When I got back onto M-28, the car was behind me again. I started looking for the right kind of road to turn onto, something with a little bit of cover so I could open up some distance on them without being obvious about it. We were about to leave the Hiawatha National Forest and I knew everything would be wide open soon, so I’d need to find something within the next couple miles.
A side road came up on my left, leading north through the pine trees toward Brimley. This could work, I thought. I took the turn and punched it, spinning my wheels in the snow for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the truck found some purchase and I was moving again. I went as fast I could safely go, looking for some kind of turnoff. Somewhere that I could hide the truck and then wait for them.
I saw a couple driveways, but they were long and open. I went around a curve and almost missed another driveway. A good one. I pumped the brakes, trying to stay on the road. I squeezed the steering wheel, trying to will the truck to stop. When it finally did, I slammed it in reverse and backed up. Perfect, I thought, if I can just back into this driveway before they catch up to me. Hurry up, goddamn it. Careful, careful…
I stopped the truck. I was about twenty feet from the road, behind a stand of pine trees that were all but smothered by a thick cloak of snow. I had just enough of a sight line to see them coming, and just enough distance to get my truck back onto the road to stop them. Whoever was in that car, I’d be getting a good, close look at them in just a few seconds.
I took a long breath. I patted the gun in my coat pocket. You never know, I thought. If Bruckman’s in that car, it might come down to this.
My heart was beating fast. Relax, Alex. Slow down. Breathe. Make yourself breathe.
I waited. Any second now.
No sign of the car. It might be slow going for them. It’s not an easy road with this much snow. Just be patient.
I waited.
Nothing.
Where are they? They should be here by now.
Keep waiting, Alex. Just a little more. Give them time.
I waited.
Damn it. They saw through my little game. They’re not taking the bait.
I waited another minute, and then I slammed the gear shift into first. Nice going, Alex. Now they know you spotted them, too.
I went back the way I came, back toward the main road, swearing at myself, at Bruckman, at the snow, and everything else I could think of.
And then I saw them.
The car was stopped, the front wheels off the road. One man was standing waist-high in the snow, trying to push the car backwards.
They’re stuck, I thought. Son of a bitch, they’re stuck in the snow. I’ve got ’em. Just drive right on up, nice and slow, see what they do.
The first thing I noticed as I got closer was that neither one of the men was Bruckman. The second thing I noticed was that they both had hunting caps on. I didn’t recognize the man pushing the car, or the man driving, as much as I could see of him. But I didn’t take much notice of the other hockey players that night, so I couldn’t be sure.
I pulled up next to them and stopped. I rolled down the window.
The man kept pushing and swearing softly to himself. The driver kept working the wheel. They weren’t going anywhere. Neither of them even looked at me.
I just sat there, watching them. The road was nothing but snow and pine trees. No houses to be seen in either direction. A few lazy snowflakes started to fall. If this was the big snowstorm everybody was talking about, it had a lot of work to do.
Finally, the man outside the car gave me a furtive little look and then a little wave. His face was red from all the pushing. “S’all right,” he finally said to me. “We’re okay here. Thanks anyway.” A totally natural response when you’re stuck in the snow and a man in a truck pulls up.
I didn’t move. I kept watching them.
“We’ve got to get it rocking, for God’s sake,” the man said to the driver. “Forward and back, forward and back. Come on!” But the two men couldn’t settle into the same rhythm. The man gave me a wave again. “We’re fine,” he said. “Go on.” He still wouldn’t look me in the eye.
“Looks like you boys could use some help,” I said.
“No, no, really,” he said. “Thank you.”
“You’ll never get unstuck that way,” I said. “You’ll be here until spring.”
“We’ve got it,” the man said. “I feel it coming now. Look out, please! You’re in the way there!”
“Nah, you’re stuck all right,” I said. “I’m gonna have to pull you out.” I opened the door and stepped out of the truck.
“No, really!” the man said. “Please! You don’t have to do that!” The driver was shaking his head now and pounding on the steering wheel.
I went around to the bed of the truck and pulled out a long length of heavy chain. I held most of the chain in my left hand, and kept just enough free in my right hand to knock somebody’s teeth out if I had to. My gun was in my right coat pocket. “We’ll have you out in a second,” I said. “You boys are lucky I came along.”
“Yes,” the man said. “Yes, we certainly are.”
“Here, give me a hand with this,” I said. “I’m gonna see if I can tie this on to your back end here.”
The man hesitated for a moment. I saw him give the driver a quick look. “Sure,” he finally said. He climbed out of the snow and came around to the back of the car where I could get a good look at him. I gave the chain a little swing with my right hand. If he tried anything, I was ready.
When he was close enough, I looked him in the eye. He might have looked a little soft from a distance, but those eyes gave him away. Even with that ridiculous bright red hunting cap with the flaps hanging down on either side of his head, I could see he was a rock.
“See if you can hook this up under there,” I said. “I can’t bend down real well today. I’m still sore from playing hockey.”
I gave him the chain and stepped back a little bit. I put my right hand in my coat pocket. The man looked at the chain like he had never seen one before, and then he got down onto the snow and looked up at the back end of the car. “Down here?” he said.
No, genius, I want you to stick the chain up your ass. “Yeah, right there,” I said. “See if you can hook it onto the frame there. You ever play hockey?”
“No, never did,” he said from under the car. While he rattled around with the chain, I looked at the Michigan license plate and recited the number in my head a few times. It’s a Ford Taurus, I told myself. Dark green. I looked up at the driver. He was as motionless as a wax dummy now, facing forward. I still hadn’t gotten a good look at his face. “Come on out of the car,” I called to him. “You don’t want to be in there when I start pulling.” Actually, he would want to stay in there and steer while I was pulling the car, but I figured it was worth a shot. The driver opened the door and got out.
“Hi, I’m Alex,” I said. I kept my hands in my pockets, my right hand wrapped tightly around my gun. I didn’t want to shake hands with the man, so I shivered a little bit for him and said, “God, it sure is cold out here.”
“Sure is,” he said. Even with the glasses and the little mustache, he looked as tough as his partner. His hunting cap was blue and his flaps were snapped up. Now that I had seen both of them, I still didn’t recognize either one of them. I didn’t think they were hockey players, or anybody who would hang around a guy like Bruckman, for that matter. But if they weren’t with him, what the hell were they doing following me around?
I looked up and down the road. I could pull the gun on them right now, I thought. Tell the man on the ground to stay put, point the gun right at the other man’s head, and then politely ask them to start talking.
I decided against it. I had the plate number. I could describe both men. I could pick them out again if I had to. And I had the advantage of knowing that they were following me now. And the further advantage of them not knowing that I knew.
“Haven’t seen you boys around here before,” I said. “You up here visiting?”