In the loft, the Deuce dropped onto a kitchen chair. 'So talk.'
'You saw the cops down there?'
'Yeah. I was sittin' up by the asparagus patch.'
'That one guy, the state guy, Flowers, thinks you done it. Killed those people, and now this guy Windrow who was out here this afternoon. They can't find him anywhere, and they think he's dead.'
'Didn't do it,' the Deuce said.
'Listen, dummy. The cops don't care no more who did it,' Slibe said. 'They got one woman dead and one woman shot and one guy missing and all they want to do is arrest somebody so they can say it's over with. Flowers asked me where you were, and I told him you'd gone walkabout.'
'Need some food, if I'm gonna walkabout,' the Deuce said.
'I got food. Get it out of my cupboard. Get out of here.'
'I dunno,' the Deuce said.
'If you don't, they're gonna slap you in jail, bigger'n shit. I don't know when you'd be gettin' out.'
'But I-'
'Listen to me. Didn't you hear what I said? They don't care. They just want to arrest somebody. The sheriff 's got to get himself re-elected. If they find somebody else, that's just fine-then they'll let you out. But if they don't, they'll try to hang it on you.'
The Deuce put his head down, like he did when he was turning something over in his mind. After fifteen seconds or so, Slibe said, 'I told them you were already gone. I believe if you stay out there for a while, they'll pick on somebody else.'
The Deuce still didn't say anything, but he moved ninety degrees in his chair, and looked at a pile of outdoor gear that sat against the wall. 'I got two boxes of shells at Martin's yesterday. I could stay out there for a while, if I had some Shake 'n Bake.'
'I got a twelve-pack in the cupboard, never opened,' Slibe said. 'I got some cornmeal, I was down at the diner and got a bunch of those little packages of salt and pepper, twenty of them. You want to pack up, I'll go get them.'
THE DEUCE WAS PACKED up in fifteen minutes-bivy sack, change of clothes, four pairs of socks, pump.22 with two boxes of shells, fifty rounds in each box, his knife, headlight, head net, gloves, bug spray. He thought about it for a minute, then added an ultralight fishing rod, a compact tackle box, and a yoga pad.
Slibe came back with a plastic sack full of food-Shake 'n Bake and cornmeal and a six-pack of beer. The Deuce said, 'I'm not walkin'.'
'What?'
'Takin' the canoe. You can drop me off on the river-I'll get down south of Deer River, in those swamps back there,' he said. 'Stay there as long as I want, eat sunnies and northern.'
'I told them you went walkabout.'
'If they ever ask, I'll tell them I keep the canoe hid out, and walked over.'
Slibe said, 'Okay. Okay. But we gotta get going. The girls have gone to bed. I want to move now.'
THE DEUCE PACKED the food and tackle box, gathered up the rifle, fishing rod, and yoga pad, and carried them down to the truck. Slibe got two canoe paddles out of the woodshed. It was eight minutes out and over to the roughed-out landing at Big Dick Lake. The canoe, an old aluminum Grumman, was back in the woods, chained to a tree. They unlocked it, loaded it on the truck, and headed over to the river.
'Dark,' Slibe said, as they turned off Highway 2 and rolled past a wild-rice processing place, and down to a boat landing.
'Not bad, when you get used to it,' the Deuce said.
They put the canoe in the water next to the bridge, working with the Deuce's headlamp. He dropped in the pack, the rifle, the fishing rod, and the yoga pad.
Slibe said, 'That pad, you're getting soft.'
'Takes the hurt out of the roots,' the Deuce said. 'Sleep easier.' He took the paddles from Slibe, and added, 'I don't know what you're up to, Dad, but I'd 'preciate it if you'd leave me out of it.'
He pushed off, pivoted the canoe, and disappeared into the night.
Slibe watched until he couldn't see or hear him, then spit into the water and climbed the bank back to the truck.
He stopped at an all-night gas station and bought a bottle of beer and drank it on the way home.
Thinking all the time.
Working the plotline.
20
VIRGIL STOOD ON ZOE'S front porch and pounded on the door like a drunk husband. The porch light came on, then the door popped, and Zoe peered at him through the screen. 'Virgil?'
She was still fully dressed.
'Haven't found him. I was out at the Ashbachs'. Can I come in?'
'Sure.' She stepped back, and Virgil pulled open the screen door and followed her into the living room and plopped on the couch, his pistol digging into his back. He'd forgotten about it. He leaned forward, pulled it out, and put it on the coffee table.
'You're carrying a gun,' she said. Her voice was apprehensive.
'Not for you,' Virgil said. 'I was out at the Ashbachs' with a couple of deputies and we were ready to go.'
'You mean 'kill somebody.' '
'I mean 'shoot back.' We're dealing with some loonies out there. That goddamn Slibe says his goddamn son's gone walkabout, whatever that means.'
'It's Australian.'
'I know that. I'm a cop, not an idiot,' Virgil snapped. 'Anyway, the Deuce is out wandering around with a gun, in the middle of the night. When I pushed them on it, all of them out there, Berni, Wendy, and Slibe, pretty much agreed on the killer.'
'The Deuce?' She sounded skeptical.
'No. You.'
She sat back. 'Even Wendy?' she squeaked.
'Even Wendy. Though it started with Berni. Anyway, so here I am, ready to do what I should have done a long time ago, but didn't, because I like you. Go get a rope.'
'A rope?'
'Yeah. Like a clothesline or something. Six feet long or so.'
SHE HAD TO THRASH around for a while, but finally came up with a piece of electrical cord, which Virgil said would have to do, and he brought her back in the living room, looped it around his neck, put his hand under the cord, in front of his Adam's apple, palm out, turned his back on her, and said, 'Strangle me.'
'What?'
'Strangle me. Really go for it,' he said.
'Virgil, I don't want to hurt you,' she said.
'Well, if you start hurting me, stop.'
So she tentatively pretended to strangle him, and he shook her off like a flea, said, 'Really try, or I will kick your freakin' homosexual ass all over this living room.'
That got to her, a little bit, anyway, and she tried harder, and he yanked her around and slapped her off the cord, and said, 'Just like a little girl. What a fuckin' pussy. I'll tell you what, my third ex-wife was half your size, and she could've done a hell of a lot better job than that.'
The goading worked. The third time, she finally went for it, and he had trouble getting loose, yanking her this way and that, and with one heavy heave, yanked her around and she lost her grip on the cord and cried, 'My hands…'
He unwrapped the cord and asked, 'You all right?'
