by Rob Brunet
“Tell me again how you know Danny Grant. And where it was you saw him.”
“I told you, man. I dropped him off just outside of Bobcaygeon. At the, uh, at the bowling place.”
“So a guy escapes from prison and the first thing on his mind is to go bowling.”
“Escape? Danny didn’t escape. He was done. On parole now.”
“Parole, yes. Done, no. Danny ran away from day parole day before yesterday. We been chasing him ever since.”
“No shit! Danny’s an escaped con? Holy fuck is that cool.”
Perko rolled his eyes and asked, “And the cat?”
“What cat?”
“Danny’s cat you said you babysat for him.”
“Aw, shit, so there was no cat. I just didn’t think you’d believe me that Danny gave me five hundred bucks.”
“So you see why maybe I don’t believe you about the bowling.”
Terry looked confused.
Perko said, “Listen. I don’t know where the fuck you get your crazy ideas, but you’d better have a good one right about now or I’m out of here and you’re fish food. When I cut the bungee cords, you’re just one more moron who drowned swimming in the canal.”
“Alright, alright! I’ll tell you what I know. But, first, you gotta know this wasn’t my idea.”
Perko took a drag of his cigarette, sat down on the top rung of the ladder and rested a foot on Terry’s head. He said, “Spill it.”
“You know how Danny ran your grow op?”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, that was supposed to be me.”
Perko remained silent.
“And my buddy-ol’-pal, Danny Grant, well, didn’t he just go steal my rightful job. Right out from under me, like.”
“Go on.”
“So, then he, like, he stole your money from you. See I would never have done that. I would never have got the place busted and I would never have taken your money. It shoulda been me running that scene and then everything would have been cool.”
“What’s this bullshit about Danny giving you five hundred bucks?”
“That part’s true.”
“And the bowling alley?”
“I made that up.”
“Like the part about the cat.”
“Shit, Danny told me to tell you that I left him in Bobcaygeon. Like twenty minutes ago. Hey, have him stop the water, man. It’s freezing my balls off!”
Perko dropped his cigarette into the water and lit another one. “It’s always a bit chilly this time of year, don’t you find?”
Terry sputtered. “And...and...and Danny said he’d pay me thirty thousand dollars just for talking to you. Hey, maybe I could, like, split the thirty thou with you?”
Perko dropped his feet so they dangled to the right and left of Terry’s head. He swung them out and let them flop back down, boxing his victim’s ears with a thud. “WHERE DID YOU LEAVE HIM?!”
Terry’s head bobbled and flopped and came to rest with his chin on his chest. Perko swung himself around and used one leg to splash ice cold water on his face. “I SAID WHERE?!”
“I...uh...oh shit. I dunno. He just...he said...he wanted me to send you away from the fire scene. Place where I saved a pooch last week. Said he’d give me thirty thousand bucks. Just needed an hour or so.”
“Son of a bitch.” Perko pulled himself up and looked over toward where his bike was parked. If he split now, he could just make it onto a side road before Hawk passed him coming the other way. He could still recover the money on his own, and decide later whether he wanted to be a big shot Libido or just a loaded biker on the run.
“Hey, tell him to turn off the water,” Terry said.
Perko stepped back from the edge, saying nothing.
“Aw, c’mon,” Terry said. “Listen, can I still get the thirty thou? Maybe a little finder’s fee bonus or something?” The water had made it to Terry’s chest. “How about ten grand? You’d never notice ten off the top, would you? Hey! Hey, you still there?”
Perko took one last glance at Terry Miner, struggling in vain against the straps around his chest and wrists. A small mouth bass swam up and nibbled his neck. If it tickled, he didn’t show it.
Officer Max Ainsley offered Linette Paquin a cigarette across the front seat of his cruiser.
“Thank you, Officer,” Linette cooed. They were driving back to her car after having carried their shared fantasy back to her apartment. Linette had insisted Max pretend it was the county jail. They’d been creative with handcuffs all night long and slept until well past noon.
“You’re wilder by the day,” he said.
“Play your cards right, I know a little clearing where you can tie me up. And interrogate me. Woodsy-like.”
He growled his best bear imitation and said, “Hang on a sec while I check in with dispatch.” He switched on his radio. “Nine fourteen. Check-in. You there, dispatch?”
After a pause, the radio crackled: “Base to Nine Fourteen. Afternoon, Max. That was quite the tummy ache, I guess.”
“What do you mean, Chuck?”
“Been trying to raise you since last night. That escaped con yesterday? Turns out it was Danny Grant. You know, that punk you, uh, nearly busted for only the biggest pot shop this county has ever seen.”
Max scowled at the mention of the grow op gardener’s name. “No shit. Have we picked him up yet?” He looked at Linette.
“Naw, it seems he made it all the way to the States in some RV he’d stolen. Kidnapped an old lady and everything. Forced her to do the border crossing. Apparently, he threatened to expose her son-in-law as a witch or some damn thing. Then he drives her all the way south of Rochester. Lucky for her, they ran out of gas before he could get wherever he was headed. Left her stranded at the side of the road. She flagged down a radio car for help. They’ve got a massive search on in northern New York. That’s why I was radioing you.”
“What can I do about it?”
“They want to know why he would have taken off that direction. Any connections you know of?”
“The Skeletons. They’re the ones bought the dope.”
“Yeah, they thought of that. Seems strange he would go running there, though. I mean, unless he was somehow connected. You know, the whole thing some scam against the Libidos all along.”
“Huh. Never thought of that.” Officer Ainsley wrinkled his brow. Linette was waving her arms at him to get off the radio. “Guess we’re lucky he left our jurisdiction. Would have hated to miss my long weekend.”
“Perfect fishing weather. Sure wish I was off. See you in a bit, Max”
He turned off the radio. Linette’s jaw was working hard but the words barely made it out of her mouth: “...ugh...I...there...I mean...something’s messed...go straight to ERNIE’S.”
“What the hell are you on about, Linette?”
She took several deep breathes before speaking again.
“Don’t you see? If Danny splits from prison right after Ernie’s place burns, it’s got to be related.”
“Could be, yeah. So what?”
“So Ernie’s place is burned, right? If Danny runs from prison, it must mean he knows the cash isn’t in the cabin, right?”
“Right, because he figures the Skeletons have it and they burned Ernie once they got their bony hands on it. They’re looking for him in New York, Linette. Why go to the cabin?”
“Because...because...because there was no need to burn down the cabin. The money has to be outside. Don’t ask me how I know, Max.” Officer Ainsley looked at her as though he didn’t recognize her.
“This isn’t your M.O., Linette,” he said.
“Just take me there. Please?”
In no time at all, Danny discovered what had to be the remnants of Ernie’s previous outhouse. The ground was mounded up a bit and it was covered with exceptionally healthy poison ivy. What really gave it away, though, was the evidence of non-stop human traffic leading to what had once been the back door to Ernie’s cabin. Ev
en after a couple years of disuse, the telltale packed earth and exposed ground stone was clear as day.
He started digging.
Compared to the hole he had dug the night before, this one was somewhat harder going. He was happy for the strong cold wind blowing off the north end of Pigeon Lake. The first few inches were cover soil. That was followed by heavily compacted human waste filled with worms and other creepy crawlies busily returning dust to dust.
Danny had only gotten about twelve inches into the ground when the sound of a footstep from the forest behind him made him stop what he was doing and spin around. The wind was so loud, the dude from the diner had made it within a few feet of him before Danny heard anything.
“Arh, matey. Digging for gold, are we?” the biker said, looking even nastier than he remembered him.
Danny stood frozen to his spot. Even without the distortion, his gut instantly reacted to the voice from the telephone from four years before: his boss, the bastard biker whose plants he’d tended.
The man said, “The chores they gave you on the inside weren’t shitty enough? You had to break out and dig dirt?” It was the disdain. The way he made Danny feel worthless. His knuckles turned white, wrapped tight around the handle of the shovel as the biker stepped toward him.
“Whatcha gonna do? Dig up a whole Kawartha acre until you find my stash?”
Danny swung. The thug was ready for it. He threw up his arm and blocked the shot, sending the shovel spinning out of Danny’s hands. He lurched forward and grabbed Danny by the hair, yanking his head down toward the ground so that he was bent double at the waist. As he went down, Danny saw the biker pull a gun from a holster under his armpit. A second later, he felt it jam into the base of his skull.
“Now, you little prick, you’ve got two options. One, you pick up that shovel and start digging again for Captain Perko. Two, I bury you headfirst in the old man’s shit—’cept we’ll use the fresher hole over there. What’s it gonna be, punk?”
Danny grimaced. “I’ll do what you say.”
“‘I’ll do what you say, Captain.’”
“Yes, Captain. Whatever you say, Captain.”
The biker stepped back from the hole and kept the gun pointed at Danny.
“Dig, motherfucker.”
As Danny dug, he wondered why the hell Judy hadn’t given him a warning signal. She mustn’t have seen the meathead approach, but surely she could see him now, pointing the gun at him. He stole a couple glances across the road when he pitched shovelfuls of dirt that direction, enough to determine she wasn’t outside. But he didn’t want to send the biker’s attention in that direction either, so he focused his energy on digging up the cash. Now he knew the guy’s name and face, Danny had no illusions. His reward for unearthing the bag would be to get shot in the head.
It took twenty minutes to empty Ernie’s Shitter Number One. The two men looked down at the exposed roots and raw rock. Everything coated in muck. No bag, no money, just heavy brown compost with a noxious smell.
Danny felt faint. Four years of waiting, two piles of stinking dirt, and now all he had to look forward to was getting shot and buried in Ernie’s shithole.
“What now?” he asked. Turning to face Captain Perko, he saw Judy sneaking toward them; it was all he could do to stare unblinking into the man’s eyes while she crept up behind.
“Here’s what now. You tell me who the hell knew where you buried my money,” the biker growled loudly. Danny took a half step backward away from the hole, drawing the chaps-clad chunkster with him. Judy’s normally yappy dog was all hunkered down, belly to the ground, creeping along behind her.
“Nobody knew anything,” Danny said. “This is where I left it, and I never told no one. Shit, I don’t know. Maybe the cops found it?” Judy had made it right up behind Perko and crouched down between him and the outhouse hole.
“Gimme a break, punk, I’m gonna—”
As he started to take a step toward Danny, Judy ploughed into his knees from behind and Danny lunged at him. It was enough to table-top the much heavier man into the hole, headfirst. Wort jumped forward, snapping and snarling as loud as a dog three times his size, coming close to sliding into the hole.
“RUN. Get your car,” Danny said. He whacked the biker’s squirming body with the shovel before piling several shovels full of composted crap onto his head.
As they started up the laneway, a cop car came over the rise, traveling fast.
“Shit. Now what?” said Danny.
“To the water. Ernie’s got a canoe.” Judy took off toward the lake, Danny half-running, half-sliding down the hill behind her. Wort paused to kick a little extra dirt into the hole.
By the time Perko managed to pull himself out of the shithole, he found himself face-to-face with a cop. Not just any cop. It was the same damn cop who had frog-marched him out of the forest four years before.
“Jesus, Mr. Ratwick. Do you always smell like shit?” Officer Ainsley grinned.
“Fuck to see you, too, Officer.”
A familiar-looking woman stumbled up behind, struggling in high heels on the soft ground. When she got close enough, Perko made her for the punk farmer’s lawyer.
“What are you doing here?” Linette Paquin hissed. “Are you stealing my money?”
“What money? Your money? Who said anything about money?” Perko stammered. “I’m just out for a ride, noticed this here cookout and came in for a look-see. I don’t know a thing about no money.”
“You mind telling me how you ended up with your head in that there hole,” Officer Ainsley asked, visibly stifling a chuckle.
“And, and, and what was in that hole?” asked Linette, clearly failing to find any humor in the situation. “And what’s that over there?” She had just noticed the pile of dirt over by the outhouse and hurried over to take a look, breaking a heel on the way.
Ainsley glowered at Perko and said, “Spill it. Unless you want to ride back to the station with me. Frankly, I don’t want you in my car, covered in shit and all, but I will run you in if you don’t start talking.”
Perko spat, wiped his lip on the cleaner of his two hands, and cringed. “Asshole punk farmer brat bastard pushed me in the fucking hole.”
“Who?” asked Officer Ainsley.
“That fucker Danny Grant.” Perko saw no percentage in lying. Whatever went down next, by now the cops would know Danny had run and it wouldn’t take them long to connect his own Kingston arrest to the shithead’s escape. The last thing he needed was to be tossed back in a cell for questioning, while Grant ran around on the outside. “I trailed him to the Greyhound day before yesterday and figured this was where he was headed. Then the fucker dumps me in the hole. Someone helped him do it. Tripped me. Who the fuck, I don’t know.”
“Where are they now?”
“Headed toward the water.”
The two men walked past the remains of the cabin to a spot where they could see the lake. Perko’s heart pounded. Danny and that chick from across the road were paddling a red canoe five hundred feet off shore. He was sorely tempted to pull out his gun and take a shot, but he figured he’d miss. Never mind that he didn’t imagine the cop would be all that impressed. That, and the barrel was undoubtedly clogged full of shit.
A shriek cut through the air and both men turned to where Linette had found the dead skunk beside the outhouse—Jonah hadn’t done a particularly good job of burying it. One hand clasped to her mouth, she staggered away from the outhouse and sank to the ground, sobbing hysterically.
Ainsley got down on one knee beside her and put his arm around her shoulder. Perko stared down at the two of them. It sunk in that the cop and the lawyer shared more than a business relationship. He said, “Mind if I ask why you two are here?”
“Linette?” Ainsley prodded. “Could tell me that now? How did you know Danny would be here? You were in such a rush to come...”
“I didn’t know he was here,” she coughed. “I just knew the money had to be.”
“I don’t get it. How did you know?”
“Because it wasn’t in the cabin!” she croaked, and then broke into gut-wrenching sobs. Ainsley held her, rubbing her shoulders as they heaved and shook with her crying. Perko looked on, dumbfounded.
“Maybe you should explain that to us, lady,” said the biker.
She looked up at him with her mascara-streamed face and blubbered, “I knew the money wasn’t in the cabin because I searched it.”
“Yeah, the lady from across the road told me you were here the day before yesterday.”
“But the cabin had already burned by then,” Ainsley interrupted.
Linette looked from one to the other, her eyes ringed like a raccoon.
“I searched it...before...before the fire,” she stammered.
“What? You never told me that. How’d you manage that?” He glanced at the pile of ashes. “Ernie hated you. Did you break in, Linette?”
“No break. Just enter. I had come by to talk to him. Persuade him. He was down at the dock. The wind was blowing heavy off the lake so I knew he hadn’t heard me. I snuck in to have a look.”
Both men continued to stare. Ainsley stood up and took a step back.
“I searched the place. Top to bottom. I kept looking out the window to make sure he wasn’t coming back. He was fishing. I had time. I looked everywhere. In the closets, under his bed, the sink. Everywhere. The money wasn’t there.”
Ainsley shook his head.
“Oh, he had the money alright,” Linette said. “He had a TV worth five thousand dollars and he had crates of stuff—a full box of single malt scotch, a ton of peanut butter, and other stuff...stuff people don’t have when they’re on social assistance. Things he had no right to afford.
“I crawled up into the rafters when I heard him putting his gear in the shed.” She looked from one man to the other, quickly. “He came back in the cabin. Right away, there was a scuffle, Ernie shouting, and then a gun blast. And another. I didn’t move for maybe half an hour. Whoever shot him just left.”