, flew forward; found the ground with his face.

  Then: a voice behind me.

  ‘Don’t kill him.’

  Echu Matta emerged from the shadows on the other side of the magnolia. There was a knife as long as a broom handle in her hand.

  ‘I wasn’t going to kill him,’ I started.

  But she was on top of him, knee planted in the small of his back. Her hair was tied behind her head and she was wearing a frilly white top with new red jeans. She’d dressed up to see her children. It was a strange sight to see when she raised her knife to chop off Bear’s gun hand. It severed clean, right at the joint. But there was a lot of blood.

  Bear was trying to make a noise but the pain stuck in his throat.

  ‘You beat me,’ she whispered. ‘You beat our children; took our money. I was happy when you were gone. And then you came to steal me? Women died, in that storage container. My people died on the way to Oklahoma!’

  ‘I wanted you back,’ he managed to groan. ‘I came to get you. It was for us. For the family. Get my family back. Together.’

  ‘People say you’re an owl man now,’ she went on, ignoring his rambling. ‘But you’re just a half-man. Most of you is gone already. I’m going to enjoy taking the rest of you.’

  With that she took hold of one of his ears and slowly sliced it away from his head; tossed it like a kitchen scrap.

  That stirred him. Probably panic. He rolled, kicked, and Echu Matta flew off him. She landed on her back and Bear was up, looking for his gun.

  ‘Bear,’ I warned him.

  He didn’t seem to hear me. He kicked the knife out of Echu Matta’s hand and it slid across the ground. Then he reared back his big foot again to kick the woman on the ground.

  ‘Bear!’ I fired one in front of his face.

  Didn’t stop him. He kicked Echu Matta in the head.

  I shot him three times, once in the knee cap and twice in his side. He just looked surprised. He turned to me.

  ‘What am I doing?’ he asked me.

  ‘Bleeding to death,’ I said.

  ‘Where are my children?’ His voice was hoarse.

  ‘You don’t have any children,’ Echu Matta grated.

  ‘They were with that fat cook,’ he insisted. ‘I set his house on fire when he took them from me. And there was a Black Seminole. A ghost. A man I already killed once. In New York. Is he here?’

  He dropped to his good knee, staring at Echu Matta.

  ‘I wanted to get it back,’ he explained very reasonably. ‘I wanted the life
we had before. When we were happy. I just needed a little money to make that happen. You have to understand that.’

  ‘You were never happy!’ she shot back. ‘You have to be a human being to be happy, and you were never human!’

  ‘I–I … was I an owl?’ He blinked.

  ‘No, Bear,’ she snarled. ‘You weren’t anything. You weren’t any good at being alive. And now you’re going to die. That’s all there will be to your story. Nothing and less than nothing.’ She spat in his direction.

  He looked around, like he was seeing the garden for the first time.

  ‘It’s pretty here.’ He looked at me. ‘What’s that smell?’

  ‘Magnolia blossoms,’ I told him.

  ‘Oh.’ And with that he fell; thumped the ground like a fallen tree.

  From up above my head, a little voiced called out, ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘Topalargee?’ Echu Matta shouted.

  ‘Mama!’

  There was a scramble, and a rain of magnolia blossoms, and suddenly Sharp and Duck were all over their mother. The frenzy was so exuberant that they all landed on the ground. They were rolling and hugging and kissing and laughing and crying and talking and shouting and … happy. Because they were human.

  Philip and ten or twelve other Seminoles, men and women, showed up not long after that. One of the women began tending to Bear, who was not, after all, dead.

  I looked over at her. ‘Are you taking him to the hospital?’

  She looked up. She was one of the women I’d seen in Oklahoma, one of the captives.

  ‘No,’ she said serenely. ‘I’m just patching him up so that he’ll be alert for what we’re going to do to him.’

  The sweet voice made the horrible vision worse: what Bear had in store was something that made me a little dizzy to think about.

  Then I noticed that Pan Pan was standing by my side.

  ‘So,’ he said with a certain air of finality, ‘this is your job. I can see how you might get to like it.’

  His head inclined toward the mother and child reunion.

  I caught his eye. ‘Not quite finished yet,’ I told him.

  ‘You’re not? What’s left?’

  ‘In no particular order,’ I began. ‘Who killed the stationmaster? What happened to the other cops? What’s happening with Watkins? And probably first and foremost: why did Icepick kill some guy in Brooklyn, give him your ID, and then drive him all the way to my front door? Or – and here’s the weirdest wrinkle of all – did Bear just say that he killed the guy?’