“Not unless he causes it.”
“Roy’s a hotheaded fellow. But I need him in one piece.”
“It’s like you said before—I’m a professional.”
“Daniel, I think we’re going to get along just fine.”
“I wouldn’t bet my life on it if I were you.”
The Iron Range Bandits didn’t take the news well. There was plenty of weeping and shouting and angry sounds that reminded me of those days when I was a cop knocking on doors late at night to tell bewildered parents about their children. The language they used—the Bandits didn’t say anything that you couldn’t hear on HBO, yet I found the words truly shocking coming from them. Roy wanted to throw down on Daniel right then and there; Skarda and Jimmy wanted to help—I had to step between them and stay between them for the longest time. It took a lot of talking, a lot of promises, to calm the group, especially Josie, who reminded me more than once that I had claimed there would be nothing to fear until after the job, until after we had the money. I apologized profusely for the mistake, yet that did little to assuage her rage. The old man did his best to help. He kept telling Roy, told anyone who would listen, that Jill hadn’t been hurt. He repeated the words like a mantra—“She’s all right, she’s all right.” I suspected he was talking mostly to himself.
What genuinely impressed me was that no one wanted out; that every one of them wanted to help bring Jill home safely, including Claire.
“What can I do?” she asked.
“I bet you look sensational in a bikini,” I said.
Claire’s eyes fell on Jimmy. “So I have been told.” He smiled broadly despite the context of the remark.
I pointed at Liz. “You, too.”
Liz turned her eyes on Skarda, who wasn’t smiling at all.
“What do you have in mind, Dyson?” Josie asked.
I led them all onto the redwood deck and pointed at the pontoon boat. “Do we have a trailer for this?”
Josie answered slowly. “The stockbroker has one in the shed out back. Why?”
“How ’bout an ATV?”
“I have one,” Skarda said.
“Me, too,” said Roy.
“All right,” I said. “Now listen carefully. I’m going to tell you exactly what we’re going to do and exactly how we’re going to do it. We’ll go over the plan again and again and again for the rest of the day and into the night so everyone will know what’s expected of them. I don’t want to hear any noes or maybes. If we’re going to pull this off it’s going to be yes all the time. Yes?”
There were a few spoken yeses in reply and the nodding of heads. If I were a basketball coach I would have repeated the question with the hope of a more boisterous response, except what I was planning could not remotely be considered fun and games.
Roy threw a thumb at Daniel. “What about him?” he asked.
“He gets to watch,” I said.
“That’s bullshit.”
“Nonetheless.”
“We’re going to do all the work, take all the risks, for what? So that he can take the money? So he can rape my wife?”
I stepped in front of Roy just in time to keep him from attacking Daniel again. For his part, Daniel didn’t move a muscle, not to defend himself, not to get out of the way. Instead, he spoke softly to Roy.
“We want the money,” he said. “Make no mistake. As for your wife, taking her wasn’t my idea, although I went along with it. I have since made it plain, however, to Brand and the others, that I will kill anyone who touches her.”
That quieted the deck considerably. While the threat wasn’t particularly original—Roy, after all, had been saying pretty much the same thing most of the afternoon—the Bandits were obviously impressed by the sincerity with which it was expressed. If I seemed less dumbfounded than the others it was probably because I had determined earlier that Daniel was a lifelong bachelor like myself, and us bachelors, damn if we don’t fall in love easily.
FIFTEEN
It was a pretty day. A clear blue sky, gentle wind, and if you breathed deeply, the sweet scent of pine and fir trees, an aroma that you only get in the North Woods. We were parked on Fourteenth Avenue and East Conan Street not too far from the Dairy Queen, although in Ely, you’re never too far from anything. The FOR SALE sign in front of the house gave me a nervous start at first but made perfect sense once I had time to think about it.
I kept glancing at Skarda’s watch strapped to my wrist and thinking disagreeable thoughts. So many things could go wrong. Start with the sight of four guys sitting in a Jeep Cherokee on a residential side street with the windows rolled down, just begging for someone to stroll up and ask, “What’s going on?” Or a deputy on a routine patrol through the neighborhood—that would be perfect, just perfect.
