He looked down at the floor.
“You’re just a cheap little punk,” I said. “You couldn’t make it as a hockey player, so for the rest of your life you’re gonna take it out on everybody else. Unless they stand up to you.”
“Whatever you say, old man.”
I stood there in front of him for a long moment, waiting for him to do something.
And then from the other side of the bathroom door came the distinctive sound of all hell breaking loose. Bruckman lunged at me, but he lost a good half a second pulling himself up off the toilet seat. I got my right knee up just in time. I felt a stab of pain in my ribs, but I was sure Bruckman got the worst of it. He went down hard, holding his nose with both hands.
When I opened the door, I saw a good old-fashioned bar brawl going on. “Alex, over here!” It was Leon, over by the door. Two of Bruckman’s goons were having it out with two of the men from the bar. I didn’t see the third goon. The rest of the men were all standing in the corners, trying to look like they were ready to fight without actually having to do anything. I made my way across the room, ducking a cue stick and a barstool. When I reached Leon, he opened the door just in time for the third goon to come rushing in at me along with a blast of cold air. He took a big swing at me and missed, so I kicked his leg out at the knee, just like Leon had coached me. The guy gave out a high-pitched scream on the way down to the floor.
“Let’s get out of here!” Leon said.
“I’m right behind you,” I said. We ran out through the snow and jumped into our vehicles. He spun his way out of the lot and I followed, fighting to see my way through the snow his tires were kicking up.
We made our way back west on Trunk Road, back toward the Soo Canada city limits. I kept looking behind me, waiting to see headlights. Leon slowed down when we were in the city again. I settled in behind him and tried to make my own body do the same. My heart was still racing, the adrenaline still pumping through my blood. I could feel the pain in my side now, and in my knee where I had hit Bruckman. I’m gonna pay for all this tomorrow, I thought. I’ll be lucky if I can get out of bed.
Leon pulled into a restaurant parking lot on Wellington Street. I parked next to him, got out of the truck, went to his passenger side and opened the door. “You all right?” I said.
“Yeah, I just had to catch my breath a minute.”
I got in his car and closed the door.
“I guess we need to compose ourselves before we go back across the border,” he said.
“Good idea.” I closed my eyes and took a few long breaths. “God, we must be insane.”
“I thought that was kinda fun,” he said.
I looked at him. He was actually smiling. “How the hell did you get those guys to do that?” I said.
“The guys at the bar? That was easy.”
“Oh, don’t tell me.”
“It’s those Franklins, Alex. They can do miracles.”
“You paid those guys a hundred bucks apiece to pretend to be carrying guns?”
“Benjamin J. Franklin,” he said. “A private eye’s best friend.”
“Oh for God’s sake. So that’s like what, seven hundred dollars? And how much did you spend the other night at the hockey rink? Like four hundred? Five hundred?”
“Don’t send Ulysses Grant to do a job that only Benjamin Franklin can do.”
“All right, already. I get the point. I owe you twelve hundred dollars.”
“We’ll split the cost, Alex. We’re partners.”
“I’ll give you the money tomorrow,” I said. “And you’ll take all of it.”
He shook his head. “Alex…”
“So what happened, anyway? Your, what did you call it? The illusion of overwhelming force? It all fell apart.”
“Some local clown walked in the door, wanted to know what the hell was going on. It sort of broke the spell.”
“We should both be dead right now.”
“What happened in the bathroom? Did you get the information you wanted?”
I told him everything Bruckman had told me. About Dorothy, the drugs in the bag, the men named Pearl and Roman and Molinov.
“So those two guys who’ve been following you,” he said. “That’s gotta be them.”
“I suppose it is,” I said. They didn’t cross the border. Maybe they didn’t want to risk going through customs.
“Yeah, if they’re professional shooters…”
“Shooters,” I said. “This is getting better every minute.”
“So what are we gonna do about them?”
I thought about it for a minute. “I promised Bill I’d give him until tomorrow,” I said. “Then I was going to go pay them a visit.”
“Maybe we should go over there right now,” he said. “Pay them a visit while we still have the kick-ass juices flowing.”
“The kick-ass juices. You are too much, Leon.”
“Admit it, Alex. You’re glad I’m on your side.”
I laughed. How I could laugh after what I had just been through, I don’t know. “What kind of car is this, anyway?” I said.
“A Plymouth Horizon,” he said. “It’s a piece of crap, I know.”
“How do you drive in the snow in this thing?”
“I’ve got good tires and I know how to drive in the snow,” he said. “Now are we gonna go see those guys or not?”
“Yeah, we’d better,” I said. “Tomorrow I’m not going to be able to move.”
“You sure you’re up for this?”
“Quarterbacks play with broken ribs all the time,” I said. “They just put some pads on and hope they don’t get hit too hard.”
“Yeah, quarterbacks,” he said. “Young quarterbacks. No offense, Alex…”
“Let’s go,” I said. “I’ll meet you at the motel.”
I got back in my truck and followed him over the bridge. The clock on my dashboard read 2:40. There was only one customs lane open at this time of night. I watched Leon stop at the window to answer all of the usual questions. Then it was my turn.
When I pulled up, the man looked at me, then down at the truck, then back at me again. I didn’t recognize him. “Good evening, sir,” he finally said.
“Good evening,” I said. I waited for the questions.
They never came.
“I’m gonna ask you to pull over into the holding area, sir,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Right over there, sir. Just pull in right there.”
The rest of it was like something from a bad dream. It played itself out in slow motion, under a bank of naked fluorescent bulbs that gave the whole scene a surreal glow.
The customs agents looking through my truck. A small bag pulled from under the front seat. White powder in the bag, held up for all to see. My hands against the wall, my legs spread. The gun taken from my coat pocket.
The bite of steel around my left wrist, then my right.
Then a voice from behind me. “You have the right to remain silent
…”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was the same cell. Saturday afternoon I visited Vinnie in this cell. This was, what, Friday morning? Six days. But now it was me on the wrong side of the bars.
There weren’t as many men in the cells this time. Two in the first, one in the second, two in the third. I had the fourth all to myself. The same fluorescent bulbs hummed and flickered above us.
It was after three in the morning. Whatever strength I had had that day was long gone. I had used it all up dragging myself out of bed, making myself go out into the night, bitterly cold and dark beyond hope. I had ridden a wave of adrenaline and anger all the way across the river to where Leon had found Bruckman. Now I was sitting on a hard wooden bench in the fourth downstairs holding cell in the Chippewa County Jail. I leaned back against the cement wall, feeling the ache in my ribs and in my head. There was no way to get comfortable. I just sat there listening to the lights humming and trying not to throw up.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, the door opened and Chief Maven walked in.
He came down the line of holding cells, casting a quick eye in every cell until he came to mine. He stood there looking at me through the bars. “Evening, McKnight,” he finally said.