by Chuck Logan
378 / CHUCK LOGAN
“We moved into the lodge and at first Chris was really against it.
He wanted to go back home. But it was like one big party. Chris and I could do whatever we wanted. Like no curfew. I could stay out all night with Mitch if I wanted. Bud let Chris smoke and even drink with him. And that’s when Mom made her first mistake. She was always downtown at that office they opened up, driving Bud’s new Jeep, being important, going to meetings with Don Karson.
Chris didn’t have to answer to anybody.”
“And what was your dad doing?” asked Randall.
“Getting furious. Bud wasn’t afraid of him like the other men in town. He owned the town. So he got the prettiest girl in town.”
She walked to the screen door and traced with her finger on the mesh. “Then Jay Cox drove up one day in an old truck full of tools and it all changed.”
“Last summer,” said Harry.
“May,” she sighed. “Bud and Jay went to the bank and Jay bought a new truck and a trailer and some land.”
“Apparently Cox decided that keeping Bud out of politics wasn’t enough,” said Randall dryly.
Becky nodded. “Jay figured Bud owed him a life-time job to keep his mouth shut. But we didn’t know that then. Next thing, Jay had these plans drawn up and he starts in on the lodge. Mom started getting nervous about Jay’s hold over Bud. But she thought the lodge was a good business idea, so Bud let her take over the finances.”
She shivered violently. “Bud would sit up all night and drink and stare at the fireplace. Sometimes he’d build a fire and it was June.
“Bud left dope around and Chris started getting high a lot and trying to shock people. Then dumbass Don Karson came to Bud about the mess at school, the silly gossip about Chris being gay.
And I was feeling like a real fool because the kids were saying that my brother had the hots for my boyfriend.”
Becky shook her head from side to side. “Karson should have talked to Mom and Dad. Chris was real vulnerable and Bud started getting him off alone. Mom was in this panic, Bud HUNTER’S MOON / 379
was falling apart on her. She didn’t see…or she pretended not to.
“He said he wanted to show Chris something, this secret place up on the ridge he found when he was a kid. When they got there, he said he needed to talk and he swore Chris to secrecy never to tell Mom. He said Jay was blackmailing him and that Jay was…sick, that’s why he took those pills all the time…”
A tear worked its way down her cheek.
“He confessed to Chris and told him how he had to leave the city and politics because Jay threatened to tell about him having a secret boyfriend. That’s when he showed Chris the pictures of Martin from the war. And that’s when the weird stuff started with the drugs. And Chris got that tattoo.
“Then Jay caught Chris and Bud together up there. It was ugly.
Chris was passed out stoned and…Jay…stopped…Bud and was going to tell Mom, but Bud had already started to turn it around.
He pointed out that Jay had taken money and so he was a blackmail-er.
“Chris told me how Bud got him high and…did things to him and it got very weird at the lodge. All of us, except Mom, were knee-deep in secrets and it stayed that way all summer. Jay was building the addition and the cabins and Mom was getting more and more nervous watching Bud sit there and drink and get fat.
“Except now Jay protected Chris from Bud and told him what really happened with that Martin guy and the medal. It was starting to stink. Mom’d see Chris and I whispering and Chris talking to Jay.
And I think that’s when Bud Maston decided to get rid of all of us.
“So Chris and I tried to talk Mom into going back to Dad. And she did…a little. She always did when she got scared. And that’s when Bud laid his trap. It was his idea. The million dollars.”
Seeing the expression on Harry’s face, she laughed bitterly through her tears. “God, why are you so surprised? What do you think people are? You and Chris. You want to believe in
380 / CHUCK LOGAN
knights in shining armor.” She rolled her eyes. “They agreed on the divorce settlement before they got married.”
“You just watched it, didn’t you?” Harry said quietly.
She touched his cheek. “Hush,” she said in a voice that chilled him. “Let me tell it all.”
Harry glanced at Randall and Hollywood, who observed Becky with quiet fascination.
“God, you’re so dumb,” said Becky. “They were all guilty! They made a deal. Mom, Jay, and Bud. Right at the dining room table.
Bud told Mom a cleaner version of what Hector said. How Jay could ruin his reputation. And how she could help him satisfy Jay and get what she really wanted, which was enough money to get away from Stanley. Think! Why the hell would Bud Maston, one of the richest guys in the state, marry my mom? He needed a way to pay off Cox so they couldn’t trace the money, you know, later when he got back in politics.”
“You were there?” Randall asked.
“Sure,” said Becky. “That way Chris and I were involved. Bud was real sorry and said he wanted to make amends and settle it once and for all. But the main thing he said was a million dollars. Mom and him would get married, then split up in this big fight, which wouldn’t surprise anybody. Bud would agree to a big divorce settlement. The lodge, the lake, and his land. The money.”
Down the highway, the piano player banged insistently on one key.
“All she ever wanted was to be on her own. She couldn’t resist it.” Becky began to cry silently. “We were so pissed at her. Chris blew up and hit Bud and Mom called the cops and it was a real scene. Everybody left. I drove into town in Mom’s car and ran into these two guys at the Cruiser, they’re on the hockey team, friends of Mitch’s, and I was feeling kind of crazy and mad at Mom and I said, well, nobody’s home and Chris has this weed and there’s lots to drink and we…”
She buried her hands in her hair and gagged on her words. “Do I have to say this to three guys?”
HUNTER’S MOON / 381
Randall shifted in his chair. Hollywood tugged on his ear-lobe.
“We went back home and I got really loaded and I just didn’t give a shit…I hear this awful laughter and I look up and there’s Bud on the balcony with a camera. Those guys deserted me, grabbed their clothes, and ran like hell. And Bud said if I didn’t keep my mouth shut he’d show the pictures to Mitch and my dad.”
Becky began to sob. “Except one of those guys made a crack to Mitch, and Mitch beat him up for it. And now when the whole truth comes out he probably won’t have anything to do with me.”
Randall exhaled, cleared his throat. “Keep going.”
Becky wiped away the tears and took a deep breath. “We wouldn’t go to the phony wedding. Chris said we couldn’t trust anybody except each other and we couldn’t tell Dad after what we’d done. He decided it was up to him to get Mom away from Bud before she took any money. So he broke into Dad’s place and stole that gun.
Then he got caught with it at school and Dad jumped in and got him off.”
“Did Emery know any of this?” asked Harry.
“He was suspicious. Mom had started to make up, then suddenly she marries Bud. How could anybody know. I wouldn’t even talk to Mitch.
“Dad tried like hell to get Chris to tell him what was going on out at the lodge, but Chris just wanted to learn to shoot. Then he dared Bud to take him hunting. Like a challenge.”
“So he did go out there planning to nail Bud Maston,” said Hollywood.
“I don’t know, he wanted to face him with a gun. He said he’d been down into the spider heart and he had to get clean.”
Randall and Hollywood exchanged quizzical glances, but Harry understood it perfectly. When he wrote his story he was romanticiz-ing Martin, but when he went into the woods, he was his father’s son.
Becky smoothed a hand down her braided hair and turned her profile to the setting sun. “Th
e last part of the deal was 382 / CHUCK LOGAN
bringing Harry up so he would think Mom was taking advantage of Bud. Bud said Harry would ‘rescue’ him.” She turned to face Harry. “And you did, didn’t you?”
Long shadows twisted across the room and snatches of raucous laughter drifted from the cantina and mingled with the steam of sagebrush in the boiling air.
Becky held up her hands and let them drop. “Then…everybody became Bud’s puppets while he played poor, drunk Bud and just…amused himself. Jay and Chris freaked because you looked like Martin.” She exhaled and stared out over the desert. “But Mom liked you. She thought she could trust you…”
She cocked her head and a queer reverence crept into her voice.
“Bud’s an…artist and Jay said he can turn on a dime. He makes a picture in his head, then he fits the right people at the right time to make it come true.”
Hollywood stepped forward. “You have to go on the record with this, Becky. Back in Minnesota.”
Becky squinted at him. “You’re like a cop, aren’t you? Am I arrested or anything?”
“I’m like a cop,” said Hollywood. “And I just talked to Mike Hakala in Maston County—”
“Yeah?” Becky gritted her teeth.
“No formal charges have been brought in the deaths of your mother and Cox. In fact, they haven’t even made it public yet. The sheriff’s deputy you guys had the run-in with? Hakala said that was just a family misunderstanding. He said that the best thing for you and your family would be for the both of you to go back there.”
Becky shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said.
“Good,” said Hollywood. “Hakala wants me to formally depose Mr. Hector Cruz, get it on tape this time, and send it back with you.”
“What’s going on?” asked Harry.
“Local jurisdiction. Time is standing still in Maston County, Minnesota. They have Maston sealed off at his house, HUNTER’S MOON / 383
no phone, no wheels, and no official explanation,” said Hollywood as he moved to the door.
“Where are you going?” asked Harry.
“Out of earshot of the rest of this conversation.”
“Mom talked to Bud in the hospital right after he got shot and he accused her and Cox of trying to kill him. But they were stuck with it, he said, and nothing had changed, the deal was still on. She should get mad and wreck up the lodge and take money out of the bank and communicate through you, Harry. He knew that you couldn’t let it lay, that you’d come back.”
“Do you think this is some damn game where if you figure out the pieces you win, Becky? Are you really that smart?” said Harry.
“Indeed she is,” said Randall.
“You mean, for a kid?” Her smile was elemental, catlike. “It goes deeper than that. Miss Loretta says, you shouldn’t try to build a road through the forest. You should look for the path that’s already there.”
“Quit fucking around, Becky, this is serious shit were in,” said Harry.
“The problem is, if I talk to Mitch’s father, there’s enough to arrest him on suspicion,” said Becky very deliberately. “But I’m not a good witness, am I? Bud would make it all sound like it was part of the blackmail thing. And he has pictures of me with my clothes off. And he’d show those pictures to people in court too. Well, wouldn’t he?”
“Very likely,” said Randall.
“So if it gets to court, a jury wouldn’t believe me. Never in a million years. And who will they believe now that Jay’s dead? That guy Hector or poor rich Bud?”
She turned to Harry. “Juries believe facts. Jerry Hakala will have to put his hand on a Bible and say who he saw come out of the trailer with the gun in his hand. Not what he might believe but what he saw. They’ll ask Mitch and me what we saw when we drove up.
Harry again, all bloody, spaced out in
384 / CHUCK LOGAN
the Jeep with the gun.” Becky raised her chin as Randall and Harry weighed the full weight of her words.
“The law—” Harry insisted.
“Law’s for right and wrong. He’s evil,” she charged, standing up straight.
And Randall, with his pale eyes that loved secrets and his wisdom that could be as ruthlessly practical as locks and keys—and as cold—smiled his bland, accommodating smile. “Bud missed the obvious thing that can literally kill him, isn’t that so, Becky?”
Desert sunset laved the darkened room and Becky raised her face from shadow and stole a Moment of proud beauty from the red rock light. In simple sentences, she showed Harry the way out.
61
It was last day of hunting season. A stream of vehicles with deer carcasses lashed to their roofs or trundling behind on flatbed trailers traveled south. Harry drove north on Highway 61
in the rattling Ford. The .45 was back in his waistband, making a steel angle in his lap. He wore soft buckskin gloves.
In his rearview mirror Harry could see Mike Hakala hunched in the front seat of his Bronco, talking to Randall.
Becky rode with Mitch Hakala behind the Bronco. Jerry Hakala, who’d apparently patched up his differences with Mitch, brought up the rear.
No one in Maston County law enforcement had slept much the night before.
Harry had declined to clean up and his hair stuck at odd angles and his face was a grease of sweat, lumped nose, livid scars, and dark stubble. His eyes were bloodshot behind Jesse’s sunglasses.
The caravan turned up Highway 7. About a mile from the lodge, Hakala flashed his headlights. Harry pulled over.
HUNTER’S MOON / 385
Hakala parked on the shoulder in back of him. Mitch raced on up the slope with Becky. Jerry followed them. Mike Hakala walked up and Harry rolled down the window.
“Give Becky about an hour to get in place. You go in in thirty minutes.”
Harry nodded.
Hakala scanned the chilly pine crowns. “You, ah, want to wait back with us?”
Harry shook his head. He wanted to be alone.
Thirty minutes later, Randall leaned out his window and sliced his hand forward. “Go!” Harry took a last drag off his Camel and hotboxed it until his throat was raw as a scream. His gloved fingers shook as he flicked the butt out the window. He hadn’t slept on the flight back from Phoenix. Past fatigue. They all were. In the grip of that extreme moral dimension where…
Fuck it.
He put the car in gear and drove the last mile to the lodge. Two County Blazers blocked the turnoff, their windshields faceless oblong mirrors full of clouds. They pulled back to let him pass. Bud’s rental Trooper was stranded, all four tires flat, in the driveway, Bud sat in a rocking chair, in front of the lodge. He hadn’t changed his clothes except for trading his wing tips for Sorel boots and his overcoat for a heavy down parka. He held the 12-gauge across his thighs.
Harry got out of the car and removed the sunglasses in case Bud thought there might be mercy in his eyes.
The chair creaked, rocking back and forth. “I been thinking,” Bud mused. “This is what Teddy Kennedy must have felt like after Chappaquiddick. How incredibly fucked up things get.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I’m not.” He exuded the confident sadism of a general reviewing the regrettable collateral damage. He sighed and stood up. “Nothing works the way it should anymore. Like, why aren’t you in jail?” He nodded at the Trooper. “See what
386 / CHUCK LOGAN
they did to my car? And the phone went dead.” Bud swung the shotgun in an idle arc. “Couple dozen of the fuckers out there round the clock. Just watching me. Jerry Hakala dropped in this morning.
Guess Emery’s going to be suspended…” Bud smiled.
“Unless he goes through drug-dependency treatment. They got him in the hospital,” said Harry with his own bleak smile.
“Where would we be without the self-help movement, eh, Harry?”
Bud said.
The butchery in the trailer screamed unanswer
ed in the silence between them. Perhaps he thought their conversation was being recorded.
Bud grinned, reading Harry’s thoughts. “Apparently I’m being held in protective custody.” His brilliant blue eyes sliced the air.
“When I get done in court, this county will look like Carthage after the Romans were through with it.”
He arched his back, working the kinks out of his neck. “They’ve even got some kind of drum. Last night they were beating on it. Sub-humans.”
He tossed the Remington on his shoulder, walked to the Escort, and kicked a patch of rust on the fender. “She always wanted a new car. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch.” He turned to Harry. “So fill me in. Nobody’s talking to me.”
“We’re supposed to bring Becky in.”
“Where is she?”
“In the woods. They think you know where to find her.”
“Did you fuck her, Harry?” Bud smiled.
The muscle in Harry’s left cheek twitched.
“Not even just a little bit?” Bud grinned broadly. “Well, they’re right. We have to collect her. Loose end. She’s the smartest of the whole bunch, you know.”
“I know,” said Harry.
“Harry, I can understand you being pissed off, but you’ll see, it’s the only way for it to work out.”
“She told me all about it.”
“About what?”
“The divorce deal. You and Cox. The Ballad of Martin HUNTER’S MOON / 387
Kessler. Randall did a little digging around. Introduced me to a guy.
Lance Corporal Hector Cruz. Remember him? He remembers you.”
Harry uncoiled and knocked the shotgun from Bud’s shoulder, kicked it away with a swipe of Jay Cox’s boots. He unbuttoned his jacket so Bud could see the .45 in his belt.
Bud smiled. Totally relaxed. Maybe he was adapting. “What a bunch of losers, huh?” He removed a glove. His fingernails were clipped and buffed, meticulously clean. He picked briefly at the scab on his lip, put the glove back on.
Harry rested his hand on the pistol butt. “Let’s take a stroll in the woods.”
“Psycho-drama, Harry? Returning to the scene of past and future crimes?”
“Move!”
“It was so perfect,” said Bud. “God, the look in Cox’s eyes when he saw you for the first time.” Bud chuckled as they trudged down the snowmobile trail along the lakeshore. He threw out his arms and danced ahead.
