by L. L. Enger
Geoff walked through the center of the four lines of tables and straight to his father, who was still under the fish. Gun saw Hedman Senior speak to Hedman Junior and Junior nod a reply. Then Geoff stepped away from Hedman’s group and walked toward the men’s room.
Gun waited sixty seconds before following. Inside the men’s room he could see Geoff’s tan Armadillos tapping a worried waltz under the door of the stall. Gun looked in the mirror, squinted once to define the crow’s feet, washed his hands, and leaned against a sink opposite Geoff s stall.
When Geoff swung open the stall door, Gun said, “I want to know one thing from you.”
Geoff stood in front of the coughing toilet. “Mazy isn’t here,” he said. “She’s at home, waiting for me.”
“That wasn’t the question.” Gun shut the distance between them in two strides and stood in the John door, resting a heavy palm on each side. Geoff couldn’t back up. “I want to know this. How did you force my daughter to marry you?”
Geoff’s face looked straight ahead, eyes focusing on the line of Gun’s T-shirt under his collar. “I didn’t force her,” he said. His lips spread into a satisfied smile. “We’re in love.”
Gun took his hands away from the metal stall and put one on each of Geoff’s shoulders, gripping them as if to squeeze ball from socket. “I want you to listen,” he said, and with a quick downthrust he buckled Geoff’s legs and put his tailbone hard on the plastic toilet seat. He bent down to Geoff’s face. “I want you to know that if my daughter is once touched in any way, if she is not treated as if your life depends on her safety, then I won’t just sit you down on a toilet. I’ll cram you inside one. And pull the chain.”
Geoff didn’t answer. Gun slapped the stall closed on his way out.
Every chair was filled when Gun stepped back into the meeting room. He stood against the rear wall, his flanneled arms crossed on his chest, The heavy noise of social anecdoting and backslapping had quieted now to a low wash of talk, jabbed by coughs and quiet laughs. The Reverend Samuel Barr was at the podium.
“Good friends,” said Barr. “Good friends.” His voice was low and powerful, traveling through the room at an almost subsonic level. People heard him, or sensed him, and ended conversations. “Good friends,” Barr repeated, “I thank you all for coming today. The kind members of the county board have asked me to open this hearing, and I’d like to do so with a word of prayer.” Barr bowed his head, displaying a bald circle at the crest of his scalp. Shanks of thick hair surrounded it in a gray halo. “Our Lord,” he said, his voice humming like a bass guitar string, “we thank you for the opportunity of coming together today, and for the opportunity to speak out freely in a country made great by freedom.”
In front of Gun a man in a red shirt gave his neighbor an elbow. “For the opportunity to drink top-grade scotch on a Monday noon,” he whispered.
Samuel Barr continued. Gun saw a look of pious importance on the minister’s narrow features. “We thank you also, Lord, for the chance to improve the lot you’ve given us. It’s become easy for many of us who live here in this beauteous land of lakes and pines”— here Barr paused, as if thinking of specific names— “to forget that life is more than landscape. Life is the chance to work and earn, to give our children bread, to develop those resources we have at hand.”
The prayer rumbled forth unhindered. Slowly the minister raised his bowed head, lifting his eyelids as if to spy on his somber audience. “We thank thee, Lord, for providing us with a means to a better life, that we might serve you more completely,” he said.
Barr and Gun stood at opposite ends of the room, heads up, eyes wide, staring at each other over 150 sleepers. “We thank thee for allowing us this chance to restore our human dignity,” Barr prayed.
“Dear God,” Gun said quietly.
“And we ask that you would lead us now, help us to do what is right,” Barr said. “Help us to help ourselves.”
The man in the red shirt gave a single bronchial cough. Barr lowered his head and closed his eyes. “This is our earnest prayer, oh Lord, Amen.”
“Amen,” said several voices at the front tables.
“And now,” said Barr, “I’d like to bring up Elder Hedman. People have been saying Elder’s got a big surprise to spring. That true, Elder?”
Hedman uncoiled himself from his chair and moved jointlessly to the podium. Gun could see Geoff now, recovered from his rest-room trial, blushing near the door.
“Pastor,” said Hedman, stooping as he reached the podium, “you have the holiest voice I’ve ever heard.” A few people laughed. Gun rolled up slightly on his toes, leaning into the room toward Hedman. Geoff, to Gun’s left, had his hands rammed deep in his pants pockets.
“It was a bigger surprise to me than it will be to you,” said Hedman. “My boy Geoff ran out on me over the weekend and came back with a ring on his finger.” Hedman unstooped his shoulders and stretched his thin lips in a grin. “The kid went out and eloped, and him a staid thirty years old.” He shook his head as if in fond exasperation. “And the best part of it is, he went and found a woman you’ll all agree comes from good, strong stock: Mazy Pedersen.”
A hundred fifty faces turned to the back of the room. Hedman ran a slick tongue over his parted lips. Gun’s eyes stayed on him. Hedman squinted and
smiled narrowly, like a man spotting a bagful of money across a crowded hall. “Gun!” he said. “Gun Pedersen. Damn! Who’d ever thought we’d be relatives by marriage. Guess we never knew how bad our kids had it for each other.”
“Guess not,” Gun answered.
“Damn right!” Hedman said, celebratory. “And Gun, my friend, since our kids have gone and made everything a lot easier, maybe you’d like to announce the second part of the surprise.”
“Floor’s all yours,” said Gun.
“Pleasure,” said Hedman. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m happy to tell you the way has been cleared to build Loon Country Attractions on a suitable site—not that eastside swamp. Provided the referendum goes through, and with the gracious permission of Geoff and Mazy Hedman, the biggest development in the northern half of the state will go up on the old Pedersen property west of town. Four hundred acres of prime lakefront. Room for the mall, room for hotel accommodations. Time-share condos. Theaters. Restaurants. Jobs. Loon Country Attractions will attract millions of customers a year.” Hedman stopped. He ran his long fingers through his limp silver hair. He smiled with his upper teeth at Gun. “Mr. Pedersen,” he said. “Why don’t you come up and bless the marriage of our children.”
Gun said nothing. He turned his head and caught Geoff looking at him. Geoff was immediately snagged with a fit of coughs.
“Later, then,” said Hedman. “We’ll have a private toast. In the meantime, this is a public hearing—a piece of democracy. Does anyone have something to say? Floor’s open.” Hedman stretched his long arms into a plea for someone else to talk. No one did, and he seemed about to give up and start another speech when Carol Long spoke.
“What about Larson? Let’s hear what Larson thinks.” Several voices affirmed the idea, and Hedman smiled at them.
“Of course,” he said, and signaled Tig Larson to the podium. Larson was slow getting up and squeezed between the rows like a baby whale in a tight channel. He seemed to be breathing hard. “In the past, of course,” Hedman said, “I’ve known Tig as an eloquent and worthy adversary. You all know his record as a conservationist. But now, fortunately for Stony, he’s recognized that not all progress leads to Hell. Commissioner?”
Larson, large and moist in a light summer suit, gained the podium and rested there on his arms. Hedman stepped back and waited for him to speak. Gun saw Carol, sitting at a table on the room’s left edge, printing precisely with a pen. Larson blew out his cheeks.
“I think there has to be a time when you look at certain realities,” he said. “And I think this is such a time. I know it’s important to keep our land and waters healthy. I know our lakes are under strain
from farmland drainage and acid rain ...” Gun tried to pin down Larson’s eyes with his own, but Larson was watching his hands. “Still, we need the jobs. We need the tourism dollars. Mr. Hedman has promised me he’ll guard against the destruction of the existing lakefront,” Larson said. Hedman clasped his hands behind his back, nodding his acknowledgment. “I believe him,” Larson said. “I’m asking you to vote yes on the Loon Country referendum.”
Gun saw Carol’s pen hand pause and her black eyebrows point up at the center. She turned to look at him, and he walked past Geoff out of the room.
11
At one o’clock a slow breeze from the east was reshaping what had been a pleasant forecast, and people were exiting the Muskie Lounge. Most seemed slightly dazed from Hedman’s gift drinks, and willing enough to go to the polls with such generosities in mind. Gun stood in front of the lounge entrance. He was waiting for Larson.
He had to wait a long time. The first people out were mostly young, hurrying back to untenured positions, checking the creases in their slacks. Then came the sociable threes and fours, holding discussions about the pros of a paved tourist haven in the midst of pines and bright lakes. Gun didn’t hear any suggestions about the cons. He stood at the T where the Muskie Lounge sidewalk met the grass boulevard and listened to the voices die when they passed him. A few said lopsided hellos, looking at Gun’s chin when they spoke. He didn’t answer. Hedman came out, taller and skinnier than most of his entourage. He was
encircled by them, and they moved eagerly around him as if waiting for his autograph, never losing their places. Only Hedman seemed to see Gun as they went by, his beer-colored eyes glistening with confidence.
Larson came out near the end. His tie was hanging loose on his shoulders, and a damp undershirt showed at the neck.
“You’ve seen my land before,” Gun said.
“Aw, damn,” moaned Larson. “Now, suddenly, he cares.”
“You’ve been over every foot of lakeshore. You’ve been there in the early spring, watching the walleyes spawn.”
Larson closed his eyes. “Gun,” he said. “I know.”
“Explain.”
“Can’t do it,” said Larson. He took a wasted step away from Gun and was halted by a hand against his chest. “Aw, Gun,” he said, “it’s not your land. It’s not even Mazy’s land now. It’s Hedman’s. Everything’s Hedman’s.”
“Tell me something, Tig. How did Hedman know it was all in Mazy’s name?”
Larson shrugged, looking down at Gun’s hand, still hard against his chest. “How well do you know your lawyer?” he said.
“Not well enough, I guess.”
Larson inhaled with effort, pulling air through a pinhole. “Gun,” he said, “please let me go. I didn’t know about his plan to get your land. Believe me, I would’ve told you. Now really, I have to go.”
“It’s not like you to back down, Tig. Hedman make good on those threats?”
Tig shrugged. “I didn’t have any choice. Not this time, anyway.”
“A person’s always got a choice,” Gun said.
Tig smiled, his eyes flaring. “Of course. And how about Devitz? That poor old bastard have a choice?
Did you know he died last night? Hear anybody at the meeting talking about that?”
Gun closed his eyes. “No. No, I didn’t.” He took his hand away. A sour knot rose in his stomach like yeast. Jeremy Devitz hadn’t lasted a month without his land. “I’m sorry.”
“I have to go,” said Tig.
“Sure. Where to?”
“I don’t know.” His eyes closed, and when they opened they looked flat as the eyes of the dead. “Yes, I do. I’m going to Holliman’s Bluff.”
“It’s a quiet spot,” said Gun.
12
Nash Sidney’s office, the only law office in Stony, occupied what had once been the town’s only five-and-dime store until Ronnie Truman, the owner, had declared bankruptcy a couple years ago. Now Ronnie operated a car wash south of town and Nash Sidney spent a lot of time alone in his youthful practice on Main Street.
Or had spent time alone. It had been roughly a year since Gun visited him to formalize the transfer of land, house, and personal effects to Mazy’s name, and Gun noticed a lot of changes in the formerly sparse office. For starters, when he pushed the door open, there was no dime-store tinkle.
“Hi, Gun,” said Nash Sidney. He sat behind a big kidney-shaped desk new enough to smell like varnish. “Miss the bell?”
“You took it down,” Gun said. “What would Ronnie say?”
Nash smiled. “He was here last week to talk about a
suit. Seems his car wash soaped and waxed the crushed velvet in some lady’s Lincoln. Ruined it. She’s suing Ronnie because she forgot to roll the window up.”
“Glad you still care about client confidentiality.”
“Anyhow, he never noticed the bell,” Nash said. “I was disappointed.” He rose, tall next to anyone but Gun, and leaned across the desk to shake hands.
Nash Sidney was twenty-eight years old, had graduated from high school a couple years ahead of Mazy and gone to the University of Minnesota on a sports scholarship. Baseball. His fastball and control had been the only happy factors on a sad Stony team for several years, good enough to draw scouts from at least two big-league organizations. Nash chose the university, which made Gun smile, and then law school.
“Business good?” Gun said. He was looking at the kidney-shaped desk, which matched a set of gleaming walnut file cabinets on the back wall.
“Business is very good,” Nash said agreeably. “What summons you to town?”
“Big meeting today. Over at the Muskie. Surprised I didn’t see you there.”
“The Hedman event, yes. Um, congratulations.” Nash sat down again and winced slightly, as though his chair was padded with rocks. “I’d have been there, but the phone wouldn’t quit. I have one of those secretaries that only works mornings. You know.”
“Yup.” Gun sat down on the hood of Nash’s desk. He inhaled through his nose and squinted at a blue-tinted map pinned to Nash’s big bulletin board.
“Gun, what’s going on?”
“I think I’m finding out. An onerous process, as Jack says.” He nodded at the map. “Isn’t that a blueprint for Hedman’s mall project?”
“Loon Country Attractions. Yes.”
Gun smiled. “You know, there’s something familiar about that shoreline. The way it dips in right there, next to where you’ve got the talking loon. I wonder where I’ve seen that before.”
Nash was quiet. He took off his glasses and dangled them in his fingers. “Good God. You mean you didn’t know? Until today?”
“That Mazy was pulling out with Geoff? Or that my place, her place, is heading for the sewer? And how did you know about any of it, anyway?”
Nash shrugged. “I wouldn’t call Loon Country a sewer. Mazy could do worse than Geoff Hedman. And I knew about it because I’m Lyle’s lawyer. One of them, at least. He’s been hinting about some such romance, and it wasn’t hard to guess the rest. That map there,” he poked a thumb at the wall, “is a prospectus. Something Lyle had drawn up, just in case it worked out.”
“Just in case,” Gun said. “I would have appreciated a call.”
“Assumed you knew. You’ve got a daughter who has a little to do with this, Gun. Don’t you and Mazy ever talk?”
Gun stood up. “Nash, I came in here a year ago and we made a legal transaction. Mazy knew about it and that was as far as it went. She didn’t talk about it, I didn’t talk about it. Not to anybody. Now I find out she’s joined the Hedman household, and like it or not, she’s serving up her inheritence so Lyle can build himself a kingdom on it. He knew about that land transfer somehow. Before he should have. And I wonder how.”
Nash Sidney folded his hands. He looked at Gun as though sizing up a judge, put an appeal in his eyes and said, “I didn’t tell him, Gun, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“That’s e
xactly what I’m thinking.”
“Gun, listen. Yes, I handle some private matters for Mr. Hedman. I’m his attorney, for God’s sake. I’ve done some work on his Loon Country thing.” Nash’s tone now was backstabbed honesty. “But Gun, he gets no special favors in this office. And he hasn’t asked for any.”
Gun stood and rested his right hand on a swooping brass floor lamp that beamed down on Nash’s desk. His eyes breezed through the room. “This has turned into a nice little practice for you, Nash. New desk, files, nice carpet. These errands you run for Hedman pay well.”
“I have a lot of clients,” Nash answered.
“And a whole bushel basket of new ones, once Loon Country is up and running.”
Nash smiled involuntarily and squelched it. “Well, sure. It’s a safe guess that new industry in town will bring along some legal holes to plug, and I’ll be here to do it. That’s my job.”
“But that’s all you’ll get from Loon Country? A few more clients, maybe a full-time secretary? I’d think Hedman would be more grateful than that. Maybe make you his corporate legal advisor, give you a seat on the board.” Gun sighed. Being nasty exhausted him, but he needed true words out of this boy.
“Gun, I’m not responsible—” Nash began, but Gun tightened his fingers on the floor lamp’s neck and snapped his wrist upward. The brass knuckled back like a garden hose and the beam rested bright on Nash’s face. Gun leaned down at the blinking lawyer.
“Tell the truth,” he said, “and you’ll get off easy. Think of it as a plea bargain.”
Nash closed his eyes against the light and ran a long handful of fingers through his hair. Gun felt the confession working its way free. He waited.
Nash said, “Might’ve let it slip, I guess.” He kept his
eyes closed, as if the words might look worse out in the light.
Gun straightened and walked to the door. Nash sat still under the brass lamp. Gun started to leave the office but was stopped by a thought and leaned back in.
