“Attacked with what? Their fingernails, buckets?”
Zakov caught up, and without pausing, clubbed the captain to the ground, kicked him in the face, and picked up the man’s revolver. “I have seen this thing myself, and will swear in court that you and your swine fired at unarmed women and children!”
The shooting stopped, and Bapcat saw dark-coated deputies running away.
The captain moaned. “Court? You think the court will bother with this scum?”
Zakov hit the man in the mouth with the butt end of his own revolver. “Da, I do, you disgusting pig,” the Russian said.
A man from the crowd came over to Bapcat. “Sirs, you better come quick.”
Zakov kicked the captain one last time and followed Bapcat.
They saw a small figure on the ground, and nobody trying to help. Bapcat knelt. A girl, thirteen, fourteen. Head wound, bleeding profusely. Bapcat looked up at a nearby woman. “Get some clean rags, and someone call a doctor.”
“No doctor will come for this,” a woman said with a shaky voice.
Zakov said, “Take me to a doctor, and I will make him come with me.”
A woman began tearing up her petticoat. Bapcat stuffed pieces into the wound, his hands slippery with blood. He looked up to the man who had come to summon them; had never seen him before, but could see concern in his eyes, had heard it in his voice. Not dressed like a striker. “Keep pressure right there on the bandage.”
Zakov had gone to get a doctor.
The captain, who had just regained his feet, walked over to join Bapcat and the girl. Looked down on her, the captain said, “I seen this before. She’s a goner.”
“You had better hope she’s not,” Bapcat said angrily.
Zakov appeared a few minutes later with a man who seemed red-faced and shaken. “I’m Dr. Jolly.”
“Bleeding’s heavy,” Bapcat told him.
The doctor knelt beside the girl and examined the wound, slowly unpeeling the makeshift bandages. “We need to get her to the hospital. What’s her name?”
“Margaret,” a woman said. “Margaret Fazekis.”
Dr. Jolly said to the girl, “Margaret, I’m a doctor. We’re going to take you to the hospital, and you’re going to be all right.”
Zakov and Bapcat helped carry the wounded girl to the trolley station. They entered a trolley car and laid her on a bench, with the doctor and several women and kids in attendance.
The doctor pulled Bapcat close. “I’ve never seen anyone survive a head wound like this.” Dr. Jolly turned to the women and children. “Does anyone know the mother?”
Several women nodded dumbly. “She lives in Wolverine,” one of them said.
He said in a low voice, “Best find her quickly, and tell her to start thinking about a funeral.”
Bapcat and Zakov exited the trolley car and watched as it headed south. As they returned to the scene of the shooting, Bapcat looked at Zakov. “You’re covered with blood.”
“This was an abattoir. How many more were hit?”
Miraculously, the girl seemed to be the only serious victim. The game wardens looked around and saw dozens of cartridges glinting in the sun. “Let’s pick them up, make a count for a report,” Bapcat said.
They collected eighty pieces of brass and two full cylinders that had been dropped in the fracas. Someone apparently had been excited, and in attempting to reload, had dropped the cylinders. “Company deputies,” Zakov said disgustedly. “No training, no judgment, no discipline.”
A soldier from the National Guard came over and said, “The deputies did fire over their heads.”
“Not all of them. The whole mess keeps getting worse,” Bapcat said.
•••
They stopped at the telegraph shop in the electric trolley station and sent a wire to John Hepting in Eagle River.
The two game wardens then sat outside the station and smoked. The captain had disappeared with his men.
“People dying, and we’re worried about fish and game?” Bapcat said, thinking out loud. It was an unsettling thought. He looked at his own blood-soaked clothes. They needed to get back to the hill, change.
“There is good news, albeit anticlimactic,” Zakov said. “I found three viscera piles along the creek bed. It appears someone has taken our message to heart.”
Gut piles meant the dead deer most likely had been taken for food, not pay. It seemed a small thing in comparison to the wounded girl, but a small thing was still something, and he was in a mood where he desperately wanted something to be positive, no matter how seemingly insignificant.
66
Kearsarge No. 4
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 1913
Tristan Shunk was the embodiment of control and confidence, resplendent in an unwrinkled white captain’s smock. His hair was combed over, his mustache trimmed precisely, fingernails dirt-free, skin glowing a supernatural pink. Two men in shabby black peacoats and sun-star badges stood back from the captain, next to a wagon filled with deer carcasses, heads, and the bloodied human bodies of Arven Lammie and Cornelius Nayback.
“My men here discovered the two men on the cart, shooting deer, and challenged them. The dead men began shooting and my people answered in kind.”
Shunk had summoned the sheriff, who in turn had called Bapcat and Zakov. Bapcat had not anticipated this scene and guessed that his fellow lawmen hadn’t either. Shunk’s men looked nervous, their eyes dark; they were sweating heavily even though the day was breezy, with a cooling wind from the northwest.
“These men are?” Hepting asked Shunk.
“Lukevich and Pinnochi.”
“They work for you?”
“They’re new men; poor language skills, but diligent workers.”
“Working at what jobs?”
“Cleanup,” Shunk said. “Aboveground.”
“Here since?”
“Early July, or late June. I would have to defer to our personnel department to secure precise dates.”
“Do they have given names?”
“Lech Lukevich and Paolo Pinnochi.”
“We’ll need to talk to them.”
“Quite right. I’ve already summoned translators,” Shunk said, waving his arm flamboyantly.
Despite the facade, Bapcat saw that the captain was antsy.
“Alone,” Hepting told the captain.
“They are my employees, Sheriff, my boys—dependents of the company. We have translators and interpreters to assist in matters of this kind.”
Bapcat mused, What’s the difference between a translator and an interpreter? And what does Shunk mean by “matters of this kind”?
“We’ll let you know if we need help,” Hepting said diplomatically.
“Suit yourself,” Shunk countered, reluctantly.
“When did this happen?” Hepting asked.
“I was informed last night.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t remember which man told me, Lukevich or Pinnochi. One of them.”
“So, last night they reported two dead bodies, claimed they had shot the alleged trespassers in self-defense, and you’re just now getting around to informing me?”
“You’re an exceedingly difficult man to locate, Sheriff.”
“I was home all night with my wife,” Hepting said. “And I have a deputy on duty at the jail at all times.”
“Well, of course, we responsible men all have our deputies, but I prefer to deal with the top man, as I’m certain you do, as well.”
Hepting coughed. “Where did these events take place?”
“On mine property.”
“Where, exactly?”
“I can show you.”
“You’ve been to the location?”
&nbs
p; “Of course,” Shunk said.
“We’ll let your guides show us,” Hepting said.
“We are allies, Sheriff, you and I,” Shunk said.
“Do you feel I’m treating you otherwise?” Hepting countered.
“I simply want to emphasize the relationship between the company and county officials.”
Hepting looked at the man. “I was elected, Captain—by the people, not a damn company, and you weren’t. Care to explain why men with such poor English have been appointed special deputies?”
“As stated, they are reliable workers.”
Both men had revolvers. “Chilly,” Hepting told his newest deputy, “please relieve the gentlemen of their sidearms. They’ll get them back when we’re done here.”
“They’re legally entitled to carry,” Shunk said.
“I’m not arguing that, Cap’n. I just don’t want a tragic accident to happen. It’s a question of safety, not legality.”
Chilly Taylor took the weapons to the sheriff’s vehicle.
Both men were disarmed uneventfully, and stared, dumbfounded. Hepting looked to Bapcat. “Which one do you want to start with?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Bapcat said.
“Take the Italian,” Hepting said.
“Who’re you?” Captain Shunk asked, stepping forward.
“Bapcat and Zakov, game wardens.”
“I see no point in your being here, much less questioning my men.”
“Your cart is filled with dead animals, Captain.”
“I must protest.”
“Sing a lullaby, if that’s what pleases you. We couldn’t care less,” Bapcat said, taking the Italian’s arm and leading him toward the cart. When they got close, Bapcat rolled and lit a cigarette for the man, who took it, and bowed his head. Bapcat lit it with a match. “Tell us what happened.”
“Non parlo inglese. Parli Italiano,” the man asked, grinning, jabbing the cigarette like a maestro’s baton.
“No Italiano,” Bapcat admitted thumbing his chest. Shit.
“Tua madre i un cane,” the man said. “Not talka.”
Bapcat mimicked a gun with his hand. “You shot, bang-bang?”
The man said, “No capisce.”
Bapcat tapped the man’s empty holster, pointed his hand at the dead men on the cart. “Banga-banga, si?”
The man exhaled smoke. “No capisce inglese.”
Bapcat pointed at the man’s badge. “You’re a special deputy.”
The man shrugged, looked skyward.
“How’d you take the oath if you don’t speak English?” Bapcat asked the man.
“No capisce,” the man said again.
“That’s my point,” the exasperated game warden said, and looked to his partner. “Ideas?”
“Seek assistance from an Italian speaker.”
“No Italian for you?”
“Alas, it is not part of my linguistic armamentarium.”
Hepting came over, leading the other man by the arm. “No language with this bird; nothing. You guys?”
“Same story here. Want to switch, see if it makes a difference?”
“Might as well. We don’t get something out of them, I’m going to get a warrant and jail the whole damn lot of them, Shunk included.”
“Grounds?”
“Who cares? Prima facie, they’re in possession of illegal deer and two human bodies. Their employer informed us that his two men, these two, shot and killed the men during a trespass. What more do we need to hold them?”
“What about the Fazekis girl?” Zakov asked.
“Still hanging on, last I heard,” Hepting said.
“It’s your call what you do, John, not mine, but isn’t this Houghton County?”
“Technically true, but Cruse don’t pay much attention to things that happen this far north. I can’t remember the last time I saw that arsehole up here. I want to take it, and he won’t make a peep. Let’s switch.”
“May I?” Zakov asked Bapcat.
Bapcat stepped aside. “Please.”
“Jestes polska?” Zakov asked as he stepped over to the man.
“Tak, z Cracow,” Lukevich said.
“Weesz, dlaczego tu, jestes my?”
“Nie bardzo,” Lukevich replied.
“This man tells me he is from Cracow in Poland, and he doesn’t know why we are all here. I speak okay Polish,” Zakov told Bapcat.
“Ask him about the deer?” Bapcat said.
“Wedzisz wozek z umarlych i jelenie?”
The man answered, “Oczywiscie nie jestem slepy.”
Zakov reported: “I asked him if he saw the cart, and he told me he is not blind.’”
“Ask him what happened.”
Zakov thought for a moment, asked, “Dia czego nie molznami co si stato? I asked him to tell us what happened.”
The man said without pause, “Kapitan powiedzlat nam w zeszlym tygoodniu nie mamy juz miejsc pracy tutai.”
“He states that last week the captain told him he no longer had a job here.” To the man, Zakov said, “To jest wazne. Moj polskinie jest tak dobry. Czy masz rosyjsku?”
“Nie wyhstorczy mowic dobaze.”
“I asked Mr. Lukevich if he speaks Russian, but he tells me he does not know enough to speak it well.” Zakov turned to the man, “To jest wazne—this is important.”
“Jesli nie dziataja, dikaczego nosi zltcak gwlazda?” the man said.
“Kapitan wizwat mnie ranok, powiedaiat mi umie scicgo ze moge muc nowa prace.”
“Mr. Lukevich says his captain called him here this morning, told him to put on the badge, that he has a new job.”
“What about the gun?”
“Rewolwer?” Zakov asked.
“Wraz z odznaka.”
“Came with the badge,” Zakov translated.
“Did he bring the cart here from elsewhere?”
Zakov asked and listened to the answer. “Nyet, it was here when he arrived. He knows nothing about it.”
“Ask where he was last night.”
“Gdzide byes ostatniej nacy?”
“Restauracje czteidziesci pret.”
“Zkim?” Zakov asked.
“Moja glowabol i,” Lukevich said.
“I know your head hurts. Kimbylici?”
The man said, “Pijesam.”
Zakov reported, “He says he was drinking alone last night.”
“Tell him his captain told us that he and the other man shot the two men dead for trespassing.”
Zakov translated and the man screamed, “To jest zle, klamz! Klamca Damn!”
“He says, ‘This is wrong. Liar, damn liar!’ ”
“Why would the captain tell us this story?” Bapcat asked.
Zakov said, “Dlaczdego kaptian nam to?”
“I powiedziec, zde klamie!”
“He insists the captain lies,” Zakov said.
“You believe him?”
“Da,” Zakov said. “I do.”
Hepting came back. “Chilly knows a little bar-side Italian, but our boy has lockjaw. Yours?”
“Zakov speaks some Polish. This man claims he was fired a week ago, called back this morning, given the badge and gun, and informed he has a new job. He says Shunk is lying about him shooting anyone.”
“Shunk’s gone,” Deputy Taylor announced. “I saw him drive away.”
Hepting and Bapcat exchanged glances. “This is crazy,” the sheriff told the game wardens. “We need a coroner, and we need to take these men into custody.” The Keweenaw County sheriff took each man by an arm and announced, “You are under arrest.” Neither man resisted.
Blank stares reigned until Zakov and Taylor transl
ated. “Jestes wareszcie. Rimy to dja wlasnego bez pipczen enstwa.”
Chilly Taylor proclaimed the arrest in his casual Italian.
Pinnochi sank to his knees, shaking.
Lukevich’s face turned purple and he raised a fist, “Klam cas Damn!”
Hepting asked Bapcat, “Got anything to say?”
“None of this makes any sense. Does Shunk actually think he can set up these men so easily? And why—what’s the point? Is Shunk stupid?”
•••
Dr. Henrijk Hill, Keweenaw’s part-time coroner, took two hours to arrive, looked briefly at the bodies in the cart, and pronounced, “Both dead, ostensibly of gunshots. Dr. Scanlan and Justice Carbolt are on the way.”
“Our case,” Hepting said. “Not Cruse and Scanlan or Carbolt. You and me, Henrijk.”
“Not our county, John,” the coroner said.
“You know Cruse don’t pay no attention to things up here. We handle them.”
“Apparently not this time,” the doctor said.
“Shit,” Hepting cursed.
Dr. Marcoach Scanlan and Justice of the Peace Hugh Carbolt arrived in a car driven by Sheriff Cruse, who slid clumsily out of the vehicle, hiked up his pants with both hands, and waddled through the mud toward Hepting and Bapcat.
“Boys,” he said.
Hepting stepped forward. “My case, Jim. We were called into this.”
“Far as I know, Johnny-boy, that’s not what the law dictates or provides for.” Cruse held up a bloated hand. “This is my county, which means my case, and Dr. Scanlan’s.”
Cruse looked at Pinnochi and Lukevich and flicked his hands. “You fellas are free to go, so git. Mr. Justice Carbolt will transport the deceased to the hospital in Red Jacket,” Cruse concluded. “Mr. Carbolt?”
“Dammit, Cruse, this is my case!” Hepting roared. “There is some very slippery shit going on here. Capital crime suspects dismissed?” Hepting asked. “Captain Tristan Shunk fled the damn scene.”
Scanlan said, “Seems open and shut. The two dead men were well-known WFM sympathizers and agitators.”
Bapcat thought: How does Scanlan know who the dead men are? He didn’t even look at the bodies. Something very shady here.
Red Jacket Page 24
