Authors: John Carenen
I appreciate what
Jurgen
did for me, even though his reason was that any more violence in
Rockbluff
would negatively impact land values, and his net worth, so he didn’t want me shot. I’ll take what I can get. Since then, we’ve been on speaking terms when we meet at Grange meetings and tractor pulls.
I looked at the departing
Karisma
and then back at
Jurgen
and said, “Still berating the help, eh?”
“Still the Chairman of the Board of Directors, ever vigilant for transgressions of the help that might lower our rating from four stars.
It looks like you’ve been fighting again, Thomas. When will you learn?”
“I’ve already learned. Hate to admit it, but sometimes I enjoy it,” I said.
“And I must say
,
you do it so well. Now, what can I do to provide you with more fights?”
After securing his promise of secrecy, I briefed him on what was going on with the murder of Cindy Stalking Wolf and our visit to the
Chalaka
rez
. He already knew about the
Jarlssons
. Not surprisingly, he knew Ted
Hornung
. He did not know Martin Rodman. That told me a lot. I asked his assessment of the principles. He just started to speak when
Karisma
came by with my Diet Coke. I smiled at her and she smiled back and left.
“Thomas,”
Jurgen
began, adjusting his white shirt cuffs extending from the sleeves of his navy blue blazer, “I have bad news for you.”
Jurgen
is a dandy, a fastidious dresser, and a misogynist.
So much to adore.
His silk tie was a deep orange that shouldn’t have looked good, but somehow did, complementing his sandy hair and ruddy complexion.
“Is this the bad news before the good news thing?” I asked.
“Nothing but bad news.
Let me advise you, and there’s no charge this time: Stay away from Ted
Hornung
. He is powerful and he is rich, and he is connected to a large criminal entity. You cannot win this one. Let the law take care of it.”
“The casino is a criminal entity?
The
Anishinabes
?”
“
Everyone
is a criminal in this life. Everyone has a mob.
Or a union.
Not just the Italians and Irish and Columbians. I guess these Indians do, too, but that’s not the point. It’s not the casino
per se
that is criminal. I hear it’s on the up and up. It’s the businesses
around
the casino where one bumps into nefarious, and powerful, organizations.
Prostitution, loan sharking, illicit gambling, protection.
You won’t be able to beat them, even given your talents obtained in that nebulous background of yours. Stay away, Mister O’Shea.”
“What would
you
do if your friend’s niece were murdered? How would you proceed?”
“First, your premise is flawed. I don’t have friends. They only weaken you, make you vulnerable. That’s why kidnappers never kidnap loners. But, if I were in your place, I’d probably hire somebody, or somebodies, to take them out.”
“Where’s the satisfaction in that?”
“Dead enemies.
Fewer enemies.”
“Anything else?”
I asked.
“No.
Just don’t do it.
You can’t cut off the head of the snake. You’ll never get to it.”
“Maybe you’re right, but maybe we can make the snake lose interest, count its losses, and slither on, a sadder but a wiser snake.”
“You are an idiot, but one I admire a little. By the way, would you like to sell me your land? I’ll pay you double what you paid.”
“Thanks,
Jurgen
, no.
But I appreciate the offer, and the information about Mr.
Hornung
. Helpful.”
“Lunatic Mooning has a broken arm. That should tell you something about the quality of the opposition.”
“That was just a numbers issue. You should have seen the other guys.”
I got up, drank half my Diet Coke, put the glass down on the table,
thanked
Jurgen
.
“You’re going to just plunge ahead, aren’t you?”
I gave him a big smile and left him there at his table, shaking his head.
My next stop was The Grain o’ Truth Bar & Grill. Lunatic’s Packard was not in the parking lot, but there were many other cars and pickup trucks.
Lunch crowd.
I parked, crossed the slate patio with shallow puddles of melted snow, and pushed my way inside. Moon was behind the bar. Sinatra was on the juke box, singing about reasons why a lady was a tramp. Moon likes to enlighten his clientele about good music. I approached the bar.
“How
ya
doin
’, Moon?”
“Fine.
Why?”
I rolled my eyes and ordered a Three Philosophers and a bratwurst. He poured my ale into a tulip glass and set the brat on the grill, then turned back to me, performing all the functions easily with one hand. The blue sling was in pristine condition.
“So when do we go back and clean up?” he asked.
“Patience, Crazy Horse. I’m gathering information on the opposition. It looks like we’ll have our hands full, but I can’t wait to go back.”
“Not today, then?”
“No.
A day or two.
Maybe three.”
“Ugh,” he said, and tended to my brat, rotating it one-
eighty
on the grill.
“Packard in the body shop?”
“Of course.
They picked it up this morning at dawn. It will be in rehab for three days.”
“When we go back up, let’s take my truck.”
“I’m ready to go now.”
“I need more information about our adversaries. Harmon doesn’t have anything yet, on Cindy or the
Jarlssons
. We know more than the cops. I pestered him on the phone this morning and he’s strung tight, and he knows about
Doltch
. And there’s something going on with Penny
Altemier
, too. I tried to change the subject, just to see how she’s doing and he hung up on me.”
“Harmon is busy, and now Liv’s mad at him. His waters are turbulent,” Moon said.
“Love the metaphor. You are waxing eloquently for a stoic.”
“I am not
stoic
. I am Ojibwa.”
“And
Anishinabe
.”
“That, too.”
“And a poet,” I continued.
“Injury invites introspection.”
“You are one profound dude,” I said.
He retrieved my brat and brought it on a ceramic platter piled high with French fries, a stainless steel vat of ketchup, and a squeeze bottle of Dijon mustard.
I said, “How do you know Liv’s mad at him?”
Moon gave me a look and I understood.
Lifelong friends.
He then inclined his head toward a booth in the back. “Go to her,” he said.
I followed his eyes. Liv Olson was sitting by herself, studying a glass of white wine. I thanked Moon, took my lunch and Belgian ale with me, and strolled over to Liv’s booth. She looked up and smiled, rubbing her palms against her cheeks, where there had been tears.
“Got room for a friend?”
“A friend?
Sure,” she said, shrugging.
“Why not?”
“You okay, Liv?” I asked, sliding into the booth and setting down my food and drink.
“Just dandy,” she said, reaching across the table and taking my Three Philosophers, then draining half. “Oops,” she said, sliding the glass back. She chased it with a sip of her wine.
“Is this about Harmon?”
Liv took a deep
breath,
let it out slowly, her chest magnificent even under a heavy green RHS sweatshirt. She fixed her gaze on me, her blue eyes intense and stormy, and said, “You know, Thomas, I’m not attracted to women, God knows. And I’m not much impressed with some of the men I’ve run into.
Lately
.
Do you suppose there’s another sex somewhere I could try out?”
I took a sip of what remained of my ale, smiled, and waved my right hand back and forth saying “Me, me!” like a kid trying to get the teacher’s attention. Liv teaches English at
Rockbluff
High School. We have a short, but intense and appealing past.
Liv snorted.
A dismissive snort that hurt my feelings.
Then she leaned across the table, took my face in her hands, studied what she saw, cocked her head, and let go, sliding back onto her bench seat.
“You
might
work out, but it’s a remote possibility. You’re too obviously a man. And men simply cannot be trusted. So, Thomas, what happened to your face? Fighting bad guys again?
With Moon?”
“Very bad guys.
They lost.”
“Such a competitor,” she said, slumping. Her eyes were leaking again.
“Is this about Harmon? Something he’s done?”
“Harmon.
And Deputy
Altemier
.
I caught them in
flagrante
dilecto
two nights ago.”
“That means ‘in blazing offense’ doesn’t it?”
“How did you know that?”
“I read a lot. You know that,” then, before I could consider my words, I said, “Are you sure?”
She glared at me and I apologized. I said, “So Harmon was bopping
Altemier
. That stinks.”
Liv looked at me. “Yes. It does.”
I tried to ease away from the topic. “Jan Timmons wanted to know how you were doing and whether I had called you yet.
In this morning’s email from Georgia.
She likes you. She loves me. I guess I won’t tell her how you’re doing.”
“Thank you. Tell me about your latest fistfight. I’m thinking you should have asked me to go along with you guys last night.
For adult supervision.”
“I try to keep the innocent out of my problems with bad people.” As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t.
History.
“Tell me,
how’s that principle
working out?” she asked, pulling at the neck of her
Rockbluff
High School sweatshirt, exposing where the bullet had gone through her left trapezius. The pucker scar was obvious.
“No need to rub it in. You probably saved my life. But you know I didn’t want that to happen, your being shot I mean, and you also know I’m sorry. And,” I went on, “you were right about bad things happening around me. It’s happened again, but it’s not like I’m seeking them out.”
“The hell you don’t! So you and Moon were kidnapped last night, dragged up to the
Chalaka
rez
, and forced to fight?”
“We can’t ignore the fact that someone murdered Moon’s niece, stole her body, and probably murdered the
Jarlssons
.
Can’t leave that alone, Liv.
And I’m not going to apologize for it. Official Law Enforcement isn’t getting anywhere.
Too many rules, too many protocols, too much timidity about lawsuits.
The
Jarlsson’s
daughters have filed missing
persons
reports, which brings in the state and federal people, but they have hundreds of those reports to deal with. I don’t expect much. So I’m not going to ignore what’s happened. Moon and I were compelled to go up to the
rez
. It’s the right thing to do.”
“The right thing to do is help law enforcement, as objectionable as that thought is to me personally,” she said, “not go beat up a bunch of Indians and get pounded yourself. Moon’s arm is
broken
, Thomas! And your eyebrow makes you look stupid, which somehow seems fitting.”
I ignored her observation. “This is an exception needing attention. It’s personal. Besides, we didn’t just beat up Indians. We also beat up several African-Americans.”
“But you do this
all the time
,” she said, exasperated, ignoring my inclusion of the black guys. “It’s
always
personal, Thomas. It is.”