Lone Wolf zw-3

by Linwood Barclay

  “I got some coffee going over there. You mind getting me a cup? Help yourself if you want some.”

  I got up. “Black, right?” Dad nodded. I poured us two cups of coffee, brought them back over, and plopped back into the recliner. I took a sip. “Good coffee,” I said.

  Dad drank some of his. “Catch any fish with Bob this morning?”

  “No. But Audrey hit my line.”

  “Jesus, seriously? Bob’s been after Audrey for years.”

  “Didn’t get her, though. We each caught a pickerel, otherwise nothing. Nice of him to take me out, though.”

  “Yeah,” said Dad. “He’s a good guy, Bob is.”

  Then we were quiet again for a while. Dad took another sip, looked out over the lake again, and said, “I don’t know what to do.”

  I nodded. “I can understand that. It’s a tricky situation.”

  “I want them out,” Dad said. “I can’t sleep.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “There’s always gunfire up there,” he said. “Shooting all the time, like, target practice or something. I can handle a bit of that, you know? You have to expect it, up here in the mountains. But it goes on and on some days. One time, I thought I heard a machine gun. Who needs a fucking machine gun? And they wear all this camouflage garb? What do they think they are? Who do they think’s coming to get them? What are they taking a stand against?”

  “Have you done anything about this so far?”

  Dad sighed. “A few weeks ago, after an afternoon of nonstop shooting, I called Orville.”

  “Oh.”

  “Look, it’s kind of complicated. He’s Lana’s nephew, and, well, there’s more to it than I can explain. He tries to do his job, but he’s a bit lacking in the intimidation department.”

  “What happened when you called him?”

  Another sigh. “He went up there. He thought it would be better, I didn’t go with him, maybe the Wickenses would hold it against me if they knew I’d placed the call. Orville said he could say that there’d been some general calls about gunfire, without mentioning my name, and he was just checking into it. I kind of walked up through the woods, watched what happened. They let him inside the gate, and those boys of Charlene’s, Timmy’s wife, Darryl and Darryl I call them, although not to their faces, their real names are Wendell and Dougie, they took Orville’s hat, started tossing it back and forth, Orville running back and forth between them.”

  “Monkey in the middle,” I said.

  Dad nodded. “It was pitiful to watch. The boys were giggling and laughing, and finally their old man, Timmy, he says, okay now, boys, let’s stop this. And he hands Orville his hat back, but not his dignity. He scurried out of there with his tail between his legs.”

  “God,” I said, picturing it. “There’s something about Orville, Dad.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. When I first saw him, he reminded me of someone, and he still does. Did he hang around in our old neighborhood, visiting his aunt Lana? But he looks ten or more years younger than me anyway, so he’d only have been a baby.”

  “I don’t know,” Dad said cautiously. “Who does he remind you of?”

  I shrugged. “I just feel I know him from somewhere. Maybe from the city? I worked for that other paper years ago, maybe I interviewed him back then.”

  “Could be,” Dad said. “What difference does it make?” He seemed annoyed by how I’d sidetracked the conversation.

  “Forget it,” I said. “Okay, let’s get back to the matter at hand. There may be other avenues to pursue with regard to the Wickenses without dragging Orville into it. You should see a lawyer. Get a letter drawn up, tell them they have to leave. Give them a month’s notice, after that, they’re in violation of a court order, anything.”

  Dad mulled that one over. “A lawyer.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I hate lawyers.”

  “Everyone does, Dad. Sarah maybe even more than you. But this might be one of those times when one could be useful.”

  “I guess it’s an idea. Suppose it wouldn’t hurt to talk to someone.”

  “Sure,” I said. “There must be a few lawyers in Braynor.”

  Dad nodded, thinking. “There’s the one who handled this real estate deal for me. I guess I’d start with him.”

  “Why don’t you call him, see if you can get an appointment, maybe tomorrow?” I suggested. “Where’s your phone book?”

  “Just leave it with me. It’s in my study. I’ll do it, I’ll call him.” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Okay. That’s good. I feel like we’re making progress.”

  He reached for his crutches, got himself up off the couch. “Yeah, this is a plan.” He shoved the crutches under his arms, moved toward the door of his study. Suddenly, he was a man with a mission. “I think his name’s Bert Trench. That’s it. He’s got an office on the main street of Braynor.”

  He was in the study now, settling into his chair in front of his computer, reaching for the phone book. He was shouting, figuring I couldn’t hear him fifteen feet away by the kitchen counter. “I’ll bet he can get some kind of injunction! No, not an injunction. An eviction! He can get an eviction notice! You think?”

  “Possibly,” I said.

  “Okay, here’s the number.” I heard Dad pushing some buttons on the phone, then, “Yeah, hi, it’s Arlen Walker? Mr. Trench handled everything when I bought Denny’s Cabins… That’s right, yeah… I was wondering, could I make an appointment with him, soon as possible?…Tomorrow would be fine, sure… That’s perfect, thank you so much.”

  He hung up. “Tomorrow at ten-thirty!”

  “That’s great, Dad. I’ll drive you in.”

  “You’ll come in, too, won’t you? To talk to the lawyer with me?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “This is very good. Maybe I can get rid of those bastards once and for all, the whole goddamn lot of them! Then, once the house is empty, I’ll get it cleaned up. We’ll have to rent a Dumpster, throw out all that crap up there, the rusting appliances, that old rusty bed, Jesus I can’t believe the way they’ve let the place-”

  There was a knock at the back door. I walked the two steps over and swung it wide.

  It was Timmy Wickens.

  Dad was still shouting. “Those sons of bitches will just have to look-”

  “Dad!” I shouted.

  “Huh?”

  “Mr. Wickens is here.”

  Wickens, in black boots, work pants, and a padded hunting vest, his bald head gleaming, smiled. “I wanted to have a word with Mr. Walker.”

  “Sure,” I said. Dad was already hobbling out of the study. “Won’t you step inside?” I said to Wickens, who accepted the invitation.

  “Mr. Walker?” Wickens said as Dad made his way to the door. “How’s your ankle?”

  “Oh, you know, it smarts a bit,” Dad said. “I’m sorry to hear about your trouble. That young man.”

  Wickens nodded. “Tragic,” he said. “Just tragic. Can’t ever remember something like that happening up here.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “How’s your daughter doing?”

  There was a glint in Wickens’s eye, like maybe I’d crossed some line, daring to ask a question about her.

  “She’s good,” he said. “She’s going to be just fine. May’s a strong girl. So you’re Mr. Walker’s son, right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m staying with Dad a few days, helping him out till his ankle gets a bit stronger.”

  “He’s taken over cabin three,” Dad said. “Making himself right at home.”

  “What I was wondering,” Timmy Wickens said to Dad, “Charlene and I, that’s my wife,” he looked at me when he said it, “we were wondering could you join us for dinner tonight? The two of you.”

  I looked at Dad.

  “I know it’s short notice and all,” Timmy said, “but we’d be much obliged if the two of you joined us for dinner. Our misfortune kind of turned your lif
e upside down, too, and we’d like to make it right.”

  Dad appeared stunned. “Zachary, are we, are we doing something tonight?”

  I shrugged. “Not that I know of.”

  Dad’s eyes widened. “I, I guess, I don’t think we’ve got anything on for tonight.”

  Wickens smiled. “That’s great, then. Why don’t you stroll up around six-thirty or so?”

  “That sounds great, Timmy,” Dad said. “Isn’t that great, son?”

  I nodded. “Sounds terrific.”

  “Settled then,” said Wickens, turning and heading back out the door.

  Once I had it closed behind him, Dad and I stared at each other for several seconds without speaking.

  “Sarah,” I finally said, “would tell me, in social situations like this, that we should take some kind of hostess gift.”

  “Okay,” Dad said. “Got any ideas?”

  “I was thinking, a case of Alpo. We give the dogs something to eat, maybe they won’t eat us.”

  10

  It was time to set other problems aside temporarily and start tackling the chores at Denny’s Cabins. Helping out around the place was, after all, the initial reason for my decision to hang in, although other things that threatened to keep me here longer seemed to be growing exponentially.

  “This is dump day,” Dad informed me.

  “Shit,” I said. “I forgot to get you a card.”

  “Do you want to help, or do you just want to be a smartass?” Dad asked. It was, I had to admit, a tough question. I believed it was possible, with some effort, to do both. I had been pissed at him ever since Timmy Wickens’s visit for not being creative enough to come up with an excuse to get us out of dinner with people we were trying to find a way to evict.

  “You could have said something,” he said accusingly.

  “He was inviting you,” I said. “I was just an afterthought.”

  We bickered about that for a while, got nowhere, finally decided to move on. “Tell me what needs to be done around here,” I said, which had brought us to the exciting news that it was dump day.

  But there was more. “Once you do a run to the dump, there’s grass to cut, fish guts to bury, we need to make sure we’ve got worms, there’s-”

  “See if we’ve got worms?”

  “Night crawlers, bait, for crying out loud. I keep ’em in a fridge out in the shed.”

  I sighed. “And the fish guts?”

  “You’ve seen the bucket under the fish-cleaning table down by the docks?”

  Who could forget?

  “Well, they won’t let us put raw fish guts in the municipal dump, so we have to deal with them ourselves.”

  “I’m guessing they won’t flush.”

  “You have to take them out to the woods and bury them.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “There’s already a hole dug out there. There’s a big board over it. Take the guts up, dump it in the hole, throw some dirt in over it, put the board back over.”

  I nodded tiredly. “Okay, you stay here, I’ll get these things done.”

  “You know how to drive a garden tractor?” Dad asked. “ ’Cause the grounds are really looking a bit unkempt. I would have done it yesterday if it hadn’t been for all this other shit happening.”

  “I think I can figure it out.”

  “Because it’s a bit special, this tractor, because-”

  “Dad. I can figure it out.”

  Dad held up his hands. “Okay, okay, you’re the expert, I don’t know a goddamn thing.”

  “Whatever,” I said, heading out the door.

  “Yeah, whatever!” Dad shouted as the door slammed shut. I was tempted to go back, say “Good comeback!” but decided someone had to be the mature one. An hour ago, I was a genius and a hero, coming up with the plan to talk to a lawyer about evicting the Wickenses, but now I was an idiot again.

  I decided to tackle the garbage run first, loading half a dozen plastic cans jammed with green garbage bags filled to bursting into the back of Dad’s Ford pickup. Leonard Colebert strolled over, hands parked in his front pockets so as to reduce the risk of being asked to lift something.

  “So, this is garbage day?” he asked, smiling. I decided Leonard was probably undeserving of a smartass response-although that could change-so I merely nodded. “That was a good time last night,” he said, referring to the party at Dad’s cabin. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you even a fraction of what’s involved in the diaper business, or all the plan for my big resort.”

  “Well, it was pretty busy,” I said, loading a can into the back of the truck and making sure the lid was secure.

  “You mind if I tag along with you?” he said, one hand already on the passenger door. I couldn’t think of a way to say no, so I motioned for him to hop in.

  “I rode with your dad to the dump one day,” he said. “You pass right by the property I’m getting to build my resort on. I’ll show you.”

  Oh boy.

  When we were on the highway, Leonard said, “God, I love it up here. I could go anywhere, you know, Club Med, you name some fancy place, I could afford it. But there’s nothing like being up here.”

  “There a Mrs. Colebert?” I asked.

  “Not at the moment, but you never know, that could change,” Leonard said, puffing out his chest. “I’ve had my share of ladies over the years, that’s for sure. But never really found the right one.”

  There had to be a girl somewhere, I figured, who wanted to listen to diaper talk all day.

  The road took a slight bend to the right when Leonard shouted, “Here! Here’s the spot! Slow down.”

  I pulled over onto the shoulder and brought the truck to a halt, leaving it running in drive with my foot planted on the brake. Leonard was pointing into dense forest. The lake was probably no more than a couple hundred yards away, but you couldn’t see it.

  “Okay, this is where you’d drive in, there’d be a big sign here, maybe something like ‘Colebert Lodge,’ I don’t know, and a huge neon fish jumping out of the water, a line coming out of its mouth. Can you picture it? It’d be super vivid, like a Vegas sign, but tasteful, you know?”

  “Right,” I said.

  “It’d be bright in the daytime, but at night, it would light up the sky, you know? There’s nothing like that around here, let me tell you.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  “So we take down about two acres’ worth of trees over there to put in some parking, and once we do that, you’ll be able to see right through to the lake, where there’ll be the main hotel, about five stories high, I figure, and restaurants and snack bars, a huge bait shop. Just huge.” He shook his head in wonderment. “Can you imagine it? Huh? Can you?”

  “Actually, yes,” I said, doing a very good job of concealing my excitement, and wondering, for the first time, what Leonard, sitting next to me, was wearing under his khakis.

  “Come on,” Leonard said, already opening his door. “I’ll show you.”

  He was out of the truck before I could say no, so I killed the engine and followed him through the tall grass at the edge of the highway and into the forest. For a short, not particularly fit-looking guy, he was hard to keep up with.

  “You think we’re going to need the bear spray?” he called back to me.

  “Let’s chance it,” I said.

  “Okay,” he said, once we were shrouded in trees. “Okay, hotel over there, maybe a swimming pool over there, although we’ll have lakeside swimming, too. There’s some weedy areas, a bit of marshland along the shore, but we can backfill that in, landscape it, you’d never know there was anything natural there before.”

  “Well,” I said.

  “Hey, here’s an idea,” Leonard said. “Looks like I’ve already got Bob Spooner talked into working for me, running a charter.”

  “I wouldn’t be so-”

  “But there’d probably be something here for you, too. You could help me write up press releases, the litera
ture, that kind of thing? Be my PR guy, my media relations officer. Because every big resort, you gotta have one of those. I’d make it worth your while.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said.

  We were climbing now, the ground gradually sloping upwards. When we got to the top, I instinctively leaned back. We were standing at the edge of a sharp dropoff. It was a good thirty feet down to another section of heavily wooded forest.

  “Down there, we clear the trees, that’s where I’m going to put in the children’s playland. I’m thinking of a huge model of a whale, the kids can run through it, pretend they’ve been swallowed by Jonah. And there’ll be a fountain, shooting water out of the blowhole, the water’ll come down the side, like one of those splash pads. Even from out in the middle of the lake you’ll be able to hear the kids laughing and screaming.” He smiled with self-satisfaction. “I’ve got lots of conceptual drawings, if you’d like to see them.”

  “Maybe sometime,” I said, turning and heading back to the road. “I’ve got a lot to do, Leonard.”

  He came after me. “I’m going to bring Bob out here, win him over. I don’t think he’s quite sold on the idea yet.”

  Back in the truck, I let Leonard guide me to the dump, which amounted to an excavation in the middle of the wilderness overseen by an old guy sitting in a small metal shack. Leonard wouldn’t shut up about his dream, the resort, the diaper business, his reality show where a mother and father trick their child into thinking they’re dead. But I had pretty much tuned him out, and merely nodded mechanically every minute or so, like a fake dog in a rear car window.

  I was grateful Leonard had decided to go fishing the moment we returned, so once I had the truck parked I was able to head over, alone, to the outbuilding that sat back behind the fourth cabin. A small, open-air garage was attached, and inside were a green lawn tractor, stacks of cottage shutters, wood scraps, old gas cans. Inside, I found a freezer and an old refrigerator. There were a few bottles of beer inside, a couple of cans of Coke, and a plastic container that appeared to be full of dirt.