by Dan Ames
What was that saying about the devil you knew?
She checked her phone.
The man who had recommended her, Beau Gordon, had invited her for a quick cup of coffee after the interview.
Now, she spotted the sign for Black Bear Coffee and popped inside.
“Ellen!”
The man sitting at a table with a copy of the local newspaper by his side stood and gave Ellen a hug. Beau Gordon was a big man, a retired attorney with a passion for sailboats and blondes. He had finally settled on a wife, his fourth, and the town of Good Isle.
His thick, silver hair was brushed back neatly, and he wore blue jeans with a crisp yellow shirt and boat shoes.
“How did it go?” he asked her.
“I thought it went well, but you never really know,” Ellen answered. She ordered a coffee and joined Beau at his table.
Ellen only knew Beau a little bit, as he’d been a friend of the family. But she had come in contact with him when he was on the city council of Grosse Pointe. There, they had gotten to know each other, professionally, and he had been an ally of hers.
“They’d be crazy not to hire you,” Beau said. “But that’s the thing about small towns like Grosse Pointe, and Good Isle, for that matter. Small towns have a lot of backward people for whom common sense just doesn’t apply. I can’t guarantee anything, but I told them they would be morons not to consider you.”
“Well, I appreciate it, Beau,” Ellen said.
“What do you think of the town?”
“It’s beautiful, of course,” Ellen said. “Then again, it isn’t February.”
Winters could be tough in northern Michigan, no doubt about it. But Ellen enjoyed a lot of outdoor winter activities like ice skating, snowmobiling, snowshoeing and cross-country skiing.
“That’s true,” he said. “You get used to it, I guess. Plus, I’ve got a condo in Florida I go to for three months in winter. Helps break up the monotony.”
Ellen asked him about his wife, and their grown children. Eventually, they finished their coffee and continued to walk up the street until Beau turned and stuck out his hand.
“It was great to see you again, Ellen,” he said. His eyes narrowed slightly. “How is John doing?”
It was a question she always sort of dreaded. She loved her brother, but his story was well-known in Grosse Pointe and she got tired of being asked about it.
“He’s fine,” she replied evenly. “His PI business is doing well. He’s a good investigator and he stays very busy. Business is always good in Grosse Pointe.”
Beau nodded.
“Okay, hopefully I’ll be seeing you again soon,” he said.
Ellen turned, and walked back toward where she had parked her car.
The lake looked spectacular in the late afternoon light.
It was a view, she realized, she could get used to.
Chapter Four
Coming out of unconsciousness was nothing new for Billy “Dynamite” Dawkins.
Although it had never happened to him during his professional career, he’d been knocked out many times as a youth, growing up in Detroit.
He actually laughed when he heard about NFL players suing the league for traumatic head injuries. He’d had so many traumatic brain injuries he couldn’t count them, which was probably a case in point.
But now, as his eyes slowly opened, he wasn’t greeted with the canvas floor of a boxing ring, or blood-splattered pavement after a street brawl.
Instead, he realized he was on a bed, staring at the ceiling.
“Looks like our little Sleeping Beauty is finally awake,” a voice said off to his right.
“He knows when it’s show time,” another voice said.
Dawkins turned his head toward the right, and saw a man in jeans and a flannel shirt, with a beard and greasy baseball cap, leering at him. Behind him, another man, similarly dressed, but with a cowboy hat, watched him with open amusement.
“Oh, he don’t look too happy,” the first man said.
The man formerly known as Dynamite struggled to sit up, but couldn’t move his arms. He looked down and saw he was handcuffed.
His shirt was gone and so were his socks and shoes. All he had on were his shorts, and the handcuffs.
“What the fuck?” he growled. His throat felt raw and his head hurt. He remembered the dart in his back.
He’d been tranquilized like a tiger on a nature show.
“Damn, you is a big boy, though,” the guy with the cowboy hat said. “We threw you on that cot, we thought the sucker might collapse.”
Dawkins realized he wasn’t in a bed, like he had originally thought. It was a military-style cot. He looked around. The room was dark, with wood paneling, a wood stove in a corner, and a little kitchen. Above it, was a loft.
It was a cabin, he figured. A northwoods cabin, and he was stuck inside with two hillbillies who had apparently kidnapped him and put him in handcuffs. They’d even partially undressed him. He hoped they weren’t planning to recreate any scenes from the movie Deliverance.
“You kidnapped me? You think I’m rich?” Dawkins asked.
He had put his head back down on the pillow behind him. He didn’t feel like getting up just yet. He needed to think. He still felt groggy and not himself from the drugs. He wished he could have a big cup of coffee to clear his head.
“Bet this is how you used to get ready before a big fight, wasn’t it?” Cowboy hat continued. Greasy Baseball Cap guy chuckled. “Wake up in the locker room, hungover from champagne and bangin’ some of your groupies? Lace ‘em up and get on out there and kick some ass, am I right, Dynamite?”
Dawkins actually heard the guy in the chair slap his thigh as he laughed. Like some horrible Hee Haw rerun.
“Not exactly,” Dawkins said. “Who are you guys, anyway? Mind filling me in on what you’ve got in mind here?”
This time, he managed to sit up and swing his feet from the cot. His head swam and his vision was blurry. When they cleared, he felt a little better.
He studied the two men before him.
It was easy to see Cowboy Hat was in charge. The guy in the baseball cap must have been on guard duty. They were careful, that was clear. There was a big revolver tucked into the sitting guy’s waistband. And now, Billy could see Cowboy Hat was carrying a sawed-off pump shotgun.
For the first time, he felt a little tremor of uneasiness pass through him.
This wasn’t good.
They knew who he was, though.
“If you’ve done any kind of research, you know I’m not rich,” he said. “My manager is, but I sure as hell aren’t.”
“You were a helluva fighter, but a bad businessman, is that right?” Cowboy Hat said.
Dawkins nodded. “Pretty good summary, I would say.”
“Shit, we got a humble man here, Troy!” Cowboy Hat said.
Dawkins looked at Baseball Cap, who now had a name. “Troy, did you put these on me?” he said, holding up his cuffed hands.
“Sure did,” Troy said. “What you gonna complain they’re too tight? Tough shit.”
Dawkins smiled at him.
“Nah, I wasn’t going to complain. I was going to compliment you on a job well done. They fit perfectly.
Cowboy Hat laughed.
“Shit, this is gonna be a riot.”
Chapter Five
There are several sections of I-75 North in Michigan that have always inspired a genuine emotional lift for me. Granted, I don’t get out of Grosse Pointe and the Detroit area all that often, but I’ve occasionally escaped to the north woods of Michigan throughout my life.
It has always been a place of beautiful lakes, towering pine trees, and depending on which side of the state you visit, beautiful bluffs and awe-inspiring coastal rock formations. In fact, Michigan has more coastline than any other state in the United States.
The minivan was packed for a nice extended vacation. Isabel and Nina were in the back seats, Anna to my right, and I had my iPhone
plugged into the vehicle’s sound system. I’d even made a custom road trip playlist with songs involving the highway.
Right now, AC/DC’s Highway to Hell was playing.
“John, what is this?” Anna asked, pointing at the sound system’s control panel. She was frowning at me, and kind of gave a nod of the head back toward the kids. As if to say, you know, we’re parents. We aren’t supposed to be listening to this kind of music.
“Bon Scott and the Young brothers doing what they do best,” I said. “That’s what this is.”
“Dad turn it off!” Isabel said. “This music is terrible.”
“What are you talking about?” I said. “This is real music. Not some Justin Bieber nonsense.”
I tried to compromise by turning the volume down.
“Put in Bruno Mars!” Nina said.
The highway crested a hill and as I topped it, the beauty of the state touched my often cynical and sarcastic soul. There was a valley before us, not the kind out West. This was a Midwest “valley” which really meant it was more a dip in the road, but it gave a striking panorama and the first time I felt like I was officially out of the city, and into nature.
Never mind the fact that we still had three hours to go, and Good Isle wasn’t exactly “roughing” it.
“So, were you surprised when Ellen called you?” Anna asked me.
My wife was an Italian beauty, but with what her mother had warned me was a “fresh mouth.” Meaning, she didn’t take crap from anyone, least of all her husband.
It kept life interesting.
“Yeah, of course,” I said. “I knew Ellen was having problems at work. She regularly does because there will always be a bunch of Neanderthals who don’t like working for a woman. Or who feel a chief of police is a man’s job.”
“She knows how to handle those morons, though,” Anna pointed out.
“True,” I agreed. “But it has to get annoying. Dealing with that crap day in and day out.”
“Does she think Good Isle will be any different?” Anna asked. “Heck, up there it might be even worse. Small towns sometimes mean small minds.”
I passed a car that was going way too slow. I glanced as I went by. A black pickup truck, jacked up, with big knobby tires, a rebel flag decal in the back window, and a bumper sticker that said ‘This truck is protected by Smith & Wesson.’
“My point exactly,” Anna said.
The song on my playlist changed to Bruce Springsteen’s Born To Run. I thought this would go over better than AC/DC. I looked in my rearview mirror. Both girls had on headphones.
Sigh.
Kids these days.
“That will really suck if she likes the place and takes the job,” Anna said. “It’s great having her around. And Lord knows you’ve needed her.”
I ignored the jab. At the same time, I had to admit she was right. My sister had come to my rescue many, many times. I’d helped her out occasionally, too, but we all knew the ledger was weighted to her side a lot more than mine.
“She loves helping me out,” I said. “In fact, I haven’t really needed her. I’ve just made her feel like I did because it really helps out her self-esteem. Another example of how I’m always thinking of others.”
“Nice try, John,” Anna said. “You didn’t answer my question. What if she likes the place? What are the odds she’ll take the gig?”
“A million to one,” I said, bristling with confidence. “In fact, I’d bet my last dollar there’s no way in hell Ellen will take this job. The town is too small. She’s single. Ellen loves Detroit and all of its new, funky restaurants that are popping up all over the place.”
We passed a guy on a Harley. He had on polyester pants and a short-sleeved dress shirt. One of those middle-aged rebel accountants. I felt like telling him the twenty grand he spent on the bike probably wasn’t going to help him with the ladies.
“I’m sure she could find places to go and things to do up here,” Anna said, ever the optimist. That endless positivity was something I’d had to overcome in my marriage. Most of the time it just really bugged me.
“Up here?” I continued. “Yeah, there’s a few good places, but that’s it. And I don’t think there are a lot of romantic options.”
“Hmm, I’m not so sure about that,” Anna said. “My friend, Colleen, moved to Traverse City, met a freelance movie producer and they fell in love and got married in like six months. They go to Los Angeles all the time, especially during winter. She couldn’t be happier.”
Hmm, Anna sounded wistful. I thought about mentioning that, and then thought better of it.
“You sound wistful,” I said, ignoring my own advice, like always.
Anna rolled her eyes.
We drove on, deeper into the north woods as traffic thinned out and we saw more and more pickup trucks, wide farm fields full of potatoes, corn and soybeans, and the occasional picturesque red farmhouse. The kind that was becoming more and more rare these days.
Eventually, we turned off the freeway and made our way west, and the road rose before us, getting steeper and more dramatic as we neared the shore of Lake Michigan.
And then finally, one last rise and the beautiful blue of the Great Lake was before us.
“Wow,” Anna said. She turned and told the girls to take off their headphones.
“Lovely,” I said.
“If I were Ellen, and they offered me the job,” Anna said, “I’d take it in a heartbeat.”
Chapter Six
“Welcome to the Northwoods Lodge,” the cute young woman in khakis and a blue short-sleeved polo shirt said to us. Her name tag indicated her name was Crystal.
“Hi,” I said as I stepped out of the minivan. It had only been a four-hour drive but I felt stiff and I stifled a yawn. The fresh air was refreshing.
The girls piled out. “Where’s the pool?” Isabel asked.
“It’s right behind the main lobby,” Crystal said. “Let’s get you checked in so you can jump right in.” She smiled and I guessed she was either a college student or a recent grad, maybe earning some extra cash before grad school.
I loaded our suitcases onto a cart, amazed at how many there were.
“You do realize we’re here for four days, not four weeks,” I said to Anna.
“We have to have options, John,” she replied.
We entered the lobby and it was all exposed pine, rustic bronze hardware and dark brown leather. A giant stuffed moose occupied one corner. A towering fireplace was on one side of the lobby and the girls naturally headed straight for the bank of windows that overlooked the giant pool and water slide.
There was even a lazy river, with kids and adults alike floating around, some of the grown-ups sporting big fruity drinks.
Ellen had texted me and told me to use her name at check-in, which I did. And soon, we were opening the door to a very large suite. It was all rustic furniture, just like the lobby, and featured a balcony that overlooked rolling hills covered in evergreen trees.
The girls took one bedroom and Anna and I the other.
We were unpacking and getting settled when there was a knock on the door.
“Aunt Ellen!” the girls called out. They ran to her as she entered the room and I had to smile. I was so used to seeing her in her police uniform with her gun belt, it sort of caught me off guard to see her in jeans, a pair of running shoes, and a vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt.
“You look like you’ve moved up here already,” I said.
“When in Rome,” she replied. She hugged the girls and Anna.
“I’ve got to get these girls into the pool,” Anna said. “Are you going to join us?” she asked Ellen.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Ellen said. She turned to me. “Please don’t wear your thong, though. There are kids down there.”
“How about my European Speedo?” I asked.
“How about not?”
With incredible foresight, I had also stocked various alcoholic beverages including beer and
wine. So, when I arrived on the pool deck, I found Ellen sitting at a table watching the girls play, and Anna was swimming laps.
I twisted the tops off of two beers and handed one to Ellen.
“Here’s to Good Isle,” I said.
“To Good Isle,” Ellen replied, and we clinked bottles.
“Well?” I asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s nice. A beautiful place. Very different.”
“A bad kind of different or a good kind of different?”
“I’m not really sure yet. It could be boring.”
“What’s that line Brian Dennehy’s character said in First Blood? Something like ‘You might even say this town is boring. But we like it that way.’”
“Leave it to you to quote First Blood in a job discussion.”
“Hey, there’s a lot of wisdom in that movie,” I said. “Like you can bring down a police chopper with a big rock if you throw it just right.”
Ellen took a drink of her beer.
“So what’s the timeline?” I persisted. “When are you going to find out what they think?”
“Supposedly there’s a meeting tomorrow to discuss the final candidates,” she said, smiling at the girls in the pool who were doing some kind of bizarre water ballet moves. “I was the last interview, I guess. I don’t know how many others they’re considering.”
“What’s your gut tell you?” I asked.
“No idea. There’s always the woman thing,” she said, her voice tired.
“Yeah.”
The girls were having a blast and Anna was powering through her swimming strokes. The woman could really swim. I was a terrible swimmer. The doggy paddle was my default swimming style.
“If you move up here, you won’t be able to help me out on my cases,” I pointed out.
She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “And your point would be…?”
I laughed. “Point taken. But still, wouldn’t it be weird to leave Grosse Pointe?”
“It’s only four hours away. Plus, you and Anna and the girls would have a place to visit.”
