“Look at this, working my ass off to see the guy.”
She slipped and broke the fall with her hands, pushed up, brushed her palms and continued. The angle of incline was now sharper, the forest floor slick. Crows cawed. Soon, Charlie would leave the channel and enter the cove. He would have a plan—Mica Bay, Lost Bay. The place with beaver dams.
It would be a test for him, too. He would be alone this time, with no Louis Rohmer to make him look good by comparison. Just Charlie Schmidt, hung out to dry with four women.
Lomak felt pumped and confident. It was great like this, even in the cold. Cold was good, it got the juices flowing.
“Indian Joe, man, right out of The Mummy.”
He laughed, flexing his knees as the Stratos lunged over shallow swells. He pulled his cap down hard, again seeing Schmidt in the barn, up on the two jet skis. Wrapped like that in duct tape, he looked like a real mummy. A piece of sculpture.
“A work of art, man—”
It had come to him spontaneously, what to do with Schmidt. Anybody told you movies weren’t educational, they knew nothing. He closed his eyes, feeling the big outboard’s vibration, hands on the wheel. Except here, Charles Bronson would not be coming back to settle scores. In this new version, Duke Wayne goes to Costa Rica with two mil and buys himself…
He opened his eyes. Whatever he wants, Lomak thought.
He liked standing at the wheel, knowing this was how it should be, not sitting.
“Stand up, take it like a man—”
He split a pair of buoys doing fifty and looked back at the rooster tail. Facing forward, he felt energized, in charge. He saw himself in a Jacuzzi at night, with a Bud—no, a Heineken. It was Costa Rica, and coming toward him in the aubergine dress, looking ashamed and wanting forgiveness was Doreen. She was holding a plate of her short ribs, his favorite, trying to make amends.
Ahead, on the north shore, the houseboat’s upper deck showed above the cove’s land spit. He turned the wheel, bending his knees, liking how the boat did what he told it to. They would have them in Costa Rica, Stratos boats just like this one. If they didn’t, he’d have one shipped. Get the whole deal. The motor and cover with the stitched logo. The trailer. Or maybe not. It was ocean there, Atlantic one side, Pacific the other. So out there, they would have something even better, made for reefs and swamps. Whatever.
He didn’t like swamps. That was the Philippines, the fucking Navy. Filthy, stinking country. Garbage. Pollution. Snakes coming out your ass in the countryside. He hated snakes.
Did they have them in Costa Rica? Or Crocodiles? Those suckers, in the Pacific they ate actual people. Cruised the mangrove swamps, tipped over canoes. He had seen a canoe moments ago, pulled up on the beach. Some tree hugger dicking around in the woods. Not a problem.
He thought ahead, now seeing the stern of the houseboat. For the first time Lomak considered what should follow. It was better not to think too much, to let it happen, trust the moment’s vibe. The only thing for sure, he had to separate the women. Two and two, easier to handle. Two with him to Kettle Falls, two left on the boat. Women talked, so what you had to do, you had to shut them down. Up front, right away. Otherwise, it went on, time got used up—yadda yadda yadda. His ETA for reaching Kettle Falls was 10:10, forty minutes.
He looked down at the poncho on the passenger seat. Wrapped inside were the cell phone and laptop. Rohmer had said weather didn’t matter. Rain or shine, the wireless network would work. Plus, a backup phone and computer were stashed in the bow, just in case. It was the kind of technical shit Rohmer was good at. You had to give him that, how he got into the Rosses’ brokerage account through the daughter’s school chat room, on the Internet. How he managed to lift everything off the Rosses’ home computer. You had to give him that. Anything else, forget about it. A pussy, a wuss. He had not seemed surprised about the plane, understanding where he was at, needing Jerry Lomak to take charge.
As he neared the cove, the stern of the houseboat came into full view. He throttled back, the Stratos sank. Someone was outside, one of the two from yesterday. Not the redhead, the shy one. Her and Ross would go with him to Kettle Falls. All that money winging off with a few key clicks. Bye bye, money, he thought. Bon voyage. But something was needed first. To straighten them up, show them he was serious.
The woman was drinking coffee, watching him over the mug. Coffee would be good, but later. He waved, feeling a strong wish to drag Marion Ross at full speed, all the way to Kettle Falls. The shy one half raised her hand. He fought down his rage. It was important not to hurt Ross, but he saw her now, in the Oakland County courtroom pointing at him—intimidation, exploitation, preying on a helpless woman—
Mind games for the jury.
Lomak guided the boat, smiling for the woman. When all he’d done was give Doreen Taylor some direction. But he would not touch a hair on Marion fucking Ross’s head. Not touching her would show Ross how wrong she had been about him. Fucking lady lawyer, thinking, presuming she knew him.
“How you doin’?”
He waved again. She put the coffee down on the rail and stepped back, holding herself. No, we aren’t fishing today, Lomak thought. He put the throttle in neutral, then reverse. He jumped forward as the boat neared the transom.
“Charlie?”
When he looked up, Marion Ross was standing topside on the sun deck, looking down. “My God—”
Hand to his chest, still looking up as her face changed, Lomak staggered. “It’s a dream. Star Trek, Han Solo, some shit like that—’Beam me up, Scotty,’ I can’t believe it—”
She took a step back, eyes on him.
“Here’s a dream for you, Marion. Don’t go far.” Quickly he jumped to the transom with the bowline. He wound it over a cleat and faced the shy woman. “Hello again.” Still hugging herself, confused, she looked to the door. “You still up there, Marion? Talk to me, Baby.”
“What do you want?”
“Well, I want a cabbage patch doll and a mountain bike just like Carrie’s and my very own allowance.” He crossed to the woman, unlatched the railing gate and swung it open. “Marion? Hello?” He turned quickly, grabbed her sweatshirt with both hands and threw her. She screamed. It was just like Doreen at the cottage, for fun. She cleared the transom and hit the water on her back.
“No!”
Here Ross came, down the ladder as the woman splashed and screamed. Lomak looked again to the stern. “Lady, for Christ’s sake, it’s four feet deep.” Thrashing in near-freezing water, losing her footing, she heaved for breath. He turned to Ross who was down now, looking out. “Well, shit, Marion, she’ll freeze. Help her. Get a rope, do something.”
He threw open the door and moved down the passage. Staring at him as he came, the old one was at the far end, in her wheelchair. He smelled cinnamon. “Hello there, don’t get up, it’s just the help. Where’s the redhead, upstairs?”
She shook her head as he stepped into the lounge. “She took the canoe.”
On the table were plates and mugs, half a coffee cake, a knife. He stepped to it and cut himself a piece, hearing shouts outside, thumping on the hull. “Coffee?”
Her hands were folded, a lap robe over her legs. She nodded and he turned, seeing the Mr. Coffee. He crossed behind the counter, opened a cupboard and found a mug, poured from the carafe. He blew on the coffee and drank.
“Decaf? What’s the problem, everyone tense out here?” He sipped again, facing her. Her chest rose and fell but she held his gaze. “You aren’t scared. Why not?”
“Should I be?”
“Probably not.”
“What did you do? What happened?”
“Polar bear initiation.”
“What do you want?”
“A popular question. If this is decaf, not bad.”
He set it down, hearing the door open. Crying and thumping filled the passage. He stuck his head around the corner. The shy one was just inside, hopping, doing a dance, teeth chattering. Ross now followed.
>
“A blanket, Marion,” he called. “Come on, pick up the pace, she’s freezing.”
He watched Ross duck into the nearest cabin, heard bedding torn from a mattress. She backed out into the narrow passage, arms full. She threw a blanket over the woman’s head, a second around her shoulders. The woman kept dancing, crying. A little cold water, Lomak thought. Give me a break. But it had worked. He could see it when she now raised her face, terrified. Ross, rubbing the woman with the blanket, seemed lost, frightened.
He crossed to the front of the lounge, to the chrome wheel and instruments. Pulling down hard with both hands, he tore off the thin veneer housing, exposing wires. He took clippers from his hip pocket and cut them, then tested the ignition and horn, the radio. All dead. He walked to the port side and tapped the window. Glass, not plastic. What else? Their boat, the Lund. He would take the keys before leaving, but fire was a possibility. He had checked for phones and flares last night. The cripple would not be able to manage, but the redhead? She was off somewhere, with the canoe. She would be back eventually.
“Okay, conference time,” he said. “Officers’ mess. Everyone fall in.”
One more thing was needed, to set the hook. Marion came up the passage, eyes not leaving his, trying to figure it out. The other stayed where she was, near the door. She was whimpering now, baby-doll whining without tears.
Just like Doreen in court, it irritated him. “Shut that off right now and get in here.”
Huddled under the blankets, she shuffled forward. Marion stepped aside for her. When the woman stopped, he looked down at the cripple. “Please move yourself up next to the door wall.”
“Don’t hurt her, Jerry, this doesn’t—”
“You aren’t listening, Marion. I said ‘please.’”
The best thing about all this, right now, was Ross with nothing to say, having to wait and see what was coming. No brief or new evidence. No recently located forklift driver from MichCon to give testimony. Nothing. He looked back down as the cripple released the wheel brake and rolled backward.
“That’s good, thanks a bunch.” Houseboats were mobile homes. Floating trailers with junk fittings. He stepped to the end of the dining table, lifted and moved it against the wall. “Well, come on, Marion—”
Hands in her pockets, she took them out and stepped hesitantly to the table. After a moment she lifted her end and moved it even with his, under the window. She stepped back, watching him. The captain’s chairs now stood alone on the blue shag carpet. It was crap like the family-room junk Doreen had owned, before the renovations. Each chair had a swivel base with chromed legs. He reached down to the nearest chair, and gripped the armrests. With his back to the table, he hefted the chair to his chest, lunged forward, and threw it. Glass shattered, chair and window collapsed as one, falling out. The chair caught a moment on the boat’s catwalk, then fell. It made a dull smack on the water. Silence filled the room as cold air floated through the opening.
“Oh God, no, he’ll kill us—”
The swimmer. She was falling apart, and he wished the redhead were here. She would be easier to handle, less stupid.
“Please, Jerry, Tina has MS. This is no good.”
“Marion, you’re absolutely right. All gather ‘round, here we go.”
He stood with his back to the empty window frame, waiting until Ross had stepped next to the old woman. He looked down at her. “It’s Tina, right? Hi. MS, degeneration of the nervous system, with no cure. Not yet, maybe down the line. Who knows, maybe in time, you think? Anyway, I would guess that cold, like we have here now, it can’t be good for you. We’re going to leave you blankets, and you might get the heater going. But what you really need, Tina, is a nice, warm room. Which you will get, I would think, pretty soon. That is, if everyone does right in the next thirty to forty minutes. Marion here and me, we go way back. And if she does right, Marion will be able to tell you all about it later.”
He looked at the shy one. “Name?”
“What you did, for no reason—”
“Name.”
“Heather.”
“Heather, of course. That was a nice northern last night, to go with the steak. Surf and turf. I know you’re still shook up, but it was necessary. To sort of speed things up. What you need to do, Heather, you should change clothes as fast as you can and dress warm. Marion, you should go topside and get your coat, your hat and mittens, and you should do it right now. While Tina and I wait here. Speed is of the essence, as they say—and don’t bother with the phone in the redhead’s duffle. It doesn’t work.” He looked at his watch. “Sixty seconds. Go.”
“We aren’t doing anything,” Marion said. “Not until you tell me what you want.”
He continued looking at his watch.
“I’ll do what you want, just leave them out of it.”
He dropped his arm, and put his hands behind his back.
“Please, Jerry—”
He sighed and looked again at his watch.
Marion now turned Heather by the shoulders. “Put something on, your parka, go on—” She moved with her, down the passage. The woman was shuffling, crying again. At the first cabin she went in. Ross moved to the back door and hesitated.
“Thirty seconds.”
She threw it open and he heard her scuffing up the ladder. When the upper deck creaked, he looked down at Tina. “She’s always the one in charge. This is new to her, I’ll give her an extra half minute.”
“You’re someone she tried in court.”
He smiled at her. Tina, you could tell, was smart. Illness had made her less fearful and he liked her for it. It was the right attitude.
“Essentially correct,” he said. “She threw me under the bus to defend my ex-lady. She did it with lies and innuendo, and she got my old lady off with nothing. With probation. It was wrong and she has to pay.” He looked down the hall. “Hey! Heather! Chop chop, the boat’s leaving—” He looked back down, feeling more cold air coming from the empty window. “And bring some blankets for Tina here!”
“Won’t what you’re doing make it worse?”
“For me? Why the fuck would I come all this way to make it worse?”
“I heard the boat. I thought you were Charlie Schmidt.”
“Good ear, Tina. It’s Charlie’s.”
“You know him. Did you—”
“Nah, we’re tight, Charlie and me. That would be dumping on the laws of hospitality. He’s fine, if he doesn’t get antsy. He won’t, he’s a solid dude. Everything will be cool.”
She looked away, thinking. “The man with the beard.”
“Right again, Tina. Smart lady. Louis is definitely part of the package. The MS does not appear to be messing up your higher-order mental activity. Hurry up, Heather! Got a plane to catch!”
He listened to her crying, heard a zipper. The thin deck overhead thumped. He looked around, to the couch littered with glass, and saw a broom resting in the corner. He got it and banged the ceiling. Dropping it, Lomak now saw a magazine. It was lying face down on the sofa. He shook off broken glass and brought it close.
“Jesus—”
It was amazing to him, as though he were in the new addition, picking one of Doreen’s magazines off the chair before sitting down. Lomak stepped next to Tina and held it for her to see, tapping the page. “Now this, this is exactly the sort of thing Doreen’s into. Made me crazy. Look at this shit. It isn’t yours, right?”
“No.”
“Of course not. Where’s the dog?”
“With Brenda.”
“The redhead. Okay, now, Tina, you’re intelligent. I see that. Now, I want you to tell me what you think of this.” She was studying his face, but now looked down. The magazine was a catalog of Christmas novelties. Lomak had it open to a page of what were called Pet Pleasers.
“Right here, this one—” He tapped the page. “What do you think?”
Sad now, Tina looked away.
“Exactly,” he said. “Who would do it? Little
antlers with bells you strap on your cat’s head.” He leafed to a new page. “Aw, God, look at this, Tina. A fucking halo. That’s your dog, right? The golden?”
She said nothing, still facing away.
“You wouldn’t do it to him—Shit, look at this, a fucking bow tie on a German shepherd. Look at the poor fucker, Tina. He knows it’s humiliating, you can see it.”
He lowered the magazine. Did she get it? Probably not. Even the smart ones you could take only so far. That sort of shit had been all over the house—little toys and ornaments, something called Precious Moments in a curio case, twenty or more figurines. Then, at Christmas, there were Disney ornaments and these itty bitty pottery deals, Snow Babies. She loved all that shit and he had bought it for her, getting a kick out of watching her tear open the packages. Just like a kid. She believed it meant he loved her. Duke and Pilar.
Hair lank, face flushed, Heather came now from the cabin, holding blankets. She looked small in a gray parka, staring at him. He pointed to Tina, and as she came forward, the roof creaked overhead. “Wrap her up good.”
She knelt and began snugging the blankets around Tina’s hips.
“Is this yours?” He held out the catalog.
Tina squeezed the woman’s hand as Heather stood. She nodded.
“It’s your lucky day,” he said. “If I seen this before, you’d still be doing laps.”
The door slapped shut. Ross came up the passage, dressed in a striped wool coat, Hudson’s Bay.
“Lots of blankets,” he said. “Everybody all bundled up for our trip.”
She crossed to Tina, bent and held her hands.
“Yeah yeah, that’s nice, Tina’s doing fine. You listening?”
Ross took a deep breath and straightened. She turned to him. Fear was still there, but less so.
“Got your gloves?”
“I can’t do what you want without knowing—”
“Gloves?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You’re in the steno pool today, going to do some typing. Anyone have to pee? Kids and women always have to go before leaving. No? Okay, Marion, you and Heather are coming with me. Tina stays here. And Tina, this is important. This Brenda, the redhead with the canoe? When she comes back, tell her where we’re going. Kettle Falls. It’s not far. Plus, it’s a very still day. Any loud sound, any fire or shit like that, I’ll know about it. Now, you don’t want that, because all this good-neighbor shit with coats and blankets, that will be over the second I hear or see anything. Marion Ross and Heather Pet Pleasers will die. Absolutely that is what will happen. So, you need to be sure this Brenda understands. Big responsibility, Tina. Life or death, dig? A couple hours we’re talking, not more. Then we fly out of here, and everything’s hunky dory. So….”
Deep North (A Brenda Contay Novel Of Suspense Book 2) Page 17
