Luke walked back in the woods. He was going to the lodge to apologize to his mother-not only for what he’d said earlier but for the way he’d been acting since his dad died.
He saw something move on the ridge above him-a man in green camo-coming down the hill toward him. What was strange, he was dressed like a hunter, but he wasn’t carrying a rifle or a bow. Something wasn’t right.
Luke changed direction, started walking fast, moving away from him. He saw the second guy through the trees about thirty feet ahead. He was a black guy dressed in a gold tracksuit like Eminem wore. He looked out of place, lost.
Luke turned and ran for the cornfield about fifty yards away. He remembered being timed for the fifty-yard dash in gym class. The world record was 5.15 (Ben Johnson) and he’d run a 6.8. He looked over his shoulder and saw the two men running, closing in on him, and now a car appeared, a green-and-white 1970 Z28 Camaro driving up on the two-track road in front of him, cutting him off. It looked like same car Bill Wink pulled over the night before- unless there were two identical green Z28s with white racing stripes tooling around the Leelanau Peninsula.
He had to slow down to get around the car and that’s when the black guy caught him, tackled him, took him down hard. Luke kicked the guy away from him, struggling to his feet, and that’s when Camo ran up and hit him in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Luke went down, trying to draw a breath.
Camo said to the black guy, “Nice of you to show up. Where the fuck you been? I’ve been tracking this little asshole going on two hours.”
The black guy was rubbing a dirt stain on the knee of his track pants. He looked at Camo and said, “Want to know where we been? Been trying to find the road-that’s where we been.”
The girl said, “He’s right, we couldn’t find it.”
Camo said, “You taking his side over me?”
“I’m not taking anybody’s side,” the girl said. “I’m telling you what happened.”
“I said, take the two-track till it dead-ends. What’s hard about that?”
“Got to be able to find the motherfucker to take it. We be like, is he fucking with us or what?”
The girl had a roll of duct tape in her hands. She said, “Think we could settle this later? Get the kid out of here before somebody comes looking for him?”
She had brown hair and pure white skin, a girl who was too good-looking to be involved in something like this. She handed the tape roll to Camo, pulled a long piece, and tore it off. She told Luke to get on his stomach-said it with authority, like she was used to telling people what to do. She taped his feet together, got another piece and taped his hands behind his back.
Camo and the black guy picked him up and put him in the trunk of the Camaro, wedged in between the spare and a toolbox. There wasn’t a lot of room.
Camo said, “You just lie there, don’t make a fucking peep.” He slammed the trunk lid closed.
Luke bounced around as the Camaro moved along the uneven two-track road, tools rattling in the toolbox, the thick smell of exhaust making it difficult to breathe. He was on his side, facing in, arms behind him. He tried to find a more comfortable position, but he couldn’t move. It was better when they turned on Kinnikinnik Road, the ride smoother on asphalt. He could hear the throaty rumble of the high-performance engine as the Camaro accelerated.
A few minutes later they stopped and he could hear voices but couldn’t make out what they were saying. The trunk opened with a flood of light, Luke’s eyes squinting and Camo, in his southern accent, said, “That’s all you get. Just a peek.” And dropped the lid closed. It sounded like Camo was showing him to someone. So there were four of them. Then he heard them arguing, then fighting. Loud voices. Then a few minutes later they were back in the car, moving again. He wondered if they’d contacted his mother and how much they were asking for him. Camo finally told him.
He said, “I hope your momma loves you, boy. Think you’re worth two million dollars? You better hope so.”
He’d finally fallen asleep as the sun was starting to rise and woke up a few hours later to the sound of the TV. He could hear it on in the next room, a Road Runner cartoon. He could hear the Road Runner say “Beep, Beep” and hear Camo’s strange high-pitched laugh-not the kind of laugh you’d expect, the way he talked with that southern nasal twang he had.
Camo loved cartoons: Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Elmer Fudd, Marvin the Martian, he watched them all. It was the third morning Luke had woken up to the man laughing, which seemed odd,’ cause he was such a mean person.
Now Luke worked on the eyebolt they’d screwed into the floor, trying to loosen it. If he could unscrew it, he could open the bedroom window and take off. He heard the black guy say they were at the Timber Lake Cottages. He’d never been here before but had seen billboards advertising them. They were in Northport, woods behind the cottages. All he had to do was get in the trees, they’d never find him.
He took his belt off and slid the skinny metal piece that was part of the buckle-he thought it was called the clasp-through the ring of the eyebolt, gripped it hard, using the buckle for leverage and tried to turn the screw till his hand hurt. They’d torqued it down hard. He tried it again, pressing the clasp and buckle together till his fingers were numb.
He heard Camo laugh again in the other room and it made him mad and he used his other hand now, gripping the clasp and pinching the buckle like it was a wrench, his hand in pain, and when he was just about to give up he felt the eyebolt turn.
TWENTY — ONE
A couple days earlier DeJuan said to Jack, “Yo, welcome back to the famous Timber Lake Cottages. Been thinking. I see timber, don’t see no lake. Theo, where the water at?”
Celeste and Teddy were getting out of the Camaro.
Teddy said, “How do I know?”
Like it was a real question. DeJuan believed, was dogs smarter than Teddy. Maybe not a street mutt, but for sure a Doberman or a purebred poodle. He was thinking of an experiment: switch Teddy’s brain with a poodle’s, see how much smarter he got. Get invited on Letterman and such, bring Teddy out on a leash. “My dawg, check him out.”
He liked fucking with Teddy but really wanted to fuck his girl, fine creamy-skinned bitch with tats all over her pale white perfect body-ugly ones, graphic dark-blue shapes like she belonged to a cult. Had a big motherfucker on her back. Wasn’t just a tat, was a scene-crazy, too. Bitch posing at the entrance to a cemetery, pumpkins lining an iron fence-huh? The tats hidden under her clothes. Never expect it, looking at her. He was peeking in their room through a crack in the door, saw her coming out of the bathroom naked, bitty little shaved muff like a mustache down there and a nice-sized pair of naturals with pink nipples. Lord God. That’s all he could think of now. Couldn’t get that vision out of his head. Girl had a profound effect on him.
DeJuan was on the porch of his cottage-kicking back in a green metal chair with rusted legs, cleaning his gun, his Sig. He said, “Where the kid at?”
Teddy nodded at the trunk.
“Just going to leave him?”
There were nine cottages that had seen better days-grouped together in threes, separated by stands of birch and cedar-spread out across a couple of acres. They’d rented the last three units: seven, eight and nine, only people staying there. Manager lived in Suttons Bay, said to call if they needed anything.