Red Jacket (11 page)

30

Eagle River

FRIDAY, JUNE 27, 1913

Gipp and Bapcat drove to John Hepting's house, which was across the road from the county courthouse and its one-cell jail. It was midmorning; it had rained all night, and the roads were all rough and pitted and slippery. But it had been dry in the traprock River country.

“Lute,” the sheriff said, opening the door.

Bapcat handed him the paper Vairo had written on. “Know what this means, John?”

“Where'd you get this?”

“That's not important.”

“Like hell it ain't. Any Italian says them words out loud pretty much signs his own death warrant.”

“Nobody said nothing. I found it.”

“I doubt that. It says ‘Black Hand.' ”

“What's it mean?”

“We ain't Italian, so we have to guess, but it seems to refer to an Italian organization that sort of keeps watch on other Italians.”

“Like police?”

“Not quite. They force every Italian to belong. You object, you get hurt or dead. Once you belong, the groups needs something, you fork it over and keep your mouth shut. If you need something, these people, they get it for you. It's like a series of continuous favors and obligations.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Byzantine, secret, complex, and deadly. No Italian dares talk about it.”

“The word
Lupara—
you heard that one?”

“Something to do with wolves, and how guinea wolfers used to refer to the sawed-off shotguns they use to kill wolves in traps. What's going on, Lute?”

Bapcat explained it all: bird sales, the glue sticks. He left Vairo out of the telling.

“You think Geronissi has himself a little business?”

“It feels like something more.”

“Couple of sticks and two words on paper aren't what a judge would call evidence, Lute.”

“I know. Has Widow Frei been here?”

“Was she supposed to?”

“Heard she might, is all.”

“Haven't seen her. You want to know if she does?”

“No, just curious.”

“Your mind sometimes wanders,” Hepting said.

“I know,” Bapcat said, wishing it didn't.

“You talk to Mayme Hannula?” the sheriff asked.

“She said Enock's getting ready for the strike, and that I should talk to the Laurium Ice Company.”

Hepting grunted. “Who?”

“Fella named Ogden. He wasn't real helpful.”

“A worm, that one,” Hepting said.

“Is the strike thing real?” Bapcat asked.

“All rumors say so.”

“You'd think the mine owners would want to stop it.”

“Yes, if they thought short-term profits were more important than crushing a union.”

“You mean they
want
a strike?”

“More like both sides want it.”

“Sounds like trouble.”

Hepting said, “Sounds more like war, and that's exactly what it could turn into. These miners are tough customers, but so are the operators, and they have resources . . .
deep
resources.”

“You ready for a strike?” Bapcat asked.

“Hell no, not even close. Most of my deputies aren't suited to breaking up dogfights, much less normal police work, never mind a strike that could blow up into a civil war.”

“What about Cruse?”

“Fat Jim's less competent than his men, but he's in the owners' pockets. Whatever they want, he makes sure they get, but he won't take any personal risks. You can bet on that.”

“Aren't we lawmen not supposed to take sides?” Bapcat asked.

“In theory. The practice is different,” Hepting said.

“Is that a joke, John?”

“Attempted. If your man Geronissi's in Cruse's county, you'll get no help from Cruse with whatever you plan. You're on your own.”

“Aren't we all?”

“Some more than others,” Hepting said, “Especially you game wardens. When you make your move there's likely to be nasty backlash. Change ain't welcome here unless the powers that be sanction it.”

“Meaning I should back away?”

“Didn't say that. Just know there's a lot goes on around here that's not strictly by Hoyle. Most of your laws have never been enforced around here. It will be a rough adjustment for a lot of people who don't like change they don't pick.”

“But I can count on you?”

“Me, certainly. My men, not a chance. You want some lunch?”

“Thanks. I sort of lost my appetite.”

31

Traprock River

SUNDAY, JUNE 29, 1913

Horri Harju had a hard-to-decipher look, and deputy warden Aldrick Tassone looked half asleep as they dragged into the cabin on Bumbletown Hill. Bapcat suspected trouble from the illegal birders, and had telegraphed Harju for advice. Instead of advice, Harju and Tassone had shown up yesterday.

The three game wardens left Gipp at the cabin with Zakov, and headed southeast long before sunrise.

Bapcat picked a new location to hide the Ford and the three walked briskly cross-country to the river through black spruce swamp and hardwood forests, staying way clear of the road bridge over the river. Tassone had explained the night before how he had engaged songbird hunters in the Ishpeming area, but that time the hunters had carried shotguns and made drives through heavy bird areas to flush the quarry to shooters on stands. Glue sticks were new to Tassone, who admitted he had been hired in part because he spoke Italian and could deal with the large Italian population in Marquette County. “Some of the Wops, I heard them talk about lime sticks, but I never knew what they meant,” he said. “Maybe these?”

Tassone had been a deputy warden for three years and seemed pleased to come along with Harju to help.

At the river, which angled northeast, Bapcat left Harju and Tassone on the east bank, made his way down the rocky wall to the river bottom, and crossed the river to find the area he and George had seen Thursday. It didn't take long to locate the spot and get back to the others, who were waiting on the riverbank. Last night Bapcat had visited Vairo, who told him reluctantly that Geronissi had been in again. Geronissi had suggested the saloon owner place another order before the birds dispersed more than they already had, forcing the hunter and his people to the mode they called
caccia vagrante
, which Vairo translated as wandering the woods with a shotgun.

“Geronissi says I get the birds fresh Sunday afternoon,” Vairo explained. “They always work mornings, first light.”

“You placed the order?”

“Would look bad, I didn't.
Capisce?
”

The first thing the wardens noticed were birds skittering nervously through the trees. Only a few, but clearly spooked. Very quickly they heard some sort of tinny pounding, and hundreds upon hundreds of birds swarmed through the trees and shrubs, endlessly fleeing the noise. Bapcat could hear the birds' wings hitting leaves as they fled, and when they got tired and landed on lime sticks he could hear them begin the frantic sounds of entrapment as they struggled without hope to free themselves from the glue.

Over the next thirty minutes they heard human voices and saw men in the wake of the fleeing birds. They watched as they picked frantic birds off the glue sticks, squeezed their heads with a crisp snapping sound, and dropped them into cloth bags they carried.

Harju touched Bapcat's arm and nodded. “Follow them?”

Bapcat nudged Tassone. “There's a clear area south of us. Stay on this bank, and work your way south. If you see them gathering, cross the river; if they don't gather, keep going until you hit the road and the bridge. We'll follow and flank them on the other side.”

Tassone nodded once and slid away. Bapcat and Harju crossed the gravelly river and angled into the brush. Harju kept on the man they had watched. Bapcat angled west before turning south, and soon saw men ahead of him passing a wine skin back and forth. All of them carried shotguns slung across their backs. Three of them stopped to strip birds off capture sticks and drop them in burlap sacks, all the time talking softly and animatedly, laughing, nudging each other.

As the terrain began to open up Bapcat saw more men, as many as twenty.

Harju looked over at him and Bapcat hand-signaled that they should sit down.
Three against twenty, all of them armed, most of them drinking—not the best situation.
Bapcat assumed Geronissi was somewhere in the group, and though all the men were involved in the hunt, he had in mind that Geronissi was the boss and organizer, the man in charge.

Bapcat tried to think. They were at least six miles from Allouez, eleven or twelve from Swedetown where Geronissi lived. It would be safer to confront the leader when he was alone, but the truck was at least a mile away, and it was a two-man job to start the damn thing.
Bad planning
, he chastised himself. An option was to intercept Geronissi at Vairo's saloon, but that might implicate his friend and reduce the number of birds he could charge Geronissi with.
Better confront them here with the full take in their possession
. Harju and Tassone were here and ready. The course was clear: It was time to act.

Bapcat waved Harju left to the river and signaled he would move right to the edge of the river plain and keep moving south. He assumed Tassone had seen the hunters congregate and had crossed to this side of the river.

The group eventually emerged into a clearing. They showed no anxiety, seemed quite relaxed—like getting birds was as easy as collecting eggs from a chicken coop.

Bapcat saw a line of tag alders that reached close to the gathering and slid his way through as quickly and quietly as he could manage, now and then pausing to see what was happening in the clearing, where more men continued to filter in and gather. They were piling their cloth bags on the ground. Standing next to the pile was Bruno Geronissi, gesturing animatedly with a black cheroot in hand, a prince holding court.

Reaching the end of his cover, Bapcat unslung his rifle, quietly slid a round into the chamber, and walked quickly to Geronissi before anyone could react. As he moved, he saw Harju and Tassone converging from the south side.

“Bruno Geronissi, you're under arrest for illegally killing songbirds.” Bapcat firmly grasped the man's arm to signify arrest. Geronissi leered at him.

“Who are
you?
” the man asked.

“Deputy State Game, Fish and Forestry Warden.”

“I don't hear no fucking nothing about birds in them words.”

“Trust me, Bruno. It's there.”

Harju moved close to the main gathering and Tassone hung back. “I want every shotgun on the ground right here!” Harju ordered, pointing. “Do it slowly, one at a time. When your weapon is on the ground, step back and put your hands on your head. Now!”

The men all looked at Geronissi, who nodded when Bapcat nudged the leader's chest with his Krag to start the process. Geronissi complied meekly and the others followed suit.

“This here's okay, boys,” Geronissi said theatrically, putting his hands on his head. “Just a little misunderstanding. There no need you game wardens do this thing. All legal, by the book, you Americans say,
si?
”

“Legal?” Bapcat said.

“Law, she don't apply to guys collect birds for
prelievo
, take for science,
si?
”

“
Si, si, raccogliendo raccoglundo campioni scientifici,
” someone shouted.

Geronissi said confidently, “What we do here perfect legal,
Quello che stiamo facendo qui, so perfettamente legale
.”

A man growled, “
Non potete arrestore perquesto!
”

Bapcat said, “Tell your people to shut up!”

All talk stopped.

“We're confiscating the birds and taking you up to the JP in Copper City.”

“You waste your time,” Geronissi said. “How much your damn fine?
Quanto e al tuo bene maledetto?
”

“Five dollars a bird,” Bapcat said. The forest became still and silent, the words met with a collective gulp.

“
Malle detto qioco operai!
” one of them shouted angrily.

Another man asked, “
A vete sentito della Mano Nera?
”

Mano Nera
. Bapcat knew these words, which were never to be spoken aloud, but they
had
been spoken and everyone had heard them and stiffened like statues.

Deputy Tassone said, “These fellas aren't so pleased with us.”

“So I gather,” Bapcat said.

“
Questa dovrebbe essere una terr ade leggi, noni vero?
This is supposed to be country of laws, no?” Geronissi said, quickly piling English onto Italian.

“It is, and it's against the law to kill these birds.”

“For science,” Geronissi said, nearly hissing the words. “Is okay for science.”

“Tell it to the justice of the peace,” Bapcat said.

“
Ella, dichiara di puttane
,” the man closest to Geronissi said through clenched teeth. “
Figlio de una cagna!
”

Tassone laughed. “He says we're state whores and you are a son of a bitch.”

“The second part would be accurate if he called me a bastard,” Bapcat said.

Tassone translated, and all the men, including Geronissi, laughed.

“
Senzai fucili il sino fighe,
” Geronissi said.

Tassone put his shotgun on the ground and used his hands to invite Geronissi forward. “He says without guns, we are cunts.”

Bapcat held up his hands. “Back off.”

“I must protest,” an exasperated Geronissi said.

“Your choice, your right—but first you are going to carry all the birds out to the road.”

“Too many,” the leader protested.

“Jesus bore his cross; consider the birds yours. Make as many trips as you have to. Deputy Tassone will accompany you.”

“I am scientist,” Geronissi, said, “
il dottore!
”

Tassone growled, “We don't care if you're da Vinci or the last Doge of Venice. Tell your men to sit on the ground and keep their damn hands on their heads.
Subito!
”

Geronissi mumbled some words and his men sat. When Geronissi had finished moving the birds, they made him carry all the shotguns. Harju picked up cartridges and put them in his kit bag.

“We'll count the birds out on the road,” Bapcat said.

When the count was complete they had 224 birds, more than a thousand dollars in fines. Bapcat hoped the JP would levy all of it and not turn soft.

Bapcat stayed with the main group of prisoners, and Harju and Tassone went to fetch the Ford. When they got back, they loaded the guns and birds and lined up the prisoners in front of the vehicle. Bapcat said to Geronissi, “
Harch, il dottore!
”

Bapcat noticed several men smiling at this.

He made them march to Copper City a couple of miles from the arrest site, and by the time they reached town they had collected a large group of onlookers who yelled all sorts of insults at the Italians, who yelled back vociferously at their tormentors. Was this a large enough splash to announce his job? Word of mouth would carry the news all over the Copper Country, and beyond.

Justice of the Peace Alley Pahl came out of his office to look at the prisoners. “Bail 'em?” he asked Bapcat.

“Two hundred and twenty-four birds at five dollars each. That pushes it to felony level.”

“Okay, then, I set bail for the leader, release the rest on their promise to show in court; that okay with you, Deputy?”

“Nossir. None of them will confess to any birds, and the main man here claims they're collecting them for science. I want them all on bail. That only seems fair.”

“You're a hard case, eh, son?” the JP said. “It's Sunday, and I got no time for these piles of Wop-crap. Bail for the lead man, and the rest can go.” Pahl barked at the Italians: “Listen up. Arraignment at ten tomorrow morning in Ahmeek. You all better be there, Johnny on the spot, or we get warrants for all of you.
Capisce?
”

“You got their names and addresses?” Pahl asked Bapcat. Tassone held up the list he had made and translated the JP's words. The men nodded and dispersed.

“I am
dottore
,” Geronissi tried on the JP.

“You can tell me all about it tomorrow,
Dottore;
now step inside and let's see what kind of bail you can come up with. Some folks go to church on Sundays, not out killing pretty little singing birds and drinking wine.”

Bapcat smiled inwardly, looked at Harju. “This the sort of public splash you had in mind?”