A Cold White Fear (9 page)

T
he
three of us stopped talking. It sounded like only one man was stumbling down the hall toward us. I tensed as I waited to see whose face would appear. I supposed if I had my choice, I would choose the tax evader over the murderer. He hadn't killed anyone, at least not that I knew of.

I heard the thump of a body against a wall before I saw Professor's snakes etched in the glow of the lamp. His face twisted into a smile.

“How's it going, P'tit Chief?” he rasped.

He clung to the doorframe before lurching into the room. He made straight for the chair where Jid was sitting and fell into it, barely giving the boy enough time to escape. It would appear that consuming a bottle of rye and good quantity of Eric's Scotch had finally caught up to the man. The big question was whether he was a benign drunk who would slide into a drunken stupor or an angry one who would become belligerent and violent.

“Hey, Red, I should kill you for taking off on me.” He pulled out Eric's knife and ran his finger along the sharp edge.

I froze. I had my answer.

Jid scrambled out of the way, his eyes huge with fear.

Not exactly the kind of behaviour I associated with a tax evader. I tried to act as nonchalant as I could and remained seated in the leather armchair by the fireplace as if having a knife pointed at me happened everyday.

“Professor, she's good people,” Larry said. “She ain't gonna do it again.” His eyes pleaded.

“You're right, she won't. I'm going to tie her up. Kid, get me some rope.”

My heart sank. There went my chance to escape. It was now up to the boy.

He turned frightened eyes toward me as if seeking direction. In the ensuing silence I heard the third escaped convict clamber up the stairs.

“You know where we keep the rope, eh?” I said.

Nodding imperceptibly, he silently acknowledged that he knew it was in the woodshed. With no one in the kitchen, he could make a run for it and take the puppy with him.

“Okay?”

He nodded and mumbled, “Okay.”

Stepping back, I said out loud, “Take Shoni. She needs to go to the bathroom.”

“The dog stays with me.” Professor pulled the whimpering puppy from the boy's arms.

Jid tried desperately to hang on to her, but when Shoni cried out in pain, he let go.

“The dog has to go outside. I don't want her making a mess on the carpet,” I persisted.

“You telling me what to do? The dog stays with me.” He clumsily grabbed her leg as she struggled to leave his grasp. She yelped.

“Let go, you're hurting her.”

“The only one I'm going to hurt is you.” Locking his eyes on mine, he ran his long fingers with a surprisingly gentle touch along the puppy's back and behind her ears. She quieted down.

Jid remained standing, unsure of what to do, until the man shouted, “Go!” and off he ran, his face twisted in apprehension. I prayed he understood that he had to leave right away.

As I listened to his footsteps fade into the kitchen, I knew I had to distract the tattooed man to take his mind away from the boy. But my thoughts were in a whirl. All I could think to say was, “So you like dogs.”

He buried his face in her silky coat, and then, sitting back up, he said, “Nothing like a puppy.” He tickled her under the chin. “Yes, you could say I'm a big fan of the canine species. Once I settle into my own place, I plan to get one. Maybe I'll take Shoni. She does rather like me, don't you think?”

Over my dead body
, I thought, and then shuddered when I realized it might come to that.

“I had a dog in prison. A rescue dog. A Rottweiler/German Shepherd mix, not a refined specimen like Shoni.” He ran his fingers through the soft fur.

At least the distraction seemed to be working. “I didn't think they allowed dogs in jail.”

“He wasn't allowed in my cell. They didn't trust us. Though I did manage to sneak him in once. He had his own personal cell, a crate. Poor bugger had to be incarcerated like the rest of us.

“It was one of those do-gooder programs that are supposed to make us nice people.” He sniggered. “They teach us dog training techniques, and we in turn transform these badass dogs into pussycats to make them more adoptable. Yeah, right. They hadn't bargained on us liking the aggression in our dogs. We had some terrific dog fights, and mine usually came out on top.” He growled at Shoni.

“You'd better not give her any ideas.”

“Nah, she's a sweetie, just the way I like my women, docile and submissive. That's right, eh, Larry?”

He stared so pointedly at the injured man, who beamed back at him, that I began to wonder about his definition of “women.” “Since you like dogs so much, I'm surprised you'd want to leave him behind.”

“The dog's dead. He got sick one day and was gone the next. I figured he'd been poisoned.”

“I'm sorry.”

“As they say, easy come, easy go. I figured my cellie did it. He hated Mom.”

“Yeah, Hammer probably done it,” Larry added. “I liked Mom. I used to play fetch with him, remember?”

“Mom would've made some kid a terrific dog. I had him expertly trained.”

“Mom?” I asked.

“After Mom O'Reilly, the biggest boss biker of all time.”

Not another one. “Are you a member of the Black Devils too?”

“Nope, I'm an independent. I prefer to work on my own. But you have to admire a man who transformed the biker gangs in Quebec and made them into a major player. Too bad he's doing time.”

“Mom's in SHU at Saint Anne's,” Larry added. “That's where that stupid judge sent me before they transferred me to medium.”

“I assume you mean medium security.”

“Ya, I didn't belong with all those hardcore killers, ain't that right, Professor?”

“You just had the bad luck to get that particular tough-on-crime judge. Your legal aid lawyer didn't help either,” the tattooed man answered.

“What is SHU?” I asked.

“It's super-maximum. No way you can escape from there,” Larry replied.

“Mom's got one hell of an organization behind him,” Professor cut in. “I'm willing to wager he won't complete his sentence. They'll find a way to get him out.” He winked. “Look at how easy it was for us to escape, eh, P'tit.”

Larry giggled until he gripped his stomach in pain.

“Mom was ratted out by one of his own. If anyone does that to me, they're history.” His eyes pierced Larry with their glowing amber threat.

“Professor, we're buddies. You know I'd never do that to you.” Larry shrank farther into the couch.

The tattooed man continued to hammer his fist into his other hand with such intensity that I wondered if he'd ended up in jail because someone had squealed on him.

An exceptionally strong blast of wind slammed against the house. I could feel it shake from front to back and top to bottom. This storm wasn't going to let us forget that there was as much havoc happening outside as inside. By now the boy would be well under the protection of the forest canopy and on his way to Will.

My diversion seemed to be working. Professor was more interested in dogs and being ratted out than about wondering why the boy hadn't yet returned with the rope.

I relaxed too soon.

The sound of two sets of approaching footsteps filled the hall, one lighter than the other.

Jid appeared first, his shoulders slumped, his face a mask of dejection. Melting snow dripped from his down-filled jacket while his boots left a trail of water.

Behind him glowered Slobodan, dangling the rope from his fist.

S
lobodan
pushed the boy into the room. “The kid try to run away. I tell him, he go, I shoot you.”

I was numb. Gone was all chance of being rescued.

Jid barely glanced in my direction. For a second I thought he would burst into tears, but he took a deep breath, firmed his jaw in resolution, and shook himself free of the biker's grip. The red splotch on the side of his face had grown.

I motioned for him to come to me and put my arm around his trembling body. “It's okay,” I whispered. “You tried your best.”

Turning to the man, I said, “He wasn't leaving. He was going to the woodshed to get that rope you're holding.” I summoned up my courage. “Don't you dare hit Jid again.”

“You do what, lady. Hit me back?” He snorted. “Kid go after cops. I stop him. He do it again, I shoot. Why he need rope?”

I'd let Professor answer that one.

But Slobodan didn't wait. “What this boy to you? You say friend, but he call you auntie. You no look like him.” Slobodan let the rope fall to the floor. “You very white with your red hair. He Injun, for sure.”

I cringed. The word was as insulting for me as it was for Jid. “Don't call him that.”

“I call him what I like,” he sneered. “So you his aunt?”

Worried he would use our close relationship against us, I exaggerated the distance and hoped Jid would understand. “He's just a kid from the reserve who does odd jobs for me. ‘Auntie' is the term used by children for older women within their community.”

“Hey, other Injun. Wake up. You know boy?” He thumped the sofa with his foot.

Larry, who looked to be battling his own demons, flung his eyes open. He glanced around as if not sure of where he was. “Whaddya say?”

“The boy. He Injun like you. Ya know him?”

He stared intently at a shuffling Jid. “Nah, too young. He wasn't born yet when I was sent away. Besides, I was gone from the rez long before that.”

“Maybe you know his parents,” Slobodan said.

“What was your mother's name?” the injured man asked. “Jid's your name, right? Short for Adjidamò, eh? Little Squirrel. See, I haven't forgot all my Algonquin. Had me a friend called Jid when I was gro —” Larry sputtered, started coughing, and gripped his side painfully. I passed him some water, which he gulped gratefully. “Jeez, that hurt.” He continued breathing heavily for a few minutes before continuing. “Gimme your mother's name again. We mighta growed up together.”

“No way. My mother was good. She wouldn't be friends with a bad person like you.”

The biker chortled. “I like boy with spirit.” The man stepped forward to ruffle his hair. But Jid ducked his head and backed out of reach. The grin vanished from the man's face. “But not too much.”

I hastily intervened before anger took over. Walking over to the sofa with Jid firmly by my side, I said, “I want to check your bandage, Larry.”

The biker grunted and clenched his fist but didn't move from where he was standing.

I saw no indication that blood had seeped through the gauze. “Good. Now roll over so I can check the back dressing.” Although I could detect some seepage, I felt it wasn't enough to cause concern. “How bad does it hurt you, Larry?”

“It feels okay now. Guess I'd better not cough, eh?” He smiled wanly. Reaching down with shaking hands, he drew the blanket up over his chest as far as his chin, careful to tuck his sides and arms fully under. He looked up at the Serb. “Sure you don't got any stuff? I could sure use a fix.”

“You be okay. Jo bring it.”

“But when's she coming?” Larry made no attempt to hide the desperation in his voice.

The man glanced out the window at the howling darkness. “In morning.”

“That may be difficult with this amount of snow,” I said.

“When will your road get ploughed?” Professor asked, suddenly taking an interest in the conversation.

“It doesn't get done until the main one is cleared, and since Migiskan Road is a dead end, it's one of the last roads in the municipality to be ploughed.”

“Fuck,” Professor said, while the Serbian cursed in his own language. Both voiced my sentiments exactly.

“We have to be able to leave in the morning,” the tattooed man said.

“Then pray for the snow to stop.” Something I was going to start doing nonstop. I wanted them to be gone as much as they did, if not more so.

Larry groaned.

“How bad is this withdrawal going to get? Is there anything we can do to help?” I asked.

“Don't worry about him. He's been through this before,” the tattooed man answered. “We've got bigger problems. Slobo, you may have to walk out in the morning to wait for Jo.”

“No, I no do,” the biker snarled. “You go. You the man they want. I stay here in nice warm house.”

I didn't like the sound of this.

My nose suddenly twitched at a stench I knew all too well. Shoni had left a small brown sausage in the middle of Aunt Aggie's oriental carpet.

“Stop!” Slobodan shouted as I scurried toward the kitchen to get something to remove it.

“I'm not going anywhere,” I yelled back. “You've got Jid, remember?”

Nonetheless, he followed me into the kitchen with the boy struggling to get free from his vice-like grip. He smacked him across the face.

“Leave him alone,” I cried out, pulling Jid toward me. “He's not going anywhere. He's already proved that to you. Do you honestly think we're dumb enough to try to escape in the storm that's raging out there? We're miles from safety. We'd freeze to death before we even got halfway there. So quit hovering over us.”

He stopped in midstride as if taken aback by my sudden boldness. “You got balls, woman. But you already escape. I no trust you. I give you same warning I give boy. You leave, I kill him.” He formed his hand into a mock gun, pointed it at Jid, and fired. “Kerpow. Between the eyes,
ne
?”

My stomach clenched tighter. It hadn't relaxed since these men had pushed their way into my home. “Look, I get the message. I'm not going to do anything, so leave the boy alone. Now let me clean up that mess, otherwise the den is going to stink.”

He shrugged. “You never smell a prison cell,
ne?
” He laughed uproariously and then pointed at the empty Scotch bottle lying on its side next to a couple of empty glasses. “You got more? Is very smooth. I like.” He smacked his lips with appreciation.

I almost considered saying no, but he didn't appear to be anywhere near close to passing out. Hopefully another bottle would do the trick. “Jid, could you get the last bottle from the dining room?”

The man started to follow the boy.

“Leave him alone,” I said. “We have our bargain, okay?”

“
Da
, sure.” He sauntered over to the table, slumped down into one of the chairs, and gripped a glass in anticipation. I grabbed a plastic bag, rug-cleaner spray, a sponge, and another cloth to clean the mess in the dining room and then headed back to the den.

I met Jid coming out of the dining room with another full bottle of Eric's Lagavulin. I didn't want him alone with that biker, so I called out, “Slobodan, bring your glass. The Scotch will be waiting for you in the den.”