Ice Run

by Steve Hamilton

  Come on, I thought. Try something right here. Take a swing at me.

  He didn’t. He kept walking behind me. He led me to the front door of the house and told me to open it. I did. He stepped in behind me. The bright lights hit my eyes.

  “Who do we have here?” a man said.

  As my eyes focused, I saw Natalie sitting at a table. She still had her coat on. Across from her was the man who had spoken. It was Albert DeMarco. Now that I could see him up close, it was hard to believe he was in his seventies. A well-preserved sixty-year-old, maybe. Another man stood directly behind Natalie. This was the big man I had seen getting off the airplane.

  There were two guns on the table in front of DeMarco, Natalie’s automatic and her grandfather’s Webley Bulldog.

  “Have a seat,” he said. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

  I looked at Natalie. When our eyes met, I could see her lips trembling. She was trying very hard to keep her composure. She opened her mouth to say something. She couldn’t do it. She shook her head.

  As I sat down next to her, I gave the man behind her a better look. Six foot five, maybe 240 pounds. He looked strong. His high cheekbones and close-cropped hair made him look like a German boxer.

  I turned and looked back at the man in the white camouflage. He was barely five foot six in his army boots. Not even 150 pounds. He had long black hair tied in a ponytail. Now that I could see his face, he looked at least half crazy.

  “I was sure Natalie would bring along some help,” DeMarco said. “I did, too, of course. I’d like you to meet my troubleshooters.”

  “Please tell me you really don’t call these guys your troubleshooters.”

  He smiled at me. The skin around his eyes didn’t move. It was all plastic surgery, I thought. The hair is probably fake, too.

  “I think you should know,” I said. “Speaking of men, I’ve got seven others with me. The whole place is surrounded.”

  He laughed. “Natalie, is this the best man you could find? I hope you’re not paying him too much.”

  The man in white wasn’t laughing at my little bluff. He looked back at the door. Then he went out.

  One man out of the room, I thought. One less gun.

  And somewhere out there, I hope to God, Vinnie is watching.

  “I didn’t hire Alex,” Natalie said.

  He smiled again and looked at me. “Now I understand,” he said. “You always did have a thing for older men.”

  I wanted to hit him so badly. Just one shot. But no, that was the wrong thing to think about. I had to stay cool, no matter what.

  “Let Alex go,” she said. “He has nothing to do with this.”

  “Did he bring the videotape with him?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Where is it?”

  “In a safe place. I’ll tell you if you let Alex go.”

  “Stop it,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Come on, Vinnie. Where are you?

  “Let me ask you something,” he said. He picked one of her guns off the table. “You see, this gun I understand. This is your regular police-issue Sig Sauer P229.”

  He looked at it carefully, like a man at a gun shop. Then he put it down. It was twelve inches away from him. A good four feet away from me.

  No, don’t let him see you looking at those guns, I thought. If he notices that, he might take them off the table.

  “But this other gun …”

  He picked up the old Bulldog and weighed it in his hand.

  “This gun is interesting. Note the distinctive shape of the barrel. And only five rounds. Very unusual.”

  He looked down the sight line. The gun was pointed at my chest.

  “It does have a good feel to it,” he said. “I’ll say that much. But why two guns? It doesn’t make any sense to me. Do you have any theories, sir?”

  “A little extra firepower,” I said. “She didn’t know how many men you’d have on your payroll.”

  I sneaked a peek at the man standing behind Natalie. He looked down at me with cold eyes. No emotion at all. His huge hands were hanging at his sides, eighteen inches from Natalie’s neck.

  “My guess,” DeMarco said, “is that this gun right here has some special significance.”

  Natalie was watching him handle the gun.

  Look at me, I thought. Please, Natalie.

  “It’s an old gun,” DeMarco said.

  Look at me, Natalie.

  “A Webley Bulldog. It’s a classic.”

  Finally, she did. I gave her a quick smile. I raised one eyebrow. He’s out there, I said in my mind. Read my thoughts, Natalie. He’s out there. We have to be ready.

  “I’m thinking this gun has to be at least seventy years old,” DeMarco said. “Maybe more. Hell, this gun is probably older than I am.”

  I tried to put myself in Vinnie’s place. I’m outside, I see one man coming out. He’s the perimeter. Take him out if I can? Look in the window? Which would I do first? What do I do if I see Alex and Natalie in the room with these two men?

  “In fact,” DeMarco said, “I’ll bet you that this gun belonged to Luc Reynaud. Am I right?”

  A better question, what would Vinnie do if he looked in the window and saw the two guns lying on the table? Would he figure those were our only chance?

  “If I had to guess,” DeMarco said, “I’d say that this was Luc Reynaud’s favorite gun, the gun he took with him everywhere. You had to watch out for yourself back then. Life on the border could get pretty dangerous.”

  I have to get light on my feet, I thought. I have to be ready to react in a split second.

  “You know what else? I think there’s a very good chance that this gun right here is the very same gun Luc Reynaud used to kill my father. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  He put the gun on the table and spun it.

  “I wonder if my father even saw it coming,” he said. “I wonder if Luc Reynaud looked him in the eye before he killed him and took all the money. Or if he just shot him in the back.”

  The gun kept spinning.

  “My grandfather didn’t do that,” Natalie said.

  “Your grandfather was the only man who came back alive,” DeMarco said. “Except for the gangsters, of course.”

  “They must have killed him,” Natalie said. “They killed him because he tried to do something stupid. Or because he was an ugly, evil snake, just like you.”

  DeMarco smiled again. The gun spun slower and slower.

  “Whatever I am,” he said, “your grandfather made me.”

  “That’s a lie,” she said.

  “Oh yes, Natalie. You know it’s true. It all goes back to Luc Reynaud.”

  Okay, I thought. This is good. Everybody is looking at the spinning gun. The other gun, Natalie’s automatic, that’s closer to me. That’s the gun I have to go for.

  The Bulldog came to a slow stop. The barrel was pointing right at DeMarco’s stomach.

  “Let’s try that again,” he said. “This time for real. Did you ever play Spin the Bottle when you were a kid? Now we’re going to play Spin the Gun That Killed My Father in Cold Blood. Unless you’d care to tell me where that videotape is…”

  Come on, Vinnie. Now would be a perfect time.

  “Natalie? Mr. McKnight? Do you have anything to say?”

  Right now, Vinnie. You have to be out there. You have to help us.

  “All right, then,” DeMarco said. “Let’s see who gets it first.”

  He spun the Bulldog.

  This is it, Vinnie. With or without you, I’ve got to make my move.

  Spinning.

  DeMarco is focused on it. When I make my move, he’ll reach for that gun first. He has to.

  Spinning.

  No external safety on the Sig Sauer. Double-action trigger. Just grab it and fire.

  Spinning.

  I can do this. I am fast. I am lightning.

  Spinning. It’s starting to slow down.

  You’re an old man,
DeMarco. No matter how many times you’ve had your face lifted, you still have old-man reflexes.

  Spinning slower. Slower.

  Everyone watching it spin.

  Then a sound. Outside. A muffled shout.

  DeMarco looking to his right, toward the door.

  I explode. Over the table. DeMarco’s face, showing surprise. His right hand reaching out, first for the Bulldog, then the automatic, his fingers touching it.

  But it’s mine. I take it from him in that hundredth of a second. I roll onto my back. I fire the gun. Once. Twice. Right over Natalie’s head. I hit the big man in the chest. He has no idea what has just happened to him. He’s looking down at his chest like somebody has just played a cruel joke on him.

  DeMarco’s hands on my face now, digging at my eyes. I bring my arms back, two fists, two handcuffs still on the wrists, one gun. I hit him in the nose and feel it give. As I sit up, he’s already going down. The blood is already coming out.

  “Natalie, you okay?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Go!”

  “Here,” I said. I slid the Bulldog to her. The man behind her had a hand on her shoulder. He was bending over like he had just dropped something. As he pulled his hand off her body, he folded up and collapsed.

  I rolled off the table and ran to the door. As I put my shoulder into it and pushed it open, I ran right into Vinnie. He had a gun in his hand.

  “Alex,” he said. “Are you all right? Where’s Natalie?”

  “Inside,” I said. “Where’s the other man?”

  I saw him before Vinnie could answer. He was on his hands and knees in the snow, almost blending in with his white camouflage.

  “How’d you get his gun?” I said.

  “It wasn’t easy,” Vinnie said. “This guy got Natalie before I could do anything. I didn’t have a weapon, Alex. Then you came later, from the other side. I was starting to think we had no hope.”

  “How’d you know to follow her in the first place?”

  “Come on,” he said. “She’s the worst liar I’ve ever seen.”

  I was about to say something else. Then I saw the man in white going for his pant leg. I saw the ankle holster. I saw a flash of silver.

  “Drop it!” I said.

  But he was already swinging it. I shot him four times. I stayed there in my pose for a long time, the gun still pointed at the spot where he had been. Vinnie went over to him, leading with his gun. He took one look down at the man and relaxed.

  “He’s done,” he said. “I wish he didn’t tie his hair back like that. It makes him look like an Indian.”

  I let out a long breath. I had just killed two men. Six gunshots rang in my ears.

  Then, from somewhere inside the house, we heard the seventh.

  I rushed back inside, with Vinnie right behind me. Natalie stood with the Bulldog in her hands. DeMarco’s chair was tipped over. His body was still in it, as if he had sat back down before he died.

  “Natalie.”

  She didn’t look up.

  “Natalie,” I said. “He went for your gun, right? You had to shoot him.”

  She kept looking down at him. She didn’t move.

  “Natalie, am I right?”

  Nothing from her. Nothing.

  I stepped up to her.

  “Tell me,” I said. “He went for your gun. You had to shoot him.”

  She finally moved. She looked at me.

  “Yes,” she said. “He went for my gun. I had to shoot him.”

  She looked back down at him. Natalie had shot her stepfather right between the eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The sun came out on Valentine’s Day. I woke up early. The bright light on the snow didn’t make my head feel any better. It had been a long night at the Glasgow. I had sat with Jackie and Vinnie by the fire until it was time to close the place. Jackie had a few drinks. So did I. Vinnie had his usual 7 Up.

  When I had said good night to him in the parking lot, Vinnie had told me he was already thinking about working on the cabin with me again, the one that had burned down. I told him I’d be ready as soon as the weather broke. I thanked him again for everything. I didn’t have to make a list for him. He knew what I was talking about.

  A few hours of sleep later, here I was heading out again. I drove to the Soo and met Leon for breakfast. It felt good to see him without having to ask him to look up something for me. No mysterious hats to photograph in the parking lot. No newspaper articles about murders that happened thirty years ago.

  I gave him his gun back. I told him I hoped I’d never have to borrow it again.

  After breakfast, I drove across the bridge to Canada. The sun was still shining. When I pulled into the Memorial Hospital parking lot, Natalie was there waiting for me. She was wearing a sweater and a leather jacket. Blue jeans. She looked better than ever. She gave me a quick kiss, then we went upstairs to the sixth floor.

  When we got to the station, there was no nurse there. We walked down to Mrs. DeMarco’s room and looked in. The bed was empty.

  “Mr. McKnight?” I turned and saw the nurse, the same nurse who had been there the night I had paid my visit.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “She went early this morning.”

  I thanked her. There was nothing else to say.

  “Do you know who I could give this box to?” she said. It was the box she had shown me before, with all the photographs and documents.

  “I was her stepgranddaughter for a while,” Natalie said. “I think I’m as close to family as anyone.”

  I was surprised to see her take the box. I carried it down to her Jeep for her. We sat together in the front seat while she looked through it. I couldn’t help thinking about everything she had been through, the whole history of three families and how it all went back to one night on a frozen river. She passed quickly through the pictures of Albert, the newspaper articles, the report cards. She stopped when she got to the picture of herself as a twelve-year-old, blowing out the candles at her birthday party. “Everyone’s gone now,” she said. “I’m all alone.”

  “What are you gonna do with all this stuff?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “This is the last thing I need, another box of old stuff to take with me.”

  To take with me. That was the one thing we weren’t talking about. None of us had faced criminal charges. Not me. Not Natalie. Not Vinnie. But Natalie was an OPP officer, on administrative leave. In another two days, she would appear before a review board. They would decide whether she was to be reinstated. If she was, they’d almost certainly reassign her. Her old commander, Staff Sergeant Moreland, had told her he wished he could transfer her to the Mounties and send her to the Yukon. He was probably only half joking.

  I didn’t know what she’d say to the board, what she’d tell them about what had happened in that house on the island. That was the other thing we weren’t talking about.

  “What do you want to do now?” I said.

  “It’s Valentine’s Day,” she said.

  “So we should do something special.”

  “Damned right we should. Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  We left my truck in the parking lot. She drove me across town to one of the big ice arenas.

  “I played here once,” she said as we pulled in. “A big tournament. I think I had eight minutes in penalties.”

  “Why are we here now?”

  “Why do you think, genius? Come on.”

  She took me inside. The rink was reserved for open skating all day, with a Valentine’s Day special discount for couples.

  “It’s been a while,” I said.

  “Me, too.”

  They tried to give her white figure skates. She pushed them right back to the man. “Real skates,” she said.

  A few minutes later, we were on the ice. We went slow at first. I was still getting my strength back, after everything I had been through. The bruises were finally goi
ng away. I was no longer scaring children in the streets.

  We went a little faster as we got warmed up. We held hands and skated in big circles. When the ice finally cleared ahead of us, she let go of me and skated ahead. As I watched her, I thought about what I was feeling, for the hundredth time that day. Part of me wanted her to go back to the police force, to find her way back into the real world, no matter where that took her. Part of me didn’t.

  In a way, I knew exactly what she was facing. I had been in a similar situation once myself. I ended up leaving the Detroit police and moving to Paradise, Michigan. I rented out cabins and went down to the Glasgow Inn every single night. That’s how it turned out for old Alex. But then, I didn’t have someone around to love me.

  She picked up speed. Three strides and she was already a blur. She went into the corner and turned hard. There was no net on the ice, but she circled around where it would have been and came out the other side like she was fired out of a slingshot. She skated like a hockey player, head down, shoulders square to the ice—but so graceful it took my breath away. Her hair was sailing behind her. She was smiling.

  She went all the way around the ice, dodging anyone in her way. When she came back to me she dug her skates into the ice and sprayed me.

  “How’s that?” she said.

  “You were flying.”

  “Damn right I was.”

  I took her hand again. I kissed her right there in the middle of the ice. Then we kept skating. We skated together, around and around, until it was time to go home.