by Nick Adams
He nodded and I was speaking again before he could get a word in. It was rude but effective. A tactic of nonviolent dominance.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I said to Kendra. Turned and went to the door.
She followed us outside and stood on the steps while I got Frank in the van. From the corner of my eye she reminded me of a simmering kettle ready to pop its lid.
“You turned this around on me,” she said.
I looked straight at her as I slid into the driver’s seat, said, “I told you I’d meet your dad, and I did. I never promised to play your game fairly.”
Then I closed the door and got the van started and backed out. Ten seconds dragged by. The whole time Kendra stood there watching me, glaring. If she’d had access to a rocket launcher in that moment, I would have been in a world of hurt.
But I was fine with it. She could be mad and she could get over it. My goal wasn’t to be the world’s most accommodating gentleman. I wanted to get Simon back while keeping complications to a minimum.
26
I stopped before my parents’ house and hit the horn. Dad came out and stepped up to the van. I asked him how everything was going.
“Flawless,” he said. “No calls, no complaints. Lots of folks heading out. A few coming in. Mostly an older crowd.”
“Good,” I said. The smaller and older crowds were generally much better behaved. Easier to deal with.
“I guess we’ve survived another holiday weekend.”
“Looks that way.”
“What are you up to?”
“Just kicking ass and taking names,” I said. “You know, being a good sheepdog.”
He laughed. I smiled. It was funny to him because he took it as sarcasm. It was funny to me because it was accurate.
“On behalf of the sheep, thanks for your effort,” Dad said.
I nodded and said, “I’ll be at the cabin.”
For the next few hours I was undisturbed. No one called. No one rang the bell. It was almost like paradise. I used the time to do a few chores. Checked e-mail and book sales. Checked Yahoo! for any interesting news. Checked Facebook. Cleaned most of my guns and prepped a few for the evening. Used the quiet time to mull over a plan.
I looked over a satellite map of the town. Zoomed right in on my area and tracked my route from the trail where we’d stashed the Escalade. The trail paralleled the dirt road for a fair stretch. Then I’d have to cross the dirt road and duck through a field until I reached the river. Then I could turn left and creep up on the Brady Construction complex.
It was a big area. A big yard surrounded by fields. Their large house was at the center and there were several garages. One garage was massive. Big enough to house heavy equipment and huge parts during maintenance. There were dump trucks and big trailers, a dozer, a backhoe, an excavator, and a big rig to pull them all. Everything a construction outfit might need. Plus all the snow plows and smaller pickup trucks and other odds and ends. Small tool sheds and a wooden overhang covering the sand used for treating the roads in winter.
But there were no obvious dog kennels or dog houses. That made me wonder. Maybe they were keeping them in the basement of the house. Or in a corner of one of the garages. Or maybe Jared Benson had fooled me. Maybe Tommy Brady was a scapegoat because he looked like a rich kid with his family name stenciled on his truck’s door.
I stared at the satellite image for a long time. I envisioned myself walking on the soft pine-needled trail. Smelling the pines and then smelling the river when I neared it. I did a mental walkthrough of the whole trip and the whole complex. The goal was to keep surprises at a minimum.
I assumed there would be a security camera or two overlooking the front yard and driveway. It would be odd not to have at least one. The equipment in that yard was worth millions altogether. But I doubted there would be a camera behind the house. There was nothing in back but a lawn sloping down to the river’s edge. On the other side of the river there was nothing but miles and miles of forest. Moose and bear and deer aren’t known for stealing heavy equipment.
When I felt like I had everything worked out, I closed my laptop and went out on the porch with a glass of iced tea. Lit a smoke and sat in my rocker. I could hear all the typical sounds of the campground. Voices and activity muffled by distance and trees. Everything sounded good. No stress, no problems. Just people enjoying the outdoors.
At some point I nodded off. I was startled awake by a blue jay screeching. The jay was alerting to a vehicle coming down the road. An SUV. It was dark with a shiny grille. There was a little Ford logo. It was a Ford Explorer. Charles Cole’s vehicle. I couldn’t see him clearly in the driver’s seat as the SUV moved by parallel with my front lawn, but I was pretty sure that it was his vehicle. It went on by in a wide circle and looped back heading toward the other cabins.
“You’re kidding,” I muttered.
Frank took the opportunity to get up from his bed and start pestering me. It had nothing to do with my bad vibes. He figured it was late enough in the afternoon to have supper. He gives me the same look every day around the same time. Just stands there and stares with this hopeful expression. Wags his tail a little and waits patiently for me to get moving. It’s like he’s saying, “Yeah, you know what time it is. Get to it.”
I stretched and got up and went inside to feed Frank. He had kibble and some raw grass fed beef mixed with hot water. It was a soupy mess. He loved it. He made it go away in no time at all. For dessert he had some baby carrots. They’re good for his teeth and he seems to enjoy them. And carrot breath is better than most of the alternatives.
Then I sat at the table and ate the second big sub I’d brought home. One of three Kendra had graciously provided. It was a great sandwich. If my appetite saw fit, the third one would be fair game, too. I’d intended it for Willie. But really, it wasn’t like he was in any danger of wasting away. And the extra weight wouldn’t help his knee in the long run.
After that we went outside to do a patrol. I was all geared up with my Magnum and other accessories. Had my camera on and everything. We walked up the road as usual. The cabins had emptied out earlier. That meant the cleaning crew would’ve buzzed through around midday and now they’d be ready for a new batch of occupants. The weekday crowds were generally older. No kids. Might stay a few days or all week. The grounds would be quieter and trouble would be at a minimum.
Usually, anyway.
We passed cabin 7 and it was empty. Cabin 6 had a big four-door Chevy truck with a cap over the bed parked in the drive. A couple I guessed to be in their fifties were moving in. Number 5 had a minivan in the drive, but I couldn’t see anyone around. They were either inside or out walking around. It was the same at number 4. Number 3 was vacant. Number 2 had a Ford Explorer parked nose-out beside it.
I stopped in the road and looked at Charles Cole and his daughter. They were sitting on the porch, each in a rocker. Charles was wearing the same jeans and flannel shirt. He fit well into the surroundings. Kendra was wearing camouflage leggings and a dark T-shirt. Her hair was in two black-and-platinum pigtails that protruded from a tan hat that was either meant for the beach or a safari. She was smiling. But not nicely.
Essentially she was giving me the middle finger via smile.
Frank paused a few seconds after I did. He sniffed the air and caught a familiar scent. Then he followed the scent to the source and went up on the porch to say hello to his friends.
I moved up by the Ford’s hood and looked at them from maybe twenty feet away. So that was how they were going to play it. Move right in and keep tabs on me. Close but not too close. It was an oblique response. Passive aggression. Better for them than a straightforward confrontation.
But it still wouldn’t work.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“Just as pretty as I remember it,” Charles answered. “The pond looks a little bigger.”
I nodded.
“It’s very peaceful,” Kendra said. “Very relaxing. No w
onder business is so good.”
“Remember,” Charles said. “You need a sense of humor in this life.”
“Can’t argue,” I said.
“You’re parents are nice people,” Kendra said.
“Be careful with that,” I said.
“Relax. We didn’t even mention that we knew you.”
I nodded. “Good.”
“I’ve got news,” she said in her next breath.
“Good or bad?”
“We stopped at the Franklin animal shelter on the way over to get some dog treats. They sell stuff to raise money for the animals. While I was in there I saw two pit bulls. The lady working there said they’d just come in this morning. The police took them out of a bad situation.”
“Interesting,” I said.
“So at the very least, our friends won’t be getting their dogs back.”
“Maybe the police will handle everything right.”
“There’s always hope,” she said.
“Hope is fine. But it’s not always enough.”
She didn’t respond.
“I need to get going,” I said. “Need to finish my patrol before dark.”
“Planning on meeting a dragon?” she said, smiling again.
“Never can tell. My parents let in all sorts of riffraff.”
27
It took me a solid half an hour to complete my patrol and get back to cabin 2. The porch was empty as I passed. Kendra and Charles were inside. The daylight was fading fast and I could see lights in the cabin.
Back at my own cabin I resumed preparing for the night’s mission. Wearing gloves I wiped down the guns I would use and wiped down all the shell casings before loading each of the magazines. Odds were I wouldn’t fire a shot. I honestly hoped I wouldn’t. But it would be foolish to be unprepared. Possibly deadly. Tommy Brady hated me almost as much as I hated him.
My primary weapon would be my Colt M4. It was light and effective and accurate and easy to carry with a sling. On the top rear rail I had a night scope mounted. On the bottom forward rail there was a forward handle grip, a laser sight, and a flashlight. All useful tools for various scenarios.
For backup I settled on my Ruger .22. It was the only pistol I had a suppressor for. It was light and accurate enough, and with the suppressor it could come in very handy in a pinch.
And I had a knife. A Becker BK7. A seven-inch blade with a nasty clipped point. Big enough to handle any job and small enough to tote without hassle. The black blade would not shine or reflect in the dark. The knife was easy to carry in its leather sheath mounted horizontally on my belt at the small of my back. Out of sight and out of the way. Easy to reach in an emergency. Highly effective if needed. The edge was sharper than most razors. It could slice wispy phonebook paper without the slightest catch.
Frank came over and sniffed everything lined up on the kitchen counter. He had been watching me the whole time. He knew something was up.
“You’ll be staying home tonight,” I informed him.
He looked at me, tried raising his floppy ears.
“No doggies allowed.”
He let out a long whine.
“Want me to sing you a song?”
No response.
“Want me to sing Let It Go?”
He didn’t.
“Will a cookie make you feel better?”
He sat down and stared at me intently, essentially saying, “Sure can’t hurt.”
I gave him a treat and then we went out to the porch. I sat down and lit a smoke and we watched the night coming on. I went over everything in my mind. Visualizing everything. Trying to put myself right in the action. I sat there doing that until it was completely dark.
I was just thinking about calling Willie when I saw headlights approaching. His truck came into view and he parked parallel with the front lawn. He stepped out and came around the bed of the truck. He was wearing dark sweatpants and a dark long-sleeved tee. In his hand he had a huge cup of iced coffee.
“You bring one for me?” I asked.
“I forgot.”
“Didn’t forget about tonight, though.”
“No way. I have no life now. Remember?”
Willie sat down on the steps. Frank said hello and then returned to his bed.
“Do you mind driving?” I asked.
“No.”
“If I was flying solo, I’d take the four-wheeler right from here.”
“We’ll take my truck. I don’t care.”
“There’s one small complication.”
He looked at me in the dark.
I said, “The girl, Kendra, wants to go with us. She’s here with her father, over in cabin two.”
“Think that’s a good idea?” he asked.
“No. But she’s hell-bent on going.”
“You want me to babysit, is that it?”
“If we can’t convince her to stay here, yeah.”
“I’ve been thinking. It’s gonna be tricky sneaking up on Tommy’s place.”
“Exactly. It’ll be much easier on me if I go alone. I’ve got a vest and a night scope. I can sneak in and look around and text you if I need backup.”
“What can I carry?” he asked.
“My shotgun, if you want. The nine or the forty-five. Whatever. Anything but the Magnum.”
“Didn’t figure you’d let me touch that.”
“No one touches her. She’s mine.”
Willie laughed quietly.
“Hey,” he said after a pause. “You still got that black AK?”
“Yeah, but it’s not loaded. You’ll have to wipe down some shells and load a few mags.”
“I wouldn’t mind carrying that,” he said.
“It’s not as accurate as the M4 or as easy as the shotgun.”
“Yeah, but it’s scary and loud as hell.”
“That it is.”
Willie went in and got busy prepping his rifle of choice. The ugly but effective Kalashnikov. My particular example has a polymer muzzle guard and an aftermarket stock, but it’s still an ugly weapon.
I had one more cigarette and then went in and made a pot of coffee. Seeing Willie’s big cup had sparked the idea. Monkey see, monkey do. And I figured I had a long night ahead of me. Some extra caffeine couldn’t hurt.
I had just poured a big mug and fixed it up when I heard someone step onto the porch. Frank didn’t bark. Didn’t seem surprised by who it was. Kendra knocked on the screen door’s frame. Frank stood across from her, wagging his whole rear end.
“Come on in,” I said.
She opened the door and stepped in. She had on the same clothes and safari hat as before. Except now she had a dark hoodie and a wide line of eye black spread across each cheek. Like a quarterback before a big game under the sun or bright stadium lights.
“Ready?” she said.
“What are you ready for?” I returned.
“Anything,” she said. She wasn’t smiling and trying to taunt me or pay me back for what I’d done at her house. She was dead serious.
Willie stepped into the kitchen with the AK-47 pointed at the floor. Took a gander at Kendra. She took a gander at him. There was a moment of quiet assessment on each side.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey,” he replied. “Going to a game?”
“What do you mean?”
“The eye black,” I said.
“Aren’t we sneaking around in the dark?”
Willie started laughing.
“What?” Kendra said, looking back and forth.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Are you really going to play the no girls allowed game?”
“Guess not,” I said. “You’ve got every right to be in danger and be charged with a crime if you get caught.”
“I do,” she said. “Because Simon’s my dog.”
I nodded. I was done resisting her. She was too emotionally invested in the mission to be persuaded. The only way I could realistically stop her would be to duct tape her
to a tree. And I didn’t quite have the heart to do it.
Willie transferred the rifle to his left hand and held out his right as he introduced himself. Kendra shook his hand and introduced herself. Her hand was lost inside his. Watching them, it occurred to me that if Willie tripped, Kendra would end up in a body cast.
After that she looked around for a moment and noticed the pot of coffee.
“Help yourself,” I said. “Mugs are in the cupboard over the pot.”
“Are these cabins all the same?” she asked while making the coffee.
“Carbon copies,” I answered.
“I like them. So does Dad. He says there’s something about being in a log cabin that just makes him feel good.”
“It’s cozy,” I said. “Homey.”
“Manly,” Kendra said. “From his point of view.”
I stuck my lower lip out and grunted.
She looked at the fridge. Most people hang pictures of family on their fridge with magnets. Mine had various pictures of Max and Frank, a random wolf, and a few pictures of some infamous people. Not family. Kendra pointed to one and asked who he was.
“That’s Prince Vlad,” I said. “The Impaler.”
“He looks hideous. Why do you have his picture next to Frank’s?”
“The guy was a boss,” I said. “Didn’t take any grief from anyone.”
“Inspiration,” Willie explained.
“Okay,” she said under her breath.
“And the angry guy with the two pistols is Josey Wales,” I said.
“He looks cheery,” she said. “Adds warmth to the kitchen.”
I said, “Hey, don’t make light of Clint Eastwood in my house.”
She turned away with her coffee.
“Don’t look in the small bedroom,” Willie told her.
She said, “Well that just makes me wonder.”
“Up to you,” I said. “Just don’t touch anything.”
She crossed the small living room. Opened the door and flicked on the light. Peeked into my armory. Promptly stepped back, flicked the light, spun, and came back to the kitchen. Her eyes were a little wider, but she said nothing.
“Satisfied?” I said.
