Black Otter Bay

by Vincent Wyckoff

  “What evidence? What happened?”

  “Never mind that now. I’m going to have Randall and Jackie picked up, and anyone else hanging out with them.”

  “Jackie isn’t in this, Marlon. She’s out of town at the casino. I saw her board the bus earlier tonight.”

  “Oh, she’s in it. But she’ll be easier to pick up now that we know where she is. It’s Abby I’m worried about. Where is she? Do you think Marcy dropped her off at Jackie’s?”

  “I don’t know,” Leonard said. “Hang on a minute, Marcy’s car is unlocked.” Fastwater heard the door opening, and a grunt as his nephew climbed in. “Nothing here, Marlon. Oh, wait. There is one thing. Ha! A Minnesota Twins baseball cap.”

  The sheriff didn’t need to ask. Marcy never wore a cap, but Abby almost always did. “Call the police, Leonard. Wait until they get there, and then haul your ass up here.”

  “Want me to check out Randall’s apartment?”

  “No. I’ll have the feds pick them up. If the girls are on the run, they’ll be heading up here. Oh, and Leonard, when you come, take the back way. If Arlene is running, she’ll be on the back roads.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Arlene Fastwater

  The blacktop ended just a few miles out of town, bouncing Arlene’s car onto the narrow strip of gravel roadway leading north. For a while, all three women cast apprehensive glances behind them, anticipating the arrival of a big, black luxury sedan. It was dark here where the forest closed in tight against the lonely stretch of road. Not many people lived out here, but a few miles to the east, along the coast of Lake Superior, homes and cabins lined both sides of the highway. On the other hand, locals wanting to avoid the tourist traffic down on the shore used this old county road. Fishermen and hunters were also familiar with it, but after dark on a weekday it was mostly used by foraging deer, foxes, and the occasional meandering moose.

  “Jeez, Arlene,” Marcy complained. “Slow down a little. We’re done for if you hit a deer. Running over a garage door is enough for one night.”

  Arlene laughed, but let up a bit on the gas pedal. Checking her rearview mirror for the hundredth time, she shook her head. It was a black void behind them, with dust from the tires on the gravel road swirling into the foggy darkness to create an impenetrable black cloud. Stars glittered overhead, though, bright pinholes of light pointing the way between tall pine tree pillars lining the old overland trail. The road was fairly straight, and in the light of day Arlene could’ve spotted a pursuer at quite a distance, but she doubted she’d be able to see anything tonight before it overtook them.

  Then she caught Abby’s eye in the mirror. Arlene adjusted her grip on the steering wheel, and asked, “What were you two talking to Randall about? And why are you being chased?”

  Marcy turned enough to peek at Abby in the backseat. The girl looked so much older without the baseball cap. She had to remind herself that she wasn’t much more than a child. Abby gave her a stern glare, so Marcy began carefully. “Well, you know, we found that paperwork. But Randall didn’t much like discovering us in his office. He keeps it locked, you know. We only got in because Abby snuck off with her mother’s key.”

  “I doubt he has the mafia chasing you because you were in his office.”

  Arlene watched Abby in the mirror until the girl finally looked at her. The silence between them became an uncomfortable war of wills. Then Abby said, “You saw that guy chasing us, and you know him. Who is he?”

  If Marcy had been uncomfortable with the silence, these direct questions made her downright squeamish. She peered over at Arlene behind the steering wheel. Arlene was a professional, and her years of experience in public service had taught her how to hide her thoughts and emotions. As for herself, Marcy had no idea who the man was, except that he was the same guy she’d encountered in the casino. The second man was a complete mystery. The couple of times she’d seen him she’d been running away and he’d been in the background, obscured by shadows and darkness. So if Arlene knew either one of them, it would probably be from some trial or legal issue she’d prosecuted in the past.

  Arlene said, “I told you, Abby, it was dark out. He kind of reminded me of someone I used to know. But it’s been years. I really didn’t get a good look at him, so I’d rather not say.” She squinted off into the woods, and then checked the mirrors again. “But I’ll wager ten to one he’s part of that Chicago connection I told you two about.”

  “You really think so?” Marcy asked. “You mean I was chased by the mafia?”

  “That’s not a good thing, Marcy,” Arlene pointed out. She opened the lid on her console storage compartment, but slammed it shut in frustration. “How did we ever survive the last thousand centuries without cell phones? I have to get word to Marlon. He needs to know about this guy.”

  “We’re doing the best we can,” Marcy offered. “We’ll be home soon enough.”

  “I just don’t understand what you did that warrants chasing you all around the countryside. Tell me word for word what you said to Randall.”

  “He was drunk,” Abby said. “None of it made much sense.” The look she gave Marcy contained a dire warning.

  With Arlene watching Abby in the mirror, Marcy glanced outside into the black confusion of forest. Then she chuckled and turned back to Arlene. “Randall told us how much he loved Jackie. He said he didn’t care about her gambling or the money she lost, that he could always get more money. I guess that’s where the paperwork we found comes in.”

  “And I’m guessing,” Arlene added, “that Randall and that paperwork are connected with this Chicago mob guy. Maybe Randall is laundering money for them, like you said.” For a moment they sat quietly in thought, each with their own perspective on the evening’s events. Then Arlene asked, “But Randall doesn’t know you have the paperwork, does he?”

  “No.” Marcy grinned and looked back at Abby. “We were pretty slick about that, hey, girl?”

  “Well then, why is he chasing you? There must be more to it.”

  Abby leaned against the door, avoiding Arlene’s eyes in the rearview mirror. She wished everyone would just shut up for a while. She was exhausted and wanted to be home, sleeping in her own bed. She let her eyes close while her head rocked against the window.

  “So you’re telling me that all Randall talked about was Jackie and her gambling? He caught you breaking into his office, and all he says is how much he loves Jackie?”

  “Well, no, not exactly,” Marcy said. “He was mad, at least at first he was, but once we convinced him that we weren’t up to anything and we hadn’t stolen anything, he started in about fishing.”

  “Fishing? You mean like with a fishing pole? He must’ve been drunk.”

  “No kidding,” Marcy laughed. “He went on about all the fish he’d caught with his father, and how he’d caught more fish than Abby ever will.”

  “But they were commercial fishermen. They used nets.”

  “I know! That’s why it was so stupid. And then he rambled on about fishermen never telling where they catch their fish. Like he and Abby have some secret to hide, or something, because they’re both fishermen.” Marcy looked into the backseat at Abby propped against the door. She lowered her voice and concluded, “He was so loaded he even bragged about knowing where Ben is. He said the boy would be coming home soon.”

  Abby’s eyes popped open.

  Arlene began questioning Marcy about Ben, leaving Abby to drift along with her own thoughts. Had she been asleep? It felt like it, but on some level she’d absorbed the conversation in the front seat. There’d been talk about fishing and secrets, and that Ben would soon be found. And then the significance of Randall’s secret washed over her, bubbling up out of her subconscious, flooding across her thoughts. It rolled her fatigue aside and buoyed up the burden of her personal tragedy. All of a sudden, she knew.

  She sat up with a start, looking around. “Where are we?”

  “Oh no,” Arlene said, studying the rearview mirror. “
We’ve got company.”

  Marcy spun around. “Maybe it’s just somebody wanting to pass.”

  When the car sped up and rammed their rear bumper, Arlene clamped down on the steering wheel. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

  With the impact, Marcy screamed, “Faster, Arlene! That’s the car. That’s the guy!”

  Even with Arlene’s gas pedal floored, the big sedan tried getting up beside them. The little hybrid was engulfed in blinding light from their pursuer’s headlights hard upon their rear window. “Damn it!” Arlene muttered. She should have known he’d be aware of this back road.

  Marcy hung over the back of her seat, watching the race out the rear window. “Come on, Arlene! Faster!”

  “Jeez, Marcy, cool it. Just a minute ago you told me to slow down.” Arlene couldn’t believe he actually meant to harm them, certainly not the girl. She wished she could assure her friends of that. Apparently, he intended to stop them, prevent them from getting to the authorities, although she knew it had to be for something more than the paperwork the girls had stolen. That’s it! she thought. He must be the Chicago connection!

  Arlene hunched her formidable bulk over the steering wheel, driving for all she was worth. As desperate as the man was to stop them, she was just as determined to keep going. Her car handled well, but loose gravel made for unpredictable traction, and the pursuing sedan out-muscled them with three times the horsepower. She scanned the speedometer and odometer, calculated their distance from Black Otter Bay, and said, “If we can just hold him off for few more miles.”

  Another jarring impact with the bumper drew another scream from Marcy. “We’ll never make it like this,” she yelled.

  Arlene swerved to the left and back to the right, throwing up clouds of dust, trying every maneuver she could to keep the heavy sedan behind them. In the backseat, Abby studied the woods outside her window, and then checked on the stars above and ahead of them. Her mind was made up.

  “Marcy,” Arlene commanded. “Open the glove box.”

  Marcy did as she was told. When the lid dropped open, the handle of a nine-millimeter handgun stuck out at her. “What the . . .”

  “Never mind. I have a permit. Give it to me.”

  Like handling dynamite with a lit fuse, Marcy gently pulled the gun out of the holster and handed it over.

  “Just put it on my lap here,” Arlene said.

  Marcy carefully set the gun down. She glanced into the backseat at Abby, and then out the rear window just in time to see the headlights rushing down on them again. “Here he comes!” she screamed.

  Before Arlene could swerve across the road, the sedan nosed in beside them, nudging up against the side of her rear fender. She felt the bumping once, twice, and then all control was lost as the big car spun them sideways over the gravel. The sedan suddenly backed off, but as Arlene tried to steer against the skid, her car swung violently back around in a wide fishtail. When they hit the thick ridge of loose gravel graded along the outside edge of the road, their speed and momentum flung them spinning in circles down the middle of the narrow lane. “Hang on!” Arlene yelled.

  Round and round they went, and every time they spun full circle the sedan’s headlights lit up their cowering, frightened faces. Marcy closed her eyes, ducked down on the seat, and wrapped her arms over her head. When their front tires slid into the ridge of gravel on the other side of the road, they were thrown headlong into the darkened depths of the soggy ditch. They bounced and teetered, but much of their momentum had been lost in the spinout, and they finally lurched to a wretched halt in ten inches of muddy snowmelt water. When they dared to open their eyes again, the relentless glare of the sedan’s headlights from up on the roadway illuminated their predicament.

  Arlene hit the gas pedal, but the car didn’t budge. She shifted into reverse and revved again, but they were submerged to the floorboards and hung up on rocks and tree roots. Abby opened the car door on the side away from the road and fought to extricate herself from the seatbelt.

  “Abby!” Arlene yelled. “It’s okay. Shut the door.”

  An instant later the girl was outside, leaning back in the door. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I know where Ben is.” And then she turned and ran, crouching low to keep the car between her and the road, using the headlights from the big sedan to pick her way over rocks and roots through the low, wet ground in the narrow ditch.

  “Abby! Stop! Get back here!”

  The girl disappeared in seconds, swallowed up in the shadows and darkness beyond the meager realm of temporary, artificial lighting provided by the headlights.

  • • • • •

  Arlene picked up the handgun, ejected the magazine, slammed it back in place, and then chambered a round. Marcy’s eyes grew wide and round. “Oh, please, Arlene. Don’t do that.”

  “It’s okay.” She looked out her window up at the roadway, directly into the glare of the headlights. The sedan sat wide and solid up on the embankment, perpendicular to the road, looking down on them like a sentinel on guard duty, or a cat playing with an injured mouse. Arlene turned off the car, allowing the silence of the night to fall down over them. The handgun rested easy on her lap. “You should get down, Marcy. Just scrunch down there until we see what’s going to happen.”

  As Marcy curled up on the seat, Arlene tried to look through the swirling dust and debris. Her car sat parallel with the road, but off to the right and much lower down in the ditch. She really couldn’t see anything. For all she knew, the man could be out of his car already, using the headlights to blind them while he snuck up unseen from behind. And it wasn’t any better looking out the other windows, either. All she could see were shadows and forest leading off into the dark. The car gave her some sense of protection, though, like a battlefield bunker down in the trenches.

  They sat there, helpless, Arlene stroking Marcy’s head as her friend sniffled into the seat. “He’s not going to hurt us,” Arlene said.

  Marcy raised her head. “Are you crazy? He just ran us off the road.”

  Arlene attempted a reassuring smile. “That’s my point. If he wanted us dead, he would’ve done it already.”

  Marcy groaned and shoved her face back into the seat cushion. Arlene resumed her lookout duties, even though she could see nothing beyond a few feet. The cool weight of the gun was a comfort against her thigh. She had no desire to hurt him, either, but if she had to, she’d protect her friends to the end. As she tried in vain to see outside, the lighting inside the car suddenly shifted, panning across the interior like a silent movie. Arlene used a hand to shield her eyes against the glare. The sedan was moving, backing up, turning to get lined up straight again on the road. Now she could see it, broadside to them up on the grade. It paused there, thirty feet away, big and broad, strong and shiny, looking down on them as if to say, “I could finish you right here if I wanted.”

  Then the rear tires spun, spitting a spray of stones, and the car disappeared down the road in its own cloud of dust.

  • • • • •

  Abby ran with an exhilaration she hadn’t felt in a long time. “Just try to catch me,” she challenged. Cool evening air billowed through her lungs. Her pace wasn’t steady; it couldn’t be out here in the middle of the forest at night. She ran in dodging, darting spurts, interspersing carefully chosen footholds with bursts of straightforward speed. Her legs carried her over obstacles she couldn’t actually see, but rather sensed beneath her feet.

  She concentrated on the pounding of her heart, listening as it drowned out the residual noise of the city still clambering about in her head. She could almost feel the light from the stars overhead reaching down to touch the tips of gigantic cedar trees and white pines as she passed. The underbrush hadn’t come up yet for the season, so the wilderness opened before her, welcoming her home over its soft, carpeted forest floor.

  Abby wasn’t certain of her exact location, but followed the land as it sloped gently downhill before her. She knew that ultimately it would lead
her to the rocky shoreline of the big inland sea. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dark, so that soon she was picking out shadows of individual trees cast in the moonlight. Her senses had been on high alert when she left her friends back at the car, but she’d heard nothing to suggest that pursuit was coming. She almost laughed out loud at the thought of some city slicker trying to catch her out here. Not even Arlene’s mafia guy could match her in the woods. Now, already a mile or more from the road, she left her mind and senses open to absorb the wilderness rhythms around her.

  At a break in the forest cover, she paused to catch her breath and slow her heart rate. The air here was perfumed with balsam fir, a wild north woods aroma that for her evoked the familiarity and comfort of home. She paced left and right in the clearing, hands on her hips, breathing deeply, her eyes turned up to the stars overhead. When she noticed the long, narrow regularity of the break in the treetops, she spun around and followed the same opening in the opposite direction. The Superior Hiking Trail!

  She set out again at an easy lope along the path. It was well worn, mostly clear of rocks and ruts, and broad enough to be followed in the dark under the moonlight. A hairpin curve at the top of a steep incline over a feeder stream marked her location. She knew this place. She’d hiked here with Ben and her father.

  Ben. How long had he been gone? Just two weeks? Three? It seemed so much longer. She stepped up her pace to race along the trail as it twisted back inland to detour around Black Otter Bay. All thoughts of exhaustion and sleep were gone. She had a pretty good hunch where Ben was, and if she could get there quickly enough, her little brother might be sleeping at home with them tonight.

  The trail swung back toward the lake again, and by looking hard over her right shoulder she discerned the faint glow of lights from town receding behind her. This was where they’d crossed the trail when she skipped school with Ben to go fishing out at Big Island Lake. She had to pay close attention now. Boulder outcroppings and gigantic virgin white pines marked her way along the trail. To her they were like fire hydrants or telephone poles lining a city sidewalk, marking the way. And where city children had memories of riding bikes or rollerblading, Abby had her own memories: this was where she’d run a footrace with her father, and just back there was where they’d spotted a massive white-tailed buck resting on the ground. She’d wanted to take pictures, but her father told her to keep walking. “If you stop, he’ll get spooked and run away,” he’d said. So they’d walked until the deer was out of sight, and then they turned around and walked back. Three times they did this, with Abby clicking pictures each time they passed the resting animal.