Red Jacket (13 page)

35

Copper Harbor

THURSDAY, JULY 3, 1913

For reasons he couldn't understand, Bapcat had not been able to get Enock Hannula out of his mind. Surely the iced deer he'd found were the Finn's, but something more gnawed at him. Also lingering in the back of his mind was Horri Harju's advice about making judgments between immediate and longer-term justice and returns.

Last night, Bapcat had parked the Ford at the hill house, said nothing to Zakov, took his pack and rifle, walked down to Allouez, and caught the electric north to Mandan. From there he walked down the hills toward town—not on the road, but through the woods, skirting his old stomping grounds. He spent the night alone outdoors, unbothered by mosquitoes, happy for the solitude. It had been a long time since he'd enjoyed such peace.

Widow Frei's store and Copper Harbor were decked in red, white, and blue bunting, and there were signs posted about a town picnic to be held on the grounds of old Fort Wilkins. Lots of people were in the village, and though Jaquelle Frei saw him when he came into her store, she didn't acknowledge him. He knew they couldn't talk until her customers had cleared out, so he went back outside into the sunshine, rolled a cigarette, and sat on a wooden chair on the porch.

When she finally emerged, the widow glared at him. “Come to your senses?”

“We need to talk.”

“I have been talking all morning, sir. Talk is the currency of commerce.”

“We need to talk about Enock Hannula.”

“
Pish
. I have no need of that. Justice will be done. It's your debt and fate that concern me, Mr. Bapcat.”

He saw several people passing by, all staring at him and the attractive widow. “Could we talk inside?”

“I prefer fresh air,” she said officiously.

“We arrested Hannula on certain charges relating to you, but he was also in possession of illegally killed deer.”

The woman laughed. “I care not about mere deer, Mr. Bapcat. My only concern is settling debts, keeping my business healthy, sailing ahead full steam into a bright and shining economic future.”

The way she poured out words made him dizzy. “Hannula is engaged in something bigger.”

She stared at him. “Such as?”

“He won't say.”

Widow Frei issued a burst of indistinct sound. “What is it you want here, sir? I have a picnic to attend, and little time for intellectual shilly-shallying.”

“Drop the charges against Hannula.”

Frei gasped dramatically and immediately slapped at him, but he grabbed her wrist and turned her aside, maintaining his grip. “Whoa.”

“You would surely ruin me, sir,” she said sharply.

“That's not my intention. You
know
that. But I need a way to bargain with Hannula.”

“And you think I should finance this questionable activity on your behalf?”

“I'm just trying to find a way, Jaquelle.”

She pulled her hand free and rubbed her wrist. “All right, let us step inside, and negotiate like civilized adults.”

“I appreciate this.”

“Do you?” she said, and went through the front door, talking over her shoulder. “Most men think women are too soft for the rigors of commerce,” she said as he stepped in behind her, only to have her turn around and press a small revolver to his midsection.

“A gut shot's a horrible wound,” she said. “It bleeds you slow from the inside and eventually kills you, but not until you have suffered excruciating pain. It's the same with debt,” she concluded, pulling the pistol aside and tucking it into a fold in her dress. “Are you asking me to gut-shoot myself thusly, to suicide my business, as it were, to undo all I've worked to build?”

“You know that's not what I want.”

“I know no such thing, sir, and I've seen neither hide nor other parts of you—especially certain other parts—going on fifty days. My dear Mr. Bapcat, I have labored under the impression that we have a subtle—but substantial—personal connection, a bond which our little debt-settling charade makes a truly delicious game. But fifty days, sir! Fifty! I swear, I am beginning to believe that I, who have unerring judgment in all things, have misled myself in this matter of the heart.”

What is she saying
? He was unable to respond, and suspected that anything he might say would only inflame her more.

“Thus, I conclude that I must put our relationship on a more-formal basis.”

“Actual money—”

“Lord in God's Heaven,” she said. “Your mental prowess makes me think your career in quasi–law enforcement will be short-lived. I certainly do
not
mean to terminate the form of payment. Rather, and quite to the contrary from your puny ways of thinking, I mean to formalize it, and put it on a rigid schedule, which will compel you to make regular deposits on account.”

“But—” he said.

She held up a forefinger. “In the matter of one Mr. Enock Hannula, I will inform my attorney to tell John Hepting that if Hannula will agree to repay a percentage of said debt, I will accept that as a finalized deal, and shall abide by it.”

“That's—”

“On the other hand,” she said, poking his chest, “I shall add the reduced portion of Hannula's debt onto yours, which I will then expect you to work off on a schedule I establish, and that you will adhere to with great diligence. Do you understand and agree?”

“You're going to get your money, one way or the other,” he lamented.

“I do not recall
mon père
,” she said, “only
ma chère maman
, and she always said to me, ‘Jaquelle,
jamais arriére.
'
You know these words?”

He shook his head.

“
Jamais arriére—
this means,
Never retreat.
You understand?”

“I'm sure your mama would be very proud,” he said.

“Do not attempt flattery, dear sir. I offer a contract to satisfy both of us. Accept or reject?”

He understood she was tightening her noose, which on the one hand he found constitutionally disagreeable, but on the other hand, it was a way to get what he thought he needed. Had it really been fifty days since they'd been alone together? Without understanding why, he felt an urge overtake him, and decided that as pressing and overwhelming as it seemed, it was not all that unpleasant. He looked at her and nodded.

“You accede, sir?”

“If that means yes, I guess so.”

She slid to him and rubbed his face gently. “You are a project, sir, but my heart insists you are a worthy one. Let us proceed upstairs forthwith.”

“What about your picnic?”

“They have watermelon and games. Our venue is here, our recreation of a more intimate kind.”

“How about I take on all of Hannula's debt and John lets him go free and clear?”

“Suit yourself,” she said, shaking her head.

36

Eagle River

MONDAY, JULY 7, 1913

John Hepting looked irritated when Bapcat showed up unannounced at the lawman's house.

“Bad weekend?” Bapcat asked. He had been at Jaquelle's since the third.

“Miners are voting on the strike,” Hepting said, “demanding a meeting with the operators. If the mine operators refuse, the strike will be on. There are notices in union halls everywhere.”

“Predictions?” Bapcat asked.

“No damn way the operators will meet, and if the miners go out, the operators will try to use the strike to break the union. This is going to be for all the marbles, and I'm thinking the miners are not in the position of strength.”

“Sounds like a lot of ifs.”

“Not ifs, Lute—just whens. What brings you here?”

“Hannula. I can't decide if he's lying about the deer.”

“Follow your hunches and intuition.”

“He doesn't strike me as the talking type.”

“Chilly says all the man thinks about is money.”

Jailer Taylor's nickname was Chilly. He'd once been a miner, but had lost a hand in an accident.

Bapcat looked at his friend and colleague. “Do you care whether the Hannula case goes to court?”

Hepting cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “What the widow wants would seem the more germane point to raise.”

“She and I have an agreement.”

Hepting gave a thin smile. “Big gamble for you. I hope it pays off.”

“You want to be there when I talk to Hannula?”

“To verify you're serious?”

Bapcat nodded.

“Okay, but I can't stand that self-righteous pig, so I might not stay the duration.”

Before going to the jail they stopped to visit Justice of the Peace Hyppio Plew to explain the plan and seek his support, which he willingly gave after listening to it. The air was still, heavy rain clouds looming north over Lake Superior.

They found Hannula in his cell, fanning himself with a hat.

“Visitor, Stumper,” Chilly Taylor shouted.

“There ain't but me in here,” Hannula grumped. “And I ain't blind.”

“Thought we might talk,” Bapcat said.

“Got tobacco?”

Sheriff Hepting gave the prisoner a pre-rolled smoke and a match.

Hannula exhaled smoke gaudily and waved a hand. “Talk.”

“You've got a lot of charges against you,” Bapcat began.

“Because of that whore,” Hannula complained.

“You want out of here, we can offer you a way. But if all you want to do is rant, forget it.”

Hannula's hands went up. “I'm listening.”

“I want the name of the person you were going to sell the deer to.”

“I only shot one,” the Finn retorted sharply.

Bapcat stood up and turned away.

“Wait!” Hannula yelped. “What do I
get?
”

“If you give me honest, verifiable information, all charges will be dropped and you'll be a free man.”

“Bail?”

“No bail. Released, free and clear.”

“Of everything?”

“All of it, lock, stock, and barrel, my charges included.”

Hannula looked at Hepting. “Is he serious?”

“He is.”

Hannula slumped on a bunk and shook his head. “You're asking a lot. What's the catch?”

“There's a lot at stake for you.”

“You don't understand,” the man said.

“Educate us,” Hepting said.

“It ain't that simple. Stuff goes on hereabouts that the law don't know nothing about.
Lots
of things.”

“Such as?” Bapcat asked.

“Certain captains you have to pay to get paid.”

“Or no work?” Bapcat said.

“That's how it is,” Hannula said.

“Everybody knows that,” Hepting said.

“You a union man?” Bapcat asked.

Hannula said, “No, some of the boys can get away with that. Others—well, a rock falls on their head, or they trip into a hole. Accidents happen underground every day. Nobody pays attention, or cares.”

“What do miners have to do with deer?” Bapcat asked, trying to steer the conversation.

“If there's a strike, some people won't have money to buy at company stores. But they'll still need to eat.”

“So you sell the deer to the strikers.”

“No, you don't understand. The deer don't go to nobody. They get left to rot and hunters get paid for each one they shoot.”

“Someone pays hunters to kill deer so others can't kill and eat them?”

“Right—three dollars a deer, which is a day's wage underground.”

“You have such an arrangement?”

“I was told to go out and do it, otherwise, no job underground anymore, no pay.”

“Why you?”

“I'm a good hunter is why, a real sure shot.”

“They have to see the deer to pay, or do they take your word?”

“Nobody takes my word. You show the heads to collect.”

“How long after you make the kills?”

“Soon as possible. I get the feeling they're keeping count.”

“Do they expect you to dispose of the carcasses?”

“No, they just don't want them used by others. In this weather, day or two, heat, wolves and eagles and little critters, the carcass is finished.”

“But yours were on ice,” Bapcat said.

“Waste not, want not. I'll use that meat.”

“What happens to the proving heads?” Hepting asked.

“They take them.”

“And dispose of them?”

“I ain't never asked that. Not my business.”

“Any idea where?”

“Heard there might be an old mine hole somewheres, and they dump 'em down that.”

“Which mine?” Hepting asked.

“Don't know, but I heard some mention of bats.”

“Which captain hired you?” Bapcat asked.

“Can't say. That's too much.”

Jailer Taylor said, “Shunk came by to see Stumper.”

“Tristan Shunk?” Hepting asked with obvious distaste.

“The one and only,” Taylor said.

Unfamiliar name. “Shunk?” Bapcat asked.

“Kearsarge man, topside captain, hard-nose even by Cousin Jack standards.”

“Your deer contact?” Bapcat asked Hannula. “You didn't tell us. We guessed.”

“We just know each other.”

“Cousin Jack captain and a squarehead trammer,” Hepting said. “That pairing's a little hard to swallow.”

“He ain't the one,” Hannula insisted.

“Shunk's dumb as a sack of rocks,” Jailer Taylor said. “Cap'n Hedyn pulls all of Shunk's strings.”

“Hedyn's not at Kearsarge,” Hepting said.

“That don't matter,” the jailer said. “All things here are run by Big Jim MacNaughton, and Madog Hedyn runs the show for MacNaughton.”

“Hedyn works for MacNaughton?” Bapcat asked.

“No, technically they got different employers. But Hedyn knew Big Jim when they was growing up in Calumet.”

“Hedyn's your deer man?” Bapcat asked Hannula, trying to sort out what he was hearing.

“I don't know,” the Finn said. “I really don't know.”

“What did Shunk want when he visited you?” Bapcat asked.

“Told me to keep my trap shut.”

“You tell him why you were arrested?”

“He already knew. I told him I'm innocent, that I'd be out soon.”

“You're a glorious optimist, Enock,” Hepting said.

“I don't know them words,” the Finn said. “Cap'n Shunk told me, ‘Do right and ye'll be taken care of.' ”

“Did he explain what he meant by ‘right'?” Hepting asked.

Hannula hung his head.

“Shunk the one who pays you?” the game warden asked.

“No, a Wop called Cornelio Mangione picks up the heads and pays.”

“How many have you killed so far?”

“Twenty, but I only been paid for fourteen.”

“Shunk ask if you have more?”

“The cap'n never mentioned deer when he visit.”

“Mangione one of Shunk's men?”

“Don't know.”

“You're not giving us enough,” Bapcat said.

“I give you everything I got.”

“How does Mangione get ahold of you?”

“Bar in Ahmeek, Golden Eagle. He comes in, asks how many beers I had, and I say. He writes down a time after my next shift, and he shows up out to my place and we take care of it.”

“At your house?”

“In the woods, not inside.”

“But you and Shunk never talked about deer,” Hepting repeated.

“No.”

“Shunk finds out about this, what happens to you?” Bapcat asked.

“Like I said—accident,” the miner said. “Fatal.”

“Will they smell something if you get released?” Bapcat wanted to know.

“I told Shunk I was gonna get out.”

Hepting looked over at Taylor. “Our story is that I'm not happy because our green-behind-the-ears game warden here made some mistakes and we ended up with no case against Hannula. We had to apologize and let him go. Make sure people hear it that way, Chilly.”

“Yessir, Sheriff. You can count on me.”

“You tell the same story to your wife,” Bapcat said to Hannula.

“Just like that?”

“No,” Bapcat said. “Go shoot more deer. When Mangione makes contact and sets a pay time, send me a message. You know Gipp, the ball player?”

“The big Kraut kid? Sure.”

“He drives a taxi in Red Jacket. Get word to him. Stephenson's Pool Hall.”

Hannula looked at the jailer. “Open the damn cage.”

Bapcat squeezed the Finn's arm when he stepped out. “Double-cross us and you'll end up the same way the others would have it.”

“Youse just be sure word don't get 'round I talked, or God help me, I'm a dead man.”

Chilly Taylor laughed. “You're a miner, Stumper. That's the same as dead. You just don't got a date on your death certificate.”

The Finn shuddered and left in a hurry.

“You trust him?” Hepting asked the game warden.

“Stakes are too high for him to not contact us.”

“I could try to put somebody on him.”

“I thought all your deputies were bad.”

“Chilly can do it.”

The jailer complained immediately. “I'm just a one-handed jailer, not no gun-totin' deputy.”

“That might have to change,” Hepting said.

“Let's try it this way first,” Bapcat said after weighing the options. “You're sure Shunk is Hedyn's man?”

“Common knowledge. It's also commonly assumed that MacNaughton and Hedyn have spies all around the place. Paid informants, everywhere.”

Hepting looked at the jailer. “You on their payroll, Chilly?”

Taylor held up his stump. “What do you think, boss?”