Way Past Legal

by Norman Green

  I had some candy bars and some Poland Spring water under the seat. I ate two of the candy bars, drank some warm bottled water, and I got going. I almost forgot Rosario, believe it or not, I almost turned in the wrong direction. I didn’t, but I did realize that my head wasn’t working right. I drove, one-armed, back to where I’d left him. He came out of it long enough to help me get his ass belted into the passenger seat. It was a good thing he did, because unconscious, he was like a two-hundred-fifty-pound bag of shit. I don’t know if I could have done it by myself. Rosey’s a big guy, bigger than me, and he barely fit.

  I remember driving back down that dirt road, I remember nodding off and jerking back awake, the fear bringing me back around for a while, I remember driving past that tackle shop in Grand Lake Stream, all closed up and dark. The last thing I remember is cracking the Subaru into one of those big pine trees in front of Mrs. Johnson’s house, and then everything went black.

  7

  I came to in a room painted pastel green. The place had that unmistakable hospital air about it, the sharp tang of disinfectant, the muffled downcast voices of relatives waiting on the sick and the dying. My left arm was swathed in bandages, and a tube ran from the inside of my wrist up to a bottle of clear liquid hanging on a stainless-steel rack. The sun was pouring through a big window. Chris Johnson’s mother was sitting in a chair next to the window, reading a book. When she heard me stirring, she marked her spot with a finger and looked up.

  “Coyote,” she said, a look of amusement dancing across her round face. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like shit,” I told her, and I tried to sit up. I was surprised at how much effort it took. Inside my head, I felt that wild, dancing elation—I made it, I did it again, but that was tempered with the shock of being so weak. “Damn,” I said. “Where am I at?”

  “Calais hospital,” she said.

  “How long have I been out?”

  “Two days.”

  “Oh, Jesus.” I’d left Nicky with Louis and Eleanor, and all three of them were bound to be worried about me by now, but at least Nicky was out of harm’s way. “Does Bookman know I’m in here?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “I didn’t tell him.”

  “What about the doctor? Don’t doctors have to report gunshot wounds to the cops?”

  “What gunshot wound? You were in an accident, Coyote, and you cut your arm. Your friend broke some ribs. That’s the official story.” She smiled. “You shouldn’t drive when you’re that tired.”

  “You hear anything about the two Russians?”

  “I don’t know anything about any Russians,” she said. “I do know some poor man was lost up in the woods, got bit up something wicked by mosquitoes, no-see-ums, blackflies, and so on. Looked like a pincushion, they tell me, face and arms got all swelled up. He got disgusted, went on back where he come from. Some other guy fell down and hit his head on a rock, got a concussion. He isn’t fit to travel yet because he’s still seeing two of everything.” She stood up, put her book facedown on the chair. “I better go tell someone you’re awake. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

  “Yeah, okay. What kind of shape is the Subaru in?”

  She shook her head. “Done for. My cousin towed it to the junkyard.”

  “Damn.” I looked around my bed. “Don’t they have any phones in this place?”

  I could see amusement in her bland expression. “You have to pay extra for that.”

  “Oh, great. Is my phone in here somewhere?”

  “Your stuff from the little truck is all here in a bag.” She reached into a cloth bag on the floor next to her chair, pulled out the rock with the M-80 still taped to it. “Except for this. That cannon you had is still in your vest pocket.”

  “That rock with the M-80 taped to it was a diversion. I took the pistol away from that guy who hit his head on the rock.”

  “I wasn’t worried about the gun,” she said. “The only person who seems to have gotten shot is you.”

  “Funny how that works. Anyway, what I need right now is the phone.”

  “All right.” There was a large paper bag, the kind they use in grocery stores, in the closet. She fished around in it. “One cell phone,” she said, pulling it out. “Here you go. I’ll be right back.”

  There was no answer at the Averys’ house. I dialed the number twice, listened to it ringing for a minute or so each time with no result. I felt a pang at the pit of my stomach. Don’t worry, I told myself. Maybe Louis is working, maybe Eleanor and Nicky are in the barn looking at the horse. Maybe they went for a walk. Maybe they’re working in the garden.

  I couldn’t buy it, though, I couldn’t see Eleanor going outdoors without a damn good reason. Plus, I had been missing for a couple of days. Wouldn’t they be worried? Wouldn’t Nicky be driving them crazy, asking them every five minutes when I was coming back? I tried their number again, waited a longer time, picturing in my mind someone who could hear the phone ringing but could not, for some horrible reason, get to it. Eleanor, tied to a chair the way Rosey had been.

  Shit.

  I checked the voice mail, found I had one message from Buchanan, back in New York, and two from Bookman. Buchanan could wait, and I didn’t want to talk to Bookman until I found Nicky and the Averys. I always had the feeling that I was on thin ice with Bookman, and I didn’t want to make it any worse than it was. Gevier lived right next door to the Averys, and I was sure he would know what was going on. The phone number for his garage was stored in my phone’s memory. He answered on the sixth ring, out of breath.

  “Gevier, this is Manny. There’s nobody home at Louis’s house. Do you know what happened to them?”

  “Well,” he said, “Louis is resting comfortable.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s in jail. Bookman locked him up for drunk and disorderly, assault with a deadly weapon, who knows what else.”

  “Are you kidding me? Louis, assault? Holy shit! What the hell happened? Where are Nicky and Eleanor?”

  “Well, Louis took Eleanor down to Machias to see the doctor, and the doctor put her in the hospital. He come back without her, and he’s been drunk ever since. He went into the VFW but they wouldn’t serve him on account of he was already loaded, so he went out to his truck, come back inside with his chain saw, and cut the bar in half.”

  “Oh, fuck me. Did he have Nicky with him?”

  “Yep. Louis put a nice straight kerf in that bar, top to bottom, right through the glass top and all. Set the saw down on the bar, said, ‘Give me a bourbon.’ And, by God, they did.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Night before last.”

  “Oh, shit. What happened to Nicky?”

  “You know, I’m not sure. You’d have to ask Bookman, he was the one that arrested Louis.”

  Great. “Anybody make bail?”

  “Well, you know, I think his old partner Hobart was going to, but Bookman talked him out of it. Thought he might be better off inside there for a few days.”

  “Jesus Christ.” My stomach rolled over. “I gotta find my kid.” I remembered that I had smacked up Hobart’s Subaru and was currently without wheels. “Listen, Gevier, did you ever finish fixing my van?”

  “Be done in a half hour,” he said. “I had to come out from under to answer the phone.”

  “Sorry. What would you charge me to tow that van up here and leave it in the hospital parking lot in Calais? Could you do that tonight?”

  “Yeah, sure. It would take me a couple hours. Figure an extra fifty bucks.”

  “Great. Do that for me, will you? Leave it unlocked, stick the keys under the passenger-side floor mat.”

  “All right,” he said. “Good enough. I’ll put my bill on the driver’s seat. Why don’t you stop down the house and pay Edwina.”

  “She in charge of the money?”

  “She’s in charge of everything,” Gevier said. “It’s her world. You and me, we’re just visiting.”


  I laid there with that telephone in my hand, thinking about all the terrible things that my mind was telling me had happened to Nicky while I was out of it, and all the terrible things that were going to happen when I talked to Bookman. I was past worrying what Bookman thought about me, except that, if his opinion got low enough, he might make it tough for me to get Nicky back. I felt like throwing up, but I had to call him anyway. I dialed his office number.

  “Sheriff Bookman is not in,” the lady told me. “May I take a message?”

  “Not in?” You gotta be kidding me. “What do you mean he’s not in? I have to talk to him. Is he home? Do you have his home number?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not allowed to give that out, sir. . . .”

  “Oh, man. Listen, I have to talk to him, and he’s definitely gonna want to talk to me, I promise you.”

  “Maybe I could take your number, sir. I’ll try to get in touch with him and let him call you back. Would that be all right?”

  It sounded like the best deal I was going to get, at least from her. “Sure. My name is Manny Williams.” I gave her my cell number. I hung up, then listened to the two voice mails Bookman had left for me. He hadn’t said much, just dryly wondered where I might be, left his office number. I could probably get his home number from Gevier, and I was about to do that when the phone rang.

  It was Bookman. “I ’magine you want to talk to yaw son,” he said.

  “Yeah! Is he there?”

  “Nope.”

  “C’mon, Bookman, what are you doing to me? Why you torturing me like this?”

  “That’s what you done to him,” Bookman said calmly. “Three days now, the poor little kid don’t heah from his fahthah, sleeping all by himself in a strange bed. . . .”

  “It ain’t my fault, Bookman, I just woke up a half hour ago. One of those Russians creased me with a slug a couple nights back. I was out for two days. I left Nicky with Louis and Eleanor, I thought I was going to be back later that same night. What are you talking about, a strange bed? What the hell did you do with him?”

  “When I put Louis in jail for being a drunk pain in my ass, he had yoah boy in the truck with him,” he said. “The Maine Depahtment of Human Services is responsible—”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ! Bookman, what did you do?” That was all I needed. “The Maine Department of what?” I’d already stolen him once, now I could picture myself having to do it all over again, and a kid disappearing in Maine was sure to draw more attention than one that went missing in Bushwick. “Fuck me, Bookman! Why don’t you just fucking shoot me? Why don’t you—”

  “Calm down, calm down,” Bookman said. “I said they were responsible, I nevah said I give him up to them. Nicky is down to the creek, fishing with Franklin. You can’t talk to him because they ain’t back yet.” I laid back in the bed, felt relief wash over me. I wiped my forehead on the hospital’s ratty cotton bathrobe.

  “Oh, Christ, Bookman . . .”

  “No need to get religious. If yaw up in theyah with a gunshot wound, how come I wasn’t infommed?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I ’magine it is,” he said. “I look fohwahd to hearing all the details. What’d you do to the Rooskies?”

  “One of them went home, and the other one was sleeping like a baby, last time I saw him.”

  “That so.” He took a minute to think about that. “When ah you getting out?”

  “I’m leaving tomorrow morning. Gevier’s got my van fixed, he’s gonna drop it in the parking lot tonight. Where should I meet you?”

  “Go on back to Louis’s. Call me when you get theyah. I’ll call this numbah when the boys get back from the creek, let you talk to yaw son.”

  The doctor who came to see me was taller and leaner than Mrs. Johnson, but he had that same black hair, same brown skin and brown eyes. “Mr. Coyote,” the guy said, smirking. “How are we feeling today?”

  “Terrific,” I told him. “How soon can I get out of here?”

  He started unwrapping the bandage on my arm. “You in a hurry to leave us? You lost a lot of blood, you know.”

  “Can’t you fill me back up? I got business.”

  “We already filled you up.” He took the last of the bandage off. “Hmm,” he said. “Well, I’m afraid the snake on your arm is going to have a scar on his head.”

  “It hurt me worse than it hurt him.”

  “I’ll bet it did.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost four in the afternoon,” he said. “Too late to do any business today. Why don’t you stay with us one more night, see how you feel in the morning?”

  I didn’t want to stay, I wanted to get out right then, but I was feeling pretty shaky. Maybe staying another night was the smart thing. “If I have to. How’s my friend Rosario?”

  He looked at me. “Let’s stop bullshitting one another, okay? You took a bullet in the arm and your associate was severely beaten. I sincerely doubt he’d had anything to eat in days before he was brought in here. There’s something worse going on here than someone falling asleep behind the wheel. Mrs. Johnson is a good friend, and she asked me to patch you up and keep my mouth shut, so I did that. But I wouldn’t want to think you were going to involve her in something that would put her in jeopardy.”

  “I wouldn’t like that myself, Doc. Rosario and I were both in the wrong place at the wrong time. The sooner I can get him far away from here, the better off we will all be.” It was true, I had to get him away from the Russians, and I didn’t want Bookman asking him a lot of questions, either.

  “That might be so, but it’s not going to happen tonight. Your friend had a collapsed lung, and he’s going to have to stay right where he is for another four or five days. The best I can tell you is that I’ll stop in on you both in the morning, and then we’ll talk about what I find. Okay?”

  “All right. Thanks, Doc.”

  Mrs. Johnson came back in, gathered up her stuff. “I’m going home, Coyote,” she said. “Do you think you’re going to be all right now?”

  “I’ll be fine. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “You did okay in those woods. That was a big son of a whore you carried out. I don’t know many men who could have done it.”

  “Fear makes you strong.”

  She shook her head. “Fear just makes you afraid. Did you find Nicky?”

  “My son? Yeah, I did. I guess I talked about him in my sleep.”

  She was nodding. “Yes, you did.” She looked at me, impassive. You’d have to spend your whole life up in this place to be able to read the faces of the people who lived up here. “You talked about a lot of things. Don’t worry, though, no one heard you but me, and I know how to keep quiet. Besides, if you’re a coyote, it’s no good pretending you’re a pussycat.” She started to leave, but she paused at the door. “I bet you’ve got some stories to tell, Coyote. Someday when you got time, I’d love to hear ’em.”

  There was a hole in the room when she left, it was a colder and meaner place, and I was not so content to lie there. The bathroom was about twelve feet away from the bed. I made it over there okay, I was pretty shaky but not bad, considering. I could feel how empty my stomach was, though, and I could tell that I really needed a shower. I was on my way back to the bed, dragging that rack with the bottle swinging on it behind me, when a nurse came into the room. She was an older lady, gray-haired, all business. In no time at all she got that bottle unhooked from my arm, got me into the shower, got food ordered. She went off to locate Rosario for me. I made it back to the bed, feeling much more human, but weak, for such little exertion.

  Hospital food is what it is, you know, if you’re hungry enough, you’ll eat it. I was more than hungry enough, and after I got it down, I began to feel better, like I could make it down to Rosario’s room and back without incident. Before I finished eating, though, my phone rang. It was Bookman.

  “Hold on,” he said. I heard the phone passed from one pair of hands to a
nother, heard breathing in the phone.

  “Hey, Nicky,” I said, trying not to sound guilty, which was what I felt. “Is that you?”

  “Hi, Poppy.” I could hardly hear him.

  “Did you have a good time with Franklin?” There was no answer for a minute, and I could hear a female voice in the background, telling Nicky that I could not see him nodding.

  “Yes,” he said, in that same quiet voice.

  “Are you being a good boy?” I got the same answer, in the same tone. God, this was terrible. I wanted to reach through the phone lines and put my arms around him. “Did you catch a fish?”

  “I caught a pickerel!” he said, in the shout he reserved for truly exciting events like horses running away. “Franklin said it was a pickerel, and it was all slimy, and it had big teeth!”

  “Did he bite you?”

  “No.” I could hear him laughing. “Silly.”

  “Did you eat him for dinner?”

  “No. We let him go. Franklin says they got too many bones.”

  “Oh. Okay. Don’t go fishing in the morning, all right? I have to stay here tonight, but I’ll see you in the morning. Is that okay?”

  “Okay.” He was back to that faint voice.

  “You be good, now. Bye-bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Bookman came back on the line. “All right, Manny,” he said. “Call me in the morning, when you get to Louis’s house.”

  “Will do.” I had the distinct impression that he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t, he just hung up.

  Rosey was lying in bed, pale, watching television. I came in and sat in the chair next to him. He must have been awake longer than me, because I could tell by looking at him that he’d had too much time to think. He looked surprised to see me when I walked through the door, and then immediately resentful and petulant, wounded at heart, suspicious. I suppose I would have felt the same way. It was a bad situation to be in: dependent, unable to move, out of your native habitat, and the crook you used to work with has your money. “How you feeling, Rosey?”

  He reached for the remote and turned up the volume on the set so we could talk without being overheard.