Windigo fire, p.27
Windigo Fire, page 27
“The crystal is worth millions. Throwing it away won’t bring Curtis back,” Santa said. “Millions! Do you hear that, Danny? Millions. Come on, be a sport. We’ll split it three ways.”
“No way,” Danny said.
“The little rat wants it for himself,” Hendrix said, still aiming.
Danny leaned the pack so far over the opening of the shaft that his arms shook from the weight. “Get out of here, both of you, or I let go.”
“For heaven’s sake, Danny, now you’re being a complete bloody idiot,” Santa said. “You’re holding a fortune. It’s more money than you and your entire monkey town will see in three lifetimes. Don’t be insane, Mate.”
“Hey, I’m just a banjo-playing native from Red Dog Lake. What do I know?” Danny retorted.
“You know you don’t have a choice,” Hendrix said.
Danny stared at him. “Yeah, Demon, I do.”
He let go the straps.
“NO!” Santa screamed in furious disbelief.
The pack crashed down the mine shaft. Echoing, banging. Faded out of the range of hearing.
Danny felt calm now. He felt ready.
He faced Hendrix. Stared into the small dark hole at the end of the gun.
Maybe I’ll see Odile again. Maybe Rachel, too.
A huge noise exploded through the tower.
The red star on Hendrix’s forehead burst open. A fountain of blood poured over his white face. For a moment he seemed to be wavering in indecision.
Then he slowly toppled into the dust.
Santa made a strange mewling sound. “Oh God. Oh my God, what’s happened? My God, my God …”
A tall figure staggered in from the corridor. A tall figure wearing a battered cowboy hat.
“Logan!” Danny screamed.
Blood soaked Logan’s denim shirt. He was deathly pale, barely able to stand. He lowered his smoking rifle. “You OK, Kid?” he breathed.
“Yes, yeah.” Danny felt his chest with numb hands. I’m alive, I’m still alive.
“What have you done?” Santa collapsed on his hands and knees next to Hendrix. “You killed him. You killed Charlie.”
“Damn right.” Logan reached down and jerked the rye bottle out of Santa’s fist. He wiped the neck on his shirt and took a deep swallow.
“Logan!” Danny stumbled away from the shaft. “I thought you were dead, man. I thought Hendrix killed you.” He limped over and threw his arms around Logan’s thin frame in a fierce hug.
“He tried. One side, Kid.” Logan pushed Danny away, shoved the bottle into his hands and aimed the Winchester at Santa.
Santa was on his knees. “No, please, don’t kill me.”
“You hurt Flag,” Logan said. “I heard you. You hurt her and you’re going to die.”
“No, no, I swear I didn’t touch her,” Santa shrieked. “She started screaming she was a ninja. She kicked me in the leg. The little wretch knows how to drive a Prius. She got away from me.”
Danny seized Logan’s arm. “John, wait, I think he’s telling the truth for once. Rachel … Flag … knows how to drive. She told me her dad taught her when he worked at the body shop.”
“I am telling the truth,” Santa pleaded. “Danny, please, make him understand.”
“You murdered my bear. Pasha was worth ten of you,” Logan said. His rifle didn’t waver.
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I needed Pasha to guard the operation. But the money. I’m weak, I’m the first person to admit it. Please, for heaven’s sake …”
In the distance, the faint whine of a police siren.
“John, hear that?” Danny said above the noise of Santa’s sobs.
“I think it’s the cops.”
He strained to hear the siren again.
“Listen to me, John. Santa wasn’t lying. Rachel got through to the highway. She’s bringing the cops. John, please, leave Santa for the cops. Flag is all right. She’s safe.”
Logan stared at him.
“Flag is all right,” Danny repeated. “We have to get you to a hospital.”
“Forget it. He’s the rot at the heart of this mess,” Logan said. “Pasha’s dead. I have to kill him.”
“John, don’t do it,” Danny said. “He’s a crook and liar. He’s not worth going to jail for. Too many people have died. Don’t throw your life away.” He heard a trickling sound. A rank odour of urine overpowered the wood smoke.
“Oh, hell, I’ve wet myself,” Santa cried.
Slowly Logan lowered the rifle.
“Oh, thank you,” Santa sobbed. “Bless you, Danny. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“Oh, shut it,” Danny said. He seized Logan’s arm. “Come on, leave him. We have to get out of here.”
“Gotta deal with something first.” Logan handed his rifle to Danny who took it and set the rye bottle down on the ground. Kicking Hendrix’s rifle aside, Logan grabbed the dead man by the arms and dragged his body over to the mine shaft.
“What are you doing?” Danny said. “We’re running out of time. Leave Hendrix. He’s dead.”
Logan rolled Hendrix’s body over. Hendrix’s limbs spasmed. His eyes rolled sightlessly.
“He’s alive,” Santa whimpered. “Charlie’s still alive.”
“Not for long.” Logan heaved Hendrix’s torso over the lip of the shaft.
“John, no!” Danny hobbled toward Logan, but his throbbing knee crippled him.
Logan seized Hendrix’s legs and shovelled him headfirst into the shaft. The thumps of his fall echoed endlessly.
“Murderer!” Santa shrieked.
He crawled like a deranged crab toward Hendrix’s fallen gun, but Danny was faster. As Santa scrabbled to get hold of it, Danny crunched his undamaged foot down on the older man’s wrist.
Santa yelled in outrage.
Danny wrenched Hendrix’s gun away from him. One gun in each fist, he kicked Santa’s bandaged thigh to make sure he’d stay down.
A helicopter rotor thumped loudly overhead. Danny heard it pass over the mine building and head west over the tailings pond. He prayed it was the rescue copter dispatched to look for Ricky.
“Come on, John, it’s the cavalry,” Danny said. “We’ve gotta get out so the cops can see us.”
“OK,” Logan grunted in reply. He limped back, picked up the rye and snatched the Winchester from Danny.
Danny threw Logan’s arm over his shoulder, holding him upright. Together they stumbled down the passageway back into the mill.
“Where are you going?” Santa demanded. “What the hell! You’re leaving me. You’re leaving me to burn. Come back here. I need help.”
“Shut up. Find your own way out,” Danny called back.
Together he and Logan groped their way down to the door Danny had found earlier, the one that looked south onto the van.
A wall of furnace heat struck them when they stepped outside. Flames circled the tailings pond. Trees bent like charred matchsticks in a scarlet gale. The smoke was a thick black fog. Embers were landing on the old mill building. It would go up in a matter of minutes.
Where the hell was that police car?
“Gotta... gotta sit down,” Logan gasped. “Can’t … breathe.” “The heat … get behind the van,” Danny coughed back.
They struggled over to the VW, but it barely shielded them from the intense heat. Danny tossed Hendrix’s gun into the van through the open cargo door and eased Logan down onto the ground on the side away from the fire.
Leaning back against the rear tire, Logan took a long swallow from the rye bottle. A flock of birds passed over them, crying out in panic.
“Hear that? The animals are leaving,” he said. “Won’t be long now.”
“We’ll make it. The cops’ll be coming down the mine road any minute,” Danny said to convince himself as much as Logan.
Logan took another deep swallow. “Tell me how she died, Kid.”
“Rachel’s fine.” She has to be.
“Not Flag. She’s too smart to let that sorry rat get her. You know who I’m talking about.”
“John, I …” He had to face this, he had no choice. “I swear on Odile’s heart and spirit. I didn’t know the bear was going to be Pasha.”
Logan stared down at the bottle.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me. I don’t deserve that.”
Logan bent his head. “Answer my question, Son.”
“Like a hero. Pasha died like a hero.”
“The truth now.” His brilliant blue eyes bored into Danny’s. “Did she suffer?”
“The hunt … it was over real fast. The hunters … all they cared about was getting back to drinking. Pasha didn’t feel a thing.”
They both knew he was lying.
Logan took another drink. He stood up and gazed down at the cauldron of smoke covering the tailings pond. “See that? Pasha’s come to get me,” he said.
“That’s not Pasha, John.”
“Yes, it is. I’m leaving now. The train’s arrived at the station and I’m getting on board.” Logan started walking away from him, the Winchester in one hand, the rye bottle in the other. “Don’t try to stop me.”
Danny grabbed his arm. “I won’t let you walk into the fire, John. That’s insane. You’re family, you’re one of us. The cops won’t do anything to you. Hendrix shot you, he was going to kill me. It was self-defence.”
“I enjoy killing sometimes.” Logan smiled at the flames. “Violence burns inside me. I grew up nourished on hate and hellfire. Pounded into me from the day I was born. Good people tried to help me, and all I did was cause them a world of pain and ruin their lives. I’m dangerous. I should have stayed in the military. I’m a bad man, Danny.”
“That’s not true.”
“Sorry, Kid, it’s not in your nature to understand a man like me.”
Danny felt hollow; the smoke burned his eyes. “You killed them, didn’t you? You killed the hunters on the island.”
“Yes,” Logan said. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”
“You knew you’d find me here at the Archangel Mine. You came looking for me because you knew I was still alive. Why didn’t you kill me, too, on Fire Island?”
“Because of Odile. She’s a saint and she loves you, God help her. I’d never hurt Odile. And Flag liked you.”
It all made horrible sense, Danny thought. Hendrix had called Logan an old soldier: he’d been a commando in Vietnam; he had the training to kill Morty, Anderson and Curtis quickly and quietly. That’s why Ricky hadn’t heard anything out in the forest. And Logan had been too smart and careful to hunt for him in the dark. It spoke of a terrible premeditation.
“Who told you we were on Fire Island?” Danny asked.
“Charmaine did. Santa likes to talk big in bed.”
“Did you fly out in Santa’s Twin Beech?”
“No, I borrowed Corazon’s Piper Cherokee: that way they wouldn’t suspect me when they saw me land. Knew Corazon flew them in. Heard that Morty character talking on his cellphone outside the Galaxy.” Logan rubbed his face. “I’m going now.”
“John, look, we’ll explain to the cops. I’ll get you help.”
“You can’t help me. Nobody can.”
Logan pushed him away. He left the van and started trudging down the hill that led to the tailings pond. Danny limped after him. The heat blistered his skin and tore at his lungs.
“I won’t stand by and watch you kill yourself,” he cried.
Logan shook his head. “Don’t try to stop me. If you do, I’ll kill you.”
Danny stepped back, knowing he meant it.
“I told you I was evil. Give me the freedom to do this my way. That’s the way you can help me.”
He forged down the hill, not feeling the fire, though Danny could feel it singeing every cell of his body. The siren sounded close now. He turned and caught the red flash of a police cruiser at the point where the mine road gave onto the mud flats surrounding the mill.
Logan was already halfway down the slope.
“John, come back up. The cops are here,” Danny shouted.
Logan paused for a moment. “There’s a letter. In the glove compartment of the VW,” he said. “I’ve left the zoo and the land to Odile and Flag. It’s worth maybe two bucks but it’s all I got and I want them to have it. If they’re gone, well, who gives a damn what happens to it.”
The siren cut off. Danny saw the police cruiser shoot out of the trees, bumping across the barren ground toward him. It skidded to a halt close to the smouldering mine building.
The cruiser’s doors flew open. Sergeant McKenna got out. She was wearing her navy OPP uniform and black bulletproof vest. Rachel jumped out the passenger side. She tried to race toward Danny, but McKenna nabbed her and held her back against the heat of the fire.
Danny felt relief crash through him. Rachel was safe.
“Danny, get over here,” McKenna cried. “The whole mine is going up any minute.”
“Logan!” he called down. “Rachel … Flag is OK. She’s here. She’s with McKenna in the cop car.”
“Danny,” Rachel yelled out to him. “Odile’s OK. She’s back at Blue Sky. Sergeant McKenna found her.”
“Logan, did you hear Flag? Odile is OK.”
Logan stopped and smiled, the smoke curling around him.
“Yeah, I heard,” he said. “That’s good. Do me a favour, Kid.” “Anything. Just come back up.”
“Don’t tell Flag. Promise me whatever happens you won’t tell
Flag.”
“I promise. Now come home.”
“No.” Logan shook his head. “I am going home now.”
He turned and vanished into the smoke.
42
“HEY, SPORTS FANS! IT’S KARAOKE STRIP BENEFIT NIGHT!” the lead singer of Black Thunder screamed into the mike. “Here’s George Thorogood. Come on, you buggers, Get A Haircut.”
“And get a real job,” the audience roared back.
The band began pounding out the classic Thorogood favourite.
Danny had never seen the Galaxy Tavern so jammed. Seemed like the entire population of Red Dog Lake had turned up to raise money for Edgar’s bail. Didn’t matter that nearly everyone was back on pogey, now that the cops had closed down Santa’s Fish Camp and Camp Nirvana.
Danny, too, was collecting.
“Hey, Danny boy.” Ricky – Special Agent Thomas Rudd – punched his arm. “Come on, wake up and drink up or you’re gonna be playing catch-up with me all night.” With his shaved head and black muscle shirt, he blended right in with the Red Dog Lake crowd.
Danny sighed and finished off his bottle of Brador beer. Corazon had reserved a prime table for him and Ricky. They sat squashed up against the stage, close enough to count the sequins on the costumes of the amateur strippers. No doubt this tantalizing proximity was fuelling Ricky’s excellent spirits. The free beer and bourbon Corazon had sent over from the bar certainly helped too.
Despite the heavy silver medical bracelet that clanked against the Rolex on his wrist, Ricky looked well for a man who’d been airlifted half-dead out of the bush just four weeks before. McKenna had fought hard to free up a rescue copter from the Malartic disaster after getting Corazon’s radio report, but it took the crew nearly eighteen hours to find Ricky. Luckily the thunderstorms held back the forest fire; Ricky’s tough physique had done the rest.
Ricky leaned across the table to make himself heard over the noise. “Weird to be sitting here raising bail for Santa’s dirty little helper. Ironic, a college type like you would say.” He cracked open a can of Budweiser. “Hey, what can I say? Corazon talked me into it. She is one fine lady.”
“She is that,” Danny said.
“I owe her, man. If she hadn’t being flying low, looking for us after the island went up in smoke, well, let’s just say I wouldn’t be sitting here sucking back these cold ones.” He looked sober for a moment. “Should have said this before, Dan the man, but I really owe you. You saved my life.”
Danny shrugged. “Hey, you pulled me out of the lake. I figure we saved each other.”
“Well, I’m ordering you to haul your butt down to Kentucky. We’ll listen to some real music and do some real drinking.” Ricky drained his beer. “Though you Red Dog Lakers sure can knock it back.”
“We try.”
“I meant that about you coming down. Gonna have time on my hands from now on.”
Danny sat up. “What’s wrong? Did the doctors say something this morning?”
“Nah, not the docs, the Bureau.” Ricky rolled his empty beer can between two meaty fists. “My op blew up. Too much collateral damage.”
“But a bent cop tipped off Hendrix. That Constable Michael who used to patrol round here. By the time McKenna dimed him, we were already on the island.”
Ricky grimaced. “The Bureau doesn’t see it that way. Someone has to carry the can and it looks like it’s gonna be me. A lot of people died because Hendrix went crazy and killed everybody.”
“But Hendrix, Curtis and Tear Drop are dead. The meth lab is gone. That should count for something.”
“Yeah, but Morty and Anderson don’t count as collateral damage. They had friends in high places, if you know what I’m saying.”
“Yeah, I guess I do.”
Ricky reached for another beer. “Didn’t help either that your buddy, Santa, gave McKenna the slip.”
After the forest fire had burnt itself out, the OPP had combed through the charred remains of the Archangel Mine building. No trace of Santa.
“The forest fire was on top of us,” Danny said. “It felt like a blast furnace. McKenna couldn’t chase after him. We barely made it out of there ourselves.”
“I know. Like I said, I wish my superiors, and McKenna’s boss, saw it the same way.” Ricky popped the top of a fresh Budweiser.
“Dude, there’s no way Santa made it out of there even if he got into the woods. He was beat up and down to his boxer shorts. He’s dead, he has to be.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Easter’s a resourceful bastard.” Ricky seized the gleaming bottle of Jack Daniel’s resting on their table. “Come on, grab your glass. I want to ask you something.”
“Sure, ask away.” Danny watched him fill their shot glasses to overflow.
