Cold (39 page)

“The fuckhead belongs back inside,” Warren said.

“That’s right,” Pronovost said.
 
“No sibling loyalty with the Haas brothers, eh?”
 
He turned to Woo-San and said pleasantly, “This all happened before you came to our fair hamlet, but did you know that my daughter was engaged to that one before she married this one?
 
Now that’s a brother for you.
 
Guy goes away to prison’s bad enough, but this guy has to think about his girl married to his brother.”
 
Looking at Warren again, Pronovost said, “What’s that fall under, Haas, brotherly
love?”

“No,” Warren said, “it’s more a motivational thing.
 
It got my brother to bust out.”

“What’s this, familial pride?”
 
Pronovost laughed.
 
“Well, at least he succeeded at something.
 
It’s more than you can say.”
 
Again he turned to Woo-San.
 
“Warren here managed to fuck up his marriage in just a couple of years.
 
Not even as long as his brother managed to stay in prison.
 
I don’t know, maybe it should have been the other way around—Warren goes off to jail and Norman marries my daughter.
 
Then we might not be out here on such a cold goddamn night.”

Woo-San nodded his head slowly as he crushed out his cigarette on the bench.
 
“So what we do with them now?”

“That, partner, is the question,” Pronovost said.
 
He dropped his cigarette on the floor but didn’t bother to crush it out.
 
“In some ways it’s up to that constable up there in the lodge.”
 
Looking at Warren, he said, “What’s going on up there?”

“You might say he’s under control.
 
Norman’s already pistol whipped him.”

“That so?”
 
Pronovost said, pleasantly surprised.
 
“Then maybe he’ll be reasonable.”
  

•

As she stood behind him in the chair, Noel thought about their kiss.
 
What surprised her is that he didn’t pull back, didn’t resist in some way.
 
She was convinced he actually liked it.
 
Sex was so unpredictable.
 
It was like you became another person.
 
Somewhere she had read that in achieving orgasm you become who you really are.
 
But she thought most men stopped being who they were—they just turned into these writhing bodies driven by the urgent need to get to the end of it.
 
They grunted, they groaned, they thrust, but they didn’t seem to achieve anything other than release.
 
Maybe that’s all there really was to men.
 
But she had liked being in the tub with Norman because she had witnessed more than his release.
 
He was quiet, his eyes closed, and for a few moments before he came his face seemed to return to what it had been, long before he had been sent away to prison.
 
When his fingers sought her she stopped being herself—
this
herself.
 
His fingers touched her as though trying to remember, which was how the constable responded to the kiss, as though he were trying to remember.

“I’ve made a decision,” she said.

“I see.”

“I’ve decided I’m not going anywhere.
 
I’m not just going to run off on Norman.”
 
He didn’t say anything.
 
“You don’t believe me.”

“Sure I do, Noel.
 
If you think it’s the right decision, the smart thing to do.”

“What do you mean
smart?”

“Smart.
 
You know, intelligent.”

“You don’t think I’m very smart, do you?”

“Did I say that?”

“No,” she said, “but that’s what you meant.”

“Not true, Noel.
 
Not true at all.
 
You’re taking what I said and turning it around.”

“Am I?”
 
She stared at the back of his head a moment.
 
She knew he wanted to be free to turn so that he could see her.
 
“People come into that motel office and they talk to me like I’m ignorant, like I can’t even read or write.”
 
She laughed.
 
“Then the husband will say something like, ‘Ain’t there no pool at this motel?’
 
Don’t talk to me about intelligent.”

He said nothing.
 
It seemed like acceptance.
 
She stepped around in front of him and held up his cellular phone, which she had gotten from the coffee table by the fireplace.
 
“I’m staying.
 
But we’re going to need help.”

“All right, Noel.
 
But first untie me.”

“I’m not sure about that—sorry.”

“Look, I’m numb from the shoulders down.”

“Then that gun won’t do you much good,” she said.

“Why, Noel?
 
You know who’s out there?”
 
She didn’t answer.
 
“You do, don’t you?
 
And so do I.”
 
She nodded.
 
“Yes, we both know who’s out there.
 
Your father—he must have followed you.
 
Or maybe he followed me.
 
I don’t know.
 
But somehow he figured out that of all the places you and Norman might go that this would be it.
 
I don’t know, but it’s him out there.”

“They’re out there, yes.”

“They?” Del said.
 
“There’s someone with him?”

“Woo-San.
 
Now
he’s
really smart—really intelligent, even though his English isn’t perfect.
 
And you know why they’re out there?”

“No.”

“All right, let’s just see how intelligent
you
are,” she said.
 
“You know what
junbu
means?”
 
He shook his head.
 
“You know what ursodeoxycholic acid is?
 
UDCA for short.”
 
He shook his head.
 
“Yeah, see—you’re not so bright, are you?
 
And let’s not forget,
you’re
the one who’s tied up in that chair.
 
Well, a lot of Asians believe in
junbu—
that if they eat an animal they acquire its physical and spiritual qualities.
 
UDCA comes from the bile in a bear’s gall bladder.
 
For like a thousand years it’s been used to treat all sorts of things.
 
Problems in the liver, gall bladder, stomach.
 
It’s used to treat people with severe burns and broken bones.
 
Jaundice, hepatitis, cirrhosis, diabetes, high blood pressure, heart disease.
 
Even tooth ache and hemorrhoids.
 
Best of all, it’s also considered this incredible aphrodisiac.”

“Woo-San told you all this?”

“Not directly.
 
I looked stuff up too.
 
Most nights at the motel you have a lot of time to read books and magazines, to surf the web.”

“Which is the intelligent use of your time.”
 
He smiled and so did she.
 
“So, good, we have UDCA and
junbu.
 
Tell me more about Woo-San.”

“He understands them, sees them in a way we can’t.”

“Them?
 
The bears?”

“Now you’re getting it,” she said.
 
“The bears, dead and alive.
 
To him, they’re deeply spiritual.
 
And there’s the money part of it too.”

“What about the money part?”

“A bear’s gall bladder can be worth over a thousand dollars—here in the U. S. or Canada.
 
I think Woo-San deals mostly through Vancouver—that’s where a lot of his mail and phone calls come from.
 
That same gall bladder can be worth a lot more over in Asia.
 
It has a greater street value than cocaine.
 
I read that in a magazine.
 
You know one of the ways they get shipped out?
 
Dates.
 
They put them in boxes of fucking
dates
and they blend right in if you don’t know what you’re looking for.
 
See, they’ve depleted the bear population over in Asia, so that they’re coming here now.
 
And the laws—here and in Canada—the laws are nothing.
 
Even if you’re caught they only give you a light sentence and a small fine.
 
It’s highly organized, and some of it involves the same people that smuggle drugs.
 
I don’t know this for a fact, but I like to think of Woo-San as this drug lord who ran into problems in the city, so he got into this instead.
 
It’s like he’s in exile out here.
 
But what
really
frightens me about him is this spiritual thing.
 
Bears are sacred and he feels like he’s on some mission, you know, for his culture or whatever.”

“We’re going to need help,” he said.
 
“If you won’t untie me, at least make a call so we can get someone to come out here.”

“Who?”
 
Noel went over to the window and looked at the phone in her hand.
 
“It’s too dark.
 
I can’t see the numbers.”

“Just hit the button in the lower right-hand corner—redial.
 
It should get you to my deputy.”

Noel found the button and pressed it.
 
She placed the phone to her ear and listened to someone pick up the line on the second ring.
 
A woman said, “Yes?”

Noel turned to Del and smiled.
 
“Your deputy’s a woman.
 
Neat.”

Nineteen

Liesl heard the girl’s voice over the phone, and then in the background she heard Del say, “Shit, that’s the wrong number.
 
Give it to me.”

The girl said, “Is this the deputy constable?”
 
The connection wasn’t clear; there was static and electronic humming that came and went, so at first she sounded like she might be in her teens, but Liesl thought there was something else in her voice.
 
Older.
 
Perhaps frightened.
 
Insincere.
 
Coy.

“Let me talk to the constable,” Liesl said.

 
“I would but he’s tied up at the moment.”

An image came into Liesl’s mind:
 
a drunk middle-aged man with a hooker in a motel room in Sault Ste. Marie.
 
She considered simply hanging up.

“Liesl,” Del said loudly, from a distance, “I thought she was calling Monty.”

“Who’s Monty?” the girl asked, her voice momentarily breaking into shards of static.

“Noel,” Del said, sounding almost like a father, “let me speak to her.”

There wasn’t any response and the static disappeared.
 
“Noel?” Liesl said.

“All right.
 
I’ve taken two steps to my right—can you hear me now?”

“Yes.
 
What’s going on?”

“You’re not the deputy?”

“Let me talk to Del.”

“You’re not the deputy, are you?
 
What are you, the constable’s
wife?”

“No, I’m not his wife.”

“Then maybe you’re his girlfriend?”
 
She laughed.
 
She didn’t sound drunk, only giddy and nervous.
 
“You know what a good kisser he is?”

“No, I don’t.
 
Let me talk to this good kisser a moment.”

“Del, she doesn’t sound too pleased with
you.”
 
Noel snorted.
 
“What’s your name?”

“She
does
want to talk to me,” Del said.
 
“Now bring that over to me.”

“What’s your name?” Noel asked.
 
“Will one of you tell me what—”

“My name is Liesl.”

“You know, it sort of rhymes.
 
Noel.
 
And Del.
 
Liesl, Noel, Del.”

 
“Just hang up,” Del said loudly, “and get hold of Monty.
 
Tell him we’re about thirty miles north of—”

There was silence for a moment, and Liesl said, “What’s happening?”

“I’ve taken the situation into hand,” Noel said.
 
“Before we start giving road directions, I want a little clarification.”

“I do too,” Liesl said.
 
“What the
fuck
is going on?”

“I told you.
 
Del’s tied up.
 
And at the moment I’ve got this gun pointed at him.”