by Rob Brunet
“You see any other boats on the water?” Hawk asked. “Maybe the punk traded up.”
“Or maybe it’s the cops,” said Mongoose.
“Cops wouldn’t kill their lights like that. Plus, they would’ve checked us out,” Hawk said.
“Only one way to find out,” Mongoose said, pulling a rifle from the duffel bag on the floor of the cabin.
“Put that down,” snarled Perko. “You can’t see the damn thing anymore. What’re you gonna shoot at anyway?”
Mongoose frowned, appearing to consider the question, and turned the gun in Perko’s direction. Hawk reached over and pushed the barrel away with his open palm. “Go get that punk,” he told Perko, waving his hand at Terry.
Chaps flapping in the wind, Perko crawled out onto the foredeck, pulled a knife out of his boot, and used it to cut the bungee cords that held Terry in place. He half-dragged him inside where Hawk handed him a cup of brandy with a splash of coffee in it. “Drink this,” the biker said.
Terry slurped at it like a dog, the lukewarm liquid running down his chin. Perko stood next to Hawk, scanning the water with eyes blacker than hell. Mongoose slouched on the bench at the back of the cabin, his massive gut stretching Ozzy’s face on his T-shirt into shapes more unnatural than even the singer could dream up.
“Okay, punk,” Hawk said. “Here’s your chance. Make yourself useful. Maybe even get off this boat alive.”
Mongoose made a noise like the air being squished out of a wet balloon. Hawk shot him a look before going on. “Seems your pal has run off with our money. Again. When we find him, it ain’t going to be pretty. The thing I’m wondering is whether you’re gonna make yourself useful or just jump off the boat now and swim ashore.”
“It’s t-t-too fucking c-c-c-cold to swim.”
“Kinda my thinking.”
“B-b-b-but I d-d-don’t know anything. D-D-D-Danny just sh-sh-showed up this morning and...”
“Drink.” Hawk refilled the cup with brandy and Terry downed whatever didn’t spill out as he grasped it with two shaking hands. He coughed, his red eyes filling with tears.
Perko turned to face him, leaned in close, and spat his words. “Think, shit-for-brains. Where would Danny go on the water? Who does he know? Where would he feel safe?”
Terry crumpled the Styrofoam cup and pulled his legs up onto the chair, wrapping his knees with his arms.
“TALK PUNK,” Mongoose said, then let out a plaintive groan and grabbed his gut, his eyes rolling like marbles in his green face.
Terry took a deep breath and said, “D-D-Danny used to go to this island. ’S-s-s-s-not too far I think. I dunno. Maybe he went there.”
“What island?” asked Hawk. Perko marveled at how he made his calm voice so much more unnerving than the anger he and Mongoose employed in interrogations.
“I never went to the island. Danny used to camp there with his mom. Near Burleigh Falls, he said. It belonged to the Indians, he said, but not like it was part of a reserve or nothing. Nobody lives on it. Just a place they’d go.”
Hawk looked at the other two bikers and rolled his hands open, questioning. Mongoose spat on the floor. Perko looked out the window and back at Hawk.
“Perko?” Hawk looked at him, eyebrows arched.
The biker shrugged. “I’m thinking maybe one of them islands off of the Great Horned Owl Reserve. The ones no one can build on ’cause they’re supposed to be burial grounds or something. We did a few deliveries out there couple years back.” He nudged Hawk aside and opened the cabinet next to the captain’s chair. He pulled out a sheaf of charts and started flipping through them.
“Here. Pike Lake. See, there’s the reserve to the north,” he said, pointing at a string of islands, some no larger than tennis courts. “These were all hilltops before they flooded the place to build the Trent-Severn. The reserve was still new enough and back then nobody cared much about island ownership, anyhow.”
Hawk looked at the map. He said, “Must be fifty islands there. Could be any one of them. Or none.”
Perko shrugged. “What else have we got to go on?”
Mongoose stifled a burp and said, “Just get a fucking move on. If I don’t get onto dry land in the next fifteen minutes I’s gonna break one of you’s legs and I don’t much care who’s.”
Max stopped the boat and let it drift in silence. He’d been doing that every five minutes or so the whole time he and Linette had been on the water. Stopping and listening for anything that could give them an idea of which way they should be heading. That, and sweeping the water with the heavy duty flashlight he had plugged into the boat’s cigarette lighter.
“I expect they’ve gone ashore by now,” he said. “They could have broken into any one of these cottages. Even if we only checked the ones with fires burning, we’d still be at it all night. If they got onto the next lake, there’s another few hundred places they could hide. It’ll be damn near impossible to find them until they decide to move again.”
“Are you going to give up?” Linette asked. The damp chilled her to the bone.
“I hate to,” Max said. “This is my chance to make it right. Silence all the yabos who’ve been busting my chops about the grow op fiasco.” They both scanned the shoreline. Suddenly, Linette saw a puff of light at the top of an island, halfway to shore.
“What was that?” she asked.
“What?”
“Over there, on that island. There was like a sparkle or something.”
“That’s weird. There’s no house on that island. Its Indian land,” the cop said.
“It looked like a fire.”
“Could be just a few guys from the Reserve, or...” He looked hard at the dense black outline where Linette was pointing. “You sure your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you?”
“I’m sure.”
“Let’s check it out.” He turned the engine back on but left it low and slow. Linette saw him unbuckle his holster.
Within minutes, they had reached the island and Max cut the engine again. He flipped on his fish finder and cursed. The six-inch screen showed him a bottom full of rocks off the bow of the boat and to either side. He trimmed the 225-horse motor out of the water and turned on the tiny electric bow motor. He’d been aiming toward what appeared to be a natural cove but now no matter which way he turned, the way was blocked by a ridge, a boulder, or four-inch deep water which wouldn’t allow his boat to pass.
“Do you think maybe they walked ashore?” Linette whispered.
“I dunno, but if Danny came here with the houseboat, it’s either very well hidden or moored around the other side. Whoever’s here, I think we’re better off sneaking up this side. In the dark.”
“I thought you knew all the water around here. Practically know where the fish are depending what day of the week it is, is how I remember you saying it.”
“They’ve drained the damn lake for winter. Must be down a good two feet.” He stared at his fish finder’s little blue screen. He spotted what looked like another opening and turned the boat into it.
They heard a hoot.
“What’s that?” asked Linette, still whispering.
“Sounded like an owl.” He pushed closer to the edge. They got to within fifty feet when suddenly they were surrounded by rocks. Some he could even see sticking up through the surface. He pushed the engine into reverse but in water this shallow, the steady wind pushed the boat sideways. Within seconds, they ran aground.
Max groaned as he felt the bottom of his fifteen thousand dollar hull drag across the granite outcropping. He heard the fiberglass screech in complaint, followed by a huge cracking sound as something somewhere gave out. He said, “So much for the element of surprise.”
He dropped two anchors into the water, one bow, one stern. As he lifted a floor panel to check the boat’s hull, there was a crash of light and the boom of a shotgun from shore. The pellets rained into the water behind them. Almost immediately, there were two sharper gun shots.
Max
snarled, “We’re not dealing with just Danny Grant, anymore.”
“What do you mean? So, he’s got a gun. He could have picked it up anywhere these past two days. Maybe even stole it from that RV.”
“Guns, Linette. Not ‘a gun.’ Didn’t you hear the different blasts? And we were fired on from two different directions. He’s got help here. We’re screwed.”
“Can’t we just take off?”
“You heard the hull scrape. We’re wedged in. Even if I managed to get the boat back off the rocks, I’m pretty sure we’re taking on water. Not that it matters: it’s barely two feet deep here. We’ll walk in.”
Linette shut her eyes tight and wrapped herself in her arms, chin in her chest. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!”
Max said, “The way I figure, they mustn’t have been able to get a clean shot at us. Otherwise, they should have hit us, with the shotgun at least. See that huge boulder over there? They either have to climb over it or come into the water themselves. Either way, we’ve got at best three minutes to get ashore.”
“Think again, Max. It’s freaking October. I’m not getting in that water. Just maybe I swim the July long weekend. If I’m drunk enough. There’s no way you’re getting in me in that damn lake tonight.”
Officer Ainsley shrugged and checked the clip on his service revolver. “Suit yourself,” he said. “You can stay here on a leaky boat while a desperate escaped con and his nutbar buddy—or buddies, for all we know—take potshots at you. I’m going in.”
He pulled a pair of hip-high gators from under one of the seats and struggled to pull them on over his pants. He lowered himself off the boat into the knee deep water and took a few steps. Linette saw him flinch as he lost his footing and slipped, his feet flying out from under him, allowing the frigid water to pour over his gators.
“Fuck it,” he hissed. “I’m soaked now. Grab the flashlight and jump on my back. I’ll carry you in. Come on!”
Linette wrapped first one leg then the other around his shoulders. She couldn’t resist fluffing his hair, playfully. She cooed, “My big strong Officer Maximum.”
Thirty-One
Huddled together and using the canoe as a break against the cold off-shore breeze, Danny and Judy watched the low-slung fishing boat make its way across the water. Danny’s blood pounded in his ears and his anxiety melded with a damp chill to cause a bad case of the shakes, only made worse by the rush brought on by Skeritt’s killer weed.
“Shit,” said Skeritt, “they’re bypassing the cove.”
Sure enough, the boat, which at first seemed to be pointed right at them, had veered off at the last instant. It headed east, where Bif was hidden. A distinct hoot, like an owl, cut through the air. Danny and Judy both looked at Skeritt.
“That’s Big Fucker,” said the old man. “I’m going to swing over that side. You two stay here. Spread out. No sense them catching us together if they make it ashore. If one of us gets taken, the rest will be able to regroup. Stay low and stay quiet.”
A single shotgun blast freaked Danny right out of his gourd. Next came two cracks from what he hoped was Bif’s rifle. From where he cowered inside a cedar bluff, he could make out the silhouette of the fishing boat. Someone clambered into the knee-deep water. The shadow disappeared for a moment and then seemed to grow larger before moving ashore. The pot Danny had just smoked was stronger than anything he’d had in prison. He was fried. He heard Bif’s owl hoot again and another shotgun blast from the shore.
“All my fault. Every bit of this,” he muttered.
So what are you going to do about it? Hide in the bushes and let everyone else clean it up?
Danny stiffened. That voice. It couldn’t be. How the hell could the fucking iguana be out on this island in the middle of nowhere?
You didn’t really think I’d just freeze my ass off in that farmhouse while you went gallivanting off to prison, did you?
“How the fuck did you get here?”
I’ve been hanging with Skeritt ever since he came round to tidy up your last mess.
“What’re you talking about?”
The fire, numbnuts.
“Fuck off with the ‘numbnuts’ routine, scaleface. I didn’t burn Ernie’s cabin. That was Skeritt. He just told me he did.”
No kidding. But I’m talking about the grow op. Didn’t it strike you as a tad convenient the way that baby went up in smoke? Kept you from getting busted for the pot, didn’t it? Made you stinking rich in the process, from the look of that duffel bag.
“And what? You think Skeritt did that?”
“Who are you talking to, Danny?” Judy whispered. The sound of her voice jolted Danny back to reality. He looked around and could have sworn he saw Iggy sitting on a boulder about fifteen feet away. Either that or it was a fallen branch.
“No one. Never mind. How the hell are we going to get out of here now?”
“Maybe we can make our way down to the water,” she said, “get back on the houseboat, and take off.”
“It’s too damn slow,” Danny said. “They’d catch us for sure. Like sitting ducks.”
“Danny, I’m really scared.”
She crept over, shivering. Danny wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his coat. He asked, “You see that rock over there by the water? Is that a lizard on it?”
“I don’t see anything,” she said and leaned in tight.
Danny looked again, wiped his eyes, and saw that the branch—or the iguana—had disappeared.
Seconds later, Skeritt and Bif showed up from different directions, one just as silent as the other. Danny slipped one hand to Judy’s head, cradling it into his shoulder. She didn’t move a muscle—could have been asleep for all he could tell.
“We’ve got trouble,” said the Indian, squatting behind a rock and lighting a cigarette.
“Ya think?” said Danny, his voice dripping sarcasm.
“Plenty.” Bif showed no emotion whatsoever. He tossed the pack of smokes to Skeritt. The older man pulled a cigarette out of the pack, broke off the filter, and put the tight end between his blistered lips. He fired it up and offered the package to Danny.
Bif said, “There were at least two people on that boat. They came ashore.”
“So much for scaring them off,” Danny said.
“It should’ve worked,” Bif said. “It’s not like the Libidos to force a confrontation when they’re outgunned. Especially when they have no way of knowing how many of us there are. They must be madder than hell.”
“So, what now?” Danny asked. Judy remained deathly still by his side. “We all smokum peace pipe and trust in the Great Spirit to make things right?”
Bif squinted through the tobacco smoke swirling in front of his face. “You got any better ideas?” he asked.
“Like, maybe we get the hell outta here?”
“Uh huh,” said the Indian. “White man gonna fly, or what? Last I looked, we’ve got a canoe and a houseboat. Your friends out there have two hundred and some horses on a fisherman’s special. You haven’t got a hope in hell of outrunning them.” He took a deep drag of his cigarette and exhaled a cloud in Danny’s direction. “I suggest you come up with a better plan.”
“Can’t we signal the Reserve? With a fire or something? My mom used to tell me—”
“No time,” said Bif. “Like I said, they’re on the island.”
Danny glared at the Indian and pulled Judy closer to him. After thinking for a moment, Skeritt said, “I think we should split up. Danny and I will portage your canoe to the other side of the island. You take Judy on the houseboat and make a big show of running for it. By the time the bikers get back on the water and catch up with you, find out we’re not there, we’ll have ten minutes head start. In the dark, we may be able to make land before they figure things out.”
“Not a chance!” Danny protested. “There’s no telling what those bikers will do to Judy.”
“They won’t fuck with me, nor her if she’s with me,” said Bif. “W
e handle far too much border traffic for them to risk the fall-out. They’ll be pissed off. But where I come from, there’s nothing new about a bunch of angry white guys.”
“He’s right,” said Skeritt. “Besides, look at her, Danny. She can hardly stay awake. Two of you in a canoe will be going so slow they’ll catch you for sure.”
“Listen to them, Danny,” Judy mumbled. “I’ll be alright. It’s you they’re after, not me.”
Danny looked from one to the other and stood, helping Judy to her feet. She wrapped her arms around him, sighed deeply and said, “You’re so strong, Danny. You’ll be okay.” She rubbed his back, running her fingers up and down, and murmured, “Your shoulders feel exactly like Ernie’s.” She must have sensed him stiffen, because she added, “From massaging him in front of the TV, like I told you. That’s how I know his build. Silly.”
Skeritt, shouldering his shotgun, muttered, “Of course.”
“What’s that, Skeritt?” Danny asked.
“Nothing. Say goodbye to your girlfriend here and give me a hand with the canoe.”
Danny pushed Judy back a few inches and looked at her tear-smeared face. “Maybe one or two people ever been good to me besides my mom. I hardly know why you’ve helped me but someday I’ll do you right. Promise.”
Judy forced a weak smile and kissed him before turning to follow Bif back to the houseboat, Wort sniffing the path ahead of them.
Danny watched them go before slinging the duffel bag over his shoulder and lifting the canoe. Skeritt picked up the back end and shone a flashlight at Danny’s feet from behind as they headed up the well-worn path.
When they were close enough to the island’s crown to make out the glowing fire between the trees, Danny said, “Something I been wanting to ask you.”
“What’s that?”
“The night I got busted, you know, after you came to visit me at the farmhouse, there was this fire.”
“Yeah, in the barn. So?”
“Did you start that? I mean, like the way you burned Ernie’s place?”
“Horrible waste of pot that was. At the barn, I mean.”