“El was one of my favorite students,” she said.
“Ella Elbers?” I asked.
She nodded, not at all surprised that I knew the young lady’s name.
“She was utterly fearless,” Ms. Bosland said. “My first year in Deer River, it was decided that the school would put on a play—an abridged version of Macbeth. This was not my idea, I assure you. Deer River did not have the resources for such a production. Despite my opposition, however, I was chosen to direct. Low girl on the totem pole, I was told. In retrospect, I believe the principal did not entirely approve of me or my”—she quoted the air—“graduate school notions of education and was hoping for failure. Any excuse to be rid of me. It’s ironic, when you think about it. I’m from Rochester, Minnesota, and wanted very much to teach there. Jobs are scarce, however. It took me two years to secure this position. Now he’s teaching in Rochester and I’m the principal.”
“You’re doing a very good job,” Susko said.
“Thank you.”
“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,” I said.
“Yes, yes, Macbeth,” Ms. Bosland said. “El was supposed to play Lady Macbeth. However, at the last possible moment, the boy who was cast to play the lead dropped out. I don’t know if it was stage fright or hepatitis C or what.”
“He might have decided, his friends and family might have convinced him, that it wasn’t manly to be an actor,” Susko said. “Although, given the number of people Macbeth slaughtered…”
“We were going to cancel the production until El stood on a chair and started reciting Macbeth’s speech just before he murders Duncan—Is this a dagger that I see before me, the handle toward my hand? She had memorized both parts. I found that astonishing. So the show went on with El playing Macbeth. It was the fiasco our dearly departed principal had hoped for. Lights blew out; actors forgot their lines; El’s understudy, the girl who played Lady Macbeth, she was like a deer in the headlights. Cyndy Desler, the young woman who now runs O’Malley’s—I believe you spoke to her earlier this evening. She was Great Birnam Wood. Her sole responsibility was to push a couple of cardboard trees across the stage. They fell over. One of them landed in the lap of a grandmother in the first row. Everyone laughed—except when El was on. She held the stage, as they say. When it all mercifully ended, the audience gave her a standing ovation.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“At the beginning of the school year—I was made principal in August—El gave me a hand-carved ivory cameo trimmed with fourteen-karat yellow gold and said I was the best teacher she ever had. I had the cameo appraised. It was worth six hundred dollars. I wasn’t the only one, either. She has given expensive gifts to a great many of her acquaintances. Now, you tell me, Mr. McKenzie. A twenty-two-year-old girl living with friends in Minneapolis—how could she afford such generosity?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
The two women exchanged glances; whatever message was passed was too subtle for me to read. I filled the silence that followed with a question.
“You told me before to make sure I wasn’t followed. Why would anyone follow me?”
“Everyone knows you’re here to learn about El,” Ms. Bosland said.
“Who’s everyone?”
“It’s Deer River. People look out for each other.”
See, you were right about small towns, my inner voice said.
“Okay,” I said aloud. “Then tell me what is it that they’re afraid I’ll learn.”
The women gave each other another glance; another private message was exchanged.
“It would be better if people didn’t know we were helping you,” Susko said.
“You mean besides the kid at the bar?”
Susko glanced at the bullyboy, yet Ms. Bosland did not, which made me think she already knew he was there.
“His name is Tim Foley,” Susko said. “A former student.”
“They’re all former students,” Ms. Bosland added.
“He’s probably wondering why we let you sit here.”
“Why did you let me sit here?” I asked.
“We want to help El if we can, Mr. McKenzie,” Ms. Bosland said. “If you could tell us where she is…”
Once again my internal alarm systems went off; once again I was reminded that I wasn’t the only one looking for El. I tried not to show it.
“I don’t know where she is,” I said.
The women leaned away from the table simultaneously and passed yet another clandestine message.
“Stop that,” I said.
“McKenzie,” Ms. Bosland said, “why are you looking for El?”
“I think she’s in trouble. I want to help.”
“What kind of trouble is she in?”
“I don’t know.”
“What kind of help will you give her?”
“That depends on why she’s in trouble and with whom.”
“What if it’s none of your business?”
Four guns and five thousand in cash makes it your business, my inner voice said.
“She can tell me so when I find her,” I said aloud. “Your turn.”
“My turn?”
“Why are you trying to help her?”
Ms. Bosland spoke solemnly, as if all the answers to all the questions in the universe could be found in her words.
“I’m a teacher,” she said.
While I let that settle over me, Susko said, “We believe El is involved with some dangerous people.”
Ms. Bosland said, “The last time we saw her she seemed so frightened.”
“What people?” I asked.
“People from the Cities.”
“Not her Deer River friends, the ones who went to the Cities with her?”
“No, of course not.”
“Can you tell me who they are, these dangerous people?”
Both women shook their heads.
“Can you tell me what made her afraid?”
They shook their heads again.
“Have you any idea what El’s involved in?”
And still more head shaking.
“We were hoping you could tell us,” Susko said.
“What about her family?”
“There’s only her mother and her little sister, Ellen,” Susko said. “El-2, they call her. She’s a sophomore at DR. She and her older sister are very close, yet she hasn’t heard from El in over six weeks and she’s very concerned.”
“How do you know?”
“She’s in my homeroom.”
“That doesn’t tell me very much.”
“We need to be careful.”
“You keep saying that. I’m beginning to think that’s why the kid is sitting at the bar watching every move I make. What’s his name? Tim? He’s your bodyguard, isn’t he?”
“All we know about you is that you’re from the Cities,” Susko said.
“I could be one of the people El is afraid of. Fair enough.”
“That’s not the only reason he’s there,” Ms. Bosland said.
My inner voice said, Oh puhleez. Aloud I said only, “Oh?”
“We want answers, McKenzie. No more beating about the proverbial bush. Who are you? Why did you come to Deer River? Don’t you dare tell me you just want to help.”
“Don’t you tell me you’re just looking out for a former student.”
Ms. Bosland turned her head toward the bar and gestured with her pretty chin. The bullyboy rose from the stool and shuffled toward us.
“Seriously?” I said.
The women watched as the bullyboy moved closer to the booth. He swept the ends of his coat back to reveal the wheel gun clipped to his belt, looking every bit like a Wild West gunfighter about to throw down on a hapless sodbuster in the Long Branch Saloon. Probably I should have been conciliatory, should have found a way to defuse the situation. I might have, too. Except he said, “Is this dumb fuck from Minneapolis giving you trouble?” and I lost all interest in diplomacy.
; I came out of the booth, my right fist leading the way, and caught him just below the eye. He flew backward and bounced off an empty table, a chair, and finally the floor. I was quick to his side. I pulled his gun from the holster and held it by the butt with two fingers as if it were something you didn’t want to handle without washing your hands afterward.
“You pulled a gun on me.” I spoke loudly enough for the entire room to hear. “Talking quietly with an old friend from Rochester and you pull a gun on me because you’re jealous. Did you see that?”
Nearly all the customers of the Northern Lights Inn were now watching me. Most of them hadn’t seen what happened. The spectacle of the bullyboy on his back cursing as he massaged his face coupled with my words, though, would convince them that they had. Enough of them would support my story that I didn’t need to worry should the county deputies be summoned.
The way the help responded, however, I doubted a call would be made. One employee took the gun from my hand and asked if I was all right. Another apologized profusely and said drinks were on the house. A third helped lift the bullyboy off the floor, telling him, “This is the last straw, Foley. I don’t want to see you in here ever again.”
I turned toward the ladies, glancing first at Ms. Bosland, who seemed genuinely unstrung, then at Susko, who was busy gathering up her belongings.
“I don’t know what you ladies offered this young man to stand up for you, but he’s going to want more.”
“This was a mistake,” Susko said. “We should never have arranged this.”
Honestly, I didn’t know if she was talking to Ms. Bosland or me.
“Why did you—”
“Don’t talk to me,” she said.
She hustled out of the inn, leaving her friend sitting alone in the booth.
That was silly, my inner voice told me. Punching that poor kid.
He had a gun.
Since when are you afraid of guns?
It’s the principle of the thing.
Principle my ass. You hit him because he called you a dumb fuck from Minneapolis.
I’m from St. Paul.
No one cares.
Ms. Bosland was still in the booth. She was staring at me with a peculiar expression on her face, as if she couldn’t decide whether she was horrified or impressed.
Why don’t you get the hell outta here before you make it worse?
* * *
And then it got worse.
I realized it the moment I stepped out of the Northern Lights Inn and found the two young men who had been following me earlier—the men I thought I had evaded—flanking my Jeep Cherokee. Their heavy winter coats were zipped to the throat and their gloved hands were empty, so I walked toward them. They separated, one moving to my right, the other to the left, as if they knew exactly what they were doing. We stopped, forming a triangle, each just out of striking distance from the other, our breath floating like a cloud above our heads in the frigid night air.
“I admire your persistence,” I said.
“There are just so many places you can go up here if you’re not going home,” said the taller of the two.
Ms. Bosland emerged from the bar, followed closely by the bullyboy. He said something and Ms. Bosland spun around and gave him a hug. She spoke quickly, buzzed his cheek, and hurried to a car not far from the entrance. The engine was already running, and the vehicle drove off the moment Ms. Bosland settled into the passenger seat.
“Did you see that?” the taller young man asked.
“Yeah, Tim Foley and Ms. Bosland,” the smaller one said. “Wonder what that’s all about.”
“Man, what do you think it’s all about?”
“I had her, you know, Ms. Bosland, before she became principal. I had her for geometry. Never missed a day, never a minute late to class, yet I didn’t learn a damn thing.”
“That’s cuz you confused it with biology.”
Both young men laughed like it was a joke they had shared before.
“Guys,” I said. “Remember me?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, McKenzie,” the smaller said.
“We don’t like when strangers come around asking about our friends,” the taller said.
It wasn’t fear that caused my body to shiver, only the simple act of moving from the toasty warmth of the inn into the subzero parking lot. Still, it’s hard to fight outside in Minnesota in the winter, especially when the temperature dips down to negative digits. The spirit might be willing, but the flesh is layered with bulky coats and sweaters, not to mention thermal underwear, and covered with thick gloves, cumbersome boots, and stocking hats. Which isn’t to say that you can’t hurt a guy through all that padding. It just takes a lot more effort.
“We think you should go home,” said the smaller.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay what?”
“Okay, I’ll stop asking questions and go home.”
The two young men glanced at each other, an expression of skepticism on their faces.
“I know you don’t believe this, but Ella is my friend, too,” I said. “I’m trying to help her.”
“You’re right,” the taller said. “We don’t believe you.”
“You didn’t even know her name until M told you,” said the smaller.
They both took a step closer.
“Guys,” I said. “Please. Don’t do this. It’s really cold.”
“You came to the wrong town, old man,” the smaller said.
Old man?
“You might be twenty years younger, but I’m twenty years smarter,” I said.
The way they kept coming, I didn’t think they believed me.
Legs, legs, my inner voice reminded me. Without karate’s emphasis on the use of legs, it would be virtually impossible to defend against two or more attackers. I stepped backward and brought my hands up, keeping my eyes on both young men at the same time. If I could disable one fast enough, the other might back off. I decided to go after the taller one first, thinking a front kick to the groin might do the trick, if I could get my heavy boot up fast enough.
That’s when I heard the voice screaming behind me.
“You sonuvabitch.”
The two young men stopped advancing and turned their heads to look, so I did the same. The bullyboy called Tim Foley was sprinting across the parking lot and closing fast. He was waving a tire iron above his head with his right hand. Apparently the staff of the Northern Lights Inn had refused to return his gun.
Well, good for them.
When he came close enough, the bullyboy swept the tire iron in a downward arch, aiming for my head. I stepped inside the blow, which seemed to surprise him. The tire iron hit nothing but air. At the same time, I grabbed his right arm and shoulder, then squatted and turned, heaving him up over my hip, which was more judo than karate, but what the hell. He landed on the ice-packed pavement with a solid thud and slid forward, dropping his weapon. The bullyboy’s momentum carried him into the legs of the taller young man, knocking him down like a bowling pin, which wasn’t my intention yet pleased me just the same. The smaller man went to his friend’s side. There was some moaning and groaning that I didn’t pay much attention to. Instead, I picked up the tire iron and turned toward the trio.
“What the hell, Foley?” the smaller man said.
Tim rolled to his knees and fought to keep from vomiting.
“He’s asking questions about El,” he said.
“Are you sure it’s not because he made you look bad in front of Ms. Bosland?” the smaller man said.
“Fuck you.”
“Whatever.”
The smaller man was trying to help the taller man up. He saw me standing there with the tire iron in my hands and let him fall back down again. He brought his hands up like he was saying no to a second helping of ice cream.
“Now, mister…”
“Seriously,” I said. “I’m going home. You got a problem with that?”
“Me? No. Hell no. You drive carefully now,
you hear?”
I flung the tire iron into the darkness beyond the lights of the parking lot. That didn’t seem to make any difference to him. I went to the Jeep Cherokee while he helped his buddy to his feet. We all ignored the bullyboy.
I started the Cherokee and drove off. I kept checking my rearview mirror. If the young men were following again, they did it with their headlights off.
* * *
The parking lot was virtually deserted by the time I reached O’Malley’s—midnight on a cold weekday in Deer River, I decided. I stepped inside. Two older men maneuvered around me and out the door, leaving the bar empty.
“Good night, M,” one shouted.
I didn’t see her, but I heard Cyndy’s voice in reply.
“’Night.”
I glanced inside the restaurant. It was also empty except for a middle-aged couple sitting at a table for two and having the kind of fierce whispered discussion that rarely ends well. I unzipped my coat, stuffed my hat and gloves in my pockets, drifted to the jukebox, pumped in a couple of quarters, and selected a song.
Please allow me to introduce myself, I’m a man of wealth and taste …
Cyndy appeared from wherever she was hiding.
“Sorry, we’re closing early … Oh, crap.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” I said.
“What are you doing here?”
“You said to stop by on my way home.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Just taking the advice of the two young men you sent after me.”
Her eyes grew wide and an expression of concern crossed her face.
“Are they all right?” she asked.
“Why wouldn’t they be?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she gestured with her chin at the jukebox.
“I’ve never liked that song,” Cyndy said. “Why should the devil get any sympathy?”
“Because he’s so misunderstood?”
Cyndy retreated behind the bar. She took two glasses and a bottle of Jim Beam and set them in front of her.
“Join me,” she said.
I removed my coat and laid it across the pool table. Just as I was settling on a stool, the middle-aged couple left the restaurant. They were holding hands as they exited the door.
Unidentified Woman #15 Page 9
