“And your friend?”
“He’s down for good,” I said.
The man narrowed his eyes. “Your business in Canada this morning, sir?”
“Just taking him home,” I said.
“He’s Canadian?”
“I’m afraid so. He’s one of yours.”
“Think you could slip his wallet out from underneath him, sir?”
“His wallet’s long gone,” I said. “Lost it. Or had it stolen. He’s had kind of a rough night. When I closed the bar, I thought maybe I’d do the right thing, make sure he got back where he belonged.”
“You own a bar, sir?”
“Don’t I wish,” I said. “I just work there a few nights a week.”
“Which bar would that be, sir?”
“Glasgow Inn. You ever been there?”
“No, sir. Don’t believe so. Apparently, this is part of the service, eh?”
The man was loosening up a little bit. He was even starting to sound like a Canadian.
“Like I said, just trying to do the right thing.”
“Any alcohol or firearms in your vehicle?”
“No,” I said. It felt good to say one thing to the man that wasn’t a lie.
“Have a good morning,” he said.
Vinnie waited until we were a hundred yards past the booth. “That was real cute,” he finally said. “You had fun with that one.”
“Matter of fact.”
I could tell he was about to say something else. He stopped himself and just shook his head. He didn’t say a word as we made our way through the quiet streets of Soo Canada. It’s a large city by Canadian standards, about four times bigger than Soo Michigan. But there’s something about the place, something I could never put my finger on. It always seemed a little forlorn to me. This cold, gray morning seemed like a permanent part of the city itself.
“You need a donut?” I said.
He shook his head.
“You gonna be this way all the way up there?”
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. “You know how it is with us Indians,” he said. “One bad night and we’re down for the count.”
We took 17 north, out of the city and up the Lake Superior coastline. The fog was still heavy on the water as we rounded Batchawana Bay. An hour later, we passed through a small town called Montreal River, and then it was another hour to make our way through the Lake Superior Provincial Park. There was nothing but trees and an occasional glimpse of the lake, stretching out beyond the fog.
“Anytime you want to speak up,” I said. “Telling me where we’re going, for instance.”
Vinnie opened his eyes. “Go to White River,” he said. “Then take a right.”
“White River’s another two hours away.”
“What time is it?” he said.
“Little after nine.”
He picked up my cell phone. “We still get a signal up here?”
“I imagine,” I said. “On this road, anyway. Try it.”
He turned it on and dialed a number. “I’m gonna try Albright’s number again.” He listened for a short while, then he hung up.
“No dice?”
“He’s not picking up.”
“You said you left a message last time?”
“Yeah, I asked him to call my mother’s number. I said I was a member of Vinnie’s family, and was wondering why he hadn’t come back home yet.”
“You don’t think this has gotten to the point where you should come clean?”
“Does it really matter who they think he is? Either way, they should have brought him back three days ago.”
“I just don’t see how this lie is gonna help.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Tell me again. You don’t know anything else about this Albright guy? Where he works?”
“No, I really don’t. Tom didn’t tell me, anyway.”
“What’s his first name?”
“Red.”
“Sounds more like a nickname.”
“I know. Tom said his name was Red Albright, and he had four other guys, all experienced hunters, that they were heading for this lodge on Lake Peetwaniquot, and that they’d pick him up on the way.”
“Where, at his house?”
“They met him at the duty-free shop by the bridge. They said they’d be driving a black Chevy Suburban. I drove him over there.”
“But you didn’t see them. I mean, you weren’t there at the duty-free, hiding behind the cigarettes or anything.”
“No, Alex. I was not hiding behind the cigarettes.”
“You don’t know anything else about these men, other than the fact that they were going to pay your brother three thousand dollars?”
“Every one of my cousins has asked me that,” he said. “Every one of my uncles, two of my aunts, and, of course, my mother has asked me that maybe seven times on her own. The answer is no, I don’t know anything else. And I’ll give you the answer to your next question before you even ask it. Yes. Yes, I’m an idiot.”
“That one I didn’t need to ask,” I said. “So try the lodge again. Maybe their phone works today.”
“Maybe it does,” he said, punching in the number. After a moment, he hit the End button. “It still doesn’t go through.”
We rode on another few minutes, through more trees, then over a small bridge. I could see a large bird, maybe a hawk, circling over the road ahead.
“So when do you call the police?” I said. “I mean, I’m just wondering.”
He looked out the window. “I want to find him and bring him back home. Without getting him in big trouble.”
“If you can.”
“Yeah, if I can.”
“And if you can’t?”
“Then I call the police.”
“Okay,” I said.
“We take one shot at it,” he said. “That’s all I want to do.”
“Fair enough.”
We kept going. Four hours had passed. As we left the park, we saw signs for Wawa, the closest thing to a real town we’d see for the rest of the day, if you didn’t mind the name.
“You getting hungry yet?” he said.
“You read my mind. We’ll stop in Wawa, get some gas. See if they have a decent place to eat.”
The first thing we saw was a goose. It was a good twenty feet tall, and it was standing on a pedestal that had to be another ten feet. A giant goose head thirty feet in the air, looking down at you-that’s apparently how you know you’re in Wawa. There was another goose, this one only five feet tall, in front of the first store we saw, then another goose about the same size in front of the motel.
“They seem to have a thing about geese in this town,” I said.
“Where do you think the name comes from?”
I thought about it. “Wawa means goose?”
