Steve Hamilton - Winter of the Wolf Moon

“We’ll both go home,” I said. “And then I’ll call it in, anonymously.”

“I don’t know, Alex.”

“Think about it,” I said. “Play it in your head, both ways. Think about what happens in the end.”

He took a long breath and sniffled. “Let me call,” he said. “They might know your voice.”

I looked at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll call. I’ll wait about an hour after I get home.”

“Okay,” I said. “Okay.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Leon. I’m sorry I dragged you out here.”

“Don’t worry about it, partner.” He took one more breath and let it out. “Okay,” he said. “I’m good now.” He got out and went to his car. I followed him down the driveway, both of us backing our way down through the trees. He hit the road and went south. I went north.

When I was back on M-28, heading toward Paradise, I tried not to think about what I had seen. I couldn’t keep the image out of my head.

The waitress. Bruckman said something about Gobi working on the waitress from the Horns Inn. That’s who the woman was.

I pulled over, kicked the door open. I threw up all over the road, everything I had until I was heaving up nothing but air. I tried to breathe. So cold it hurt. I closed the door and kept going.

By the time I got to Strongs, I was having second thoughts about our plan. I’ve got to call the police myself, I thought. I can’t just go home and let Leon do this, pretend we weren’t there.

I picked up the phone, put it down, then picked it up again. I dialed 911.

Then to my left, something flashing by. A vehicle. It pulled over into my lane, cutting me off. I hit the brakes, started to skid on the icy road. I saw the car in front of me sliding sideways, then straightening out again. It was a Jeep. Champagne and Urbanic.

The Jeep was coming to a stop. I pumped the brakes. I wouldn’t be able to stop in time. Closer, closer. Goddamn it, stop! I swerved to the right, hitting the snowbank. The impact sent me bouncing off the steering wheel and then back against my seat.

When everything finally stopped moving, I looked up at the Jeep in front of me. They must know about what happened, I thought. This is going to take some explaining, why I’m driving back home, why I didn’t call it in.

Maybe if I can cut Champagne out of this, don’t even talk to him. I’ll have a better chance with Urbanic.

I winced as I got out of the truck. The sudden stop hadn’t done my ribs any good.

Go right to Urbanic and throw yourself at his mercy, I thought. Pretend Champagne isn’t even here.

The Jeep’s doors opened. Two men stepped out.

It wasn’t them.

I reached for my gun. It wasn’t there. My right pocket was empty. I never got it back from the police.

The road was deserted. Nothing to see in any direction but trees and snow. No sound but the wind.

“Good evening, Mr. McKnight,” the driver said. “At last we meet. You’re a hard man to find.”

I sat in the back seat, directly behind the driver. I could see the back of his head, the fur on his collar, and nothing else. The other man sat next to me, wearing the same kind of coat. Fur on the collar, maybe sable. He had a strong chin and a nose that might have been broken once or twice. He kept looking straight ahead. He did not turn to look at me. He did not speak.

You’re a hard man to find, they said. The words rang in my head. You’re a hard man to find.

The driver had opened the door for me. He had stood there waiting for me. It would have been a perfect imitation of a chauffeur, except for the gun in his hand. The other man stood on the other side of the car, waiting patiently for me to accept the invitation. He had a gun, too.

I had gotten into the car. What else was I going to do?

You’re a hard man to find. It didn’t make any sense.

The driver kept going west on M-28. He turned north on the road to Paradise. I cleared my throat. “You’re Pearl and Roman,” I said.

They said nothing. The man sitting next to me didn’t even turn his head.

“You trashed my cabin,” I said. “Saturday.”

“We will not talk now,” the man said. He looked straight ahead.

We kept going in silence. When we came into Paradise, I saw the lights on all along the road, all the places that made up my town. The gas station. The post office. I tried to keep the fear down, someplace deep inside me, in a little box where fear can have its place without controlling you. I knew if I let it out of that box, I would have no hope of thinking clearly.

You’re a hard man to find. Meaning that they had been looking for me, but could not find me until tonight? They broke into my place on Saturday. How many days have passed since then? What day is it today? Think, Alex.

We came into the center of town. I could see the Glasgow Inn up ahead. Jackie is in there right now. He has a cold Canadian waiting for me. But no, we’re turning.

The driver took a left at the blinking light, taking 123 west out of town. “Where are we going?” I said.

“We will not talk now,” the man said.

We kept going west. The driver held the steering wheel with hands in black gloves. He was a good driver. He was confident in the snow, but he never drove too fast.

You’re a hard man to find. It’s starting to make sense now. They trashed the place on Saturday. I didn’t sleep in the cabin that night. I was in the other cabin. The next day Bruckman put me in the hospital. I spent four nights there, then most of yesterday at the Glasgow, then I went over to Canada last night, spent the rest of the night in jail. I haven’t been in my cabin more than ten minutes at a time since Dorothy disappeared. That’s why I’m a hard man to find.

But now they’ve found me.

These men took Dorothy, I thought. They probably killed her. They killed Gobi and that woman. The nightmare I saw in that cabin, they did that. Now they’re going to kill me. They’re going to drive me deep into the woods and then kill me.

I closed my eyes. Breathe in, breathe out. Think.

I could open the door, try to make it into the woods.

They’d shoot me down like an animal. I’d have no chance.

If they wanted to kill me, they could have done it when they stopped me on the road. Nobody would have seen them. Maybe they want something else.

Yeah, maybe they want something else first. And then they’ll kill me.

Okay, then. If they’re going to kill me, they’re going to kill me. As long as I’m still alive, I have a chance. Hold on to that.

We kept going deeper into the woods, past the turn-off for the Tahquamenon Falls. The road was getting narrower, the snow deeper. The driver kept a steady hand on the wheel, working the Jeep through the snow.

I kept talking to myself, trying to make myself believe that I was going to live to see another day.

A small sign told us that we were leaving Chippewa County, entering Luce County. I knew this road. It went through nothing but forest until it finally hit Newberry, a good thirty miles southwest. Just as I started to wonder how much farther we would go, the driver slowed down. There was an access road running north. It had been plowed recently, by whom I could not imagine. As far as I knew, there were no cabins in this part of the woods, just small lakes and snowmobile trails. We went up the road for three miles, maybe four. The driver had to work a little harder to keep going. The wheels started to slip in the snow.

Then we stopped.

The man next to me spoke. “We get out now.”

The driver opened his door, got out and then opened mine. The other man stayed where he was until I stepped out of the car. It was dark. With the headlights off it took a while for my eyes to adjust. The driver took out a flashlight and turned it on.