It was dark and cool in O’Dell’s bar. It felt good just to walk into the place. Bennett was sitting at one of the tables, having a late lunch. His son was mixing drinks for two men sitting at the end of the bar. His wife was washing glasses.
“Alex!” Bennett said. “You’re becoming a regular customer! What’s the matter, Jackie kick you out of his place?”
“You’re not going to believe this,” I said. “I need a ride over to the marina. My truck is there.”
“What’d you do? Swim over?”
“It’s kind of a long story,” I said. Which meant I had to tell it. With Bennett getting up from his lunch and getting me a beer, of course I had to tell him the whole thing.
“He thinks I was involved in the robbery,” I said, getting to the punch line. “He thinks you were involved, too.”
“What is he, nuts?”
“You know that shot to the ribs you took for him? He thinks it was staged.”
“Yeah, it was staged all right,” he said, rubbing his left side. “That’s why it’s been keeping me up all night. All I gotta do is roll over the wrong way and ka-pow! It’s like somebody sticking me with a cattle prod.”
“You need to go to the hospital,” Margaret said from the sink. “It might be broken!”
“Go on,” Bennett said, waving his hand at her. “What are they gonna do? They don’t even tape up broken ribs anymore. They just give you pain killers and send you home.”
“So you get pain killers,” she said. “What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t need pain killers,” he said, giving me a little wink. “I’ve been married for forty years. I’ve built up a natural immunity to pain.”
“I’ll show you pain,” she said. Which got them started again. But it was all good-natured, and I just sat there with my cold beer watching them. It was a hell of a lot better than being out on that damned boat.
A couple of beers later, Bennett finally took me across town to the marina. “What is this, a Ford Explorer?” I said, looking around the inside of it. “It’s nice.”
“Yeah, it’s got four-wheel-drive,” he said. “Runs like a tank in the winter. You still got that old truck, I see.”
“Why not?” I said. “It still runs.”
“Yeah, just like me,” he said. “Hey listen, take care of yourself, eh? I’m sorry you got involved with this in the first place. Hell, it’s all because Jackie hates playing poker with only five guys.”
“It’s all right, Bennett.”
“What do you figure Vargas is gonna do now? It sounds like you made an enemy today.”
“He’s all noise,” I said. “Don’t worry about me.” I thanked him and let him go. I took a quick look over the fence at the last dock. I couldn’t see Vargas’s slip with all the yachts in the way, but I didn’t think his boat was back yet.
I got in my truck and headed west, back to Paradise. I felt a little tired and sore. “God, what a horse’s ass,” I said out loud. “Moo Duk Kwan, I’m gonna have to look that one up.”
When I got home, I checked on the other five cabins. Everybody was out somewhere, enjoying the day. I went back to my own cabin, cleaned up a little bit, sat down, and tried to read something. But I couldn’t concentrate. I kept seeing Vargas’s foot coming at me, missing me by maybe an inch. And the great red welt I had put on his bald head. And the teeth on that dog.
You’re gonna have nightmares about that dog, I said to myself. You’re gonna have nightmares about a three-pound Chihuahua.
A few hours later, I made my way down to the Glasgow Inn. Jackie was there behind the bar. He still looked a little tired, and every few minutes he’d stare off into nowhere, like he was watching something going on a million miles away. I figured he still wasn’t over it yet.
I didn’t tell him about my little lunch date with Vargas. That one I’d save for another day.
As I had dinner there, I caught up with the local paper, the Soo Evening News, “serving the Eastern U.P. daily since 1903.” I always start with the police beat on the second page. The man who writes up the crimes is a real character, and he always puts his own unique spin on everything he reports. My all-time favorite was still the item titled “Unlicensed Operator.” Somebody had gone into a store and left a dog in the car, who proceeded to knock the stick into first gear. The car rolled into the street, causing damage that was estimated at over five thousand dollars. The police beat reporter summed up the entry with a simple statement: “The dog was not cited.”
The crimes on the blotter are usually just drunk driving and the occasional vandalism, the petty thefts and the possession of drugs in small quantities-the “forbidden weed,” as the reporter once called it. It’s not often that he gets to take the lead story on page one, and write about something big, like what happened at Vargas’s house. The day before, he only had time for the bare details-break-in at local residence, armed intruders, nobody harmed, Soo police pursuing the case. In today’s paper, with more time to develop the story, the good readers of the Soo Evening News got the full treatment, complete with a trio of “costumed assailants,” who methodically ransacked one room of the house while five guests lay facedown on the floor. Mercifully, they didn’t list the names of the guests.
Anyone with information pertaining to the case was asked to contact Chief Roy Maven immediately.
“Quite a write-up, huh?” Jackie’s son said.
“I think some people will be locking their doors in Sault Ste. Marie tonight,” I said. “And keeping their shotguns loaded.”
Jackie just listened to us talk about it. He didn’t say anything himself.
“Jackie, are you gonna tell me what’s bothering you?” I said. “Or are you just gonna keep moping around the place?”
He looked at me without smiling. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to ruin your evening.”
“Relax,” I said. “If you’re still working on what happened, I understand.”
“Good,” he said. “I’m glad you understand. I gotta go change the tap.”
I looked at his son. He just shrugged his shoulders.
Two minutes later, Jackie was back. “I’m sorry, Alex,” he said. “I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
“Don’t apologize,” I said. “If you want to talk about it…”
“I will,” he said. “In a few days. Okay? Give me a few days.”
“Whatever you say, Jackie. I’ll be here.”
He smiled for the first time since I had walked into the place. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll have any trouble finding you.”
I left a couple of hours later, after finishing the paper and another cold Canadian or two. Instead of turning onto my road, I kept going north, all the way to the top of Whitefish Point. I got out and walked past the Shipwreck Museum, out onto the beach. There was real sand here, unlike most of the rocky shoreline on this lake. I walked west, picking up driftwood as I went. The surf broke against the sand. The sun went down and put on its show for me. It was the right way to end the day.
When I got back to my cabin, I stood just inside the door, trying to figure out what was wrong. Nothing was missing. Nothing was out of place. And yet, somehow, I knew someone else had been there.
I looked at the door. There was no sign of forced entry. I looked at the windows, found two of them open and unlocked. I always left them open in the summertime, and never thought about intruders way the hell out here in the woods.
I walked around the place, trying to figure it out. If nothing was stolen, and I had nothing worth stealing in the first place…If nothing was destroyed or even moved…Then somebody was looking for something. And apparently didn’t find it. Assuming it happened at all. Assuming I wasn’t just acting paranoid after the strange day I had just lived through…
Vargas. Could he have sent somebody to search my cabin while I was out on the lake with him? I wouldn’t put it past him.
“Oh, Leon,” I said out loud. “You didn’t do this, did you?”
I called his number. I owed his wife a call back, anyway. When she answered, I realized I didn’t have much
