Doug Allyn - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 125, No. 6. Whole No. 766, June 2005

“I guess it was pretty grim, but it didn’t feel that way to me. I used to dream a lot. Had a little battery radio, and I’d hide up in the tackle tower, read comic books, listen to music. It was like my own private castle. I’d look out over the bay and daydream about the places I’d go someday, the things I’d do. And I was happy.

“I didn’t understand racism. They’d call me pickaninny or red nigger and laugh, and because they were laughing I thought they liked me. That I’d done something clever. So I’d laugh too and play the fool...

“Later, after my mom ran off and I got kicked around in foster care, I remembered this place as a special time in my life. Maybe the best time. Subscribed to the local paper, followed the high-school teams, birth announcements, obits. Wolf Woman Bay was like my... virtual hometown, I guess. The only one I had.

“So I’m laid up in that Iowa hospital, thinking. A man killed himself and nearly killed me. Didn’t know who I was, didn’t care. Shot me just for showing up. And I realized my life wasn’t anything like I dreamed it would be. Nothing.

“I knew from the paper the old fish house was for sale. And I got this idea that if I could come back here, start over somehow, turn my old make-believe castle into a nice home, maybe I could start my life over, too. Do something better with it. Stop being a guy people shoot just for showing up. Pretty funny, considering how things are working out.”

“It’s not funny at all, it’s a wonderful dream, Beau. Thank you for telling me.”

“But?”

“I can’t help it. I hate what your dream is doing to my town.”

“I only want to build a house.”

“I know, and you have every right to do it... I just wish you could do it somewhere else.”

“Sorry, but I can’t. Thanks for patching me up.”

“No problem, Mr. Raven. You’ll be fine. Until the next time.”

“Gonna live?” Pachonka asked, when Beau and Erin rejoined the others out front.

“For now.”

“Good. Shea here is making a goodie run back to Valhalla to pick up some gear. I’m gonna catch a ride with him to the airport. I’ll leave the Cadillac and the gun case with you. What do you want me to tell the boss?”

“Say I said hello.”

“You’re not coming back to work, are you?”

“I don’t know. I’ll be busy here awhile. Tell her I’ll call in a week or so.”

“Assuming you’re still breathin’. Okay, I’ll tell her. I’ll see you, brother.”

Beau nodded. “Hope so.”

Pachonka swiveled in the seat, taking a long look back over the town as Shea’s pickup climbed the shore road above Wolf Woman Bay. He caught Shea’s glance as he turned back.

“What?”

“You tell me. I think your pal Raven’s in a peck of trouble.”

“So do I.” Pachonka shrugged. “Might even get himself killed.”

“And you’re bailing out? I thought you two were friends.”

“We are. Been together since the Corps. I got him the job collecting for the Mohawk Nation casinos and we work good together. But that’s over. He’s changed. Still tough enough for the work, but not mean enough. Not anymore.”

“Looked mean enough to me. That logger outweighed him by forty pounds. He took him one-handed, put him in the hospital, and barely broke a sweat.”

“Beau Jean’s a bad-ass, no doubt about that. But he could’ve hurt that guy a lot worse. And he should have. A month ago he would have stomped him into dog meat. Put the fear of God in the others, maybe they let him alone.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“That thing in Iowa messed him up. It was pretty damn ugly. Beau on the sidewalk bleedin’ out with the guy’s kids screamin’ we killed their daddy.”

“Well, didn’t you? I mean—”

“Mister, all we did was ring that prick’s doorbell. It was the wrong he did that killed him. But if he hadn’t blown his own dumb-ass brains out I damn sure would’ve done it for him. You have to pay what you owe in this life.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“Damn straight it is. Only Beau doesn’t see it that way now. Laid up too long. Too much thinkin’ isn’t healthy in our game. Especially for a guy like Beau. I don’t even think he’s strapped anymore.”

“Strapped?”

“Packing a gun, man. We’re licensed to carry everything but a freakin’ bazooka. When that cracker came at him Beau never even made a move for a piece. That thing in Iowa’s got him so messed up I think he’d rather take a bullet than kill anybody else, even to save his own life. Or mine. You can’t help a man like that. He’ll get himself killed, and anybody near him. You had half a brain, you’d bail out, too.”

“Nobody’s ever accused me of being smart.”

“So you’re sticking? Why? You only met Raven a few days ago. You don’t owe him anything.”

“Sure I do. He’s my client, so we’re in this thing together, like it or not. And I gave him my word.”

Pachonka snorted. “No offense, Shea, but I’m Mohawk, full blood. You can probably guess what we figure a white man’s promise is worth.”

“I can’t answer for anybody else. Only me.”

“You want to throw in with Beau Jean, fine by me. I like white men who gamble. Good for my business. But take some advice. Don’t lay too much on the line. Right now Beau’s a real risky bet.”

Neither man spoke the rest of the trip. But as Shea turned into the airport drive, Pachonka swiveled to face him.

“One last thing. My line of work, you get pretty good at reading people.”

“I expect so.”

“That bunch of crackers today? There was something wrong about them.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’m not sure, that’s what bothers me. They were definitely ticked off because Beau’s an uppity half-breed building a nice house in their town. But there was more to it. Must have been a dozen of ‘em, they could have stomped us all. Why didn’t they? Why did they try to buy him off instead?”

“I don’t know.”

“Neither do I, and I don’t like it. Know what’s weird? I had the feeling they were afraid of him. Or afraid of something. Beau missed it ‘cause he’s all wrapped up in his dream house, so I’m telling you. Maybe that ol’ hard-case partner of yours can figure what’s up with those boys. He’s practically one of ‘em.”

“I’ll ask him.”

“Do that,” Pachonka said, climbing out, getting his flight bag out of the back. “Thanks for the lift, Mr. Shea. For what it’s worth, Beau Jean’s a bud so I appreciate you standing by him in this thing. Just don’t stand too close.”

The next morning, first light, Beau Raven came putting across the harbor in a small wooden motorboat. Idling down the outboard, he coasted to shore beside the fish house. Shea was on the roof with Puck, checking the new felt and the alignment of the first rows of shingles.

“Little late in the season for fishin’,” Puck yelled. “Where’d you get that junker?”

“Bought it up the shore. We’ll keep it tied up with a For Rent sign on it. A real small one—” He broke off, startled by a splash fifteen yards offshore.

“What the hell?” Splinters leapt out of the roof a few feet from Shea.

“Get down off there,” Beau yelled. “Somebody’s shooting!” The first echo of gunfire rolled across the water like distant thunder as Raven scrambled out of the boat. Shea was already dialing 911.

“Did you actually see anybody firing at you?” Constable Chabot asked doubtfully.

“Hell no,” Shea said. “It was coming from the far side of the bay. Come on up top, I’ll show you the damn bullet holes in the roof.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve got a few dings up there. This is hunting country. We get stray-round complaints every year, nothing unusual about it.”