Cold (11 page)

 
Noel went back out to the bar, to a new round of beer and schnapps.
 
The Haas brothers always bought a new round when the Wings scored.
 
She did her shot, drank some beer and they watched and talked about the game for the rest of the second period.
 
She didn’t look at Warren, and the longer that she held off the more she felt the need to, because she was certain he was waiting.
 
It distracted her, sitting here between the two brothers, her fiancé on her left, his older brother on her right, all of them with elbows on the bar, leaning forward watching the Wings-Canadiens game.
 
Nothing more should be going on, no one should be waiting for anything more important than another Wings goal.
 
What distressed her was that she was certain that Warren thought he knew what it was they were waiting for.

Of course, Norman didn’t know any of this was going on.
 
He had a sense of clarity and purpose that she had never seen in a man before, and it made him oblivious to things.
 
She never really understood this about him until his brother returned from the Navy; then she came to realize that she hadn’t known Norman at all because she hadn’t known his brother.
 
Occasionally Warren would say something that suggested that Norman’s view of things was simple; it both aggravated and intrigued Warren.
 
He seemed even jealous at times.
 
He understood that this was a quality that Norman had that might be attractive to a woman, and that he didn’t have it.

When the second period ended Norman went to the men’s room.
 
Noel kept her eyes on the bar.
 
The colors from the television reflected off the wet rings her shot glass left on the wood.
 
She kept waiting for Warren to say something, something about the Wings, something to break the silence.

Finally, he said, “We’re going up to Big Pine Monday.”

“We?”

“Your father’s got this hunting party flying up from Minneapolis in a seaplane.”

“You and Norman?”

Warren nodded.

“You’re working for Daddy now too?”

Warren finished his shot and placed the glass on the bar.
 
“Call it a partnership.”

They didn’t speak again until they could hear Norman’s boots coming down the hardwood floor.
 
“Let me know,” Warren whispered as he raised the bottle of Labatts to his mouth.
 
“You let me know when, Noel.”

She didn’t say anything.

It was at that moment that she began to blame Norman.

•

Even during a blizzard, Warren liked to cruise around in his Ford Ranger, listening to the radio or a tape, drinking from the pint of schnapps he kept in the glove compartment with his .38.
 
He had an appointment at seven, a couple of kids he told to meet him in the public restrooms behind the skating rink in Hiawatha Park.

Warren had to admit he was impressed:
 
Norman had walked away.
 
In a blizzard, no less.
 
Chances were very good he’d die out there, freeze to death in the woods.
 
Every spring bodies were found once the snow finally melted.
 
He could see the expression on Norman’s face; even badly decomposed, there’d be that determination in the set of his mouth.
 
Norman never really believed in failure, his failure.
 
He couldn’t accept it; always figured there must be some other way, and he’d set out to find it.

A little after six Warren pulled into the parking lot next to the skating rink, which was closed because of the blizzard.
 
There was only one vehicle in the lot, an old Camaro with Bondo on the fenders, which belonged to a kid named Buck.
 
Warren waited in his pickup a couple minutes, finished his cigarette and took a last slug of schnapps.
 
Best thing for his stomach, though sometimes he cut it with Pepto.
 
The Navy really should have put him on disability for what they’d done to his stomach.

After a few minutes he was satisfied that it was all clear.
 
He put the .38 in the right pocket of his long leather coat, got out and walked through the snow to the small brick building that housed the restrooms.
 
He stopped a minute outside the men’s room door.
 
He could hear them talking inside, their voices echoing off the tiles.
 
“Buck,” he said.

“Hey, Warren!”

“Who you talking to, yourself?”

“Naa.
 
It’s just Pete.”

“Just you and Pete?”

“Just me and Pete.”

Warren pushed open the door and went inside.
 
There was the smell of cold wet concrete and he could see his breath in the overhead florescent light, but at least it was out of the wind and snow.

“Hey, Warren,” Buck said.
 
A tall kid in a grimy parka, scraggly blond hair.

Pete was leaning against one of the sinks, smoking a joint.
 
Pete had been a pretty good wrestler in high school—had the shoulders for it.
 
Now he did roadwork for the county.

“Hi, girls,” Warren said.

Buck came over to Warren.
 
“Fuckin’ snow, eh?”

Pete stayed where he was, finishing the joint.

“Yeah.”
 
Warren had both hands in his coat pockets.
 
Buck kept smiling, trying to get friendly.
 
“Let me see it,” Warren said.

Buck hesitated and Pete looked toward them for the first time.
 
The bill on his worn Tigers cap was tightly curved; you had to work on a hat to get that look.
 
After a moment Buck shifted his weight and dug a wad of bills from the front pocket of his jeans.
 
“Here’s the thing,” he said.
 
His voice seemed high, nervous.
 
“We’re a little shy.”

“What do you mean
shy?”

“Yeah.
 
Pete was supposed to get paid today, but fuckin’ Mr. Townsend calls in sick.”

“So?”

“So it means I get paid tomorrow,” Pete said.
 
“Nobody got paid today.”

“I was nice and warm back there in my truck,” Warren said.
 
“You work for the county, right?
 
That’s like the government.
 
You know they’re supposed to pay people on time.
 
You mean nobody in the county got paid because Mr. Townsend stayed home to bang his wife?”
 
Pete just stared at him.
 
“I mean when I was in the Navy we got paid on time.
 
Didn’t matter if the captain was on board ship or whether we were in port or out on maneuvers.
 
It didn’t fucking
mat
ter, it was the
gov
ernment and we got
paid.
 
So what is this shit with the
county?”

“Sorry,” Buck said.
 
“Didn’t know how to reach you, and Pete only picked me up a half hour ago.”

“We got sixty.”
 
Pete took his weight off the sink and came over.
 
“We’ll owe you the twenty.
 
I’ll have it tomorrow, soon as I get paid.”

“Tomorrow,” Warren said.

Buck nodded and said, “We’re not going to, like, skip out on you or nothing.”

“Listen,” Warren said very patiently, “I said it was eighty.”

Buck stared down at the puddle of melted snow around his boots.
 
Pete hadn’t taken his eyes off of Warren.

“Geez,” Buck said, “I’m sorry.
 
We’ll do this tomorrow, if that’s what you want.”

“What?” Warren said.
 
“You want me to come back
here
tomorrow?”

“We’ll have all eighty then,” Buck said.
 
Pete was still staring at Warren.

“Eighty is today’s price,” Warren said.
 
Pete nearly smiled; he understood already.
 
“Tomorrow—I don’t know, it’s probably going to be more like ninety.
 
Maybe even a hundred.
 
Who fucking
knows?”

“Why?”
Buck said, his voice real high now.

“Lots of reasons,” Warren said.
 
“I’ll give you one:
 
there’s a blizzard coming across the U. P., and you know in weather like that supplies get scarce—bread, milk, newspapers—and nothing gets delivered and pretty soon the store shelves are bare and you’re sitting home lucky if you’re eating Campbell’s soup and Bumble Bee chunk light tuna fish.”
 
He took the vial out of his coat pocket, toyed with the white plastic cap a moment, then tucked it back out of sight.
 
“Who fucking
knows
what this might be worth if we
really
get snowed in.”

Pete nodded his head slowly.
 
“Come on,” he said to Buck.
 
“He’s just fucking with us.
 
Forget it.
 
Let’s go.”

Buck now seemed alarmed and confused.
 
His eyes followed Pete as he walked toward the door.
 
“
Wait,”
he said.
 
“Will you wait a minute so we can work this out?”

Warren heard Pete’s boots stop at the door.
 
He turned and no one said anything for a moment.
 
Warren went over and leaned against the nearest sink.
 
It wasn’t anchored firmly to the cinderblock wall, so he moved over and rested his haunch on the next one.

“I don’t fuckin’ be
lieve
this,” Pete said to Buck.

Suddenly it was like Warren wasn’t there.
 
They started shouting at each other, swearing, their voices echoing off the walls.
 
This went on for several minutes.
 
Twice Warren said “Boys” quietly.
 
Normal speaking voice.
 
Real calm.
 
But they kept at it, and it seemed about to get out of hand.

Warren said “Boys” once more and when they didn’t stop he took the .38 out of his other coat pocket, aimed it at the raised toilet seat in the stall directly ahead of him and fired.
 
The water tank shattered and gallons of water spilled onto the concrete floor amid the shards of porcelain.
 
When it was quiet again, when the echoing stopped, Buck and Pete were silent.
 
Buck had taken several steps backwards; Pete remained where he was by the door.
 
Warren rested the gun against his right thigh.