Frozen Assets

by Lee Schultz

  I didn’t have the strength to argue. Amazing how much work it takes just to get out of the car, walk up two steps and over to a chair. I felt like I’d climbed Mount Everest. Without an oxygen mask.

  The critters were ecstatic to see me. Even the normally placid Holy Wah did a little dance, accompanied by a sort of whiny yip. Jeezo Petes wound around my ankles purring and yowling as if he hadn’t been fed in a week, and the moment my butt hit the sofa cushion - very gently, by the way - he hopped up into my lap and spent the next twenty minutes head-butting me and rubbing his face on my chest. It felt so good to be home.

  I was still kind of woozy from the pain meds. The doc had reduced the dosage some, but because of the damage to my gluteus maximus it was going to be awhile before I could move without a lot of pain. I ordinarily have a huge capacity for pain, but this had me by the short and curlies. I was in no way equipped to tough this one out.

  I noticed my two-way was in its charger. "Hey, I think I lost my radio in the woods. Where’d it come from?"

  Alice hollered from the kitchen, "The cops found it when they were searching the area and brought it in. Too bad you didn’t think to use it!" She stuck her head around the corner and grinned evilly at me.

  She was right. I was so terrified it didn’t even occur to me to grab the radio and call dispatch. I mentally smacked myself on the forehead. "Duh!"

  We had a nice dinner prepared by my friends while I tried to find a comfortable way to sit. A wonderful seafood salad, fresh-baked rolls, and clam chowder, and I nearly fainted with joy when Dallas came out of the kitchen and yelled "Ta-DAAA!" and put a Death By Chocolate cake on the table. We fell upon it like starving people at a banquet. Later, replete with chocolate-induced endorphins, we sat by the crackling fire and toasted each other with glasses of wine.

  "To health and happiness!" cried Dallas

  "To wealth and wisdom!" toasted Alice.

  "To hell with everything but friends!" I said. Real original, eh? My deep thinking faculties were taking a vacation and all I could think of was how fortunate I was to have such good friends, such great acquaintances, such wonderful children....Tears came unbidden and flowed down my face. Must have been the Vicodan.

  46

  You might be a Yooper if you often switch from "heat" to "A/C" in the same day

  Pete’s plea hearing the next morning went smoothly. I limped a little because walking was still painful, although I was healing well. I had talked with the judge earlier, to explain that I would not be sitting during the proceedings. He forbore from giving me a hard time about pains in the ass.

  Pete didn’t falter when he related to the judge the facts which made up the crime of prison escape and fleeing and eluding. He tended to mumble, but frequent gentle jabs of my elbow reminded him to speak up. The judge determined that he was pleading guilty knowingly, voluntarily, of his own free will without any coercion or promises, found him guilty, and set a sentence date for six weeks in the future. Pete shook my hand and thanked me, then the Department of Corrections guards took him by the arms and he shuffled down the aisle out of the courtroom, his ankle chains clinking with each step.

  Part of me felt sad for this boy whose life was already irreparable harmed, but the rest of me knew that it’s all about choices. He made his choices and most likely would continue to make poor ones. All the counseling and treatment in the world can’t make a leopard change its spots. Without the inborn sense of responsibility for your own life that enables some people to lift themselves out of poverty and become successful, people like Pete and his buddies go through life, blaming everyone but themselves for their misfortunes.

  After exchanging pleasantries with the judge, I left the courtroom.

  I love the Iron County Courthouse. Built in 1898, it is a magnificent edifice of stone topped by a bell tower.. The bell rings on the hour and half hour, twenty-four/seven. On a cold clear night, its sonorous peal can be heard for miles. Recently the courthouse was renovated and the bell tower reinforced. After a hundred years of ringing, the bell was in danger of vibrating the tower’s structure to the point that the bell had been silenced for several years.

  A century of water stains and pigeon poop was sandblasted off the outside, and the large courtroom on the second floor was repainted to restore it to its former glory. A beautiful room even in its erstwhile shabbiness, the restored courtroom, complete with gilded cherubs and paintings and photographs of previous judges, gives one a sense of seriousness, of respect, of soberness that you don’t find in more modern courtrooms. Spectators sit on long wooden pews beneath the arch of the domed ceiling. The only concession to modernity, aside from office chairs for the judge, jury and court recorder, is a sound system to record and amplify proceedings. And the jury gets padded swivel chairs instead of the old wooden straight-backs. And an air conditioner high up in one of the windows.

  The story goes that the county seat was somehow stolen from Iron River, fifteen miles from Crystal Falls, when officials were occupied with a poker game and the "thieves" took all the county records to Crystal Falls. Hence today’s east-side, west-side rivalry which has resulted in this small county having two separate school districts, two hospitals, two nursing homes, basically two of everything.

  More recently, though, shrinking revenues have dictated the closing of the smaller, older Crystal Falls Hospital and the nursing home and mergers with their larger counterparts. There is talk of merging the school districts, but so far it hasn’t got off the ground.

  I walked down the sixteen stone steps to the sidewalk in front of the courthouse and put my face up to the sun. It was cold, and the sun felt good. I turned so the sun was on my rear, and I swear it made the pain lessen. But not so much that it stopped me from wanting to go home and crawl into bed.

  Instead I walked down the hill to O’Rourke’s, determined to start working the damaged muscles so I wouldn’t end up being one of those people whose lives revolve around their pain, their sickness, their disability. It ached, but not so much that I couldn’t tolerate it.

  I opted for a bar stool, which left the injured part of me sort of hanging out there, instead of being squished against a chair back. I actually could sit without wincing. While I waited for my lunch, I nursed a tall Guinness, savoring its richness and wondering how I managed to put away so much "regular " beer in my younger days. I know they tell you not to mix alcohol and pain kiillers, but I figured one glass wouldn’t cause me any harm. A number of people came over to inquire as to my health, hungry for details about what had happened.. In an area where exciting events happen rarely, everyone wants all the gory details when something actually does happen.

  I gave them the condensed version and then pleaded pain. "Time to go home and take another pain pill," I said, gingerly sliding off the bar stool. Amid orders to take it easy and take care of myself, I left the place. It felt good to have so many people acting like they actually cared about me.

  I made a quick stop at the Jubilee for some salad fixings, and then headed homeward.

  47

  You might be a Yooper if you consider it a sport to gather your food by drilling through 18 inches of ice and sitting there all day hoping that the food will swim by

  I always get a thrill as I turn from the main road onto my dirt road. I get a sense of homecoming I don’t ever remember ever having felt before coming to the UP. Maybe in another life I was a member of a Michilimackina or Potawatomi or Ottawa tribe, I don’t know. I just know that this area calls to me, feeds my soul. I often daydream about what it must have been like here before the white man came along and methodically set about destroying and polluting. Plentiful game, clear sparkling streams, countless lakes. All the tribes would have to do would be to follow the geese southward to warmer climes in winter, then return north with those same geese.

  I find it interesting how the sound of geese flying north in the spring is so joyful, yet that same sound as they head south for the winter is so mournful
. Context, I guess.

  This was what I was thinking about when my cell phone sounded.

  It was Nate. His voice sounded taut and stressed. "Molly, I need to talk to you. Where are you?"

  "I’m just coming into my driveway. What’s got you in such a dither."

  "Can’t talk about it on the phone. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes." He rang off without even saying goodbye.

  I took my groceries and case files into the house. I changed from my lawyer disguise into my Woods Woman apparel. When I’m at home I usually wear jeans and a tee shirt, and half the time my clothes look like they’re holding a grudge. Because I knew Nate was coming, I opted for a clean tee shirt with "I get everything I set my mind to, now where did I set my mind?" on it. I brushed my teeth, ran my fingers through my hair, noting that I was getting a little shaggy, time to make an appointment for a trim, and went to the kitchen, where I put the kettle on and readied the press for coffee. I do that a lot.

  Moments later Nate pulled into the drive in the ubiquitous black, tinted-window SUV. In Michigan it’s illegal to tint any front windows, but hey, it’s the FBI. Joke: What do you feed an FBI agent? Anything he wants. Okay, so it’s not so funny. But they do tend to get whatever they ask for. I poured the water into the press, took out two mugs and, once I deemed the coffee ready, filled the two mugs. I knew Nate liked his coffee black so I didn’t bother with creamer or sweetener.

  I heard him thumping his boots on the deck to knock off any snow he had picked up between his vehicle and the house. I opened the door and beckoned him in. He removed his topcoat and hung it on the coatrack by the door. Damn if it didn’t feel nice to watch him do that.

  We sat at the table, me with a pillow on the seat in deference to my still very sore fanny, and I said "Okay, so what’s so urgent."

  "We’ve got an operation planned, and we need to use your land as a base." He saw my surprised look and went on, "We’ve got the intel we need to go into your neighbor’s property. Those two goons who tried to, well, kill you, aren’t talking, but the attack on you was enough to get a Federal judge to authorize a search warrant to enter the property. We need to move fast, because we think they’re planning to get out, and we think there is someone local who keeps them informed about law enforcement activities."

  I interrupted him. "If you need to move so fast, why has it taken you two days to do it?"

  He grimaced. "Took us that long to interrogate those two, draft a search warrant, and then revise it twice before the damn judge would sign it. Sometimes I wonder about this system."

  "Anyway," he continued, "we want to go in on all four sides of the property, including yours. We’ve had Section 6 Road, the snowmobile trail, County Road 424 and US 2 covered in case they tried to break things up and run, but we want to go in from here. Will you give us permission?"

  I didn’t have to think about it. "You better believe it. Anything I can do to help you round up and put away the assholes who put another one in mine." It took him a second, but he got it and smiled. He pulled out his cell phone, punched in a speed dial number. He said "It’s a go. Meet you at the location." He closed the cell phone and put it into his pocket.

  "I’m going out to get my riot gear on. I want you to stay in the house and don’t come out for anything. You should be fine, because we’re going to box them in and herd them toward the center." He flashed a brief grin. "At least that’s the plan."

  I put up a hand. "I know, the best laid plans and all that. I’ll be good."

  I watched as he went to his vehicle and started pulling out stuff. The sound of several high performance engines came from the direction of the road. By the time Nate got back into the house with his gear, a series of vehicles came into view and parked around the perimeter of my plowed-out circle. I chuckled as I watched every vehicle turn around so it faced out, in case they had to make a fast exit. Doors opened and figures clad in white riot gear - I didn’t know it came in anything but black - spilled out into the circle. I counted six vehicles and twenty people. They meant business. I noted license plates from Minnesota and Wisconsin, as well as Michigan. They must have had to call in reinforcements.

  On his way out the door to join the others, Nate backtracked to where I was sitting. He bent down, looked into my eyes for a moment, and then was gone.

  48

  I had been lying on the couch on my uninjured side, a fat pillow between my legs to lessen the pull on my aching buttock, covered with an afghan. I wasn’t sleeping, but I was listening, hoping to hear something that would let me know the "operation" was all over and everyone was safe and the bad guys were all going away where they couldn’t threaten me any more. The dog was curled in a great lump near the fire. The cat was near my feet. It was starting to get dark, but I hadn’t turned on any lights. The only light was the warm flickering of the fire.

  I heard a faint sound at my back door. I sat up, listened. Nothing. Without dislodging the cat I stood, put the pillow and afghan on the couch, started to go to investigate, then backtracked to my desk. I quietly opened the drawer, thankful that I kept the grooves waxed so the drawer moved easily and quietly. I removed my .22 pistol, made sure it was ready to fire - it would be embarrassing to try and shoot at somebody and discover the safety was still on - and held it down by my side. I hadn’t turned on any lights, so it was fairly dark. I slipped off my shoes and padded to the back door and stood to one side. I could see the handle turning very slowly. I held my breath. The door opened a crack, then an inch, then enough to admit the figure of a man. My gut clenched. Still looking straight ahead, the man silently closed the door. I was standing against the wall, in full view if he turned around.

  He moved silently over to where I had been sitting on the couch and from about five feet away, he raised his arm and pointed at the pile of pillows and afghans I had left behind when I got up. I heard three muffled sounds, like somebody spitting. Then I realized he had just shot at what he thought was me, with a silenced gun. Oh, shit, I’m dead. If I move, he’ll see me, what in hell am I gonna do, what if he shoots the dog –

  As he turned back toward me, I turned to one side and raised my piston in the shooting stance I’d been taught.

  He spotted me and yelled "Fucking bitch!" He raised his gun and pointed at me. Before his gun hand was in position to shoot, I fired three times as taught - tap, tap, tap. He fired as he went down and I heard the lead smack into the wall above my head. Without changing my position, I lowered my arms so that the pistol pointed at the man.

  He didn’t move.

  I was still standing there, gun pointed, frozen in place, when both the front and back doors burst open and two automatic rifles were pointed at the figure on the floor. He still didn’t move. Neither did I.

  One figure stooped over my attacker. He put his fingers on the man’s neck, feeling for a pulse. He shook his head. If you don’t have a pulse in your carotid artery, you’re dead. The other man took off his white ski mask and came toward me. Nate gently took the pistol from my frozen hands and led me over to the table and sat me down on my still-pillowed chair. He pulled out a handy-talkie - when did they stop calling them walkie-talkies? - and spoke quietly into the mic. "All secure here. One target down."

  He reached across the table and took my hand in both of his. "You okay?" His voice was warm and rich and poured over me like chocolate syrup. I closed my eyes and savored the feeling. I felt like a lump of ice. No fear, no satisfaction, no regret, no nothing. I shook my head slightly. "No." It came out as a whisper.

  Nate got up from his chair and came around the table to me. He took my arms and lifted me to my feet, then enfolded me in his arms and held me against his chest. "You’re safe," he said, stroking my hair. "We’ve got them wrapped up and you’re safe now."

  And damned if I didn’t feel safe for the first time in weeks.

  I could have stayed like that forever, except that everything started hurting again. Nate released me and guided me toward the
door. "Put your coat on, grab the cat and dog, and let’s get out of here and let the techs do their crime scene investigation bit."

  I finally found my voice and called to H.W. Nate picked up the cat carrier from its corner and held it while I stuffed Jeezo Petes into it, butt first. He had some some pretty nasty things to say about it, but once the wire door was secured, he huffily settled down with a "Mraow!"

  Holy Wah padded silently along my right side, and looked at me questioningly when Nate opened the rear door. "It’s okay, load up," I told her. I turned to Nate. "FBI isn’t going to appreciate dog hair in their Scaremobile."

  He waved a dismissive hand. "Who cares. They’ve already sent me to what they think is Purgatory, and I’m going to retire in three years anyway."

  I gingerly slid into the passenger seat, and leaned slightly toward Nate to take the weight off my right side.

  As we drove out, two more vehicles arrived. I was amazed that there wasn’t a single local police vehicle, not even state police, and I said so.

  "This was strictly a federal operation." I looked quizzically at him, and he sighed. "We didn’t trust the locals. Somebody has been feeding these people information, and it has to be a local. Since we couldn’t pinpoint him, we kept them all out of the loop. We’re through with that part of the operation, but we’ve still got a lot of work to do to tie up all the loose ends, including finding the local."

  We turned into the Four Seasons motel, a small, homey place on Crystal Falls’ main drag. As the dog unfolded herself out of the rear door, I asked "I don’t think the motel people are going to be too happy about having the dog here."

  "Got it covered," Nate replied. "We basically took over the entire place for two days so we’d have somewhere as a base, and since this is their off season, I don’t think they’ll squawk about a few dog hairs."