* * *
We waited until the deputies were back in their cruiser and the spotlight was extinguished before pulling off the shoulder and back onto the county blacktop. The deputies followed close behind. Josie spent more time watching them in the rearview mirror than the road in front of her. Her fingers grasped the steering wheel, and she was breathing hard through her nose.
“Do you have something to say?” I asked.
“What, I get to talk now?”
“Josie…”
“This is bullshit. No way the deputies are working with Brand for less than half. If they’re working with Brand, that means they plan to take all the money and split it between them.”
“I was wrong, what I said the other day. You just might have a future in this business after all.”
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Well, what are we going to do?”
“Nothing is going to happen, Josie, until we have the money. Until we actually have the cash in hand it’s just a bunch of guys pretending they’re tough.”
“You’re saying I shouldn’t be afraid.”
“Not yet.”
“When?”
“I’ll let you know.”
* * *
Scott, the bartender at Buckman’s, looked nervous. His eyes flitted all over the place, moving from me to the deputies to Brand and Fenelon seated in a booth to Brand’s thug sitting at the bar and nursing a bottled beer, and then back again. I had no idea what he was thinking, yet my intuition told me he was afraid something bad was going to happen while at the same time wondering how he was going to profit off it.
I took hold of Josie’s arm and whispered in her ear. “Sit at the bar, order a vodka Collins, let the boys see how pretty you are.”
“What the hell…”
I tightened my grip on her arm. “Make sure the thug can see your hands. Whatever happens, stay out of it.” Jose gave me a look as if she wanted to protest some more. “Please,” I said.
She nodded and went to the rail. I marched to the booth and sat next to Fenelon across from Brand. “Gentlemen,” I said. “Funny meeting you here.”
Brand showed me his empty hands, which made me flash on the knights of old. Whenever they met fellow knights they didn’t intend to slaughter, they would make a production out of revealing that they weren’t holding weapons—that’s how the handshake was developed. Funny the things that pop in your mind when you’re nervous.
“We heard this was your favorite spot,” Brand said. He seemed incapable of speaking softly; the words flew like bird shot from a 12-gauge, and I thought, this is supposed to be a secret meeting?
“It’s the only place I know of up here, although I’m told you have a gentleman’s club down the road somewhere.”
I felt Fenelon’s body stiffen next to mine, yet his face gave nothing away.
“It’s a few miles from here on County 21,” Brand said. “You should drop in sometime. I’ll take care of you.”
“I’ll bet,” I said even as my inner voice spoke to me—He doesn’t know about your conversation with Fenelon.
“Speaking of which…” Brand reached into the pocket of his charcoal sports jacket. It was the same color yet a different cut from the suit coat he wore the night before. He stopped, though, when the bartender appeared at the table and set a bottle of Summit Extra Pale Ale in front of me.
“Hey,” I said. “Thanks, man.”
“Anything I can get you others?” Scott asked.
Both Brand and Fenelon glanced at the drinks in front of them and said no, they were fine. While Scott drifted back to the rail I took a long pull of the Summit. “I love this stuff,” I said.
Brand didn’t seem to care. His hand disappeared into his pocket again and reappeared with a thumb drive. He slid the device across the table.
“We scanned the blueprints you wanted,” he said. “We couldn’t give you the actual documents, though, could we?”
“Of course not.”
“Someone might suspect we’re up to no good.”
I slipped the drive into my own pocket. “What about the other half?” I asked.
“Other half? Oh, yes. The … other half. Do you know where Crane Lake is?”
“No idea.”
“Get a map,” Fenelon said.
I turned in my seat to get a good look at him. His bruises seemed more pronounced than they had that morning.
“What happened to you?” I asked.
“None of your damn business.”
I liked hearing the anger in his voice. It suggested that he was pissed at me instead of Brand.
On the other hand … my inner voice warned.
I took a long pull of the ale and contemplated the interior of Buckman’s. It was half filled, and most of the patrons seemed to be having a reasonably good time. Except for the thug, who sat with his back to the rail and balanced a beer on his knee, and James and Williams, who were seated at the far end of the bar. They were watching us intently, a grim expression on their faces. Josie sat between them, sipping from a tall, frosted glass, her back to us. Yet I could see her unhappy face in the mirror behind the bar, and I knew she was watching us, too.
“Crane Lake?” I said.
“It’s a U.S. Port of Entry in Voyageurs National Park near the border,” Brand said. “It mostly serves seaplane traffic. Something like five thousand takeoffs and landings each year. Do you know where Orr is? The town of Orr?”
“No, but I’ll get a map.”
“After you find Orr, get on 23, follow it to 24, and then go north toward Crane Lake. Go east on County Road 425. That will take you to Scotts Seaplane Base, but don’t stop there. Stay on 425. You want to take the first left after you pass Rocky Road. It’s an unpaved road. No sign. Follow it to the end. That will take you to a private seaplane base. Mine.”
“Yours?”
“Radar follows the planes as they approach Scotts. In the last half mile, when they’re below the radar, occasionally a plane will turn toward my dock.”
“Doesn’t the Customs and Border Patrol mind?”
“What the CBP doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”
“Okay.”
“Meet us at noon tomorrow. My Mexican associates will be present, so, Dyson, don’t embarrass me by keeping us waiting.”
“Okay.”
“When will you make your move on the remote vault?”
“Hmm? Vault?”
“I can read a blueprint, Dyson.”
“A couple of days after I have the weapons. No more than that.”
Brand motioned toward the thug at the rail. “I want my man going on the job with you,” he said. “Canada is only a few miles away, and I don’t want anyone getting lost.”
I could have told him sure, why not. After all, there wasn’t actually going to be a robbery. At noon the ATF was going to bust Brand and his Mexican associates, and by this time tomorrow night I was going to be explaining to Nina why I called Shelby instead of her. If I was going to hit the remote vault, though, I wouldn’t be doing it with Brand’s armed thug standing somewhere behind me, so, keeping in character, I said, “No frickin’ way.”
“Oh?”
“He makes me nervous.”
Brand leaned in and spoke softly. It was the first time he’d used an indoor tone of voice since I met him, and I have to confess to a ripple of anxiety that rolled up my spine.
“He should make you nervous, Dyson,” Brand said. “Very nervous. He’s a made man. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“He pulled himself up by his own bootstraps? Oh, wait, that’s a self-made man.”
“You’re a real funny guy, Dyson. Don’t you think he’s funny, Brian?”
“Smart mouth,” Fenelon said.
“It’s like my old man used to say, just because it’s important doesn’t mean it’s serious,” I said. “In a couple of days we’re all going to be rich.”
“I want to be there when you divide
the take,” Brand said. “Me and my man.”
“Imagine that.”
Brand displayed his empty hands again. “Until tomorrow, then,” he said.
I left the booth without saying good-bye, lingered at the bar for the length of time it took Josie and me to down what remained of our drinks, and escorted her past the deputies outside to the Ford Taurus.
“What did Brand say?” she asked when we were safely inside the car and pulling out of the parking lot.
“We’re on for tomorrow noon. A place called Crane Lake.”
“I’m going with.”
“No, you’re not, Josie, and don’t even think of arguing with me.”
“You’re not going alone, are you?”
“No. I’ll take one person with me. Someone who knows the area.”
“Who?”
FOURTEEN
“Why me?” the old man wanted to know. He had been asking the same question since we boarded the Jeep Cherokee that morning and started driving toward the tiny town of Orr, population 267—yes, I looked it up. Hell, he had been asking the question since I made my choice known the evening before. All the other Bandits had asked it as well, only the old man’s voice was the loudest and most strident.
“Why not take someone else?” he asked. “Any of ’em, all of ’em be better use to you than me.” His hands trembled—his entire body trembled—and I knew he was desperate for a beer or a joint. I made sure he had neither. “It don’t make sense to bring me.”
“Perfect sense,” I said.
“I don’t get it.”
“Remember what you said when we were on the deck that one time? Take care of my JoEllen, you said. Take care of David. Take care of all of them. That’s what I’m doing.”
“How? How are you doin’ that?”
“Think about it.”
He did, for nearly thirty seconds. “Tell me, Dyson.” His voice sounded desperate, and I decided it was better to have the conversation now instead of later—we were about five miles shy of Orr.
“What we’re about to do—meeting with your pals like this—someone might get hurt,” I said. “If that happens, I want it to be you.”
“Me? My pals? What are you talking about? What did I do?”
“You’re the rat.”
I spoke the last word like it was an obscenity. The old man’s eyes grew wide with the sound of it. His mouth fell open yet spoke no words.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” I asked.
He didn’t have an answer for that.
“Anyone who was in the cabin Sunday could have told James and Williams to look for Josie and me out on Highway 1, could have tipped them to what we were planning. Truth be told, I suspected it was Claire. Turns out I was wrong about her. Well, at least wrong about that. Anyway, only you, Josie, Roy, and Jill could have told Brand that Roy and I would be out of the cabin checking on the remote vault—giving him plenty of time to settle in and wait for us Monday night, taking us by surprise when we arrived. I eliminated the others when I had Josie call and tell you we were stopping at Buckman’s on our way back from the Cities. Deputies James and Williams pulling us over last night, telling us they knew exactly where we were going and that Brand was waiting for our arrival—that pretty much settled it.”
“No, Dyson, please.”
“Only one person knew our plans. Only one.”
“Dyson…”
“That’s why you’re here, old man. If something goes wrong with your friends, I’m going to make sure it goes wrong for you, too.”
“Stop saying that. They’re not my friends.”
“If you say so.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly. James and Williams scared the hell outta you. Dying in prison—you hadn’t actually thought about the possibility until they pulled you over, and I believe the idea really messed with your head. The thing is, though, the thing that pisses me off, is that you didn’t take the hint. You didn’t quit. You didn’t ask the other Iron Range Bandits to quit, either. Yeah, you’re afraid of prison. You’re afraid of being poor, too, afraid of ending up like the friend you told me about. So you kept thieving until this job came along and you saw a way to get what you needed for yourself even if it cost the others. That’s why you made a deal with the deputies and with Brand. If I’m mistaken, tell me.”
“The others wouldn’t have been hurt.”
I flashed on Josie’s encounter with Deputy Williams. “If you say so.”
“Besides, you said it was okay to look out for yourself. On the deck, you said…”
For the first time since I arrived in the northland, I lost my temper.
“It’s your family, you sonuvabitch,” I shouted. “It’s your son and daughter, your niece and nephew, and all the people they love. You take care of yourself only after you take care of them. What the hell is the matter with you?”
“I couldn’t think of no other way.”
“Then you didn’t think hard enough.”
“Dyson—”
“Don’t talk anymore.”
“You don’t know what it’s like getting old and havin’ nothin’.”
“I’m serious, old man. Not another word.”
He didn’t speak, but he made a lot of breathing sounds meant to convey the emotional anguish he was suffering. I ignored him the best I could until we pulled into the parking lot of Norman’s One Stop and Motel off Highway 53. It was part motel, part Clark gas station—another business built to resemble a log cabin.
“I’ll be right back,” I said. “Stay here. Or leave. I don’t care.” I made a production out of removing the key from the ignition so he knew if he left he’d be doing it on foot. “Look, old man,” I said—a parting shot. “I haven’t said anything to your family, and I’m not going to. I’ll leave it to you to decide what’s best.”
I left the Cherokee, walked inside Norman’s One Stop, and was immediately surrounded by bait, tackle, sweatshirts, ball caps, automotive supplies, toiletries, soft drinks, and snacks. In the center of the snack area near the ceiling-high cooler was a metal patio table with a glass top surrounded by matching chairs, all white. Seated at the table were two men dressed as if they were refugees from a fishing camp. Despite their attire, though, you could tell they were city boys.
“How’s the time?” I asked.
“You should be fine,” Bullert said. “County Highway 23 is just down the road. Once you reach it, it should take no more than half an hour to get to the seaplane base. I just got word. The Mexicans landed five minutes ago.”
“Are your people in place?”
“They are. On land and sea. Don’t look for them, McKenzie.”
“I know how it works.”
While we spoke, the second man rose from his chair and began to unbutton my shirt. I wasn’t offended. Instead, I spread my arms wide to give him ample room. He taped a green body bug about the size of an iPod to the side of my rib cage and ran the foot-long wire antenna up my back.
“It’ll pick up sound from twenty feet away,” the tech said.
“What about range?”
“Don’t worry, McKenzie,” Bullert said. “We’ll hear you fine.”
“If I’m frisked?”
“We’ll come to your rescue.”
“In the nick of time? Just like the cavalry?”
“Just like.”
“I hope so.”
Bullert patted my shoulder as I finished rebuttoning my shirt. “When this is over, drinks are on me.”
“You better bring plenty of cash, then, because I’m going to be thirsty.”
I glanced at my watch. 11:24. I took a deep breath and let half out slowly just like I was taught on the police academy firing range. “Ain’t nothing to it but to do it,” I said.
It wasn’t much of a prayer, yet Bullert said “Amen” just the same.
* * *
The old man was waiting for me when I returned to the Jeep Cherokee. “I want
to make this right,” he said even before I climbed behind the steering wheel. “There’s gotta be a way to make this right.” His voice was filled with both pain and determination. He had missed his chance to behave like a human being and was now seeking redemption. “What can I do?”
“Exactly what I tell you when I tell you,” I said, even though I knew he didn’t have a chance; there would be no redemption. When the feds swooped down to grab up Brand and the Mexicans, they were going to take him, too. I didn’t like the idea very much, but better him than any of the others.
* * *
County Highway 23 was where Bullert said it would be. I followed it northeast until we reached Buyck, pronounced “bike” according to a sign just outside of town. We passed Vermilion River Tavern, which looked like a red barn with a large liquor sign attached, and the Pumpkin Shell Gift Shop, which looked like, well, a gift shop, before catching County Highway 24 heading north. A street sign conveniently labeled it Lake Crane Road. I said the name out loud. I also spoke the names of the Sportman Last Chance Café and Facowie Lodge as we passed them as well. Each time the old man looked at me, a confused expression on his face.
“Are you nervous, Dyson?”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re talking to yourself.”
I thought about it for a few miles and decided, you know what, the old man’s wrong, I’m not nervous.
How is that possible? my inner voice asked.
I guess I’ve been doing this sort of thing far too long, I told myself.
Scotts Seaplane Base was on County Road 425 just like the map said. I passed it just as Brand had said. I ignored the turn for Rocky Road and kept following 425 until we came to a narrow channel that looked is if someone had carved it out of the woods with a plow and left it at that. I announced my turn.
“What?” the old man asked.
“We’re turning down the dirt road that leads to Brand’s seaplane base,” I said.
“I know that.”
“Just wanted to see if you’re paying attention.”
We drove half a mile before coming to a clearing.
“Two men carrying automatic weapons flanking each side of the road,” I said. “They look Hispanic.”
The Last Kind Word Page 22