A Cold White Fear (20 page)

I
t
took me a few seconds to realize it was laughter coming from the front of the house.

Before I could react, Slobo yanked me from the floor, almost tugging my arm out of its socket, and pulled me behind him as he marched down the hall toward Jo's chortling. I heard Jid scramble to keep up.

“What going on?” the Serb shouted.

“You wouldn't believe who's here,” came the woman's husky voice from Eric's office.

She was standing at the window, her head angled to enable her to see under the partially collapsed roof. I tried not to stare at the white wedge of Jid's message dangling above her head.

Dropping my hand, Slobo moved in beside her, blocking my view. I stepped back and almost collided with the boy standing next to Eric's desk. He arched his eyebrows in question as a voice behind us asked, “What's going on?”

I turned to see Larry limping into the room.

“I've no idea,” I said. “How badly hurt is Professor?”

“He'll be okay. It's just a flesh wound, though it knocked him out cold.”

For some strange reason I felt comfort in the news. Despite the tattooed man's threatening appearance, I'd grown to like him.

“Hey, Jo, Tiger, who's out there? Can't be the police, else you'd be shooting.”

“Bébé Jean and Freddie,” Jo answered, standing back from the window. “Tiger, tell them to come in the back. Only way to get into this fucking house.”

More of them. Just what we needed.

The Serbian flung open the window and shouted.

I caught a glimpse of a silver pickup with a tall blond man in a black leather jacket standing beside it. My heart sank when I saw the second man in a down jacket pulling Gerry from the cab with a pistol pointed at his chest.

“Tiger, let's get these two back to the kitchen.” Jo motioned with her gun for Jid and me to move. Locking her eyes with mine, she continued, “Keep your fucking hands off my man.”

So much for female sympathy.

I pushed the boy in front and followed him out of the office and into the hallway with Jo breathing down my neck.

“It's so damn dark. When's the power coming back on?” Not waiting for an answer, she continued, “Jesus, how can you live in such a hole? Give me a city anytime.”

I was about to ask who the two men were when Professor called out as we were passing the archway into the living room. “Jo, can you come here a minute?”

The woman signalled for us to go into the room with her while Slobo continued on down the hall. In the low morning light, I could make out the tattooed man's darker shape sitting in one of the light yellow wingback chairs next to the stone fireplace. He was rubbing his head. The fire had burned down to a few ineffective coals.

“It's just as fucking cold in here,” Jo exclaimed.

“I'll put more wood on the fire.” I started to walk over to the dark corner where the woodbox was located.

“You stay right where I can see you. The boy can do it.”

“Don't worry about Red. She's won't do anything,” Professor said. His voice sounded weak. “Apart from trying to escape once, she's been good. She saved Larry's life.”

“If she's what you call good, I hate to see what you call trouble. She just tried another escape. And look what I found in the window.” She held up Jid's note. “Still think she can be trusted?” She ripped it into several pieces and let them flutter to the floor. “Tiger has shot people for less reason.”

Jid watched, horrified.

“Look, Red, promise me you'll be good. It'll make things easier for you and the boy.”

“Sure,” I said, not believing him.

“We're going to have to do something about them,” Jo said. “And we have another problem. The boys have the driver. Why didn't they just put a bullet in his head and dump his body in this fucking snow and save us a lot of trouble?”

I felt a sudden chill as I watched the log slip from Jid's hand onto the floor. He stared back at me in alarm. I went over and placed my arm around him. We'd only had a delay in our execution.

Professor merely grunted in acknowledgement, causing my heart to sink further. “What driver?” he asked.

“The snowplough. The boys followed it up the road. We need to sit down and plan what we do next. I hate this fucking snow. It's made a mess of things.”

“Yes, but remember if we can't move, neither can the police. Any sign of them?”

“Not that we saw. The radio said the pigs are looking all over Ontario for you.” An expanse of white teeth spread across her face, but I wouldn't call it a smile. “It was brilliant of you to suggest they ditch the getaway car in the opposite direction. The pigs are scrambling to catch you at the U.S. border.”

“What about the target. Is he still there?”

“As far as we know. Snowed in, like us.”

I shrank at the word “target,” particularly when they both glanced at me. I pretended to examine a thread dangling from my sweater. If this meant what I thought it meant, all the more reason for killing us.

“You guys want to talk. We'll get out of your way, okay?” I propelled Jid out of the room before they had a chance to stop us.

I could hear voices echoing from the kitchen. I didn't want to join them and was debating detouring into the den when I heard Gerry ask, “Where's Meg?”

“Who in the hell's Meg?” answered a raspy tenor voice.

“What have you done with her?” Gerry persisted.

I had better let him know we were alive, so I continued past the den and into the kitchen. Two sets of cold, inquiring eyes stared back at me.

“Good, there you are,” Gerry said, standing against the counter, rubbing a shoulder.

He'd pulled off his wool toque to reveal his bristly brush cut and was in the process of unzipping the bulky work jacket that looked old enough to have belonged to his trapper father. Though a gun was no longer pointed at him, the blond guy standing beside him still held one in his hand, while the other had slipped his into his belt.

“You've got the boy too,” Gerry continued. “Claire said she thought he was visiting.”

Claire was Gerry's wife and prided herself in knowing everyone's business on the reserve.

“Who are these guys?” He jerked his head in the direction of the three men.

The blond one with his unkempt hair and unshaven face and his black leather jacket with Black Devils patches on full display could've been a carbon copy of Slobodan, while the other, in his red down-filled jacket, neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair, and businessman's paunch, had an air of respectability about him. The gun said otherwise.

Slobo had taken up one of the chairs at the table, in front of a bowl brimming with Eric's homemade granola. With his mouth half full, he yelled, “Shut up!”

Gerry clamped his mouth shut, started to open it, then, seeing the ferocity reflected on the Serbian's face, closed it again and kept it that way.

“Good you guys made it,” Slobo continued.

“It looks like life in the clink treat you good, Tiger.” The biker patted his flat stomach, where the Serb's was bulging over his buckle. “Perhaps you should have stayed inside.” He spoke with a slight French accent. Likely he was Bébé Jean, although at more than six feet he could hardly be called a baby.

“Food is shit. But lots of it.” Slobo spooned more cereal into his mouth. “You see cops?”

“Not a one. They are too busy looking for you along the border.”

“Hey, are you the guys that —” Gerry stopped when he saw my glare.

“So what happen now?” the Quebecer asked.

“It's up to Jo,” said the other man. “It's her gig.”

At that point, the woman, with Larry and Professor following unsteadily behind, walked into the heat of the kitchen.

B
lood
oozed from what looked to be a severed head of a snake on the top of the tattooed man's head. I didn't see any other bullet wounds, but he was rubbing an egg-size lump at the back of his head.

The Serbian stopped eating. Removing his hands from the table, he straightened up against the back of his chair in anticipation of a confrontation. Professor walked over to the table and took the chair across from him but refused to acknowledge the challenge with so much as a glance. Despite the man's weakened condition, I could sense his inner power and strength.

Slamming the chair against the wall behind him, Slobo stood up and joined the other two men.

Clutching his stomach, Larry shuffled into the kitchen. Instead of taking up a chair next to his protector, he continued across the kitchen to Jo, who was rubbing her hands over the heat of the woodstove.

He mumbled nervously, “You got my stuff?”

“What are you talking about?” She continued rubbing her hands.

“Stuff. You know, stuff.” His voice rose an octave. “Tiger said you were bringing some.”

“You talking about heroin? You an addict?” She faced him, not bothering to hide her contempt.

The two newcomers, who'd been ignoring the injured man, now regarded him with interest. I thought I detected sympathy in the eyes of the respectable-looking man, but the blond biker curled his lip in derision.

Larry squirmed with embarrassment. “I really need some.”

“Sorry. Tiger didn't mention it. You'd better not crap out on us and do something stupid. We can't afford it.” She turned her back on him and resumed warming her hands.

For a moment I thought Larry was going to lose it, but he managed to keep himself together, dragged his feet back to where his lover was sitting, and took the chair next to him.

Professor placed his arm around Larry's trembling body and said softly, “It's for the best, P'tit Chief. You're going to make it. You'll be a much better man for it.” He kissed him gently on the forehead.

The blond man looked away while the other stranger watched with interest, which made me wonder about his inclinations. After a few seconds he said, “Hell, what happened to you, Viper? Nothing wrong with you when I hauled you out of the van yesterday.”

So he was involved in the escape. Not so respectable after all.

Professor jerked his head toward the Serbian. “One of your upstanding members. My price has just gone up.”

“You bastard,” the man growled. “Wait till the boss hears about this.” He punched Slobo in the jaw, knocking his head sideways.

Before the Serb could respond, Jo was yelling, “Stop!” She slipped between the two men. “Fighting isn't going to get us anywhere. Tiger will pay the increase.”

From the surprised look on her boyfriend's face, I could tell he hadn't anticipated this outcome. But he didn't attempt to contest it.

“Look, guys, Viper has said he is up to the job, so we need to finalize our plan,” she continued.

“
D'accord
,” the Quebecer agreed, while the other man said, “It's your show, sweetheart.”

Jo shot back, “The name's Josephine. I'm not your sweetheart, never have been, and never will be. Are you going to work with us, or do I tell the boss?”

The man drummed his fingers on the counter. Finally, he nodded. “Yah, I'm in.”

“Good. First we need food. You,” she said, pointing at me, “your kitchen, you cook.”

“Sure.” Now was not the time to tell her I didn't cook.

“You, driver, help her.”

Good. Gerry liked to brag that his fried eggs were the best on the rez.

“Jean, Viper, Freddie, you come with me. Larry and Tiger, you stay here.”

“But
sunce
, you need me.” Slobo pushed away from the counter and walked over to his girlfriend.

“Tiger, honey, remember what we discussed. It's better you stay out of this.”

“But I more better than that faggot,” he spat out.

“I know you are, honey, but not this time. He is the man we need for this operation. Besides, I want you to guard these three. They try to escape, I give you permission to shoot them. We're too close to completing the job to have them ruin it.”

“Better we kill them now.”

“Not yet. We might need them.” She ran her fingers up and down his thigh and then squeezed hard. He yelped. “When we no longer need them, I'll give you the honours.”

Before the full implication could sink in, she was demanding breakfast be on the table by the time they returned. There wasn't an “or else.” It had already been said.

I watched her stride out the kitchen door without a single flick of her eyes in my direction. The three men followed. I listened to their boots clomping in unison down the hall like a death knell, until it stopped when they went into the den.

Larry remained seated at the table, appearing not the least upset at being left out of the action. The biker resumed his chair across from him and placed his revolver in full view on the table. Crossing his arms across his chest, he leaned back, balancing the chair on its back legs. Gloating was the only expression I could use to describe the expression on his face.

“You heard her. Make food,” he rasped. “I starving.”

Larry raised himself from the chair. “I'm cold. I'm going to sit by the stove. Jid, do you want to join me?”

The boy hesitated, uncertain. I gave him a little push in the injured man's direction. I had a sense that Larry would do what he could to protect a fellow Algonquin, especially one young enough to be his son.

I watched the boy drag a chair to where Larry sat in Aunt Aggie's rocking chair. His movements were that of an old man. His youthful exuberance was gone. He was as terrified as I was.

“You better know how to fry eggs,” I said, turning to Gerry. “I always break the yolks. Given the mood these guys are in, I don't fancy giving them another excuse.”

Gerry appeared equally stunned. “Do you really think they'll kill us?” he whispered. “I tell you, I was sure scared when they stopped my truck and waved guns in my face. I didn't know whether I was going to make it to your house in one piece. But I was sure hoping you wouldn't be here. I didn't want to get you into trouble. So how long have they been here? Who in the hell are these guys?”

“Shut your mouth,” Slobo shouted. “Get to work.”

Gerry backed up, almost knocking over the garbage can behind him. He looked as if he were about to open his mouth to say something but then clamped it firmly shut.

I motioned for him to follow me into the pantry to get the eggs. Luckily, I had three dozen of them in anticipation of the Christmas crowd. While I passed Gerry a carton, I whispered, “Did you hear anything about a prison escape?”

“Yeah, the radio and TV were full of it.” His dark brown eyes opened wide. “Oh my god, they really are those guys.”

“Yup.”

“Holy shit. They said all the guards were killed.”

“I know. Did you see any sign of police anywhere?”

“Nope. Decontie and I were talking about it just before I started my run. He was happy that with all this damn snow, they were nowhere near here. He asked me to check on you to make sure you were okay. I guess not, eh?”

“He didn't happen to mention a strange phone call from me yesterday?” I had to ask, though I knew the answer.

“Nope, nothing. So what do we do now?”

Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps, I said, “Make breakfast.”

And I almost collided with Slobodan as he crossed the threshold of the pantry. In my panic, I backed into the Christmas tree. “Ouch!” I cried out but didn't dare move away from the tree.

“What you doing?”

“Getting eggs.” I held a carton up to show him. “How many eggs do you think people will want?”

“Fuck, I don't know. I eat four with plenty bacon.”

I had little over a half pound remaining in the fridge, so bacon was going to be a problem. But maybe there was some other kind of meat we could use. Bread was also in short supply, but there were half a dozen stale muffins in the bread box. There were nine to feed, including myself. My stomach was in too much turmoil to hold anything. I doubted Larry was up to eating, and Gerry likely already had breakfast. So it was really the four men and the woman we had to worry about. I could fill Jid up with cereal.

Removing enough plates from a shelf, I spied a box tucked away in the corner of another shelf.

Shoving it into my pocket, I headed back into the kitchen and said to Gerry, “We'll have scrambled eggs instead.”