[2010] No Cry for Help

by Grant McKenzie

  “Joe Joe?” said Wallace.

  “You got it, dude.”

  Crow squeezed his cousin’s shoulder. “Is your brother ready for us?”

  “Yeah, dude, I’m to take you straight there. I’m told this ain’t a social call.”

  Crow lowered his voice. “What name is he using now?”

  JoeJoe rolled his eyes. “Cheveyo. It’s Hopi and means ‘spirit warrior’ or something. I don’t get it, we’re not Hopi.”

  Crow shrugged. “Basil doesn’t exactly inspire fear. You ever think of taking a new name?”

  JoeJoe grinned. “Bro threatened to call me Teetonka, which is Sioux for ‘talks too much.’ But what a mouthful. Nah, I’ll stick with what I got.”

  Wallace climbed out of the truck and JoeJoe quickly led the way to one of the smaller huts. A thin column of fragrant wood smoke rose from the chimney and an armed bodyguard stood outside the door.

  The guard was the size and shape of a shaved bull and even without the semi-automatic rifle clutched in his hands, he was an intimidating sight.

  He moved to block Wallace’s progress.

  “He’s with me,” said Crow.

  The guard moved his massive head from left to right. Once. “Cheveyo sees you alone.”

  Crow looked at Wallace apologetically.

  Wallace shrugged. “Must be my shoes.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Mr. Black sat in his vehicle at the base of the North Shore Mountains and studied the stationary red dot on his phone’s screen. It hadn’t moved in over twenty minutes and, according to the tracking data, it had stopped in the middle of unmapped territory.

  He switched to satellite view and zoomed in on the dot’s location, but all he could see from space was the same thing he saw out his own windshield: trees. Lots and lots of trees.

  Entering the forest in pursuit did not seem logical. He had no scouting reports and didn’t know what dangers may be concealed within the dense undergrowth. To make matters worse, according to the map there weren’t any roads that led to that location. Without local knowledge, it would be very easy to break an axle or worse on the rough terrain.

  He smiled thinly and without warmth. Wallace was proving more unpredictable than expected.

  After crossing the border, Wallace should have headed directly home. If he hadn’t foolishly crashed the van, Wallace could be in RCMP custody by now and trying to explain away the horror of a hastily covered crime scene.

  Unfortunately, Wallace hadn’t even driven by.

  Mr. Black studied the satellite map again. If Wallace had decided to hide out from the RCMP while he plotted his next move, he had chosen a good location. But without supplies, he couldn’t stay in the woods for long.

  The decision was simple.

  He would wait.

  Mr. Black was very good at waiting.

  CHAPTER 14

  Delilah padded down the hallway to the front door in her fluffy housecoat and moccasins. Her eyes were puffy and her mouth was uncomfortably dry. She lifted her hand in front of her face and huffed. The rankness of her own breath made her cringe.

  She needed toothpaste and coffee. Lots of coffee.

  An impatient fist thudded against the door frame for a third time, causing her teeth to grind and a shiver of irritation to march down her spine. She tempered her annoyance with a note of caution. It was too early for church recruiters or foolhardy salesmen.

  At least the doorbell was broken — one of Crow’s handyman I’ll-get-to-it-soon promises still lingering from last winter — or whoever was outside would likely be ringing that, too.

  “Hold on,” she called out, trying not to raise her voice and wake the girls, “I’m coming.”

  She felt more tired now than when she had first woken. Her conversation with Wallace and her fear for Alicia and the boys had made it impossible to fall back asleep after the men left. She kept getting up and checking on her sleeping girls.

  Just to watch them breathe.

  Just to be sure.

  Delilah opened the door and glowered up at the man on her doorstep. He was surrounded by three others. All dressed the same. Hats and handguns.

  Official, pompous and intimidating, they excreted testosterone. Which meant they weren’t there to deliver good news.

  “Shit, Marvin,” she groaned. “You know what time it is?”

  “Is Crow here?” asked Marvin.

  Delilah blinked, then crinkled her nose playfully. “You sound all grown up when you get direct like that, Marvy. Your voice is kinda growly. It’s nice.”

  Marvin’s cheeks reddened slightly.

  “Is Crow here?” he repeated.

  Delilah looked left and right before shaking her head. “He went out somewhere. Didn’t even leave a note.” She inhaled, her ample bosom straining against the soft, over-washed cloth, and let it out with a sigh. “Typical man.”

  “Has Wallace been here?”

  “Who?”

  It was Marvin’s turn to sigh. “Wallace Carver. Your husband’s best friend.”

  Delilah waved her hand dismissively. “Crow’s always making friends. All his passengers love him, you know? His regulars memorize his schedule just so they can get on his bus. He’s too damn sociable, I say.”

  Marvin held up a piece of paper. “I have a warrant.”

  “Uh-huh.” Delilah narrowed her eyes. “For what?”

  “To search your house.”

  “What for?”

  “Wallace.”

  Delilah straightened her shoulders and her voice turned screechy.

  “You think I’m hiding a man under my bed while my husband is away, Marvin? Is that what you think of me?”

  Marvin glanced at the three men standing impatiently behind him. He lowered his voice.

  “We just want Wallace,” he said. “Hand him over and I’ll do my best to keep you and Crow out of it.”

  Delilah sneered. “You wake my babies and I’ll have your badge. You ain’t coming in here.”

  “We are,” said Marvin firmly. “We have a warrant.”

  Delilah was shoved aside as the four RCMP constables moved past her and into the house.

  “Don’t think I won’t tell your mother about this, Marvin. I’ll chew her bloody ear off.”

  One of the constables sniggered, but Delilah couldn’t tell which one. They all looked the same in their black jackets, gold-striped pants and jangling belts stuffed with pepper spray, handcuffs and handguns.

  As the constables entered the kitchen and small living room, Delilah headed down the hallway to her daughters’ room. Better she wake them than have the storm troopers do it. No sooner had she entered the girls’ shared bedroom when Marvin called from the kitchen.

  “Delilah! What’s this?”

  Delilah tried to think what they could have possibly found. And then it dawned on her. Crap.

  She returned to the kitchen to see Marvin holding up a grubby pair of pants and a torn shirt that he had removed from the trash. Delilah had briefly considered washing them after Wallace left, but the crash had left large rips in both items of clothing. She threw them out instead.

  “There’s blood on the shirt,” said Marvin.

  “It’s Crow’s.” Delilah lowered her gaze, portraying embarrassment. “I haven’t been honest with you, Marvin.” She looked up with glistening, new-formed tears in her eyes. “This trouble with Wallace made Crow fall off the wagon. I don’t know what he got into, but he came home in those filthy, torn clothes and reeking of booze. I think he was wrestling a cougar in a ditch somewhere.”

  Marvin shook his head slowly, not buying it.

  “I saw Crow just a few hours ago. He was sober and clean.”

  Delilah swallowed. “I wondered what it was that pushed him over the edge.” Her voice hardened and her eyes turned cruel. “You did this to him. One minute he was my husband and the next he was opening a bottle and running out the door.” Her voice rose in anger and her hands curled into fists. “Look at my face.
Do I look like a woman who’s slept peacefully or one who’s been trying to wrestle her husband out of the goddamn bottle you drove him into?”

  Marvin kept his composure, but the other constables stared at him. Unsure and unsettled.

  “So where is he now?” said Marvin.

  “I dragged him home, got him out of his clothes and into bed, but I must have dozed off. When I woke up, you were at my door and he was gone again. Thanks a lot.”

  Marvin stared at Delilah. Hard. Penetrating. His mouth twisted and he shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “Crow was never a good enough cowboy to escape your lasso. If you tied him down, he stayed tied down.” He passed the clothes to one of the other constables. “I’m taking these with us.”

  Marvin turned to a second constable.

  “Issue an alert on Crow’s truck. We find him, we find Wallace.”

  Delilah tried to keep the emotion off her face, but it was too raw not to seep into her voice. “You’re making a mistake.”

  “We’ll see,” said Marvin. “Once we have them in custody, we can talk further. But as of this moment, Crow is as much a wanted man as Wallace is.”

  Delilah followed the constables to the front door. Marvin was the last to leave.

  “I’m still going to tell your mother,” said Delilah.

  Marvin hesitated and appeared about to turn around, but then he shook his head and kept walking.

  CHAPTER 15

  Crow exited the hut with JoeJoe by his side and quickly descended a flight of wooden stairs to reach Wallace.

  “Do you still have a credit card?” he asked.

  Wallace patted his front pocket. The only items he left the house with each morning were an emergency credit card, driver’s license and enough pocket money for continuous coffee refills and the bus driver’s pension scheme: twice-weekly lottery tickets. He had abandoned his now-useless passport and change of underwear back in the overturned van, but these meager necessities had stuck with him even through a change of clothes. He nodded.

  “Good,” said Crow. “Cheveyo is ready to take you across the border, but he needs you cleaned up first.”

  “Cleaned up?”

  “Less redneck,” said JoeJoe. “You look too much like a fugitive in borrowed clothes. He wants you looking smart. More American.”

  Crow nodded in agreement. “JoeJoe will take you to the mall for new clothes and then over to the Peace Arch.”

  There was a pause and Wallace could feel the unspoken tension.

  “You’re not coming with me.” Wallace tried to hide the hurt in his voice, but knew he couldn’t disguise the raw desperation. The thought of being alone, not knowing how to proceed, frightened him to death.

  Just as Crow was about to answer, his cellphone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and listened.

  “It’s okay,” he said into the phone. “I’ll be home soon. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

  Crow hung up and squeezed the phone so tightly in his hand that his knuckles turned white. He had trouble meeting Wallace’s gaze.

  “That was Delilah,” he said. “Marvin’s just been to the house and found your bloodied clothes. They’ve issued an alert on the truck and a warrant for my arrest.”

  “Ah, Christ.” Wallace ran his fingers through his hair, digging the nails into his scalp, finding too many tender spots in tight, knotted muscles.

  Crow kicked at the dirt. “If it was just me, I’d be backing you up one hundred percent. You know that, right? But I can’t leave Delilah and the girls, especially since we don’t know what the hell is going on. What if . . .”

  Crow hesitated, unable to put words to dreaded thought.

  “It’s okay.” Wallace infused his voice with grit, hoping it was enough. “I understand.” He gnashed his teeth, hating his own selfishness and the position he had placed his closest friend. “Christ, Crow. If anyone understands, it’s me. The girls come first. Go to them.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I still feel like shit. Those are my godsons out there.”

  A heavy silence passed between the two men.

  JoeJoe broke the tension.

  “This is sweet an’ all,” he said, “but we’ve got, like, other things to do.” He grabbed at Wallace’s arm. “We gotta go, dude.”

  Crow squeezed Wallace’s other arm. “I’ll wait here until I know you’re across the border,” he said. “That way if the cops arrest me, it’ll be too damn late.”

  CHAPTER 16

  JoeJoe led Wallace at a hurried pace behind the huts to a semi-circular metal barn that housed a dozen ATV Quads and Trikes. The roof of the barn was covered in camouflage netting that trapped fallen needles and leaves.

  As Wallace’s vision grew accustomed to the ghostly gloom, he saw at least a half-dozen other barns hidden beneath the forest canopy. He doubted they all contained recreational vehicles.

  Inside the barn, a mechanic in pristine blue coveralls with the nametag Clarence embroidered over his breast pocket had pulled two of the vehicles into the center and was giving them a quick final inspection.

  JoeJoe handed Wallace a tin helmet and a pair of plastic goggles before straddling one of the two-seater trikes.

  “Climb on, dude. We need the head start.”

  Wallace had just settled himself onto the narrow seat when JoeJoe tilted his head back and released a loud whoop that had all the earmarks of a war cry. In the same breath, he twisted the accelerator to the full-on position. The trike’s front wheel lifted off the ground for a brief instant before the back wheels dug in and they roared off into the woods.

  Before the huts vanished in a blur behind them, Wallace caught a glimpse of two native men climbing onto the other vehicle.

  WALLACE HELD on for dear life as JoeJoe thundered through the forest. He used previously laid ruts and cleared bush as general guidelines rather than broken trails, preferring to make the trike leap over fallen logs and threaten to flip end over end as they careened up the sides of narrow gullies and down steep ravines.

  Branches whipped across Wallace’s face, making him glad for the helmet and goggles. He just wished JoeJoe had also given him a jock and protective cup for the hard landings.

  After a final leap that crossed a small mountain stream and sent Wallace’s stomach crashing against the back of his teeth, JoeJoe landed the trike in a rough clearing that acted as a parking lot for two black 4x4 Toyota trucks and four large bone white Yukon Hybrids.

  Two armed guards appeared from two different directions as JoeJoe killed the ignition and yanked the helmet off his head. JoeJoe waved at the guards and turned to Wallace. His face was split in a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

  “Now that was cool, dude. You stoked?”

  Wallace tried not to vomit all over his shoes.

  THE ONLY store open that early in the morning was a Wal-Mart Supercenter, but it carried everything Wallace would need.

  JoeJoe instructed him to go “paleface casual” with beige slacks, a golf shirt, comfortable shoes and a light wind jacket in a dull color. He was also told to stop by the electronics department and pick out a digital camera.

  “Nothing too small,” JoeJoe said. “The bulky ones are cheapest anyway. Get one of those.”

  Wallace did as he was told.

  When he returned to the truck, he was dressed in his new clothes. He had discarded his ruined shoes, but bundled the clothes borrowed from Crow into a bag under his arm.

  JoeJoe had changed his appearance as well. Instead of army surplus fatigues, he wore a simple pair of dark blue jeans and a black T-shirt. Even tucked into jeans, the T-shirt hung loose around his skinny frame.

  JoeJoe gave Wallace the once-over. “If I looked like you, dude, I’d kill myself.”

  Wallace frowned. “Is that good or bad?”

  JoeJoe grinned, displaying a disturbing array of crooked teeth. Without another comment, he threw the truck in gear and aimed for the border.

  CHAPTER 17

  Instead of sta
ying on the highway straight to the border, JoeJoe took the 8th Avenue exit off the traffic circle and drove to 172nd Street. There, he turned south, skirting the Peace Portal Golf Course, and west again when he reached Zero Avenue.

  The houses that ran along this stretch of rural suburbia were separated from their American neighbors by nothing more than a small ditch, border markers and an occasional line of decorative rock.

  Wallace looked across the invisible border, so close he could touch it. Alicia, Fred and Alex were somewhere on the other side. Needing him.

  He had been there when both boys were born. Feeding Alicia ice chips, feeling helpless and scared and in awe of it all. He had been there when each boy started school, despite the ribbing from his boss and co-workers when he booked the mornings off.

  Both times, he and Alicia had lingered outside the classroom with the other parents, finding it more difficult to leave than it was to be left. A part of him didn’t want his sons to grow up and yet his heart filled with pride that they were.

  He had been there when Alicia’s father died. When she needed him to stand strong and just hold her.

  And they had all been there for him when he needed them most.

  It seemed ridiculous that he couldn’t just sprint across the narrow patch of ground separating the two countries. Neighborhood dogs did it on a regular basis, but a series of hidden ground sensors combined with video surveillance made human crossings a risky proposition.

  JoeJoe drove to the end of the avenue and parked the truck on scenic Peace Park Drive. The ocean was stormy; dark clouds in the distance; rolling towards shore.

  “Dude?” JoeJoe snapped his fingers to get Wallace’s attention. “Now we walk.”

  Wallace followed JoeJoe down a grassy hill into Peace Arch Park. When they reached the bottom, Wallace found himself standing by the side of the road where Interstate 5 became Highway 99. It was practically the same spot where the Bellingham detectives had given him back his van and told him never to return.