“Margaret,” I said. “Is Bennett there? This is Alex.”
“No!” she said. I could barely hear her over the din of a Saturday night crowd in the bar. “I’m all by myself!”
“Do you know where they went?”
“What?”
“I said, do you know where they went?”
I heard her yelling at somebody, then she came back on the line. “No, he’s been gone for two hours, Alex! He took Ham with him! I’ve got thirty people here!”
“What about Jackie?” I said. “Or Gill? Do you know if they’re with him?”
“He was talking on the phone before he left. I think it was Jackie, yeah. And then somebody else. It might have been Gill, I don’t know.”
“You have no idea where they went?”
She yelled at somebody to keep their pants on, and couldn’t they see she was on the phone. “I’ve got no idea, Alex. But if you find him, tell him to get his ass back here.”
“When he was on the phone, did he write anything down? Like an address or directions?”
“Uh…Let me see. Yeah, you know, I think he was writing something on this pad we keep next to the phone. But he must have taken that with him.”
An idea came to me. “Margaret,” I said, “do you have a pencil there?”
“Alex, can this wait? I’ve got people at the bar here.”
“This will only take a second. It might be important.”
“A pencil, a pencil. Yeah, I got one right here.”
“Okay, take the pad of paper and just lightly run it across the paper. Like you’re shading it in. You know what I mean?”
“I think so. You mean like they do on television, when they want to see what somebody wrote on the pad?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“I’ll try it,” she said. “You really think this will work?”
“Why not?”
“I’m getting something, Alex. It says…Let’s see…It’s the number eleven.”
“Okay, good. What else?”
“Hold on.” She yelled at somebody again, about how yes, she was playing with a pencil instead of getting him his beer, and if he didn’t like it, he was free to go drink someplace else. “Sorry, Alex. Some people have no patience. Let’s see, the rest of this says…It says, ‘W’ and then this looks like…P-I-E something. I can’t read this.”
“West Pier, maybe?”
“Yeah, Eleven West Pier. I think that’s it! This really works!”
“Leon would be proud,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“Never mind,” I said. “I’m gonna go find Bennett and send him home.”
“I wish you would, Alex. I gotta tell you, I’m a little worried here. Bennett hasn’t said a word to me about what’s going on, but I just know this is more bad business.”
I hung up the phone and put it on the passenger’s seat, right next to my gun.
As I got closer to the Soo, I thought about the address Margaret had given me. I knew the West Pier was on the west side of town, not far from O’Dell’s, in fact. They were there right now, I thought, doing God knows what, with Blondie involved somehow. No doubt about that.
I had taken the highways, figuring I’d get there faster if I really flew. I bailed off of I-75 just before the International Bridge, took Ashmun Street into town, across the power canal, right under the dark window of Leon’s office. I headed west on Portage Street, and then got off onto the dirt road that ran under the bridge. As I roared past the old drive-in restaurant, they must have wondered where the hell I was going so fast, but I wasn’t about to stop and explain.
I slowed down to cross the railroad tracks. I rolled past some abandoned warehouses, and a quiet, empty old house. I didn’t see any numbers. How the hell was I going to find number eleven?
There were a couple cars parked on the street. I couldn’t imagine who would be down here after dark. I looked for Bennett’s Explorer, then remembered it wouldn’t be here. It was still impounded by the police. I looked for Jackie’s Lincoln instead. I didn’t see it anywhere.
I stopped just as the pavement was about to end. Beyond that was an old railroad spur, leading down a quarter mile to the pier itself. There was a time when boats would unload onto trains here, but that was all a distant memory. There was nothing now but a few brick buildings, rusted railroad tracks, tall weeds, and the damp smell of the St. Marys River. Whatever Bennett was up to, he picked a hell of a place to do it.
I took the gun out of my truck with me, and approached the nearest building. The front door had a “15” stenciled on the glass. There was a thick layer of dust on the glass, and nothing but total darkness behind it. All the door needed was a big spider web, but apparently even the spiders had given up on the place.
I moved to the next building. This door was solid wood, and there was an “13” scratched on it with white chalk. The next one down had to be 11.
It was a two-story building with a metal roof. It had probably held a lot of cargo off the river, back when it was in business. You could have done something with it if you had enough money-maybe turn it into a bar or something. Nobody had thought of that yet. I tried the front door. It was locked.
There was a narrow alley on one side of the building, a wider alley on the other-wide enough that you could drive a vehicle around to the back. I took the wide alley, passing under a few dark windows, all made from those thick squares of glass you see in old factories and other places you’re glad you never have to see the inside of. The ground was rutted and overgrown with weeds. The light of a half moon was reflected in a hundred small puddles.
When I got around to the back of the place, there was an old wooden loading dock and a semi trailer that looked like it had been sitting there for thirty years, everything glowing in the moonlight like something out of a black-and-white movie. Bennett, I’m going to kill you, I said to myself. If you’re not dead already.
I went up some cement stairs to the loading dock. There were two large roll-down doors that I wasn’t going to try opening. Beyond that was a regular metal door. I stood there for a moment, deciding how to play it. I could have yelled Bennett’s name, but I didn’t want to spook anybody if they were in the middle of something.
Okay, I thought, just go in quiet. If you see something going on, then do whatever you have to do. If you don’t see anything, then start calling out some names.
The door was ajar. It made a horrible metallic screech as I pushed it open.
It was dark inside.
Okay, time to make some noise. “Bennett!”
The gun blast ripped through everything. I fell to the ground. It was all sudden noise and pain and fear as another blast hit the wall behind me, then another. Then a great weight fell onto my back, and I thought, this is it. I’m dead right here.
“It’s me!” I yelled. “It’s Alex!”
There was a silence, or at least no more gunshots. With the ringing in my ears, it felt like I’d never hear true silence ever again. The weight on my back pressed me to the ground.
Finally, a voice. “Alex? Is that you?”
“Yes!”
“Are you all right?”
“Get this off of me!”
I heard footsteps, and then the weight was lifted off my back, whatever the hell it was. Strong arms grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me up to a sitting position. “Alex, my God,” somebody said.
A light came on, blinding me. “Oh shit. Look at him.”
“Will somebody tell me what the fuck is going on?” I said. “You almost blew my head off!”
The light kept blinding me.
“And will you get that flashlight out of my face?”
