A Cold White Fear (21 page)

B
y
the time Jo and her escort were tramping onto the kitchen linoleum, Gerry and I were placing platters of eggs and bacon on the table, including the ham Gerry had fried up after finding a tin in the cupboard. Jid was removing the last piece of toast from the stovetop toaster. He added it to the rest of the toast and put the basket beside the jar of blueberry jam and peanut butter. We were ready.

Without a word, the men took up seats at the table and began piling eggs, bacon, and ham onto their plates.

Jo was more circumspect. After taking a seat beside her lover, she surveyed the eggs and said, “I thought we were having fried.”

While Gerry struggled for an answer, I replied, “You wanted breakfast in a hurry. Scrambled eggs are faster to make than fried. Here's some hot salsa to go with them.”

Satisfied with my answer, she spooned a healthy portion onto her plate and doused it with the salsa.

Gerry and I tried not to watch too closely.

“Aren't you eating?” she asked.

“I've already had my breakfast,” Gerry rushed to answer. He was standing by the stove watching over the percolating coffee to ensure it didn't boil over.

“I'm not hungry,” I replied.

Jo was acting a bit too suspicious for my liking. I placed a spare chair at the opposite end of the table from her and her rapist boyfriend and spooned a small amount of eggs and ham onto a plate. I figured a mouthful or two wouldn't hurt.

The fluffy eggs looked innocent enough. I hoped these killers thought so too. Though Gerry had fried them up in the heavy cast-iron pan, I'd prepared them. I didn't want him having the responsibility of adding the poison. I'd tossed in the entire contents of the box of mouse poison I'd found in the pantry. I doubted there was anywhere near enough to kill anyone, but it might leave them feeling miserable.

To help disguise any bad flavour, I added fried onions and red pepper. Because the box described it as being cheese-flavoured, I tossed in lots of grated cheddar. It smelled delicious. The men seemed to think so too, for they were shovelling it down their throats. They didn't seem to mind the odd piece of grit. Gerry and I hadn't come up with a way to disguise that. If anyone asked, I was going to say that it was the spices, a special salsa mix added to give them oomph.

I'd given Jid a bowl of Eric's homemade granola, one of his favourites, and told him not to eat any eggs because there weren't enough to go around.

Gerry had distracted Slobo while I poured the tiny granules into the eggs. But as I'd walked to the cookstove to throw the box into the firebox, I'd noticed Larry watching. I thought he was going to say something. Instead he merely shrugged and turned back to flipping the pages of one of Eric's hockey magazines. When Larry suggested Professor should try some granola, I knew that he had seen me. I set the bag on the table with a container of raspberry yoghurt and several bowls.

Jo, as if taking a cue from the tattooed man, set her partially eaten eggs aside and poured herself a big bowl of granola. “Much better for you than cholesterol-ridden eggs, eh, Viper?”

She kept her eyes on me the entire time. But if she suspected, why didn't she warn her men?

I was doing my best to avoid staring at the eggs, as was Gerry, although I caught him sneaking a peek or two. I managed to swallow a couple of mouthfuls then surreptitiously slid the rest into my napkin.

“
Délicieux
. Usually I am not a fan of eggs,” Jean said, placing his fork on his empty plate. “I have had sufficient.”

“Good,” Slobo said. “More for me.” He shovelled another large portion of eggs onto his plate and doused it with salsa.

Eat up, eat up,
was my only thought.
I hope you bleed to death.

“Bet you don't get good food like this in the slammer, eh, Tiger?” Freddie said with his mouth half full of egg. “Better than the wife's. But don't tell her I said that.”

If I had expected an immediate reaction, it wasn't happening. Though the three men had devoured enough eggs for eight, they didn't appear the least affected.

This must have satisfied Jo. “You can't be too healthy,” she muttered and finished the eggs on her plate and then helped herself to the remaining ones on the platter. “They smell too good.” She raised a forkful to Gerry and me. “Compliments to the chefs.”

I chuckled inwardly. It was the first time anyone had ever complimented my cooking. Perhaps it would become known as Meg's killer dish. I noticed Gerry couldn't stop a grin from spreading across his lips.

“Okay, guys,” Jo said, slamming down her knife and fork beside her empty plate. She looked at her watch. “We leave in an hour.”

Our smiles vanished.

“But we have enough time for another cup of coffee.” She brought the coffee pot from the stove and poured herself a mug full. “Good stuff. Anyone else?”

Professor set his empty mug in front of her. “I could do with some more fuel to steady my aim.”

I thought I heard an intake of breath from Freddie as Jo stopped pouring. Her ice-blue eyes seemed to bore right through the tattooed man's piercing amber ones.

“What does it matter?” He shrugged, training his eyes on me. “Pour the coffee, Jo. I need it after what your man did to me.” He touched the wound on the top of his head. “Another half inch and you would be having a lot of explaining to do.”

Slobo smirked while Jo glanced briefly in my direction and Gerry's before continuing with the pouring.

Though my mind was a whirl of questions, I pretended I hadn't noticed this byplay and concentrated on removing the dirty dishes from the table.

“Aim” only meant one thing to me. Pointing a gun at something or someone. I didn't think Professor was going hunting, at least not animals. I assumed it was what was taking place in an hour's time. The location must be close by, which would explain their reason for choosing my house as their base of operations. But more importantly, who was their target?

Gerry seemed oblivious as he concentrated on picking through the woodpile for the perfect log to the throw into the firebox. It seemed a rather useless exercise, since we'd finished cooking. He filled the copper kettle with water from the jug and placed it on the hot burner.

“For the dishes,” he said.

Needless to say, washing up was the furthest from my mind. Besides, clean dishes weren't going to help us in an hour's time.

I
didn't want to sit around for an hour waiting for them to kill us. Correction. Forty-eight minutes. Twelve minutes had passed since Jo announced they were leaving. Gerry, focused on washing the dishes, didn't seem concerned, but perhaps this was his way of dealing with the threat.

Gerry's arrival was giving me a newfound courage. No one had moved the snowmobile, nor had I seen anyone remove the keys. Three people plus the puppy would be a very tight squeeze, but we could do it.

Only Larry and Slobo remained in the kitchen. The rest had returned to the den, ostensibly to finish planning the operation, or should I say “hit,” for I was convinced that a hit was about to take place, with Professor as the assassin.

Another reason for leaving. Not only would we save ourselves, but we would stop someone else from being murdered.

We were three against two. Actually one, since I didn't think Larry would prevent us from fleeing. We just might be able to do it. We just needed to find a way to neutralize the Serb.

His eyes hadn't strayed from Gerry or me since the others had left the room. He continued to sit with his revolver in full view on the table within easy reach of his hand. His fingers would creep toward the gun, touch it, and then back off, almost as if he were itching to use it. Only now did I realize the revolver was the one Professor had taken from him earlier. He must've bullied Larry into giving it back.

Jid had rejoined Larry next to the woodstove. They were caught up in a discussion about life on the rez. The man was regaling the boy about his many exploits as a child growing up on the rez. Several of his partners in mischief were familiar names to me, as they would be to Jid, who seemed to be getting a kick out of learning that the adults in his life weren't quite the upstanding citizens they pretended to be. It was good that Jid was being distracted from worrying about what would happen forty-three minutes from now. Perhaps that was Larry's intention.

The two of them, sitting with their heads close together, could almost be two peas in a pod. Both were small of stature, with the same rich dark brown hair, although Jid's hair had a slight curl to it, whereas Larry's was poker-straight. They had the same slightly lopsided smile. Then Larry did something that made me sit up, a gesture I had seen Jid make many times. An odd movement of his palm, brushing his forehead as if trying to wipe out a memory or a thought. He would do it with his eyes closed. With a chill, I watched Larry make the exact same gesture, right down to the closing of his eyes.

Surely it couldn't be. But yes, it could.

I was about to ask Larry if he had spent time at Migiskan in the months leading up to his incarceration, when, as if suspecting the gist of my thoughts, he raised his eyes, and staring directly into mine, he shook his head. So he suspected too, but he didn't want the boy knowing that he could be his father.

It was within the realm of possibility. It sounded as if Larry had gone to jail months, not years before Jid was born. No one talked about Jid's father except to say that he was in prison. Nor was a name ever mentioned. The boy's only living relative was the aunt he lived with, the older sister of his long-dead mother.

I didn't know which side of the family his beloved
kòkomis
was from, but I'd always suspected his mother's side, since she would talk about the boy's mother but never his father. But that was only a supposition on my part. She could have just as easily been the grandmother of Jid's father. Upset at his having killed a man, she might have refused to talk about him. Though surely she would've told Jid something, for with his inquisitive mind, he would've asked. Yet I'd never heard the boy say a single word about his father, and respecting his privacy, I'd never asked.

I wondered about the boy's reaction should Larry, the escaped convict, drug addict, and convicted killer, turn out to be his father. Had he built up in his own mind the image of the perfect dad, as fatherless children often do? Did he base this image on Eric, his hero? Sadly, there was little similarity between the two men. Eric was everything Larry wasn't: responsible, honourable, loyal, caring, respectful, strong of mind and body.

Perhaps Larry sensed this and decided to keep the boy's dreams alive.

Shoni was scampering after a ball Jid had rolled across the floor, while Gerry continued to clatter away at the sink. Jid crawled after the puppy and rolled onto his back to let the furball climb over him. For the moment, squeals of laughter banished the danger. Even Slobo was grinning, if you could call a smirk a grin.

But the expression on Larry's face almost broke my heart. It spoke of a man's unrequited love for a son. Larry knew the truth. Either he had sensed it or realized it from something Jid had said. I felt a huge burden slide off my shoulders. Larry would do whatever he could to protect his son. Maybe he would help provide a commotion so his son could escape.

If they kept to Jo's schedule, they would be leaving in fifteen minutes. The low murmur drifting from the den told me they were still caught up in their planning and likely wouldn't be returning to the kitchen for some minutes yet.

Standing with the Serbian facing away from me, I tried to catch Larry's eye. When I did, I nodded toward the gun and motioned for him to take it. I turned my eyes on Jid and waved my hand toward the pantry, praying Larry would rightly interpret. With a barely perceptible nod, the injured man pushed himself out of the rocker and shuffled as fast as he could to the kitchen table.

Gerry had finished the dishes and was emptying the garbage from under the sink. It looked as if he was preparing to take it to the pantry. I was amazed by his tidiness, given the situation. But he was exactly where I wanted him to be. He would be able to take Jid and run for it. He would know how to drive a snowmobile and could get the boy away faster than I could. Besides, someone had to help Larry prevent Slobodan from going after them.

Nodding at Larry that it was time, I picked up the kettle and was walking over to pour boiling water onto Slobo's lap when I heard a bang. I looked up in time to see Gerry gone, with the back door closing behind him.

Cursing loudly in Serbian, Slobo reached for his gun. He snapped it up just as Larry's hand was about to touch the grip. Casting a puzzled backward glance at Larry, he ran toward the pantry. Jid scrambled to get out of his way. The man flung open the back door. I could see Gerry running toward the Ski-Doo.

He fired his gun, once, twice, three times.

Jo and the others rushed into the kitchen.

“What's going on?” she yelled.

Slobo sauntered back into the room, his gun tucked into his belt. “Guy try to escape. I stop him.”

I
n
a daze, I brushed past the biker and out onto the porch. Gerry lay crumpled face down in the snow a short distance from the snowmobile. I could see blood oozing through the back of his bulky jacket.

“Gerry, Gerry,” I called out as I sped down the stairs. “Say something … please….”

He wasn't moving.

“Dear God, let him be alive.” I knelt in the snow beside him. “Can you hear me?”

I detected movement in his chest. But I hesitated shifting him onto his back, afraid that I would hurt him further.

“
Le neige
. He cannot breathe,” a male voice said behind me. I recognized the French accent of Bébé Jean. “Hold his shoulders and roll him over carefully.”

I rotated his upper body as gently as I could while the blond biker turned his lower body over.

Gerry groaned.

I brushed the crystals from his nostrils and off his face and realized the snow's colour was more pink than white.

“Gerry, talk to me.”

Blood trickled from the side of his mouth.

He groaned again. His lips started to move. At first no sound, then barely a whisper. I placed my ear next to his mouth. “I'm so sorry. I blew it. I … I thought I could … m … make a run for the … p … police.” He stopped and gasped a few shallow breaths before continuing. “P … p … please tell Claire and the girls … I …” A deep shudder ran through his body. I waited for him to continue before realizing it wasn't going to happen. He'd stopped breathing.

“Yes, Gerry, I'll tell Claire and your daughters that you love them,” I finished for him, my eyes brimming with tears. I kept my head down and paid respect to his passing. I wished I had some tobacco to sprinkle around him or some smudge to cleanse his spirit. Hopefully the Creator would overlook the omission and help him on his way to wherever he was going.

Then the anger started to boil over.

“Monster!” I yelled at Slobo. “Murderer!”

He stood on the edge of the porch, his face a mask of indifference. A short distance away stood Jo, her fists clenched, her mouth a line of suppressed anger. I didn't know whether this was directed at me or at Gerry's killer. Through the pantry window I caught a glimpse of Professor's tattooed head and the short-cropped haircut of Freddie. Neither seemed overly concerned about the killing. It was business as usual.

Thankfully, I didn't see Jid or Larry. I hoped he was shielding the boy from the violent death of a man the boy had known his entire life.

“You coward.” I raised my clenched fist at the Serb. “How dare you shoot an unarmed man in the back.” I jumped up and almost collided with Jean.

I started to run toward my friend's murderer with every intention of doing as much damage as I could. But Jean held me back.

“
Non
,
restez tranquille
,” he said quietly. “
Trop dangereuse
. Stay still, it's too dangerous.” Then in a louder voice, “
Cette
petite madame
wants to kill you. Do I let her go?” He chuckled as I struggled to break free.

“Stop it. We don't have time for such nonsense,” Jo shouted back. “Bring her into the house.”

He began pulling me toward the stairs. I dug in. “What about Gerry? We can't leave him like that.”

“He is dead. Nothing can happen to him now.”

“But it isn't respectful.”

“Freddie,” he shouted. “Can you find a blanket or
quelque chose comme ça
to cover the body?”

“I didn't know you were such a softy, Bébé.” Jo laughed. “Afraid of a little blood, eh?”

He grinned. “I don't like looking them in the eyes.”

Disgusted by the banter, I shook my arm free from his grasp and put as much distance as I could from the man, from all of them. I didn't know what to do. Stay outside. Go inside. I didn't care if they shot me too.

Gerry wasn't hurting anyone. Why couldn't the monster have just shot him in the leg? That's all he had to do to keep him from escaping. Poor Claire. She was going to be devastated. With her mother dying less than a month ago, this was going to be very hard on her, on the girls.
Damn you, Gerry, why couldn't you have just stayed in the kitchen? Why did you have to try to be a hero?

The man in the down jacket came out onto the porch holding one of the red Hudson's Bay blankets from the den. Before anyone else could take it, I ran up to him and yanked it out of his hands. No way were any of these bastards going to get near Gerry.

Gerry's face wore a mask of calm. At least he hadn't been in pain. But his eyes seemed to be asking, “Why me?” I closed them and mumbled a few prayers to whichever gods were listening, though after this senseless shooting I didn't think any were. I gently draped the blanket over him. The snow around his body had taken on a reddish hue. I covered it too. I continued to stand, head bowed, beside him. I didn't want to leave him alone to the bleak winter day.

“Get her inside, Bébé,” Jo yelled. “We haven't got all day.” The back door slammed shut.

I heard the shuffle of snow behind me.

“Don't you dare touch me,” I hissed and stomped back to the house without looking back.

The show was over. Those who'd been standing on the porch had returned inside. Those at the window had turned away. Killing someone was as important as going to the bathroom.

I strode into the kitchen, intent on doing what I could to save Jid. I needed to know that Larry was going to protect his son. And most importantly that he had his lover's backing. While Larry might not have any standing with this gang, Professor did. Despite not being a member of the Black Devils, he held some kind of a position within their criminal ranks that forced them to pay attention to him.

But Jid was no longer in the kitchen. Nor was Larry.

“What have you done with them?” I shouted, panicking.

Slobo had taken over the rocking chair Larry had established as his own. He was more intent on examining his revolver than answering my question.

Jo glanced at me briefly before returning to berate her boyfriend. “You've fucked us up royally. How do you plan to get us there?”

“We use fucking GPS. Your fancy phone,
ne
?” the Serb replied.

Shoni's cage was empty.

“It doesn't fucking work. That's what the damn driver was all about,” Freddie said.

“I not know. I not part of your stupid plan,
ne
?”

“What have you done to them?” I yelled again. I made for the kitchen door but was blocked by Jo.

“Where is Lake Robinson?” At about the same height, she peered straight into my eyes.

“What have you done with the boy?” I retorted.

“You tell us where this Lake Robinson is, and I'll tell you where the boy is,” Jo replied.

I should've given some thought to the reason behind the question, but with Jid uppermost in my mind, I didn't. “Not far from here. About five k.”

“Do you know the road?”

“Yes. Now tell me what you've done with Jid.”

I was tired of her runaround. Rather than waiting for her to answer, I pushed her aside and sped into the hall. I assumed Jid was in the den. Or at least I hoped he was.

“Stop,” Jo ordered.

I continued walking.

“Or I'll shoot.”

I wouldn't be able to protect Jid if I were dead. I stopped in midstride and whirled around to find myself once more staring into the barrel of a gun.