"I got it someplace safe, and it's gonna stay there until this bullshit is all over with. Don't worry, I'm gonna take care of you. I'll make sure you get yours." I should have phrased that in a different waythat was almost what he had told those three guys that wound up in the Dumpster. "What did you tell those two Russian assholes?"
"What could I do, Mo? I tol' them you had it."
"You prick. Why the hell you do that?"
"Mo, you don' know what they do to me. They fuck me up good, Mo. I thought I was gonna die. What was I suppose to do?"
"All right, forget it."
Below us, the Russian's light started up the hill, slowly weaving back and forth as it came. "You might live to spend your money yet. That guy is following the blood trail. We should be able to stay ahead of him, though, as long as neither one of us passes out. You ready?"
"No, man, I'm not. Less go."
* * *
I can't tell you a hell of a lot about that trip back through the woods. What I remember is that it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life. Rosey did pass out a couple of times, and I had to get him up on my back and across my good shoulder to keep going. I kept seeing the Russian's light now and then, but it got weaker and weaker, finally I didn't see it anymore. My guess was that his batteries went dead. I also remember thinking about giving up, I'm not proud of it but it did cross my mind, you know, find a nice, comfortable place to lie down, rip that bandage off and let it all go. I didn't do it, though. What kept me going was Nicky, just the idea of him, you know, and that I wanted to see him again, I wanted to watch him brush his teeth in the morning, I wanted to feel him put his arms around me, and like that. I'm pretty sure I cried about it, but it was dark out, and Rosey and I were both covered with blood and dirt and shit, so it didn't matter.
Brother, it was forever before we hit that fucking dirt road. I laid Rosey down in the weeds and sat down beside him. I was starting to get light-headed, and it took me a while to figure out if I had to go left or right to find the Subaru. I thought about laying down next to Rosey for a nap, but something told me I better not, if I did that it might be the whole ball game, so I got up and trudged off in search of the car. And it was a bitch of a long way off, too, I guess I'd gotten careless with the compass, and there are some days when you just can't catch a break. I had begun to doubt myself, wondering if I'd fucked up and picked the wrong direction. In fact, I was seriously considering whether or not I should turn back, go looking in the other direction, when I finally saw those oak trees in the early predawn gloom, the Subaru parked underneath them.
I had some candy bars and some Poland Spring water under the seat. I ate two of the candy bars, drank some warm bottled water, and I got going. I almost forgot Rosario, believe it or not, I almost turned in the wrong direction. I didn't, but I did realize that my head wasn't working right. I drove, one-armed, back to where I'd left him. He came out of it long enough to help me get his ass belted into the passenger seat. It was a good thing he did, because unconscious, he was like a two-hundred-fifty-pound bag of shit. I don't know if I could have done it by myself. Rosey's a big guy, bigger than me, and he barely fit.
I remember driving back down that dirt road, I remember nodding off and jerking back awake, the fear bringing me back around for a while, I remember driving past that tackle shop in Grand Lake Stream, all closed up and dark. The last thing I remember is cracking the Subaru into one of those big pine trees in front of Mrs. Johnson's house, and then everything went black.
Seven
I CAME TO IN A ROOM painted pastel green. The place had that unmistakable hospital air about it, the sharp tang of disinfectant, the muffled downcast voices of relatives waiting on the sick and the dying. My left arm was swathed in bandages, and a tube ran from the inside of my wrist up to a bottle of clear liquid hanging on a stainless-steel rack. The sun was pouring through a big window. Chris Johnson's mother was sitting in a chair next to the window, reading a book. When she heard me stirring, she marked her spot with a finger and looked up.
"Coyote," she said, a look of amusement dancing across her round face. "How are you feeling?"
"Like shit," I told her, and I tried to sit up. I was surprised at how much effort it took. Inside my head, I felt that wild, dancing elationI made it, I did it again, but that was tempered with the shock of being so weak. "Damn," I said. "Where am I at?"
"Calais hospital," she said.
"How long have I been out?"
"Two days."
"Oh, Jesus." I'd left Nicky with Louis and Eleanor, and all three of them were bound to be worried about me by now, but at least Nicky was out of harm's way. "Does Bookman know I'm in here?"
"I don't know," she said, shrugging. "I didn't tell him."
"What about the doctor? Don't doctors have to report gunshot wounds to the cops?"
"What gunshot wound? You were in an accident, Coyote, and you cut your arm. Your friend broke some ribs. That's the official story." She smiled. "You shouldn't drive when you're that tired."
"You hear anything about the two Russians?"
"I don't know anything about any Russians," she said. "I do know some poor man was lost up in the woods, got bit up something wicked by mosquitoes, no-see-ums, blackflies, and so on. Looked like a pincushion, they tell me, face and arms got all swelled up. He got disgusted, went on back where he come from. Some other guy fell down and hit his head on a rock, got a concussion. He isn't fit to travel yet because he's still seeing two of everything." She stood up, put her book facedown on the chair. "I better go tell someone you're awake. Don't go anywhere, okay?"
"Yeah, okay. What kind of shape is the Subaru in?"
She shook her head. "Done for. My cousin towed it to the junkyard."
"Damn." I looked around my bed. "Don't they have any phones in this place?"
I could see amusement in her bland expression. "You have to pay extra for that."
"Oh, great. Is my phone in here somewhere?"
"Your stuff from the little truck is all here in a bag." She reached into a cloth bag on the floor next to her chair, pulled out the rock with the M-80 still taped to it. "Except for this. That cannon you had is still in your vest pocket."
"That rock with the M-80 taped to it was a diversion. I took the pistol away from that guy who hit his head on the rock."
"I wasn't worried about the gun," she said. "The only person who seems to have gotten shot is you."
"Funny how that works. Anyway, what I need right now is the phone."
"All right." There was a large paper bag, the kind they use in grocery stores, in the closet. She fished around in it. "One cell phone," she said, pulling it out. "Here you go. I'll be right back."
* * *
There was no answer at the Averys' house. I dialed the number twice, listened to it ringing for a minute or so each time with no result. I felt a pang at the pit of my stomach. Don't worry, I told myself. Maybe Louis is working, maybe Eleanor and Nicky are in the barn looking at the horse. Maybe they went for a walk. Maybe they're working in the garden.
I couldn't buy it, though, I couldn't see Eleanor going outdoors without a damn good reason. Plus, I had been missing for a couple of days. Wouldn't they be worried? Wouldn't Nicky be driving them crazy, asking them every five minutes when I was coming back? I tried their number again, waited a longer time, picturing in my mind someone who could hear the phone ringing but could not, for some horrible reason, get to it. Eleanor, tied to a chair the way Rosey had been.
Shit.
I checked the voice mail, found I had one message from Buchanan, back in New York, and two from Bookman. Buchanan could wait, and I didn't want to talk to Bookman until I found Nicky and the Averys. I always had the feeling that I was on thin ice with Bookman, and I didn't want to make it any worse than it was. Gevier lived right next door to the Averys, and I was sure he would know what was going on. The phone number for his garage was stored in my phone's memory. He answered on the sixth ring, out of breath.
"Gevier, this is Manny. There's nobody home at Louis's house. Do you know what happened to them?"
"Well," he said, "Louis is resting comfortable."
"What are you talking about?"
"He's in jail. Bookman locked him up for drunk and disorderly, assault with a deadly weapon, who knows what else."
"Are you kidding me? Louis, assault? Holy shit! What the hell happened? Where are Nicky and Eleanor?"
"Well, Louis took Eleanor down to Machias to see the doctor, and the doctor put her in the hospital. He come back without her, and he's been drunk ever since. He went into the VFW but they wouldn't serve him on account of he was already loaded, so he went out to his truck, come back inside with his chain saw, and cut the bar in half."
"Oh, fuck me. Did he have Nicky with him?"
"Yep. Louis put a nice straight kerf in that bar, top to bottom, right through the glass top and all. Set the saw down on the bar, said, 'Give me a bourbon.' And, by God, they did."
"When did this happen?"
"Night before last."
"Oh, shit. What happened to Nicky?"
"You know, I'm not sure. You'd have to ask Bookman, he was the one that arrested Louis."
Great. "Anybody make bail?"
"Well, you know, I think his old partner Hobart was going to, but Bookman talked him out of it. Thought he might be better off inside there for a few days."
"Jesus Christ." My stomach rolled over. "I gotta find my kid." I remembered that I had smacked up Hobart's Subaru and was currently without wheels. "Listen, Gevier, did you ever finish fixing my van?"
"Be done in a half hour," he said. "I had to come out from under to answer the phone."
"Sorry. What would you charge me to tow that van up here and leave it in the hospital parking lot in Calais? Could you do that tonight?"
"Yeah, sure. It would take me a couple hours. Figure an extra fifty bucks."
"Great. Do that for me, will you? Leave it unlocked, stick the keys under the passenger-side floor mat."
"All right," he said. "Good enough. I'll put my bill on the driver's seat. Why don't you stop down the house and pay Edwina."
"She in charge of the money?"
"She's in charge of everything," Gevier said. "It's her world. You and me, we're just visiting."
* * *
I laid there with that telephone in my hand, thinking about all the terrible things that my mind was telling me had happened to Nicky while I was out of it, and all the terrible things that were going to happen when I talked to Bookman. I was past worrying what Bookman thought about me, except that, if his opinion got low enough, he might make it tough for me to get Nicky back. I felt like throwing up, but I had to call him anyway. I dialed his office number.
"Sheriff Bookman is not in," the lady told me. "May I take a message?"
"Not in?" You gotta be kidding me. "What do you mean he's not in? I have to talk to him. Is he home? Do you have his home number?"
"I'm afraid I'm not allowed to give that out, sir
."
"Oh, man. Listen, I have to talk to him, and he's definitely gonna want to talk to me, I promise you."
"Maybe I could take your number, sir. I'll try to get in touch with him and let him call you back. Would that be all right?"
It sounded like the best deal I was going to get, at least from her. "Sure. My name is Manny Williams." I gave her my cell number. I hung up, then listened to the two voice mails Bookman had left for me. He hadn't said much, just dryly wondered where I might be, left his office number. I could probably get his home number from Gevier, and I was about to do that when the phone rang.
It was Bookman. "I 'magine you want to talk to yaw son," he said.
"Yeah! Is he there?"
"Nope."
"C'mon, Bookman, what are you doing to me? Why you torturing me like this?"
"That's what you done to him," Bookman said calmly. "Three days now, the poor little kid don't heah from his fahthah, sleeping all by himself in a strange bed
."
"It ain't my fault, Bookman, I just woke up a half hour ago. One of those Russians creased me with a slug a couple nights back. I was out for two days. I left Nicky with Louis and Eleanor, I thought I was going to be back later that same night. What are you talking about, a strange bed? What the hell did you do with him?"
"When I put Louis in jail for being a drunk pain in my ass, he had yoah boy in the truck with him," he said. "The Maine Depahtment of Human Services is responsible"
"Oh, Jesus Christ! Bookman, what did you do?" That was all I needed. "The Maine Department of what?" I'd already stolen him once, now I could picture myself having to do it all over again, and a kid disappearing in Maine was sure to draw more attention than one that went missing in Bushwick. "Fuck me, Bookman! Why don't you just fucking shoot me? Why don't you"