Steve Hamilton - Blood is the Sky

“Vinnie, I know it’s good money, but-”

“It’s more than that. Don’t you get it? You know why he loves doing hunts so much? Same reason I do. It sounds kinda stupid, but going out on a hunt makes you remember who you are. I mean, most of the time, you’re just hanging out with your own people, you know, doing regular stuff, sitting around or going to work, whatever. Then you go out in the woods with a bunch of white guys and all of a sudden they’re treating you like you’re fucking Geronimo. Like you’re this amazing, wild Indian shaman who can hear messages in the wind and talk to the animals and learn their secrets. At first, you think, okay, these white guys are totally into some kind of cartoon character they saw on television. But then you realize, shit, they’re right. I am different. My ancestors, they did know all this stuff. And I’m still a part of it. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I get it. So you decided-”

“He needed this, Alex. He really needed this. Otherwise-”

I shook my head.

“It was either that or let him kill himself,” Vinnie said. “That was my choice. If I hadn’t let him go, he’d be dead. No doubt about it.”

I slowed down to let a string of deer run across the empty road. We watched five of them go by, white tails flashing in the headlights. I waited another few seconds. There’s always one more.

Then it came. The sixth deer, smaller than the rest. It jumped into the brush, following the rest of its family.

“What would you have done?” he said.

“I’d have to think about it,” I said.

“You of all people should understand.”

“How do you mean?”

“You’ve been there.”

I looked over at him. “Excuse me?”

“It’s like my mother said, you carry around so much pain, and you won’t let anybody else help you carry it. She says you have such a lonely heart, it’s hard to even look at you.”

“All right,” I said, “can we leave me and my lonely heart out of this? I think I’m doing a lot better now, anyway.”

“She says you need a woman.”

“Your mother sees all this in me? How about Tom? How come she didn’t see it in her own son?”

I regretted it as soon as I said it, but Vinnie just laughed. “Your own family,” he said. “That’s different.”

We both seemed to want to leave it alone for a while, so another hour passed as we made our way down to White River.

“You know what we should be doing?” I finally said.

“What’s that?”

“You said you were at the duty-free shop when Tom left with those guys. But you didn’t see them.”

“No. Just the van. Why, what are you thinking?”

“I’m just wondering,” I said. “If they came this way on their way up, and then again on their way back down, somebody must have seen them.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Vinnie said. “How many places could they stop?”

“We’re about to hit one of them,” I said. “Here comes White River.”

The road ended at Highway 17. That plus the railroad going through was excuse enough to put a town there. White River had three different places where you could get something to eat and drink. “If you were a rich guy passing through,” Vinnie said, “which one would you stop at?”

“They all look about the same to me,” I said. I stopped at the first establishment, a little cinder block bar and restaurant called the T-Spot. It turned out to be a real momand-pop operation, with card tables spread out all over the place and a tiny bar that looked like it had once been in somebody’s basement. We ordered a couple of cheeseburgers from a lady who looked like she owned the place. Hell, she looked like she had built it herself. When we asked her why she called it the T-Spot, she looked at us like we were idiots and asked if we had noticed the two highways forming a T in the middle of town.

“I’ve got another question for you,” I said. “Eleven days ago, six men came through here on their way to a hunting trip.”

“Five men,” Vinnie said.

“Yeah, maybe five. They would have come back through again four days ago.”

“Well, let’s see. Men on their way to hunt. In October. Hey, Earl!” she called behind her. “Have we seen any men on hunting trips the past few days?”

“I haven’t been counting them,” he said, without even looking up. “I’d guess around a thousand.”

“These guys were a little different,” I said. “They were probably dressed a lot better than most of the hunters you get in here. And it sounds like they weren’t exactly behaving themselves. At least, all but one of them.”

“What did the other one look like?” she said.

“Like me,” Vinnie said. “He’s my brother.”

The woman studied his face. “Five guys, you say? Rich white guys and one Indian?”

“Yes.”

“I remember them. They stopped in for breakfast. Bunch of slick old boys. Four whites and one Indian.”

“Breakfast?” I said. “That must have been on their way up, eleven days ago?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. I remember they seemed like real pains in the ass, you know, sending the eggs back because they weren’t done right. Making a racket. But then they left me a twenty dollar tip on a thirty dollar bill. In American dollars. A twenty dollar tip I’ll remember.”

“But you didn’t see them again when they were on their way back?”

“Nope, just the one time.”

“How about another two men?” I said. “One with a big nose. They might have come through here yesterday.”

“We got a lot of big noses up here, hon.”

“Okay, never mind.” I thanked the woman, we had our dinner, and then we left.

“We’re about three hours away from the lodge,” I said. “So maybe they didn’t need to stop yet.”

“Or maybe they saw that little bar in there and decided to go somewhere else.”

We checked the other two bars in town. We didn’t get anything.

“Okay, so on the way back, they just kept driving. Maybe they stopped in Wawa.”

“Let’s see,” he said.

So we did. Through the dark woods we drove another hour and a half. My eyes were getting tired. It was 10:30 when we hit Wawa again. The giant goose looked down at us once again, this time lit up by two spotlights.

“We know what our favorite bar in Wawa is,” I said. “You figure these guys found the same place?”

“Might as well start there,” he said. “Just promise me you won’t get into trouble again.”

“That wasn’t trouble,” I said. “That was just a misunderstanding with the locals.”

The parking lot actually had a few vehicles in it this time, and when we stepped into the place, it almost looked busy. Every bar stool was taken, and a few more men were sitting at the round tables. There were two guys playing pool, the chalk dust hanging in the air below the single fluorescent light. Thankfully, our friends weren’t trying to play the bowling game.

The same big man was behind the bar. He was working a lot harder now, trying to keep everyone happy, with apparently nobody to help him. He was sweating like he’d just buried a dead horse. He did a double take when he saw us leaning on one end of the bar. “You guys again,” he said, his voice a hell of a lot less cordial than the first time we heard it. “Just what I need.”

“We just want to ask you a couple of questions,” I said.

“Can’t you see I’m busy here? You want something to drink or not?”

“A Molson and a 7-Up,” I said. “Our usual.”

He didn’t smile. He hit the draft handle, drew me a glass that was at least half foam, squirted some soda water out of his shooter into a glass and put it down next to the beer. “Five bucks,” he said.