Vinnie’s car was parked in front of his cabin. There was maybe one inch of snow on his windshield, meaning that he had worked a late shift at the casino and driven home around dawn. Brilliant detective work on my part. I pushed the snow from his driveway all the way up to where his car was parked, and then I laid on the horn for a few seconds to make sure he was awake. If I was tired and sore and miserable, I didn’t want to be alone.
When I got to my cabin and opened the door, I stood there in the doorway for a full minute before I could bring myself to go inside. This is too much, I thought. A man shouldn’t have to have his cabin trashed twice in one week. Every drawer was open, every single item taken out and left out. At least they didn’t intentionally break everything and slash the furniture, I thought, like when Bruckman was here. Or no, I, guess it wasn’t Bruckman, was it? It was whoever the hell those other guys were, the guys who work for Molinov. Whoever the hell he is. God, listen to me. I have no idea who I’m talking about.
I got a fire going in the woodstove, and then I cleaned up the place just enough to make it livable again. I didn’t feel like seeing what the other cabins looked like, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax until I did. So I put my coat back on, went back out to the truck, and drove the quarter mile to the second cabin.
It had gotten the same treatment. Everything opened up, turned over, taken out and left out. It took about thirty minutes to clean the place up. There wasn’t as much to put away, at least. Nobody actually lived there. This is where you keep your guests, I said to myself, when you want them to be kidnapped. You leave them alone in this cabin and then you go to bed. In the morning, they’ll be gone.
I stood there and looked at the bed where she had slept. The pipes are probably still frozen, I thought. And the leg on that table needs to be glued back on. Hell with it, I’ll deal with it later. I can’t stand being here.
The third cabin was another quarter mile down the road. My father had built this one in 1970, on enough of a hill to make it higher than the others. It was bigger than the first two, and it had a porch on it so you could see Lake Superior through the trees. He had learned a little more about plumbing, so the pipes didn’t freeze as long as the temperature stayed above minus twenty. I put that place back together and then kept working my way down the line. My father had gotten tired of drilling new wells for each cabin, so the fourth and fifth cabins were close to each other and shared the same well. The two cabins together would sleep twenty people, maybe twenty-four if they liked it cozy.
When I got to the sixth and last cabin, I saw the same kind of mess, and the same kind of emptiness. Every single renter had left. I didn’t imagine any of them would be sending me money, either. Not that I blamed them. If federal agents woke me up to search the place I was renting, I’d stiff the landlord, too.
The only consolation, I thought, was that I wouldn’t have to hear as many snowmobiles for a while.
But wait. There was an envelope on the table. I opened it up and found three hundred-dollar bills. Benjamin Franklin, Leon’s best friend. I couldn’t help smiling.
When I had cleaned up the place, I stood in the center of the room and looked at it. It was the last cabin he had built. The biggest and the best. There was a real kitchen, separated from the rest of the cabin, with its own woodstove. There was even a second floor in this cabin, with a balcony overlooking the living room. My father had built the fireplace with all the stones he had moved or dug up while making the other cabins. Standing there in that cabin, I actually started to feel human again, so I figured I’d stay a while. I brought some wood in and made a fire. I even found a can of good coffee in the kitchen. After I had made a cup and sat there looking out at the snow, I couldn’t stop myself from leaning back on the couch. The warmth from the fire felt too good. In less than a minute, I started to fall asleep. In a half-dream, I was behind Bruckman’s snowmobile again, sliding over the snow.
The tree coming up fast. I can’t avoid it. I’m going to slam into it.
Impact. A loud bang like a gunshot.
I sat up straight, instantly awake. The front door opened and Vinnie walked into the cabin.
“Oh, it’s you,” I said. “You woke me up.”
“Who was laying on the horn in my driveway a couple hours ago?” he said.
“I thought you said Indians only need three hours of sleep every night”
“I never said that,” he said.
“Must have been somebody else.”
“You been cleaning up after the deputies?” he said. He looked around the room.
“Yeah, did you see them this morning?”
“They were just finishing up when I got home,” he said. “They stopped at my place and asked me some questions.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I told them you had a major drug ring going for years. About time they busted you.”
“That’s it,” I said. “No more freebies for you.”
“I brought you some beer,” he said. The bottles clanked in his hands. “Sorry, they’re American.” He gave me a bottle, opened one up for himself and pulled a chair over from the kitchen table.
“Thanks,” I said.
“I figured you’d be having a tough day,” he said. “God, you look terrible.”
“Thanks again. Wait a minute, are you drinking beer?”
“It’s non-alcoholic,” he said, holding up the bottle. “I tried one a couple years ago, figured it was time to try again. See if they got any better at making it.”
“So how is it?”
“I think they need a couple more years.” He tried to screw the cap back on the bottle but couldn’t quite get it to work. “So, now what?” he said. “You’re not still looking for her, are you?”
“Not really,” I said. “There’s no place to look anymore. Why do you ask?”
“I’m just wondering why you’ve gone to this much trouble. You only just met her that one night.”
“Vinnie, she got kidnapped and it was my fault” My head started hurting again, just having to say the words. “She came to me for help and I fucked up. What do you want me to do, just forget it?”
“She was in trouble long before she got to you.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “She chose her own path. Step by step. All that shit again.”
“All right,” he said. “All right. Let’s not go through this again.”
“You brought it up,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just…”
“What?”
“You’re killing yourself over this. And it’s not your fault. No matter what you think. That’s all.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay,” he said.
A long silence reigned. We watched the last of the fire go out in the fireplace.
“Alex, this has got to be the best fucking cabin I have ever seen in my life,” he said. “Your father was a genius.”
“He got pretty good at it,” I said.
“You’ll sell it to me one day, won’t you?”
“When you’ve got a million dollars, come talk to me.”
“After all I’ve done for you,” he said.
“Make it two million.”
I finished my beer and then he helped me clean up the place a little more. I could never leave that cabin without making it look perfect. One more reason to never live there myself. When we went back outside, the sun was making another rally, fighting its way through the snowclouds. A single brilliant beam swept slowly over the snow-covered trees like a searchlight.
“What are you gonna do now?” he said.
I thought about it. There weren’t many options. “See what Jackie made for dinner,” I said. “Read the paper.”
“Don’t you get sick of that place? I’m starting to hate going there.”
“It’s either that or sit in my cabin,” I said. “At least this way I have somebody to annoy.”
“Save me a seat by the fire,” he said. “I’ll be in later.”
I drove down to the Glasgow. You’ve got some life, I said to myself. A cabin and a bar and snow up to your ass. When I walked into the place, Jackie took one look at me and winced. “You look terrible,” he said.
“That seems to be the consensus,” I said.
