Death Roe (27 page)

“It is said you are not a man who allows his focus to be diluted. Lafleur was
special
to you?”

“I barely knew her.”

“Then this is not a simple matter of revenge.”

“No.”

The Ukrainian nodded. “A zealot's life is not a happy one. I will pay a fine. What price will you pay to get what it is that
you
want?”

“Whatever it takes,” Service said.

Krapahkin mashed his cigarette, picked up his cell phone, and flipped it open. He dialed a number and said, “Five minutes,” then closed it. “All these badges running around, swelling with testosterone,” the head of Crimea said, “and it falls to one policeman from the
taiga
to undo so much. You and I, Detective, we are not so different.”

Krapahkin left his cigarette pack on the table. Service put it with his own and called Karylanne to check on her. She was still tired, but still upbeat and she wanted to know when he could get over to Houghton again. “I'll be there when you need me,” he told her. He was tired, and sick of everything to do with work.

Rogers was waiting for him in the lobby the next morning. “Got a ride for you,” the New York ECO said. There was a cab outside, driven by the same psycho who had brought him from the airport the day before. Service found himself balking.

“It's cool,” Rogers said. “Get in.”

The driver looked back and grinned, “I dry, you rye, o-gay?”

Rogers looked amused. “Grady Service, meet Fish and Wildlife Special Agent John N'Dinga, son of a diplomat, MS in wildlife biology from Cornell, law degree from Columbia, the finest, sneakiest sonuvabitch undercover Fish and Wildlife ever had the good luck to hire.”

Service nodded.

N'Dinga said, “Didn't mean to frighten you, mate, but gots to play the part, sayin'? I heard Krapahkin wanted to meet with you.”

“He came to my room last night.”

“Have anything interesting to say?” Rogers asked.

“Not really. He's convinced you guys and the feds will come after him, but his lawyers will make sure he'll skate with a fine.”

“On this point, he may be right,” N'Dinga said, “but he's got a dirty operation with beluga out of the Caspian area, and it won't be long before we bring him down. He'll do real time on that one. The thing you should know is that he looks and talks like a businessman, but he's
Organizatsiya
, hard-core Russian mob, very connected to the Lev Lazarus group out of Tel Aviv. L-Two plays dirty and rough. If they decide you're hurting business, you disappear.”

“Is that a message for me?”

“Dose guy dey mi' lye meg you die mon,” N'Dinga said.

“Theoretically?”

“Consider it real,” Rogers said, “and let that thought have a prominent and permanent seat at your table of shit to be on the lookout for.”

N'Dinga drove with the same recklessness back to the airport and even Rogers looked pale when they got out. “You're not going back with him?” Service asked.

“That motherfucker's certifiably insane,” Rogers said with obvious admiration, tapping the roof of the taxi, which raced away.

The two men stepped over to a floor-to-ceiling window next to the entrance. Service groped for his smokes, but found the Ukraininan's pack and held it out to Rogers. They each took one and the pack was empty. Service started to crumple it, but saw some writing on the paper and stuffed the pack in his pocket. Rogers said, “When you get inside, go to the Lufthansa lounge.”

“What for?

“Just go. You're expected.”

It took some time to find the lounge. He went inside and announced his name to one of the blond, blue-uniformed women at the desk.

She said, “This way, please,” and led him to a private room. There was a man sitting at a table pounding on a laptop. He had gelled hair, looked fortyish, was short with manicured nails, an expensive suit, and a thin gold wedding band. “Manny Florida,” the man said, not bothering to get up. “You the woods cop?”

“Grady Service.”

“Whatever. Piscova's
my
case. That pussy Endicott wouldn't know how to prosecute fucking Hitler. I heard he was making noises about my case, called him up, and injected him with a dose of reality. New York is a green state. The contaminated eggs are ours because the mirex comes from our waters, and the eggs came back here to Crimea.
Ours
. End of discussion.
Comprende?
”

“Without us, there would be no case.”

“Big fucking deal. We'll make sure a bone gets thrown your way.”

“A woman is dead,” Service said.

“You have an MD? How about a PhD in toxicology? I didn't think so. The woman died. Maybe from the mirex, maybe not. Or maybe she had shitty genes, or her lifestyle sucked the big one. I don't know, and I don't care. This is my case and it's solid, and I'm not gonna complicate it with morality of dubious veracity.”

“What about the IRS?”

“What
about
them? It's my case. They'll stick to my sheet music.”

Manny Florida looked at the door. “Get the fuck out. I'm working.”

Service felt like he'd gotten a chicken bone stuck in his throat as he went through Security and out to the gate. He pulled out Krapahkin's cigarette pack, smoothed it out, and saw what was written: “Costa Rica.” What the fuck did that mean?

He had time before his flight and needed something to eat, so he went into a nook café and sat at a tiny counter. A waitress asked, “What is you wand?”

“Truth and justice,” he said, “but I'll settle for a beignet.”

The woman made a huffing sound. “
Beg
-ney—what that?”

“You have or no have?”

He felt like he was back in Vietnam, drowning in pidgin. “No got no
beg
-ney.”

“Okay, how about a breakfast pasty.”

“We got cheese Danish pastry,” she said. “You want?”

“Just coffee. Who knew LaGuardia was an epicurean wasteland?”

“We
got
peppercorn,” the server said, smiling.

Her rage and confusion had fled, replaced by resignation to deal with reality, weird as it was. “You pick for me,” he said.

“You see, I pick good,” the woman said.

His flight was called before the coffee came. He left a five-dollar bill and headed for the gate.

54

Monday, December 6, 2004

DAYTON INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, DAYTON, OHIO

Service's flight stopped over in Dayton en route to Grand Rapids and his cell phone buzzed. “Where are you?” Gus Turnage asked.

“What's wrong?”

“I just put Karylanne in the hospital. Bad cramps and some bleeding. The doctor thinks the baby may be coming early.”

“But she's okay, right?”

“They're pretty closemouthed. You need to get here as quick as you can.”

“I'm in Dayton, headed for GR. I'll get there as fast as I can, Gus.”

“Shark, Limey, and I are right here with her.”

Service wanted to grab the pilot and tell him to leave late-boarding passengers, but forced himself to calm down. He called Anniejo Couch in Lansing. “I'm on a commercial flight in Dayton. I need to charter a plane from Grand Rapids to Houghton as fast as I can. Got any suggestions?”

“No-Hassle Charters,” she said immediately. “This on the federal dime?”

“No.”

She gave him an office number and he punched it in.

“NHC,” a man answered.

“I need to charter a flight from Grand Rapids to Houghton.”

“How many passengers?”

“Just me.”

“One-way or round trip?”

He had no idea how long he would be there. “If I need to catch a plane back, can I get another one?”

“The price will be round-trip for that.”

“Just book me one way,” Service said.

“Purpose of flight?”

“To get there fast.”

The man said, “Please hold for a minute.” When he came back on the line, he said, “We've got a Cessna four-twenty-one available now. Flight time will be one forty-five at two hundred and thirty knots, wind permitting.”

“I'll take it.”

“When do you want it?”

“I'm in Dayton now, will be in GR in three hours or less. Will the bird hold for me?”

“You'll be the only passenger. Call from the terminal and we'll send a vehicle to bring you over to General Aviation. How will you pay for this?”

“Credit card work?”

“Which one?”

“American Express.”

“That will work.”

“How's the weather look?” Service asked.

“Manageable.”

What the hell did that mean? Now he could stew over it until he got to Grand Rapids and could talk to the pilot. He had gotten so used to flying with Nantz, he wasn't sure he could adjust to a stranger, but there wasn't any other choice. It also occurred to him that had Nantz not left him her money, he couldn't afford to do this, and maybe this was all meant to happen—a thought he quickly banished from his mind. He did not believe in fate.

55

Tuesday, December 7, 2004

HOUGHTON, HOUGHTON COUNTY

There was a storm along the entire north-south coast of Lake Michigan, and another near Houghton coming in off Lake Superior; the chartered flight could not land until after midnight. Gus Turnage was waiting for Service at the Houghton County Memorial Airport, which was actually in Hancock. They ran out to Gus's truck and headed for the hospital, on the same street as the ice rink at Michigan Tech. Gus drove with a set jaw and said nothing during the drive.

They got to the Family Birthing Center and went through the blond double doors to find Limey Pyykkonen and Shark Wetelainen standing outside one of the birthing rooms.

“Dr. Priva will be here in a minute,” Limey said.

“Is she okay?” Service demanded.

“Calm down,” Pyykkonen said. “You getting all jacked up isn't going to help anyone.”

Service felt his heart sink.
What the fuck was wrong?

The doctor arrived in a smock decorated with clowns, a pale blue mask over his nose. Service thought he looked like a deer that couldn't catch its breath.

“You the father?” the doctor asked, tugging his mask down to his neck.

“Grandfather. The father's deceased.”

“I'm sorry,” the doctor said. “Karylanne is doing fine in post-op, and your granddaughter is strong. She just decided to come a little early.”

“Premature?”

“Early, not premature. Technically she's considered full-term.”

“Post-op?”
Granddaughter?
His mind was not connecting things.

“Karylanne had a hemorrhage and we had to do a C-section. They'll both be fine, but there may be a problem with Karylanne having another child. Testing will tell us more over time.”

Service looked at his friends, saw them watching for his reaction, willed himself to calm down. “Can I see Karylanne?”

“Give her a half-hour . . . but you can see your granddaughter.”

They went into the nursery. The baby was in a glass container that looked like an aquarium. She wore a pink hat. A card said
baby pengelly.

“A little small, five pounds eight, but that's not a problem,” the doctor said.

She was red and shriveled and had a head full of black hair that looked like Cat's when he had rescued the kitten from Slippery Creek many years before. “She's beautiful,” the doctor said.

Was the man blind? The baby looked more like a rat dipped in Mercurochrome than a human.

Service went outside to smoke a cigarette until he could see Karylanne. Gus and Shark went with him. “She is
so
ugly,” Service said.

“They all are,” Gus said. “Every one of mine looked like a waterlogged possum. You'll get used to it.”

“They talk to you about Karylanne?”

“Privacy laws wouldn't allow it. You're the only one on her form. The doctor said it was an emergency is all.”

Shark said, “The kid's got great hands. She'll be able to tie great flies.”

“She's shorter than a big brown,” Service said.

“She'll grow soon enough,” Gus said.

Service felt a combination of shock and relief and was trying to sort it all out when he finally got in to see Karylanne, who was in a bed with oxygen tubes clipped to her nose, an IV in her wrist. He put his hand on her arm and her eyes half-opened. “I made a mess of it,” she said.

“There's no mess,” Service said. “Everything's fine. The baby is beautiful.”

“You really think so?”

“Not really,” he said, and she managed a half chuckle. “No bullshit; that was our deal. But she'll be beautiful if she grows up to look like her mother or her father.”

“Listen to you,” Karylanne said. “Such sensitivity. I promise not to tell.”

She went to sleep without saying any more. She slept with a smile on her face and Service found himself grinning. He went back to look at the baby.

“She tell you the name?” Limey asked.

“Baby Pengelly.”

“Doofus,” Pyykkonen said. “It's going to be Maridly, if you agree.”

The tears came out before he could stop them, and his friends stood next to him, patting his arms, and the baby started screaming and turned bright red.

“She's hungry,” Pyykkonen said.

“Maridly fits,” Service said, suddenly sobbing, trying unsuccessfully to emotionally balance the staggering gains and losses of his life.

“The first motherfucker that tries to date her better have
sisu
,” Shark said seriously.

“
Yalmer
, your language,” Limey said.

“Well, it's true, and it ain't a
dirty
four-letter word.”

Sisu
was a Finnish term that translated roughly to willpower, a resolute will to see things through to the finish.

“
Sisu
,” Service said out loud. He could use a healthy dose of it as well.