Richie, in the bow, said, “Where? I don’t see any muskrats.”
“They seen you first,” Lionel said. “I had a trap I’d stick it in there. That’s where they crawl up.”
“You eat ’em?”
“If you want,” Lionel said. “You can barbecue muskrat, the way I like it, or make a stew. See, but they’re bottom feeders so a lot of people won’t eat them, afraid they gonna get some toxic-waste dressing in their meat.”
Richie said, then what good were they? Lionel told him a nice pelt was worth six-fifty and Richie said, shit, was that all?
“Watch the sky,” Lionel said. “You want ducks, we have to see where they land.”
“My jaw hurts,” Richie said, “and I’m cold.”
It made Armand think of summer, being here a long time ago when it was hot. “It looks different— all this water.”
“Maybe you never came down this far,” Lionel said, “you and your brothers. There aren’t no cats or dogs here to shoot.”
“Keep talking like that,” Armand said, “I’ll turn you into a muskrat.” He looked over his shoulder at Lionel in the stern. “I learned how to work medicine from my grandmother. She was gonna turn me into an owl one time.”
“Too bad she didn’t,” Lionel said.
Armand had to twist around to look at him again. “What do you mean by that?”
“An owl knows things gonna happen.” Lionel smiled then a little and said, “You gonna turn me into one of these rats, wait till spring when they come in heat. I’ll have some fun.”
“That’s what you already are now,” Armand said, “live in a place like this.” He was cold and wanted this trip to hurry up and be over. Turning around on the seat, so the wind hit his back, didn’t help much. All Lionel had on was the sweatshirt, but didn’t appear cold. He wore jeans and dirty sneakers—no, they were running shoes. Look at him. He liked it here and there was no way to insult him. Armand watched Lionel’s eyes raise to read the clouds or the wind or some goddamn Indian thing he did.
“How much to take us out tomorrow?”
“A hundred each.”
“No special price, ’ey? For an old friend?”
Lionel didn’t answer that one, but he said, “You need a twelve-gauge I can let you have one. You buy the shells.”
Armand said, “How about that ironworker? You take him out? The one yesterday?”
“Not too much. He’s a kind of guy, he don’t eat it, he won’t shoot it. I think it’s more he don’t like to clean ’em. My wife does it for hunters. She’s what you call a duck-plucker.” Lionel grinned. “A buck a duck.”
“What’s the guy’s name?”
“What guy?”
“Your friend, the ironworker.”
“It’s Wayne.”
Yeah, it was the name the woman in the real estate office had called. Wayne.
“You go deer hunting with him, ’ey?”
“Yeah, he’s got a private woods there, on his property.”
“He seem like a nice guy,” Armand said. “What’s his name, Wayne?”
“Wayne Colson.”
“Where’s he live? Around here?”
“Over by Algonac.”
“He seem like a nice guy.”
“Yeah, I go over there,” Lionel said. “Sometimes me an my wife, my little girl, Debbie. His wife says, when we go over there, she wishes they had a little girl. She tells Debbie that.”
“So he’s married, ’ey?”
“Yeah, his wife sells real estate.”
Armand said, “You kidding me.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It seems funny, that’s all, an ironworker married to a woman sells real estate.”
Lionel shrugged. He said, “They have a grown son, in the U.S. Navy,” and looked off at his sky again.
After a while Armand heard Richie yell out, “There’s some!” and turned to see land and a flock of birds Armand recognized rising out of an old willow on the bank. Blackbirds.
“I see I’m gonna have trouble with him,” Lionel said, grinning. “He’ll be shooting at coots thinking they’re mallards.”
Richie was turned around in the bow.
“What’s wrong?”
“Ducks don’t land in trees,” Lionel said. “Birds, yeah, but not any ducks I know of. That’s the first thing you have to learn.”
Armand saw the way Richie was looking past him at Lionel. He said, “Let’s go over there and stretch our legs.”
“If you want to,” Lionel said.
He brought them to the bank where the willow stood empty now and cut the motor. Richie grabbed the tall weeds, stepped out of the boat and both feet sank into mud and water. Armand saw what not to do and jumped past the soft edge of the bank, landed okay, but felt the ground mushy beneath him, weeds up to his waist. He looked around at Lionel, still in the boat.
“You coming?”
“I don’t need to stretch any.”
Armand said to Richie, “Do him,” and expected to hear some excuse. Out here? It’s too open. Something like that.
No—he reached under his coat behind him, brought out that nickelplate, cocked it, aimed with two hands like in the movies and shot Lionel three times as he was trying to get out of the boat, that third shot punching him out to drop in the water. They were quick shots too, no hesitation. Loud, but flat out here in the open, the sound just now fading.
“Well, you took more than one,” Armand said, “but you knocked him down.”
Richie was looking at Lionel facedown in the water, one arm hooked over the side of the boat.
“That pissed me off,” Richie said, “telling me ducks don’t land in trees. I know ducks don’t land in trees.”
Back at Lionel’s, before they got in the Cadillac and drove off, Armand went in the house and came out with two Remington pump-action shotguns and a couple of camouflaged duck-hunting coats and hats. Richie said, “What’s all that for?” Armand told him he’d see. Then, when Armand left the island by way of the swing bridge, heading for Wallaceburg, Richie said, “Aren’t we going home? Man I have to get cleaned up.” Armand told him to put on one of the duck-hunting coats, they were going to Windsor. They’d leave the car at the airport in long-term parking and pick out another one for the time being. “Then come home?” Richie said. Then cross back at Detroit through customs, Armand said, couple of duck hunters on their way to Algonac. And find out where the ironworker lived.
“What’s the big hurry?” Richie said. “If he lives there, he’s gonna be there.”
“You want to do something else?”
“Well, have a few beers, anyway. Watch some TV.”
“After we find their house, take a look at it. You hear Lionel? I’m pretty sure that real estate woman’s his wife. The one saw us.”
“The one was with him?” Richie sounded surprised. “She didn’t do nothing. Was the guy hit us.”
Armand turned his headlights on the blacktop moving through farmland, getting dark out there. “I forgot you have to be pissed off,” Armand said. “All this blowing away you did, you never blew away a woman, ’ey?”
“I never felt a need to.”
“Well, you better feel one now.”
Richie was silent. Armand wondered if maybe it was the first time in his life the guy had stopped to think before opening his mouth. Armand waited another few moments before saying, “Let me tell you something. You don’t ever leave things undone. You don’t ever think somebody’s not gonna remember you. Me and my brothers went in that hospital in Sarnia—”
“You already told me about it.”
There, he was talking again without thinking.
“Listen to me. My younger brother, Jackie, is holding the elevator. My older brother, Gerard, is watching so nobody comes in the room. He’s standing inside by the door, has it open a little bit. A nurse comes down the hall. She don’t go by, she opens the door and there’s my brother right in front of her, face-to-face, close. He takes her quick into the bathroom, turns out the light and tells her don’t make a sound.”