North of Nowhere (23 page)

“He was supposed to be here Monday.”

“Couple of these logs I wouldn’t use on a doghouse,” he said. “Like this one right here.”

“I know. I was gonna put that one aside.”

He slipped his hands under the log and lifted it. He was maybe three inches shorter than me, and thirty pounds lighter, but I wouldn’t have wanted to fight the man, on the ice or off. He carried the log a few steps and tossed it in the brush.

“That’ll be your waste pile,” he said. “I see another one right down here.”

“You don’t have to do that, Vinnie. I know which ones are bad.”

He went over to the cabin, knelt down, and ran his hand along one of the logs. “You know which ones are bad,” he said, “and yet this one right here seems to be part of your wall already.”

“When did you become the county inspector?” I said. “I didn’t see it in the newspaper.”

He let that one go. “Can I ask why you’re doing this by yourself?”

“My father did it by himself.”

“Did he start building in October?”

“I know I’m not going to finish it,” I said. “I just had to start. I couldn’t wait until spring.”

He smiled at me as he stood up. “Patience was never your strong suit.”

“Vinnie, you always loved this cabin. You told me once you’d buy it off me for a million dollars. You remember?”

“I do,” he said. “This was the best cabin I’ve ever seen.”

“Put yourself in my place,” I said. “If somebody burned this down, what would you do?”

“First of all, I’d kill whoever did it.” He thought about it for a moment. “Did you kill him?”

“No,” I said.

“But he’s dead.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then. The next thing I’d do is rebuild the thing, as close as I could to the original.”

“Exactly.”

“But I wouldn’t do it alone,” he said. “Not with a friend down the road who knows twice as much about building cabins as I do.”

“Excuse me, twice as much? Since when?”

“Make that three times as much. I was trying to be kind.”

“Yeah, well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

“You’ll never even get to the roof,” he said. “You want the snow to pile up in here all winter?”

“What are you saying? You really want to help me?”

“Your father’s spirit sent me,” he said. “He knows what this thing would look like if you did it yourself.”

“Ah, Indian humor,” I said. “I’ve really been missing that.”

“Let me go get my stuff,” he said. “I’ll see if I have an extra pair of earphones, too.”

“Yeah, get me those earphones,” I said. “I have a feeling I’ll be needing them now.”

That’s how I got my help. That’s how we started being friends again.

We worked until the sun went down. I offered to buy him dinner at the Glasgow, but he took a pass. He said he was going over to the reservation to see his mother. The next morning, he was on the site before I was. He was spot-peeling logs with his drawknife.

“Let me ask you something,” I said when I pulled up. “Aren’t you supposed to be out in the woods this month?” Vinnie’s regular job was dealing blackjack over at the Bay Mills casino, but every fall he’d make extra money working as a guide for hunters.

“I’d rather be doing this,” he said.

“And your day job?” I said. “You’re still dealing, right?”

“I asked for some time off.”

“Vinnie, you don’t have to do this.”

“I needed a break anyway, Alex. Okay? Don’t worry about it. Just help me peel these things.”

“Those are already peeled, Vinnie.”

“By what, a machine? Here, let me show you the right way to do it.”

Somehow, I managed not to kill him that day. When we got to work, we found a good rhythm and added three more rows to the walls. We didn’t talk much about anything except what log came next, and where it should go. There was not a word said about what had happened between us.

When we had run out of daylight, I invited him to have dinner at the Glasgow again. He seemed to hesitate for a second before saying yes. “If you’ve got a hot date or something, just tell me,” I said. “I won’t be offended.”

“I’ve been over on the rez a lot lately,” he said. “They can do without me for one night.”

There was a whole story behind that one—Vinnie moving off the Bay Mills reservation and buying his own land. I knew it didn’t sit well with the rest of his family, even though he made a point of spending most of his free time there.

“Come on,” I said, “I’ll buy you a steak.”

Jackie did a double-take when we walked into the Glasgow together. “Well, look at this,” he said.

“Two steaks,” I said. “Medium rare. You know the rest.”

“Good evening to you, too,” he said. “I’m just fine, thanks for asking.” If he was genuinely mad at me, it didn’t stop him from opening a cold Canadian and sliding it my way.

“It’s good to see you,” Vinnie said. “It’s been a while.”

“Don’t tell me,” Jackie said. “You’re showing Alex how to build his cabin. Am I right?”

“It was too painful to watch,” Vinnie said. “I had to step in.”

“You guys are hilarious,” I said. “Just keep it up.”

That’s the way it went, on a cold October night. It had been another cold night, not that long ago, when the woman had come to me. She was an Ojibwa, someone Vinnie knew, someone he had grown up with on the reservation. She was in trouble and I did what I could to help her. In the end, Vinnie was involved, and that’s when he had to make his choice—whether to trust me or his own people. I had no good reason to blame him, but the choice hurt me just the same. And it had stayed there between us ever since.

Until this night. We sat by the fire and talked about the cabin and what we would work on the next day. We pretended that nothing had ever changed. Maybe that’s how you get past it. You pretend until it’s real.

He was there to help me the next day, the day after that, and then the next. I bought him dinner every night. Hell, it was the least I could do. We were putting those walls up so fast, we actually had a shot at getting the roof on before it snowed. That’s what I thought, anyway. And then, of course, it did snow. It wasn’t much, just a few flurries overnight that turned to rain in the morning, but it was enough to knock us out of the game for the rest of the day. Vinnie ran off to do something on the rez, and I checked on the renters in the other cabins. It was bow season in Michigan, so I had all the usual men from downstate, the men who appreciated the fact that my land was right next to the state land, and that I’d leave them a cord of firewood outside their door and otherwise leave them alone. Bow season was easy, because bow hunters are the true gentlemen of the sport. They don’t make a racket, and they keep the cabins clean. Firearm hunters were usually okay, although I’d still get my share of drunken clowns.

Snowmobilers, of course, were the worst of all. Just one more reason to dread the winter, and to hope like hell that the snow wasn’t coming for good.

It wasn’t. Not yet, anyway. The next morning the sun came out and melted away the thin traces of snow on the ground. When I got to the cabin site, I was surprised to see he wasn’t there yet. An hour later, I started wondering. I was doing as much of the work as I could on my own, but it was getting harder and harder to set the logs. Without Vinnie to help me, I’d have to set up the sky line. Of course I wasn’t even paying him, so what right did I have to complain?

By lunchtime I thought I’d head down the road and check on him. His truck was gone. I couldn’t help but think of another day, when I had sat in this exact same spot, looking at his empty driveway, wondering where he was. It turned out he had spent the night in jail, having taken a hockey stick to the face of a Sault Ste. Marie police officer. That was the beginning of a very bad week.

Good God, Vinnie, I said to myself. I hope to hell you weren’t out finding trouble last night.

I went down to the Glasgow for some of Jackie’s beef stew and a Canadian. “Where’s your man?” Jackie said as he served me.

“You got me. He didn’t show up today.”

He gave me a look. “Whattsa matter, trouble in Paradise?”

“No trouble. I just don’t know where he is.”

“Last time you ended up in the hospital.”

“Jackie, he’s been helping me all week, okay? Don’t you think he deserves a day off?”

“If that’s all it is, fine,” he said. “I’m just saying, the last time Vinnie got in trouble, you’re the one who ended up almost getting killed.”

“Okay, I hear you.”

“Okay, then.”

“Okay.”

Vinnie walked in just then and saved us. He came to the bar and sat down next to me.

“Give the man some beef stew,” I said.

“No thanks,” he said. That’s when I knew something was wrong. If you have any appetite at all, you don’t turn down Jackie’s beef stew.

“What’s going on?” I said.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t around today. Something sort of came up.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” I said. “Hell, it’s not like I’m paying you anything.”

Vinnie thought about it. “You realize,” he said, “that I’m the one paying you. For what happened. This is how I’m settling my debt to you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” I said. “We’ve been through this, remember?”

I sure as hell didn’t want to go through it again. Not when we both seemed to be finally getting over it.

“I remember,” he said. “But still—”

“For God’s sake,” I said, “are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

He sat there for a long moment, while Jackie looked back and forth between us, clearly expecting the worst.

“It’s Tom,” he finally said.

“Your brother.”

“Yeah.”

I didn’t know a hell of a lot about Tom LeBlanc. I knew he was a few years younger than Vinnie, and that he had caused his family enough trouble to make Vinnie look like the golden boy. There was one incident at the Canadian border that Vinnie never wanted to talk about. I had to read about it in the
Soo Evening News
. That was the last time I had seen Tom, in fact, right before had gone off to serve his two years at Kincheloe.

“What’s the problem?” I said. I knew he was out on parole now, and saying all the right things about staying straight. But hell, if he was in trouble again, it wouldn’t exactly shock me.

“He was on a hunting trip in Ontario. He was supposed to be back a couple of days ago.”

“And he didn’t make it back?”

“No.”

“You don’t think—”

“What, that he’s passed out in some bar in Canada? Is that what you mean?”

“Vinnie, come on.”

“It’s different this time, Alex.”

Here it comes, I thought. He’s been going to the meetings; he’s a changed man. The whole speech. That’s what I expected.

That’s not what I got.

“This time,” Vinnie said, “he’s me.”

I want to thank, yet again, all of the usual suspects—Bill Keller and Frank Hayes, Liz Staples and Taylor Brugman, Bob Kozak and everyone at IBM, Bob Randisi and the Private Eye Writers of America, Ruth Cavin and everyone at St. Martin’s Press, Jane Chelius, Jeff Allen, Larry Queipo, former chief of police, town of Kingston, New York, and Dr. Glenn Hamilton from the department of Emergency Medicine, Wright State University. Thanks also to Dave Swayze for sharing his knowledge of Great Lakes shipwrecks, and to Bill Webb for helping me with the history of the Royal Navy.

More than ever, I owe everything to my wife, Julia, who puts up with my daydreaming and my late nights. And to Nickie and to Toni, who make every day a miracle.