Authors: John Carenen
“It wasn’t me.”
“I wanted to know who
did
, not who
didn’t
. Jeez Louise, Ivan, you are getting under my skin.” I walked over to his truck, looked in the bed, pulled out the gas can and wiggled it. It sloshed around inside. Not much, but enough for my purposes. I set it down, then got inside the cab and pulled out the big, half-empty bottle of water. I carried them both over to Ivan.
“What’re you
gonna
do?”
Genuine, old-fashioned fear now edging into his voice.
I adopted a pose and pointed a finger in the air and said, “Some say the world will end in fire, some in ice, the poet once wrote, and I think I’ll see which is better.” Then I poured gasoline on Ivan’s left leg, and dribbled water over his bare right leg. His eyes were becoming just a little bit wild.
I grinned, sharply saluted him, did an about face, and marched off to his truck, making trumpet marching sounds as I went. In the cab of his pickup truck I found his Winston Lights and the matches. I took the matches and marched back to stand in front of Ivan. I did a little hop and stomped both feet down in a snappy military manner and saluted him again.
“If I leave you out here just as you are, you will freeze to death. But fear not, those who have nearly died from hypothermia declare that, once the shivering stops, a kind of peace comes over the mind and body and sleep ensues. Not bad, huh? Let’s hope, in that case, the wolves wait until you’re dead before they munch out. Of course, I just might set your leg on fire, which would put you into shock and you’d die from that. Or, I could shoot your feet off, apply tourniquets, and let you hoof it back to town, emphasis on the word
hoof
. It won’t do any good to cry for help, or scream in agony, either. There is nothing, absolutely nothing within ten miles of this special spot. Not even a deer stand. I know. I checked satellite images at the
Rockbluff
Public Library. Do you have a library card? I’ve heard you’re a reader.”
Ivan nodded his head. “I got a card.”
“Good boy.” I patted his cheek, hard, with my open hand.
“Now, Ivan, you are very close to your last moments on earth. Hell awaits you, and an endless parade of disgusting people with rotten teeth and putrid breath will be French kissing you for eternity. Who killed Cindy Stalking Wolf?”
He looked indecisive, resolve maybe crumbling. I took out his book of matches from my pocket, walked up to him, and lit the match. I cupped my hand around the flame, waited for the flame to steady,
then
brought it close to the gasoline-soaked left leg. I was going to do it with no remorse. I was tired of his recalcitrance in response to my question. His eyes were enormous.
“It’s only one question, Ivan,” I said. “Sorry you’re not able to answer. Now
don’t
try this at home.”
I flipped the match onto his left leg and his jeans ignited. He began screaming and I turned away.
Then I heard him scream, “Ted
Hornung
killed Cindy!”
I turned back, rushed to Ivan’s sweater and smothered the fire after briefly admiring it for Ivan’s benefit. His leg wasn’t burned too badly, but he was being a big baby about it, crying out and cursing. I tossed the sweater aside.
“Tell me everything, now, or I’ll set you back on fire and not come back.”
“What will you do if I snitch?” he said between gasps and looking down at his charred and smoking leg.
“I’ll set you free. I’ll drive away. You can make your way back, or not.”
“I’ll freeze to death.”
“I doubt it. But that’s your problem. Tell me about Cindy Stalking Wolf.”
Ivan breathed deeply, looked into the darkening sky, shook his head as if amazed at what he was about to do. He said, “She was a hooker for Ted. He sold her to men who wanted an
Anishinabe
girl. Her age was a turn on. She liked it at first, I swear, but then she wanted out, and she was trying to talk the other girls out of the life, too. He wanted it to stop, so he decided to make her an example to the others, so he told me to get rid of her.”
“You murdered her?”
“No, man, but I was supposed to. So I got this guy, Eddie, works for Ted at the club, to help me out. We were supposed to make it look like a suicide, see. So we took her and drove downstream a ways and made her take off her clothes. I was going to hold her under, then let her go when she was good and scared, you know, give her a chance to run the hell away. I liked her, she was a good kid, but I was in a spot with Eddie there. So, it’s like she was fighting me while I was holding her under and she came up waving her arms around and she caught Eddie flush in the face and the next thing I know, he’s got his gun out and he shoots her twice in the back of the head,
bang!
bang
!
And I panic and let go and she slipped away from me, heading downstream. We couldn’t catch up with her.
“Eddie laughed and told me to stop running around hollering ‘Oh shit!’ over and over. Said it was no big deal. I thought about just taking off because I knew we were in deep shit. I thought about killing Eddie and hitting the road, but I was afraid to.
Afraid not to.
“We went back to the Pony Club and reported to Ted, and Eddie was bragging about how he’d offed the girl and Ted got real quiet and said it was okay, the only good Indian is a dead Indian anyway, and Eddie’s laughing and then Ted steps up to him and slides this knife between Eddie’s ribs and Eddie goes slack, like all his muscles were cut and he can’t talk and he just slumps away to the floor when Ted pulls the knife back. We cleaned up the office and he told me to get rid of Eddie so no one would find him. Ted grinned at me and said, ‘Loose cannon’ and went back to his desk. Then he said we’d have to get that bitch’s body because no one would believe she was a suicide now, with two bullets in her brain. We’d have to watch the news and read the papers to find out who’d find her.
“So when he found out the girl showed up in
Rockbluff
, he sent me and another guy to take care of that, you know,
get
the body back and make the coroner dude fake the death as a suicide.”
“What happened to the coroner and his wife, Ivan?” I wanted to shoot him right then.
“
Me
and this other guy just took him. He won’t be found.
Ever.”
“You killed him. You killed his wife, too, right?”
“Yeah.
Now, will you let me go?”
“What did you do with Cindy’s body, Ivan?”
“We took it, man. What do you think?”
“I want the name of the guy who was with you in
Rockbluff
.”
Ivan looked troubled,
then
his expression was of one who had just given up. “His name’s Ray Old Turtle, but he
ain’t
old.
Works at the club.
That Indian with you busted him up some with the tire iron.”
“Where are the bodies buried, Ivan?”
“They
ain’t
buried. They was ground up and fed to the fish.”
Oh, Lord
, I thought. A girl and a fine married couple all murdered because the girl didn’t want to be a sex slave. I put the shotgun barrel up under Ivan’s chin and seriously considered blowing his head off. He was a despicable human being, acting under orders of another despicable human being, and then I realized some of the things I’d done in the past in the interests of national security, or for the safety of private clients, could be considered despicable by the other side. It was all about perspective. Sometimes I’d rather do without perspective. It can gum up things I want to do.
Ivan’s eyes were wide with fear as he sensed I was about to pull the trigger. But I backed off and lowered the gun. What popped into my heard right then was this line from the Bible somewhere, Carl
Heisler
had preached about it, from the Book of James, I think. It goes, “Mercy triumphs over judgment” and it just smacked into my head right then. Go figure. I was not in a merciful mood. I looked at Ivan and then I looked at my shotgun. He gulped and I saw tears in his eyes. I made a decision about Ivan.
I walked around the area until I found a good chunk of wood, a fallen tree limb about a yard long, thick enough to get a two-handed grip on it. Then I approached Ivan, standing to one side. I planned to break his legs as a reminder not to go around killing people. But I couldn’t do it. I tossed the weapon away. Then I saw Cindy Stalking Wolf, and I was feeling the bullet holes in the back of the child’s head, and I nearly changed my mind, mercy fading away into the heavens that had gone black with bright pinpoints of light, buds of burning magnesium, stars far away and indifferent.
I strode over to the truck, pulled out the heavy hooded sweatshirt, tossed it on the ground. I picked up Ivan’s charred sweater and dropped it at his feet. I took out my knife.
“Now what are you going to do, man? I told you the truth about that girl,” Ivan moaned. All ferocity was gone. “I’m sorry about what I did. I
shoulda
stopped it! I
shoulda
let her go!”
“The
girl
was Cynthia Stalking Wolf, Ivan. Now, I’m going to cut you a break.” I sliced through the duct tape holding him to the tree. He fell to the ground,
then
struggled to his feet. “Put on your sweater and that sweatshirt. Sorry about the bare leg, but that won’t kill you. I’m going to drive you back to town, drop you off, and park your truck in the parking lot at Mike’s Asylum, keys in the ignition. I don’t know why I’m not going to kill you, what you did to Cindy, the
Jarlssons
, but I am
such
a good guy, I find it hard to believe it myself.
“Now,” I said, walking up to him, shotgun at the ready, “get in the back of your truck and sit down. If you go to Ted
Hornung
and tell him what happened, I’ll kill you. If you tell the cops that I was involved in this, I’ll kill you. You don’t know who it was, maybe someone mad at one of
Hornung’s
prostitutes. The guy didn’t speak and he wore a ski mask. And finally, Ivan, if I ever see
you
again, I’ll kill you. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” he muttered, sniffing. In his pain and despair, the big Indian looked like a child. He said, “But don’t worry, I
ain’t
never
gonna
see Ted
Hornung
again. He’ll kill me now no matter what. When I get in my truck, I’m going to get the hell out of
Chalaka
. Get the hell out of
Minnesota
. Go far away. Hide.” Then he put on his sweater and hoodie and got in the back of the truck and sat down with his back against the cab. He pulled the hoodie up over his head, then drew his legs, one bare, up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.
I returned my knife to its sheath and walked over to Ivan’s truck and, still pointing the shotgun at Ivan, got in behind the wheel and locked the doors. The Chevy started on the first try. Good truck. I directed the heater to my feet and the windshield and sat there for a moment, looking at Ivan looking at me, as if he expected me to renege, drag him out of the truck bed, and kill him.
When I could feel the heat coming into the cab, I pulled away.
I plunged on into the night, down lonely roads there on the
rez
and finally found myself approaching town again. I pulled over on the side of the road, got out, motioned for a completely docile Ivan to get out, to step down over the lift gate. He did. I kept Elsie pointed at his gut and he noticed. I left him there. I drove the three miles to
Chalaka
and parked the truck where I told Ivan I would, then walked briskly the few blocks to the edge of the village and the side street where my own truck waited.
The cab was cold. I got the engine going, took off my gloves, snapped my seat belt into place, and turned on my headlights, slowly moving down the darkened street to the main road out of town and off the reservation, into southeastern Minnesota, across the border and into Iowa, the only vehicle on the road in the dark night, alone with my thoughts. I passed farm houses with yard lights burning like lonely sentinels, and other, abandoned, farms where no lights would ever again burn. Finally, I entered a deserted
Rockbluff
. I paused by Christ the King Church,
then
drove on, happy for the
Heislers
and their fine family.
Next, I went stupid and cruised slowly by Liv Olson’s cottage, all the lights out, the beautiful woman asleep in her bed, her body warm and relaxed. If I could have gone inside her home and stepped into her bedroom and awakened her with a kiss, I would have. But I knew Milton would start barking, and I knew Liv always had her gun nearby. When I finished torturing myself, I crossed over the iconic bridge without looking into the river.
And on out of town, headed for my place.