She reached for the phone as Service went into the room. “Coffee, Gary?” he asked the driver.
“You know my name?”
Service shrugged. “You’re our regular guy, right?”
“Three years,” Aho said. “You guys got da great bakery here.”
Service stopped at Leppo’s desk, but she was still on the phone. He went into the canteen, filled three mugs with coffee, used a Sears catalog for a tray, and returned to Leppo’s station.
She looked up at him. “We’re s’pposed ta have two bins,” she said. “And one pickup a week. Dey do run short once in awhile, but never for more den twenty-four hours, and never for state agencies. Our contract is too valuable.”
“Did you tell them we have only one?”
“I did just what youse asked,” Leppo said, looking perplexed.
“Thanks, Connie. Relax.”
“Youse comin’ to Sheila’s party?”
“Probably not.”
“Too bad. She’ll be a blast,” she said.
Sheila or the party? Service wondered as he set a mug in front of the driver. “Black okay?”
“For java, not for broads,” Aho tried to joke.
Service made a point to stand beside the man, forcing him to look up. Stone sat across the table. “Gary, why are our papers in your bag?” Service asked.
“I told youse, dey musta gotten stuck to the magazines, eh?”
Stone grinned. “Dat’s bullshit, son.”
“I don’t get dis,” Aho said. “It’s trash. You’re trowin’ it out, right?”
“It’s trash when it arrives at the dump,” Service said. “Under the contract, you are the agent of transfer. It remains our property until it arrives at the dump; then it’s theirs.”
“Most people don’t mind somebody picks up somepin’ dey don’t want.”
“We mind,” Stone said coolly.
“What’s da big deal?” Aho asked.
“You don’t get to take trash for personal use, and if you do, it’s theft,” Service said. “You’re stealing government property.” He had no idea if this was legally correct and didn’t really care. He wanted to find out what Aho was doing and why.
“Man,” Aho said, shaking his head disconsolately.
“What do youse do wit’ da papers, son?” Stone asked.
“I told you, da magazines’re for me.”
“Dat’s fine; an’ da papers?” Stone pressed.
“I just wanted the Playboys.”
Service said, “Gary, we called your company. The contract calls for two bins and one weekly pickup.”
The man raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “Right, right. We ran short. I did it dis way as a favor ta you guys.”
“Don’t lie!” Service said sharply. “The company says it has never shorted the state and wouldn’t because our contract is too important.”
“You musta talked to da new girl at da office,” Aho offered.
Service picked up the conference room telephone. “Connie, please get the head man at BDN on the phone.” He looked over at Aho, who motioned for him to hang up. Service said, “Thanks, never mind, Connie.”
Stone said, “Youse got to level wit’ us, son, spit ’er all out. Whatever youse tell us, we’re gonna check it out closer’n a fourteen-year-old comin’ home from her first date. Youse got no wiggle room.”
Gary Aho looked to Service to be in his late twenties. He had long black hair tied back in a ponytail and a wispy goatee. “What’s with the papers?” Service asked, hovering over the man.
“It’s a favor, okay?”
“A favor?” Stone said.
“For my uncle.”
“What’s dis uncle’s name?” Stone asked.
“Pete Peletier, my mother’s big brother.”
Service had to swallow a smile. “The Peletier who lives down to Fairport?” Service asked.
“You know Pete?” Aho asked.
“Heard about him,” Service said. “You’re sayin’ you go through our trash and pass it along to your uncle.”
“I don’t look at nuttin’, man. I give it all to him,” Aho said. “It ain’t for me, eh?”
“What’s your uncle do wit’ it?” Stone asked.
“I don’t know, man. Can I go now?” Aho asked.
“No, Gary,” Stone said. “Youse’ll give us da whole story or youse’re going to jail.”
“Jesus,” Aho said. “I’ll lose my job!”
“Da whole story,” Stone reiterated.
“How long have you been doing this?” Service asked.
“Since I took da route.”
“What did you do before that?”
“Twisted wrenches over ta Manistique.”
“You lease your truck from BDN,” Service said. “You must’ve saved up a bundle for that up front.”
“Uncle Pete took care of it.”
“He loaned youse da cash?” Stone asked.
“No man, it was a gift.”
“In exchange for taking DNR trash,” Service said.
“He said it was no big deal,” Aho said defensively. “Just trash.”
“He was wrong,” Stone said.
“When do you take the paperwork to him?” Service asked.
“On da way home.”
“To Cooks?”
Aho looked alarmed. “Man, you guys know where I live? You been spyin’ on me?”
“No, Gary, some people over your way have loose lips. We heard about what you were doing for your uncle.”
“I never told nobody, man,” Aho said. Aho’s expression went from suspicious to morose.
“You deliver the papers to your uncle’s house?” Service continued.
“Yeah,” Aho said, nodding lethargically.
“Do you call ahead?”
“I just show up and give ’em ta him.”
“What time?”
“When I get dere—six, seven?”
“In the morning?” Service asked. He had seen a truck in the morning.
Aho grimaced. “No man, at night. I got a day route.”
“Do you pick up trash in the Garden?” Service asked.
“No man. Another guy’s got dat route.”
He’d seen the other driver, Service told himself. Not Aho.
“You drive da big truck to your uncle’s?” Stone asked.
Aho grinned. “No big deal—it’s da U.P., eh.”
Service understood. Yoopers parked bulldozers, dump trucks, logging rigs, and eighteen-wheelers in the driveways of their homes.
“How about we take a ride?” Service said.
“C’mon, man, you can’t do dis ta me. I got my route ta finish.”
“Youse prefer a room at da graybar hotel?” Stone asked.
“No,” Aho said.
“Okay, den. We’ll sit here today and dis afternoon, we take a ride, eh? Da route can wait.”
“What do I get out of dis?”
“Maybe you don’t get busted,” Service said. “But you’ll be a material witness and give us a statement. When the case comes to trial, you’ll testify.”
“Against my uncle? He’ll want his money back.”
Aho looked wrecked, but Service got the feeling some of this was for show. He couldn’t really pinpoint his sense of unease, but it gnawed at him. “One lie and we bust you, Gary.”
“Dere ain’t no free bakery today,” Stone added.
“Dis is so much bullshit,” Aho whined.
Service got a pad of legal paper and a couple of pencils and put them in front of the man. “Write,” he said.
“Okay I print?”
Stone nodded.
Service and his lieutenant stepped into the lobby. Stone said, “We gotta make sure we grab Peletier wit’ da bag before we nail da SOB.”
“Minus the one-handers,” Service added. “We don’t want to give him any outs.”
“Da prosecutor may not back us up on dis,” Stone said.
“You want to let it drop here?” Service asked.
“No, let’s play ’er out, see where she goes.”
“I’ll ride in the trash truck. You use the unmarked?”
Stone said, “I’ll borrow somepin’ dey don’t know over dere.”
It was dark when Aho eased the nose of the big truck into the driveway of Peletier’s house just outside Fairport. Service clambered out of the back, dropped down the far side, and moved quickly to the garage. He reeked of trash and he was cold. Aho went directly to the front door and knocked.
Pete Peletier came to the door and looked past Aho at the nose of the big truck. “What’s goin’ on, Gar?”
Aho held out the bag.
The man ignored it. “What’s dat?”
“You know,” Aho said, jiggling the bag.
Again, Peletier ignored the offering. “Where’s your pickup?”
“I had ta use da big truck tonight,” Aho said, still holding out the bag.
“Had to?” Peletier said.
Aho jiggled the bag again and his uncle snapped at him, “Stop shaking dat damn ting. I never seen dat bag in my life. Now get da hell outta here. I got tings ta do!”
Service knew they’d been busted. Peletier was acting like the bag contained plague. He knew something was up. No way Peletier could have seen him dismount from the truck. All he could see from the house was the nose of the trash hauler in the driveway. Stone was a mile back, waiting for a radio call. Shit! Peletier had asked Aho where his pickup was. Son of a bitch: Aho had snookered them. He normally came in his personal truck, not the trash hauler. The big truck had tipped off his uncle. Bastards, Service thought as he stepped out beside Aho and said, “DNR.”
Peletier looked amused. “Dis like Hawaii Five-O?” the man asked. “Youse lost, Officer?” He pointed southwest. “Last I heard, da Big Island and Dano were dat way.”
“Gary Aho, you are under arrest for theft of government papers.” Service recited the man’s rights and asked him to put his right hand behind his back, where he cuffed it.
Aho said, “You said it would be okay. This is a fuck job!”
Peletier said sharply, “Put a cork in it, Gary.”
“You promised,” Aho whined at Service as he cuffed the man’s hands behind his back and held the cuffs to control him.
“Nazis,” Peletier said with a growl.
Service picked up the bag with his right hand. “I’ll be back for you, Pete,” he said to the man.
“You got nothing, asshole,” Peletier said. “Nothing.”
Service lifted Aho’s cuffed hands. “We’ve got him, and there are always fingerprints,” he added, holding the bag out.
Peletier didn’t look particularly upset, but he shook a finger at his nephew. “Youse keep dat big mouth shut until da lawyer comes ta see youse.”
“He’s already made a statement,” Service said as he engaged the radio and called Stone in to pick them up.
Service heard the door slam as he shoved Aho into the front passenger seat and got in behind him. “Hit it. I think we’re gonna have company.”
As Service would have done, Stone immediately shut off all lights, inside and out, and fishtailed onto Garden Road as he accelerated. It was several miles before an oncoming vehicle lit them up and swerved as it passed, the driver obviously startled. Running without lights was a good way to stay hidden, if you didn’t hit anything.
“You guys are nuts!” Aho said, holding his cuffed hands in front of his face.
Service used the brick to call the Manistique Troop dispatcher and asked for assistance and an escort from the nearest unit. A state police officer immediately responded that he was westbound on US 2, a mile east of Garden Corners.
Service radioed, “Unit Eight Six, we’re running dark, heading north in an unmarked. Light it up and start your music. We’ll flash lights twice when we have you in sight.”
Stone slowed for the ninety-degree turn just south of the village and accelerated straight through town. Service saw vehicle lights coming to life in Roadie’s parking lot as they flashed by.
“Eight Six, we’re clear of Garden. What’s our speed?” Service asked Stone.
“Eighty,” the lieutenant said matter-of-factly.
“Eight Six, we’re northbound at eighty mike-paul-henry, running dark.”
“Eight Six is southbound on Garden Road, all lit up.”
Service did a quick mental calculation. “Intersect, four minutes max,” he radioed. “Probable pursuit.”
“Roger, Eight Six will swing in behind and follow you up to US 2.”
Another state police vehicle reported on the radio that he was also headed for Garden Corners, ETA in one minute from the west on US 2.
“Do we stop an’ circle da wagons?” Stone asked, concentrating on the road.
“We’ll let the state transport the prisoner,” Service said as he spotted an oncoming emergency vehicle’s flashing lights.
Stone flashed his headlights twice and the trooper wheeled a tight one-eighty and fell in behind them.
Moments later they skidded into the gas station at Garden Corners. A state police cruiser was already there, emergency lights blinking.
A half-dozen trucks and vans roared up behind their escort and men tumbled out and immediately began to throw rocks.
Service jerked Aho out of the sedan, pushed him into the backseat of the waiting cruiser, and told the trooper to take the prisoner to Escanaba. The officer didn’t question him.
Stone had his revolver out of his holster and was pointing it at the rock throwers, who had left their headlights on, flooding the COs and using the lights as a blinding shield. “Next one gets a round!” Stone shouted.
“Nail the Nazi fucker!” somebody shrieked.
“Next one!” Stone roared.
Service knew it was a bluff. They were trained and expected to shoot at a specific target, not wildly and blindly, and rocks at this range did not equate to lethal force.
The men swore and called them names and began to slam doors. The trucks backed out quickly and raced south on Garden Road, honking their horns.
Stone holstered his revolver and patted the shoulder of the first trooper who had come to their assistance. “Youse ever want to transfer, youse let me know,” he told the Troop, who started laughing out loud.
En route to Escanaba, Service said, “Peletier knew something was up. He played dumb over the bag. Arriving in the big truck was a prearranged signal.” He knew it had been his fault for not anticipating this.
After a lull, Stone said, “Ya know, sometimes I seen dat trash hauler parked at a house down by Garden. I shoulda said somepin’.”
“He probably swaps the big truck for his pickup,” Service said, disgusted by his failure to nail the secretive rat leader. So close—and it was his fault they’d missed.
Stone looked over at him. “Buck up, boy. Youse stopped da leak been right dere in front of us for years. Youse figured it out. None a’ us did. Dat alone is one helluva day of police work.”
“I’ll drop the bag at the Troop lab in Ishpeming tomorrow,” Service told his lieutenant. “Peletier’s prints will be on the bag.”
“Don’t waste da time,” Stone said. “His lawyer will claim he give da bag to his nephew as a gift and why wouldn’t his prints be on it, eh? An’ he won’t know nuttin’ about no papers. We could try for a search warrant for Pete’s house, but dere won’t be shit to find by den.” Stone looked over at him. “We’re i
n dis for da long haul. We plugged da leak. We’ll take dat for now.”
Service lit a cigarette.
Stone said, “You got an extra one?”
“You smoke?”
“Tonight I do.”
37
BIG BAY DE NOC PATROL, MAY 6–7, 1976
The only sharks out here were in boats.
The average date for ice-out on Big Bay de Noc was April 20, but not this year, when it was eight days late because of the hard winter and late spring. Service had not been back to the Garden since the confrontation with Peletier and Aho two months before. Aho, after his arrest, initially had been fired from his company, but was rehired when the prosecutor withdrew the charges, saying he didn’t think a jury would find Aho guilty. This made it not worth the cost to the county, especially after Lansing also passed on taking the lead in the case. Service was unhappy about the developments, but Stone once again pointed out that they had stopped the leak, and told him it was time for him to come back into the Garden fray.
Stone and Attalienti had been busy in the Garden since ice-out in the bay. Stone and a marine patrol had gotten lucky two days after ice-out when they forced two rat boats onto boulders and ice berms on the shore of Ansels Point. The rats had abandoned their craft and scrambled into the woods. Within an hour the owner of the two boats called the state police to report them stolen. Stone towed the boats back to Escanaba, started condemnation proceedings in district court, and had his men clean up the craft and put them in working order, including blue flashers on six-foot-high metal posts and yelper sirens. Finally, the DNR had a couple of boats that could keep up with the rats, and Stone planned to use them until the court said otherwise.
This morning the fifty-foot PB-4 was to come across the bay to Burn’t Bluff from Escanaba and grapple for nets southward. Service and Homes had put in at Thompson Creek, on the northeast extreme of the Garden Peninsula, and were running south checking out some of the shoals and bays along the east coast. Homes told him sometimes the perch spawned on the east side, but most of the action was on the west. Because soft ice preceded ice-out and made it impossible to run their ice-netting operations, and because ice-out was late, the rats were almost into the legal fishing dates. This meant they had lost money because of the weather conditions and that, out of desperation to take fish before legal fishing began, they could be anywhere.
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