Black Wolf Rising (Prequel to the Bernadette Callahan Mystery Series)

by Lyle Nicholson

  “Where’s the clubhouse?” Bernadette asked.

  “It’s down this alley. They’re off the main street. I say they like their privacy,” Chad said.

  “We followed Ace in his vehicle using our tracking device last night,” Craig said. “The alley goes down about two hundred metres. The clubhouse is a place with a wire fence around it. They’ve got a door speaker on the front to buzz and tell them who’s at the door.”

  “So, ah…how we going to deliver this? Pin it to the fence?” Bernadette asked.

  Chad said, “I guess so…we forgot they don’t have a mailbox, probably afraid someone’s going to leave a bomb in it.” He turned to see if anyone got his joke. No one laughed.

  Bernadette sighed. “Give me the tape. I’ll hand deliver it to this guy. Hoffer’s his name, right?”

  “You can’t go in there,” Melinda said.

  “Why can’t I? I look like a Jodie Foster remake from the movie Taxi in this get up. If I could confuse Ace, why can’t I get Hoffer’s attention and give him the tape?” Bernadette asked.

  “It’s dangerous,” Melinda said.

  Bernadette took Melinda’s hand. “It’s more dangerous is if I don’t finish this. If I don’t get this tape into Hoffer’s hands, Ace is going to come after me for scamming him. He’ll find out I was setting him up.” She looked around the van. “Look, to you guys this is a cool night away from your studies. This is my life on the line, so give me the tape.” She put her hand out to Chad.

  Chad took the tape from the recorder and started to give it to Bernadette.

  “No, Chad, I’ll need the recorder to. You think these morons walk around with digital cassette recorders?”

  “Ah…sorry…you’re right,” Chad said, putting it in the recorder and giving it Bernadette.

  Bernadette breathed in deeply and let it out. “Okay, boys and girls, here’s my next big show.” She took the recorder and got out of the van.

  The cold hit her hard. A wind was blowing. It pulled at her breath as she walked down the alley. A single street lamp made a pool of light to show the way. The alley turned to darkness; small garages and tool sheds were on the right and left with drifting snow. Old cars and trucks, their windshields layered with frost, caught the moonlight and gave an eerie glow. It was as if they watched her go by.

  At the clubhouse, a long chain fence ran down another narrow lane way. A light shone over the door speaker. She gulped much-needed oxygen and willed her feet towards the light.

  A sign read Devil’s Undertakers. Ring this bell at your own peril. Her hand shook as she placed her hand over the bell. She closed her eyes and pressed hard.

  A gruff voice asked, “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m here to see Mr. Hoffer,” Bernadette said. She cringed at her own voice, why the hell had she called him mister?

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  “I want to see him…I have something for him.”

  “Leave it at the gate and fuck off. He ain’t seeing anyone.”

  Bernadette shook her head. “Not an option. I deliver this to him personally or I drop it off to the police. I give you thirty seconds.” She couldn’t believe what she’d just said.

  “Just a minute,” the voiced said. There was silence. “Turn to the camera above you and open your jacket.”

  Bernadette unzipped her jacket. The cold bit into her as if sharp knifes had been unleashed on her skin. Bernadette could hear her heart pounding. She slowed her breathing as she’d been shown in karate. She needed all her strength from within.

  The gate buzzed. The sound was like a gunshot in the stillness. “Come in.”

  Her legs pushed her forward. Her mind was telling her to turn around. Her body was going in of its own accord. Her heart pounding in her ears, she forced air into her lungs to calm down.

  A metal door opened. She stepped in. The entryway opened onto a large room with overstuffed armchairs and table lamps. The floors were hardwood with throw rugs. Paintings of motorcycles adorned the wall.

  Bernadette noticed the paintings were good, well done in oil and acrylic with solid wood frames. She’d expected a grimy place filled with beer bottles and take out food containers. This place was nice; it smelled of fresh paint and a hint of…lavender?

  A man stood by the door. He eyed Bernadette suspiciously. He looked mid-forties; he had a long goatee streaked with grey, his long hair tied into a neat ponytail. He wore clean jeans with a white t-shirt and leather vest. “Take off you shoes,” he said.

  Bernadette sat on the padded hallway bench and removed her boots. She instantly felt smaller, more defenseless. If she had to run, how could she in bare feet? Then again, she’d probably never get out the heavy door.

  “I have to frisk you for weapons,” the man said. “Take off your jacket and place your hands on the wall.”

  Bernadette rolled her eyes. “What is with you guys, you want to put your hands on me?”

  The man pointed to a sign on the wall. “It’s the rule. I check you for weapons or I eject you out the door.”

  Bernadette looked at the sign on the wall: All visitors will be frisked for weapons. No exceptions.

  She handed the man her jacket. He placed it on a wooden hanger in the closet. She turned and placed her hands on the wall. “By the way, I don’t need a massage.”

  “Look, I’d have to frisk my own mother if she came in here,” the man said.

  He patted his hands over her upper body, then ran his hands up her legs. His hands were soft, almost soothing. Bernadette shook her head; how could some old guy with a ponytail activate her bloody libido?

  “Follow me,” the man said.

  Bernadette padded behind him in her bare feet. He was wearing leather slippers. They crossed the large main room and went down a hall. They passed the kitchen. Music was playing. The soft melody of the Eagles tune Take It Easy was playing. Roast chicken wafted into the air with a hint of garlic and rosemary. A man wearing an apron stirred a pot in the kitchen, rocking in tune to the music. Bernadette thought she’d dropped into a fraternity house for old bikers.

  The hall ended at a door. The man opened the door and motioned for her to go inside. The room was dark, and a man sat behind a desk. A desk lamp shone in her face. She couldn’t make his features.

  “Sit down,” the man at the desk commanded.

  Bernadette sat down. The light was turned into her face. “Mr. Hoffer?”

  “Yeah. And you are?”

  “Let’s call me a concerned citizen,” Bernadette said.

  Hoffer chuckled. “We don’t get a lot of those here—what’s your angle?”

  “I have information that one your club members, you call him Ace, is dealing drugs at a high school, he’s using someone named Susie Ferguson and her gang to distribute.”

  “That’s a serious offense to our code—you got proof?”

  Bernadette pulled the tape recorder from her jacket pocket and slid it over to him. His hand reached out and picked it up.

  “You want to play it?” Bernadette asked.

  “No, I’ll take your word for it. I assume you tried to set him up?” Hoffer asked “Did he go for it?”

  “Yeah, I was supposed to meet him sometime this week with ten large to buy a bunch of eight balls,” Bernadette said. She couldn’t believe how easily the lingo was coming to her.

  “You with the cops?” Hoffer asked.

  “No,” Bernadette said all to quickly. “I did this on my own. I don’t want to see drugs in our school.” Her heart raced at the new lie she’d told. She couldn’t tell him it was to get Ace away from her aunt and Susie off her back.

  Hoffer was silent. A large antique clock ticked in the corner of the room. Bernadette stared into the desk light, wondering if he was going to buy her story or if she wasn’t going to leave this place alive. Even with the hardwood floors and soft lighting, these were still drug-dealing bikers.

  “Okay, kid, leave it with me. I’ll make sure Ace and his peopl
e are no longer a problem to your school,” Hoffer said.

  Bernadette breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much Mr. Hoffer—“

  “You can call me Carl.”

  “Thanks, Carl—really great of you. I really appreciate it, and my school thanks you—”

  “Okay, I get it. Now get it out of here, I have to select some wine for the roast chicken dinner. These guys don’t know the difference between Chablis and a Sauvignon Blanc, ” Hoffer said.

  Bernadette got up to leave.

  “Oh, one more thing,” Hoffer said

  “What’s that?”

  “If you’re ever looking for work when you hit eighteen, we pay good money for escorts. We even have a dental plan.”

  Bernadette blushed. “Well, thanks, Mr. Hoffer…but I think I’ll be looking for something a bit more…let’s say mainstream when I finish school.”

  “Okay, but you got some good assets, young lady, you could put them to use,” Hoffer said.

  “Thanks, I’ve been told that, thank you very much,” Bernadette gushed as she walked out the door.

  The ponytail man was standing at the door when she left the room. He led her back to the front door. She pulled on her boots, and ponytail man helped her with her jacket and ushered her out the door with a nod.

  She couldn’t believe what had just happened; all her fears about dealing with the bike gang were gone. They were nice guys; well, nice for drug dealing pimps, but nice all the same.

  She was humming a tune when she turned the corner of the narrow laneway and ran into Susie.

  26

  Susie stared at her. It took her a few seconds to realize it was Bernadette. “What the hell you doing here?”

  Bernadette swallowed hard. What could she say? Her mind searched for an answer. “Ah…just doing some canvassing for Christmas charities…kinda getting a jump on the season…”

  “Bullshit,” Susie said. Her eyes travelled up and down Bernadette, taking in her short skirt and boots. “What’re you up to, bitch?”

  Bernadette cocked her head to one side. “None of your business, now, get out of my way. I have things to do.”

  Susie took a step closer. “Not going to happen.” She was breathing heavily. Her breath rose into the air.

  Bernadette moved her feet into her karate stance. A subtle move, right foot forward turned in, left foot straight. Her knees bent slightly. She felt as if she was rooted to the earth.

  “I don’t want to fight you,” Bernadette said. She raised her hands, palms facing out and close to her chest.

  “Yeah, course you don’t. You ain’t got your wrestling boys here to get your back. It’s just you and me. Sure, you don’t want to fight. But that’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to fight, and I’m going to beat the hell out of you,” Susie said. Her breath shrouded her from view.

  Bernadette stood still. She watched Susie’s eyes; her peripheral vision took in Susie’s hands, arms, and feet. She’d trained in the dojo for weeks in combat, but this was real. Could she do it?

  “Fighting never solves anything,” Bernadette said.

  “Maybe not for you—‘cause you lose—solves everything for me,” Susie said. She stepped closer.

  Bernadette saw Susie’s right shoulder move back. She took in a breath, let it out, and let the tension flow from her body. It was up to Susie to make the first move.

  Susie exploded with a right hook. Bernadette’s left arm came up in a sweeping block. Susie’s fist glanced off Bernadette’s arm. Her force carried her forward.

  Bernadette’s right fist corkscrewed up like a missile and landed under Susie’s chin—she fell backwards, landing hard on the snow. Bernadette stood back, watching Susie. She rolled over to her side and felt her jaw.

  “Lucky hit,” Susie said. Her breath rose up higher into the night air.

  Bernadette could see she was angry. Could she make her angrier? “I have lots more moves like that one. If you stay down, I’ll leave you alone.”

  “Bullshit, lucky punch…” Susie dropped her head, breath streaming from her. She lurched forward, arms wide head down, and came at Bernadette in a tackling position; she looked like a raging bull.

  Bernadette waited. When Susie charged her, she stepped aside. She threw a punch into her side and put her right leg into Susie’s legs. Susie went flying into a snowdrift.

  “Damn you, bitch,” Susie sputtered, pulling herself out of the snow. “I’m going to kill you. You hear me? I’m going to break every bone in your body and stuff you in a garbage can.” She shook the snow off her like a dog,

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Susie,” Bernadette said. She raised her palms up again. This was a classic fighting stance: it gave her multiple moves and didn’t look threatening.

  “That’s fine,” Susie said, breathing heavier, “you keep that in mind as I beat you to death.” She raised her fists. “I give you credit, girl, you’ve learned some moves, but now, I know what you got, and I’m going to bring the pain.”

  Susie came at her slow—her fists in a boxer’s stance. Bernadette had never faced a boxer before. She watched Susie’s eyes, trying to see which way she’d throw a punch. Susie feinted with her right, Bernadette threw a block—Susie threw a left jab into her ribs. Bernadette collapsed on the ground.

  “There you go. That’s the Bernadette I know. The one on the ground with me standing over her. Now, I’m going to crush your ass. You hear me, bitch, you’re going to feel pain.”

  Bernadette knelt on the ground, winded. Her stomach was in a knot. She couldn’t let it happen again this way. She kept her head up, watching Susie’s next move.

  Susie raised her foot to stomp Bernadette’s head. Bernadette grabbed her foot with both hands, twisting it and pushing away with all her strength. Susie fell onto her side. Bernadette leaped at Susie. She landed on Susie with her elbow and all her weight—Susie’s ribs made a crunching sound. A large plume of air accompanied the oomph noise from Susie. Bernadette fell back on her knees and landed a punch to Susie’s head. Susie’s’ head rolled over to the side. It was lights out.

  Bernadette got up and dusted the snow off. She stood over Susie’s unconscious body. Her breath came in a light stream, gently flowing into the cold air, as if the bull had been subdued.

  “I lied Susie, I did want to fight you. I wanted to kick your ass. And you’re right—I do feel better. Thanks.” Bernadette walked down the alley to the van.

  Melinda was waiting, biting her lower lip. “What happened, Bernadette, what took you so long?”

  Bernadette collapsed into the big chair. “I had to turn down a job offer and take out some trash.” She smiled at Melinda. “Hoffer said he’s going to take care of Ace and Susie. It’s done.”

  “Excellent,” Jason said. He turned to Craig. “I say we plot a course for pizza.”

  Bernadette sat back in the chair as the big van rolled through the winter’s night. She’d met with two adversaries and laid them low. But would they stay down?

  27

  Bernadette dreamt about white wolves and black wolves circling each other during the night. She woke up on the couch in a cold sweat. Her aunt walked into the kitchen and looked at her.

  “You have a bad dream?” she asked.

  “Yeah, must have been too much pizza last night.”

  “You got in pretty late, you have a good time?”

  “Real good, just too much pizza,” Bernadette said, heading for the bathroom. She locked the door and ran the shower. The hot water felt good; she could have stayed there forever if it wasn’t for the pounding on the door of her little cousins. She came out of the bathroom and looked out the window.

  A winter storm had blown in overnight. The wind was howling at the window. Snow crystals bounced and sounded like the fingers clawing on the panes.

  Her stomach had a strange feeling, not hunger, not nausea—it was fear. The sharp whistle from the teakettle startled her. A sense of foreboding gripped her.

  Maybe, s
he thought, it was a delayed reaction from being so close to Ace. His smell, no matter how long she showered, still lingered in her nostrils.

  How long would it take for Hoffer to get to Ace? What if he learned of her plan and came after her, or Aunt Mary and the kids? And what about Susie, she’d beaten her last night. Would Susie be out with her gang looking for revenge?

  As she pulled out a knife to butter her toast, she saw the carving knife there. Should she take it with her? Have a weapon with her? Back on the reservation, her grandfather had her carry a hunting knife and a short throwing axe. He’d taught her to be accurate within ten metres—she was deadly at five. “If you’re inside three meters, throw with force, one spin, and the axe will hit the target,” Grandfather had said.

  A throwing knife was the same, but it depended on the handle’s weight. Bernadette picked up the carving knife. The handle was light. “Piece of crap,” she muttered.

  “What did you say?” Aunt Mary asked.

  “Ah—nothing,” Bernadette said, putting the knife back in the drawer. She pulled herself together and got ready for school.

  The minute she walked out the door and saw Travis wasn’t waiting for her, she knew something was wrong. He would have called if he couldn’t come. The storm, she thought to herself, it must be the storm.

  She doubted if anyone would try to harass her or attack her in this weather, half the school wouldn’t show up for class. It was just -15C with a twenty-kilometre wind chill. What the hell, what kind of sissies were they?

  Bernadette trudged through the drifts, dropped her cousins off at school, and made her way to class. There were few students there and a few teachers couldn’t navigate the roads, so several classes were cancelled.

  She used the time to catch up on homework and ask around as to the whereabouts of Travis. His wrestling team hadn’t seen him. She figured she’d call him at his home later to bug him about being a pansy.

  Her cell phone vibrated just before lunch, and she found a nook in the hallway to answer it. She was relieved to see it was Melinda.