Winter of the Wolf Moon am-2

by Steve Hamilton

  “Fifty bucks,” I said.

  “He had hundred-dollar bills, man. He was flashing them around like they were nothing. It was my pleasure to help the man.”

  “Thanks, Leon,” I said as I reached into my coat pocket. I took a hundred-dollar bill out of the envelope the renters had left me and handed it to him. “Where does he live?” I said.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But Eddie does. Hey Eddie!”

  A teammate came hopping over, one foot in a skate.

  “Eddie’s gonna need a hundred, too, man. He’s the one actually knows where Gobi lives.”

  “Then why am I paying you?” I said.

  “Finder’s fee,” he said.

  “Finder’s fee,” I said. “This is great. How about the two of you just share that hundred?”

  “I guess you don’t want to find Gobi too bad,” he said.

  I pulled out another hundred and gave it to Eddie. “All right, that’s it. Now where does he live?”

  “Whoa, who’s this dude?” Eddie said, peering at the bill.

  “That’s Benjamin Franklin,” the first player said. “Don’t you know your presidents?”

  “Where does he live?” I said.

  “He lives in a little cabin,” Eddie said. “Just south of town. He had a party one time, invited like fifty people. You couldn’t get more than twenty people in that place. We were all outside standing around in the cold.”

  “Where was I?” the first player said. “I didn’t get invited.”

  “You were there, man,” Eddie said. “You were just too stoned to remember. That was the night Mike pissed on you.”

  “Give me the address,” I said.

  “Mike pissed on me? I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

  “The address,” I said.

  “Shit, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” Eddie said.

  “Eddie,” I said, trying very hard to control myself. “Will you please give me the address now?”

  He gave me an address on Mackinac County Road.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Have a nice game, boys.”

  “Do you know what it’s like to wake up and have human urine all over you?”

  I didn’t stick around to find out. I went back out to the truck, fired it up and took the business loop through the south end of town. The bank sign flashed the time, 9:28, and the temperature, an even zero. When I looked again in the rearview mirror it had gone down to one below.

  I got off the loop near the state police barracks and went south down Mackinac Trail. I passed a small subdivision of houses and then it was just pine trees and the occasional driveway leading off into darkness. I watched the numbers on the mailboxes, counting them down until I found the one I was looking for. When I pulled into the driveway, I hit snow. There had to be at least two feet of it. I could see the driveway snaking through the trees, beyond the reach of my headlights. There were no tracks, no footprints. No sign of life.

  I sat there and thought about it. The wind came and rocked the trees, sending down a fine white mist from the branches. He might use a snowmobile in the wintertime, I thought, instead of trying to keep this driveway clear. I knew of a few people who did the same thing in Paradise.

  I backed up onto the road for a running start and then put the plow down. What the hell, I thought. I’ll do him a favor. I gunned it down the driveway and started pushing the snow off. It was heavy work on a narrow track. I had to be careful to keep the truck away from the trees. More than once I had to back my way up all the way to the road and take another run at it. A good fifteen minutes later, I broke through into the clearing and saw his house. It was dark.

  I pushed the snow all the way up to the back of his car. I got out, leaving the truck running with the headlights on. As I walked past his car I saw that it was buried in snow so deep you could barely tell what color it was. I made my way through the snow to his cabin and knocked on the front door. As I stood there waiting for an answer, I gave the cabin a close look. Even in this light I could see that it was a cheap job. It would have made my old man sick to his stomach to see all the chinking somebody had packed in between the logs to keep the wind out.

  I knocked again. No answer.

  I stepped back and looked around the place. There were two windows on either side of the door, but they were small and set high off the ground. I walked all the way around the cabin, working hard to get through the snow. It was a simple rectangle, with two more high windows in the back and a big skylight.

  “Now what?” I said to myself. “How bad do you want to know what’s inside this place?” I knew the answer right away. Bad enough to break in, but not bad enough to try to crawl through one of those windows.

  I went back to the front door and leaned against it. It seemed solid. It’s hard to build a good cabin, I thought, but it’s easy to buy a good door. I had a set of lock picks, but they were back in my cabin. Plus I had no idea how to use them.

  Leon. He could do it.

  I went back to the truck, took off my gloves, picked up the cellular phone, and called him. “Leon,” I said, “I’m outside somebody’s cabin. He was a teammate of Bruckman. I think he might have had some connection to Molinov and his men. From what Bruckman told me, he might have at least known about them.”

  “Sounds promising,” Leon said. “What’s your plan?”

  “My plan is for you to come out here and pick the lock,” I said. “We might be able to find something useful. Phone numbers, addresses, who knows what.”

  “That would be breaking and entering,” he said. “Unlawful trespassing.”

  “Are you coming out here or not?” I said.

  “I’m on my way,” he said. “Give me the address.”

  I gave him the address. “Just look for the freshly plowed driveway,”. I said.

  I put my gloves back on and held my hands down by the heater until they stopped hurting. Then I sat back and waited. I figured it would be a twenty-minute drive from Leon’s house in Rosedale. He was there in eighteen.

  He pulled up in his little red car and jumped out. “You rang, partner?”

  “Right this way,” I said. I led him to the front door.

  “Nobody can see us,” he said, looking around the place. There was nothing but trees. “This is good.”

  “Can you get in?”

  “Let’s see,” he said. He went down on one knee and gave the doorknob a rattle. “Hold this flashlight.”

  I took the flashlight from him and aimed the beam at the doorknob.

  “The trick to picking any lock is applying the right degree of tension,” he said. “You do this by first choosing the correct size tension bar.”

  “Leon, save the lesson for a warm day, okay? Just get the door open.”

  “Such gratitude,” he said. He put a tension bar into the lock with one hand, and then with a pick in the other hand he started to work at the tumblers. “It’s kinda tricky. It’s hard to get a good feel for it in this cold.” He blew on his hands and tried again. “Damn, I’m losing the feeling in my hands.”

  “Are you gonna be able to do this?” I said.

  “Have no fear,” he said. “I just have to warm my hands up. Let’s go sit in your truck for a minute.”

  We went back to the truck. He held his hands down by the heater, rubbing them together. “That’s good,” he said. “That’s very good. Let’s go give it another shot.”

  We went back out into the cold, back to the door. He went down on one knee again and set the tension bar, working more quickly this time. “I’m losing the back tumbler,” he said. “It won’t stay put by the time I get up to the front.” He worked at it for a few more minutes. In the faint light I could see him gritting his teeth. “Goddamn it all,” he said. “I’m losing my hands again. I almost had it! Let’s go back to the truck.”

  We went back to the truck again. He warmed up his hands again. Then we got out of the truck and went back to the door.

  “All r
ight, this time I’m going to get it,” he said. He worked at the lock. I could hear the faint ticking of metal against metal until the sound was swallowed by a gust of wind. “Almost there,” he said. “I’m almost there.”

  “Leon, this isn’t going to work,” I said. “Come back to the truck.”

  “Wait,” he said. “Wait…” He worked at it. “Wait…” The pick fell from his hand. “Damn it! All right. Let me warm up my hands one more time.”

  We went back to the truck. “Let’s go through the window,” I said.

  “I can do this, Alex. Give me one more shot.”

  I put the truck in gear. “I’ve got a better idea,” I said.

  “What are you doing?” he said.

  “I’m gonna pull the truck up to the front of the house,” I said. “We can climb up on the plow and go right in.” I pulled off the driveway and started plowing a path to one of the front windows. When I had pushed my way to within five feet of the cabin, my wheels started slipping. I slammed it in reverse and backed up to the driveway again.

  “Alex,” he said, “be careful.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. I put the truck back in drive and started down the path to the window. I gave it a little extra this time, just enough to punch my way through the last few feet of snow.

  I gave it too much. When I tried to hit the brake, my boot with all the snow on it slipped right off the pedal. I tried again and hit the gas pedal instead.

  “Alex, look put!”

  I slammed all twelve hundred pounds of snowplow into the side of the cabin. The wall caved in. The window frame hung from a corner for a second and then fell on top of the plow. Then the roof buckled, sending a full load of snow onto my windshield. We couldn’t see a thing.

  Neither of us said anything for a long moment.

  “Well, this is one other way of getting in,” I said.

  “Alex,” Leon finally said. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “I knew this was a cheap cabin,” I said.

  He choked out a few words, unable to put a sentence together.

  “Come on,” I said. “As long as we’re in.” I opened my door.

  “As long as we’re… I cannot believe this.”

  I stepped around the snowplow and into the cabin.

  I stopped.

  Leon came up behind me. “Do you have any idea what’s going to happen to us if…”

  He stopped.

  There was a body in the center of the room. On the floor.

  Another body in a chair.

  Blood.

  Blood everywhere.

  Old blood. Dried hard and black. The body on the floor spread out, face up. A man. What was left of the face. A man.

  The body in the chair slumped over. Long hair. A woman.

  Blood everywhere.

  I couldn’t see the woman’s face. The hair hanging down to the floor like a final curtain.

  Blood everywhere.

  Leon swallowed hard next to me. “Sweet Jesus,” he said. “Let’s get out of here, Alex.”

  I couldn’t move.

  “Come on, Alex. Let’s go.” I felt his hands on my arm. “I said let’s go.”

  I turned around and went back to the truck. I opened the door and got in. Leon was still outside the truck, wiping the snow off the windshield. When he finished and got in the truck, I turned the key in the ignition. There was a sudden grinding sound that went right through me.

  “The truck is already running, Alex. Put it in reverse.”

  I put it in reverse. As I pulled backwards, part of the wall came with it. In the beam of the headlights, we could both see into the cabin. The light hit the blood and somehow made it come alive again, a brilliant shimmering red.

  “Nice and easy,” he said. He sounded calm. “Look where you’re going. Right back to the driveway.”

  “I got it.”

  “Keep going,” he said. “Straight back.”

  “Okay, I got it.”

  I moved back slowly, all the way back to his car. “Oh God,” he said when I had stopped. His calm was gone. He started to rock back and forth in the seat. “Holy God in heaven.”

  “Take it easy,” I said. “Are you going to be all right?”

  “God, did you see all that blood?”

  “Yes,” I said. I was fighting it. I couldn’t let the blood overwhelm me.

  “It looks like they’ve been dead for a couple of days,” he said. “At least a couple of days.”

  “I wonder why nobody came looking for them?”

  “We have to call the police,” he said.

  “Hold on,” I said. “Think about it for a minute.”

  “Think about what?” he said. “What’s there to think about?”

  “Leon, think. What good is it going to do to have them come out here and see what we’ve done to this place? It’s not going to do them any good. Gobi, and… it was a woman, right?”

  “Yes,” he said. “His wife maybe?”

  “We’ll both go home,” I said. “And then I’ll call it in, anonymously.”

  “I don’t know, Alex.”

  “Think about it,” I said. “Play it in your head, both ways. Think about what happens in the end.”

  He took a long breath and sniffled. “Let me call,” he said. “They might know your voice.”

  I looked at him. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ll call. I’ll wait about an hour after I get home.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Okay.”

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, Leon. I’m sorry I dragged you out here.”

  “Don’t worry about it, partner.” He took one more breath and let it out. “Okay,” he said. “I’m good now.” He got out and went to his car. I followed him down the driveway, both of us backing our way down through the trees. He hit the road and went south. I went north.

  When I was back on M-28, heading toward Paradise, I tried not to think about what I had seen. I couldn’t keep the image out of my head.

  The waitress. Bruckman said something about Gobi working on the waitress from the Horns Inn. That’s who the woman was.

  I pulled over, kicked the door open. I threw up all over the road, everything I had until I was heaving up nothing but air. I tried to breathe. So cold it hurt. I closed the door and kept going.

  By the time I got to Strongs, I was having second thoughts about our plan. I’ve got to call the police myself, I thought. I can’t just go home and let Leon do this, pretend we weren’t there.

  I picked up the phone, put it down, then picked it up again. I dialed 911.

  Then to my left, something flashing by. A vehicle. It pulled over into my lane, cutting me off. I hit the brakes, started to skid on the icy road. I saw the car in front of me sliding sideways, then straightening out again. It was a Jeep. Champagne and Urbanic.

  The Jeep was coming to a stop. I pumped the brakes. I wouldn’t be able to stop in time. Closer, closer. Goddamn it, stop! I swerved to the right, hitting the snowbank. The impact sent me bouncing off the steering wheel and then back against my seat.

  When everything finally stopped moving, I looked up at the Jeep in front of me. They must know about what happened, I thought. This is going to take some explaining, why I’m driving back home, why I didn’t call it in.

  Maybe if I can cut Champagne out of this, don’t even talk to him. I’ll have a better chance with Urbanic.

  I winced as I got out of the truck. The sudden stop hadn’t done my ribs any good.

  Go right to Urbanic and throw yourself at his mercy, I thought. Pretend Champagne isn’t even here.

  The Jeep’s doors opened. Two men stepped out.

  It wasn’t them.

  I reached for my gun. It wasn’t there. My right pocket was empty. I never got it back from the police.

  The road was deserted. Nothing to see in any direction but trees and snow. No sound but the wind.

  “Good evening, Mr. McKn
ight,” the driver said. “At last we meet. You’re a hard man to find.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I sat in the back seat, directly behind the driver. I could see the back of his head, the fur on his collar, and nothing else. The other man sat next to me, wearing the same kind of coat. Fur on the collar, maybe sable. He had a strong chin and a nose that might have been broken once or twice. He kept looking straight ahead. He did not turn to look at me. He did not speak.

  You’re a hard man to find, they said. The words rang in my head. You’re a hard man to find.

  The driver had opened the door for me. He had stood there waiting for me. It would have been a perfect imitation of a chauffeur, except for the gun in his hand. The other man stood on the other side of the car, waiting patiently for me to accept the invitation. He had a gun, too.

  I had gotten into the car. What else was I going to do?

  You’re a hard man to find. It didn’t make any sense.

  The driver kept going west on M-28. He turned north on the road to Paradise. I cleared my throat. “You’re Pearl and Roman,” I said.

  They said nothing. The man sitting next to me didn’t even turn his head.

  “You trashed my cabin,” I said. “Saturday.”

  “We will not talk now,” the man said. He looked straight ahead.

  We kept going in silence. When we came into Paradise, I saw the lights on all along the road, all the places that made up my town. The gas station. The post office. I tried to keep the fear down, someplace deep inside me, in a little box where fear can have its place without controlling you. I knew if I let it out of that box, I would have no hope of thinking clearly.

  You’re a hard man to find. Meaning that they had been looking for me, but could not find me until tonight? They broke into my place on Saturday. How many days have passed since then? What day is it today? Think, Alex.

  We came into the center of town. I could see the Glasgow Inn up ahead. Jackie is in there right now. He has a cold Canadian waiting for me. But no, we’re turning.

  The driver took a left at the blinking light, taking 123 west out of town. “Where are we going?” I said.

  “We will not talk now,” the man said.