Steve Hamilton - A Stolen Season

And then he was gone, too. I finished my beer and watched Jackie trying to calm himself down.

“I would have hit the big guy,” he said. “I swear to God. If he had laid a hand on you, I would have broken that bat right over his head.”

“Nothing like a wood bat,” I said. “Don’t you hate the sound those aluminum bats make?”

“What?”

“When you hit him, it would have been ‘clang!’ I hate that sound.”

“You’re worse than Vinnie.”

“No, I think it’s a tie.” I got up, went back to the chair by the fire, and grabbed my coat.

“Where are you going?”

“Same deal,” I said. “I’ve gotta go check on somebody, too.”

I thought about what the man had said as I drove. He needs to understand, Brucie. The man needs some enlightenment. Unless it was the most useless bluff in the history of bluffing, this man named Cap knew something important. Maybe he was important himself. Although, hell, I didn’t even know his last name. I had no idea who the hell this man was.

The rain started. I took Lakeshore Drive, my favorite lonely road in the world, but today the view was nothing but a study in gray. Water. Sky. The whole mood of the day.

I took the road all the way down to Brimley. I could have stopped at the reservation, tried to find Vinnie, but I let him be. Instead I went to Tyler’s house. I parked in front, happy not to see the black Escalade there. Although from what they had said, it sounded like they had already paid a visit here. I knocked on the front door.

A woman answered. She was about five foot nothing, and she looked like she came from the same hippie culture as Tyler. She had a wonderful smile, though. The kind of smile that makes you feel welcome. On a day like this, it was exactly what I needed.

“Is Tyler here?” I said.

“He’s in the studio. Come on around.”

She opened the door farther, and together we walked around the house to the back, where the big garage was. “How do you like this weather?”

“I think we should all get our money back.”

“It’ll warm up soon. It always does.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said. I was thinking maybe I should hang around this woman for the rest of the day. Maybe some of her optimism would rub off.

Tyler was in the studio, earphones on his head and a cigarette in his mouth. In the daylight I could see out the big picture window. There in the cold water were the two rows of dark wooden pilings leading out toward the point. I couldn’t see the boat, at least not in the water. But there was something on the shore, covered by a large blue tarpaulin.

“Alex!” he said when he saw me. He took the earphones off. “Did those jackasses pay you a visit, too?”

“I’m afraid so. It sounds like they were here earlier.”

“I’m sorry about that, man. I would have called you if I had your number. I don’t think I ever got your last name.”

“It’s McKnight.”

“This is Liz,” he said. “The old lady.”

“The next time he calls me ‘the old lady’,” she said as she shook my hand, “I’m going to throw him in the lake.”

“Come on outside,” Tyler said. “You gotta see this.”

We went out to the backyard, to the same spot we had been standing when it all happened the night before.

“The Coast Guard finally came around midnight,” he said. He started moving the rocks that were holding the tarpaulin in place. “After everyone else had already left. They were gonna put out lighted warning buoys.”

“Not that anyone else would be stupid enough to go out there,” Liz said.

“So I told them, just see if you can pull the wreck loose. I’ll tow it closer and then pull it onto the shore with my winch. It was so low in the water, I wasn’t sure they’d get it free. But eventually they did. And here it is.”

He pulled the tarpaulin off with a flourish, like he was unveiling a great piece of art. Actually, that’s exactly what this thing was-but it was a piece of art that had been rammed full speed into a wooden post. In the light of day, the damage was spectacular. The hull was opened up halfway down the centerline, the planks either broken clean through or splintered in every direction. In some places, you could see the unfinished wood, the way it must have looked decades ago, before it was varnished.

“Can you believe this?” He ran his hand across the topside, where the wood was still smooth and perfect. “All the work somebody must have put into this thing.”

“And the money,” Liz said.

“I had to cover it up last night,” he said. “It’s just obscene. It hurts me to look at it.”

“Can you imagine how hard they must have hit that thing? I can’t believe those guys lived through it.”

“I wonder how the driver is. They said he was in the hospital, but they didn’t even know how he was doing today.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be real happy with those guys,” I said, “if they were my friends.”

“I’m not too happy with them myself. They showed up here this morning and wanted to see the boat. I was thinking they might want to salvage the motor or something, but no, they just started looking inside the thing. Then they started looking on the shoreline. Eventually, God, they must have gone down a half mile in each direction, looking in the water. Going through everybody’s backyards and out on the docks. They even wanted me to get Phil’s boat and take them out to where the wreck happened. I told them there was nothing to see out there. That’s when they started to get weird on us. You know, like when they first got here, they were telling us how grateful they were for the help last night. But then they started talking about some box they were looking for.”

“A floating lockbox,” Liz said.

“Whatever the hell that is. They didn’t seem to believe we didn’t know anything about it.”

“That sounds familiar,” I said.

“We told them there was nothing else we could do. But they didn’t seem to like that. Eventually, we had to persuade them to leave the property.”

“Okay, and how did you do that?” I was having a hard time picturing how these two could be so persuasive. Unless…

“I brought out one of our shotguns,” Liz said. “I believe it was the Remington.”

“Yeah, the over-and-under,” Tyler said. “You should have seen the look on their faces when she racked that thing. They changed their tune pretty fast.”

They were both smiling at the memory now. God love them, I thought. Only in Michigan.

“Well, I hope you guys are going to be careful,” I said. “They could come back.”

“Let them come,” Liz said. “I’m a good shot.”

I took out one of the cards Leon had made for us and gave it to them. I told them to call me if they ever saw the men again.

“What’s this?” Tyler said. “You and Leon are private investigators?”

“We were,” I said. “For about five minutes. Which reminds me…Oh no…”

“What is it?”

“If they came to see you, and they came to see me…”

“You’re right, they probably stopped by Leon’s place,” Tyler said. “Is that a problem?”

“That all depends,” I said, “on who was home.”

From Brimley I kept heading east on Six Mile Road, past the old abandoned railroad car, through the last of the Hiawatha National Forest, and then out into the open hay fields. I didn’t know how this weather would affect the crop this year, but I didn’t imagine it would help any.

I crossed the highway and drove through Sault Ste. Marie-“the Soo,” as the locals call it. Up to Three Mile Road, and into the parking lot for the Custom Motor Shop. That’s where Leon worked these days. It was a far cry from his dream job, but the man had a family to feed. The place looked pretty quiet today. No surprise given the miserable weather. When I went in, they told me that Leon had left early. In fact, he had received a phone call, and had left in a hurry without saying a word.