“Shit!” he said. “What are you doing?”
“What does one of these babies cost?” I said. “Four hundred dollars? Five hundred?”
I swung at another box and heard more glass breaking.
“I’m calling the police,” he said. “You’re insane.”
“I think you’re right. I get that way when people gang up and beat the shit out of me.”
I hit another box. It was utterly and completely the most stupid thing I had ever done. I was committing a felony myself and probably screwing up the whole assault case against the three men who had attacked me. I was throwing everything right out the window. Grant made another move, but stopped himself short when I raised the crowbar at him.
“You’re a real tough guy with a club in your hand,” he said.
“That’s good coming from you,” I said. “Why don’t you call your brother and your brother-in-law over here so we can have an even fight again.”
He kept his hands up as he backed away from me. “You’re making a big mistake, McKnight.”
“I’m sure I am,” I said, dropping the crowbar on the floor with a loud clang. “Now it’s your turn. Let’s see what you’ve got, Grant.”
He took one look at my empty hands and came right at me. I gave him a side step and slipped a punch into his midsection. I followed that with an overhand left that sent him bouncing off the wall. He tried to wrap me up on the rebound, backing me up hard against the car. I got an elbow under his chin and pushed him away, just far enough to hit him again. He started punching back, but I didn’t care anymore. I had been carrying this rage around inside me for days, a secret even to myself, subconsciously nursing it and promising it that I’d give it some release. That time had come.
He hit me in the face a few times, hard enough to tear out some of my stitches. I could feel the blood running down the bridge of my nose. But I stayed close to him. I kept driving my fists into his stomach. I could feel him weakening.
He pushed me away and grabbed something off the workbench. A screwdriver. I backed up as he swung it at me. Once, then twice. A man with any sense would have checked out right then, but instead I timed the third swing and locked up his arm. I bent his elbow back, my face just inches from his.
“Drop it,” I hissed in his face. “Or I’ll break your arm in two.”
The screwdriver fell to the ground. When I let go of him, he tried to take one more swing at me. His last. I caught him right under the ribs with everything I had left. That sent him onto his hands and knees. He stayed that way for a long time, trying to breathe.
I stood over him, watching. I wiped the blood off my nose. He kept sucking air, trying to get something into his lungs. He sat down on the cement floor. Finally, he was able to speak.
“Enough,” he said. “God damn, enough.”
“Just stay right there,” I said. “Or I’ll kick your head in.”
“What the fuck. God damn.”
“Where does he live?”
“You can’t.”
“Where does he live?”
“I’m telling you, McKnight, he’ll kill you.”
“Sure, whatever,” I said. “Just tell me where he lives. He needs to tell me what he was doing up there.”
He was still breathing hard. “You still haven’t told me what you’re talking about.”
“Natalie was up there,” I said. “That’s where her mother lives.”
“Natalie who? Who are you talking about?”
“Natalie Reynaud. The woman who was with me at the hotel that night.”
“That night…” he said. “She was with you?”
“Yes,” I said. “I went up there looking for her, because I hadn’t heard from her since yesterday. Before I could find her, I saw Marty at the gas station.”
“No, it must have been someone else. What would he be doing up there?”
“It was him.”
“Just hold on,” he said. “There has to be some explanation. What did you say her name was again?”
“Natalie Reynaud.”
“Reynaud,” he said. “Reynaud.”
“You recognize the name?”
“Reynaud,” he said. “Yeah, it’s familiar.”
“Your father apparently left that hat for Natalie,” I said. “Do you have any idea why he might have done that?”
He stayed there on his butt. He shook his head slowly and didn’t say a word.
“The hell with it,” I said. “I’ll find his house.”
“Where does she live?”
“Excuse me?”
“Natalie Reynaud. You said her mother lives in Batchawana Bay. Where does Natalie live?”
“A little town,” I said. “A couple of hours northeast.”
“Blind River?”
That stopped me cold.
“Yes,” I said. “How did you know?”
“That’s where the devil lived.”
“Say that again?”
“The devil of Blind River,” he said. “That was something my father used to say. That’s where I remember the name. Somebody named Reynaud was the devil of Blind River.”
“When did he say this?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. It was… toward the end there. When I’d go see him. I thought he was just talking nonsense. He was sort of getting that way.”
That made me think of Mrs. DeMarco, all alone in her house, living in some phantom version of the far past.
“What else did he say, Grant?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Tell me.”
He thought about it. “He didn’t talk to me much. He spent a lot more time with Marty the last few years.”
“So maybe Marty has more of the story, you’re saying.”
He pushed himself up off the floor. “You can’t do that, man.”
“Says who?”
I was waiting for his last run. When he came up at me, I spun him around and sent him right back into the workbench. He hit the thing hard and started an avalanche of tools.
“You might as well give him a call,” I said. “Tell him I’m coming.”
I left him there to dig himself out from under the tools and went back outside. The cold air stung my face like all hell. I was still bleeding. When I got to the truck, I was already starting to feel dizzy. As the adrenaline slipped away, I held on to the door handle, hanging my head, watching the drops of blood collect in the snow.
I got in the truck, grabbed an old fast-food napkin and held it against my eyebrow. I closed my eyes and took a few long breaths. Time to call Leon, I thought. He can find out where Marty Grant lives. The phone rang just as I picked it up. I looked at the incoming number.
It was Natalie’s.
“Hello!” I said after I fumbled to hit the talk button. “Is that you?”
“Alex, what’s the matter?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at home,” she said. “Why are you breathing hard?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “But you first. Tell me what’s going on. Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m a little tired, but-”
