The Last Kind Word (33 page)

“Where is he?” I called.

“He's at the door,” Roy answered.

“Okay. You and your friend grab the bags off the truck and bring them here.” Roy and Daniel did what I asked, carrying the money bags over their shoulders like they were sacks of cement. Roy muttered something under his breath that I didn't hear. Whatever it was didn't seem to faze Daniel one bit.

I told Jer to open the door.

“The alarm will sound,” he said.

“I think we're past worrying about that.”

Jer opened the door and the tocsin went off—it sounded like one of those high-pitched horns the National Weather Center uses to warn people about tornadoes. Rooney covered her ears, so she probably didn't hear me when I said, “We're having some fun now, aren't we?”

I shouted at Jer, “We'll be leaving now. If this or any other door opens before we're gone, I'll assume it's because you're trying to stop us, in which case I'll spray the place with machine-gun fire. It's not your job to catch us. Let the cops do it. Understand?” He nodded. “Tell the others.”

I shooed Jer back against the wall but kept Rooney near me as Roy and Daniel carried the heavy sacks of cash out the door and loaded them onto the ATV. When they finished I waved Jimmy off the platform and through the door. Once he was outside, I spoke into Rooney's ear.

“I'm sorry about all this, I really am. I didn't know what else to do.” Her nod told me that she heard. “For the record, I think you're much prettier as a brunette than a blonde. Although…”

“Yeah?”

“I'd pay real money to see you in the short skirt and high heels you wore when you got me away from the sheriff's deputy.”

“Luck,” she said.

*   *   *

7:27
P.M.
I insisted that Skarda drive slowly. I told the boys we had plenty of time, although they didn't seem to believe me. I was just as anxious as they were, yet the cautionary admonishment of my high school baseball coach kept echoing in my head—“Hurry, but don't rush”—although he was speaking about something else entirely.

We circled the building and headed for the hole Skarda had cut in the fence. Jimmy wanted to remove his mask. I told him to wait until we reached the creek. Roy walked backward, sweeping the open ground with his assault rifle, covering our rear like he had been trained. I used the cell to contact Josie. She answered in the middle of the first ring.

“Are you there?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“We're on our way.”

She wanted to say more, yet I ended the call before she could. It was no time for chitchat. We reached the hole in the fence and maneuvered the ATV through it and down the abandoned road. The vehicle hopped and skipped across the uneven terrain, and a couple of times I thought the money bags would slide off the back. Finally we approached the pontoon boat. The bow was up against the shore; the seat cushions had been removed, and all of the lockers were open. Three women, a brunette, redhead, and blonde, stood waiting for us at the bow all dressed in swimsuits—Josie in a one-piece and Claire and Liz in bikinis—and my inner voice said,
Minnesota girls, don't you just love them?

We drove the ATV to the water's edge. Jimmy and Skarda hopped onto the pontoon. Daniel and I grabbed the sacks of money and heaved them aboard while Roy covered the trail. Jimmy and Skarda dragged the sacks into the center of the pontoon. They opened the bags and, with help from the girls, stashed the cash in the lockers. “Oh my God, look at all of this,” Claire said. She was the only person who spoke.

I boarded the pontoon, went to the wheel, and started the engine. I called to Roy. He jumped onto the boat and stood at the bow while continuing to watch the trail. Skarda and Daniel pushed us off the shore and hopped on. I maneuvered the pontoon around and headed up the narrow channel toward Pike Bay and sprawling Lake Vermilion beyond. The Bandits finished storing away the money, closed the lockers, and returned the cushions to their proper places by the time we reached the mouth of the channel.

Another glance at the watch. 7:41
P.M.
If we were lucky, the cops hadn't even arrived at the vault yet.

I stripped off the mask, gloves, and Kevlar vest and tossed them overboard along with the AK-47. Jimmy and Daniel did the same, adding the now empty money bags. Roy wanted to keep his weapon.

“We'll need it when we go to free Jill,” he said. I told him I had it covered. He didn't believe me. Daniel snatched the rifle from Roy's grasp and flung it into the lake. Roy wanted to fight Daniel over that. Daniel wouldn't let him. He moved to the stern of the pontoon and sat on the back wall just above the motor while the others tried to calm down Roy.

I had expected the Bandits to be more excited by what we had just accomplished, yet Roy's outburst made it clear to me why they weren't. They hadn't just become rich off a daring raid on a remote vault. All they did was steal the ransom money they needed to buy back their wife, their sister, their cousin, their friend. They were still afraid.

As well they should be,
my inner voice said.

I glanced at my watch again. 7:44
P.M.
with about an hour and twenty minutes of sunlight left. By then we had all stripped down to swimsuits and T-shirts; I was still wearing Skarda's sneakers, and Jimmy's cell phone was in my pocket.

“Where's the beer?” I asked. My companions looked at me as if I were insane. “You didn't bring the beer?”

“We thought you were kidding,” Liz said.

“We're supposed to be a party boat, remember?”

Josie gave me the same smile she had the morning she came into my bedroom, the one that suggested she had me all figured out. I hadn't realized she was sitting on a cooler until she stood and opened it. She removed two Leinies, twisted off the caps to both, and gave me a bottle. The others helped themselves. The pontoon had an AM/FM radio, and I dialed in WELY. It was playing Bruce Springsteen.

“I saw him once at the old Civic Center in St. Paul when I was a kid,” I said. “Best rock concert ever.”

“I thought you were a jazz guy,” Josie said.

“We were all young once. Listen. There are two ways to do this. One is sly and sneaky. The other is loud and boisterous. Loud and boisterous is more fun.”

“If you say so.”

I eased the throttle forward until the pontoon boat was skimming across the lake as fast as it could. At the same time, I cranked the volume on the radio and started singing along with the Boss—
“Tramps like us, baby we were born to run…”

 

SIXTEEN

I guided the boat across Pike Bay past the Tower Municipal Airport—Jimmy was excited to see a couple of single-engine planes land—and worked through a wide, meandering channel into the enormous main body of Lake Vermilion. The light wind died away as the sun began to set. The surface of the lake became smooth and quiet; the distant islands turned to shimmering shards of emerald. We hugged the shoreline, following it westward.

Along the way we crossed the wake of a variety of fishing boats, cruisers, and pontoons. The occupants waved at us and we waved at them because that's what people do in Minnesota. That changed when a boat sped toward us straight out of the sun. There was a badge painted on the bow. The Bandits became desperate for me to turn and run. I refused to alter course. Skarda moved to my side as if he wanted to commandeer the wheel. The boat changed course to pass us on the starboard side. The badge became the emblem of the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources. The boat driver was in uniform—tan shirt, green shorts, and aviator sunglasses. The wind rippled his hair, and I was sure he thought he looked cool.

“Wave,” I said, and the girls did, standing at the bow. The conservation officer smiled and waved back. Three attractive women in swimsuits, you would have smiled and waved, too.

I gave Skarda what I hoped was a steely glare.

“You mutinous dog,” I said. He didn't respond. “Charles Laughton?
Mutiny on the Bounty
? Doesn't anybody here watch Turner Classic Movies?”

“Let me guess,” Josie said. “It's the only channel God approves of.”

We kept cruising west, bypassing the mouth of Everett Bay, until we reached the public boat landing near the Forest Lane Resort. The old man was sitting inside his fifteen-year-old Chevy Silverado; it was parked next to Josie's Taurus and Jimmy's old Cadillac. When he saw the pontoon, he hopped out of the cab and gave us a wave. There was another boat in front of us, so we had to wait. While we waited, I moved the nose of the pontoon close in. Roy jumped into the water, waded to the shore, and climbed into the pickup truck. The stockbroker's boat trailer was hitched to its rear bumper. When our turn came, Roy expertly maneuvered the Silverado backward until the trailer was in the lake, its wheels underwater. I manipulated the pontoon until its bow kissed the rubber rollers mounted on the rear of the trailer. Everyone left the boat; we connected it to a winch, pulled the boat onto the trailer, and drove the truck up the boat ramp until the trailer was completely out of the water. The pontoon was quickly secured.

“Now what?” the old man wanted to know.

Before I could answer, Daniel waved me toward the cab of the Silverado. “You drive,” he said.

“That, I guess,” I said.

“I'm coming with,” Roy insisted.

“No,” Daniel said.

“Listen, you…”

Roy grabbed his arm. Daniel spun to his right, brought his fist up, and hit the ex-soldier on the point of his jaw. Roy fell against the boat landing's concrete apron like someone had tossed him out of a second-story window. Claire was the first to reach his side. Roy was conscious but groggy. He said something; I don't know what. Claire cradled his head in her lap and screamed at Daniel, “You didn't need to do that.”

I was glad Jill wasn't there to see it. On the other hand, the stripper was starting to grow on me.

The other Bandits agreed with Claire. Daniel was having none of it, though.

“You people need to go home,” Daniel said. “You need to wise up. Stop pretending you're something you're not.” He pointed at Roy. “I promise I'll bring his wife home safe and sound, and I always keep my promises.” He pointed at me. “Now get in the goddamn truck.”

*   *   *

We found Everett Bay Road and followed it until it became Old Highway 77. It was slow going. The Silverado was willing despite its age, yet we were asking it to lug a wide, 2,800-pound pontoon boat down the road—not to mention the weight of the motor and all that money stashed in the lockers. I couldn't get the speed up much past fifty miles per hour before the entire rig started to shudder. Several times I asked Daniel where we were going. He had nothing to say until we reached Vermilion Drive.

“Turn right,” he said.

I did. By then the sun was nearly down and the world had turned to a sorrowful gray. The truck's headlights caught a sign. Vermilion Drive was the local name for County Highway 24.

“Ahh,” I said. “We're heading back to Brand's seaplane base.”

“You're a smart guy, Dyson…” Daniel said.

“You think?”

“But not smart enough.” To emphasize his point, Daniel produced a small-caliber automatic and pointed it at me.

“Really?” I said. “I thought you'd wait at least until we got to Buyck before pulling on me.”

“You knew I had a gun?”

“'Course I did. I'm a smart guy. You said so yourself.”

“Not smart enough,” Daniel repeated. “Give me the SIG.”

“Hmm? What?”

“SIG Sauer P228 nine-millimeter. It's in that little storage compartment attached to the side of the door.”

I hesitated for a beat, wondering how to play it, realized there was only one way, reached down into the compartment, grabbed the SIG by the barrel, and handed it to Daniel. He opened the passenger window and tossed the gun into a ditch.

“Now the cell phone. Give it to me.”

“My cell phone. Why would you want that?”

“You built two bombs. Do you actually think I'm stupid enough to believe you made the second to use as a spare?”

“Always be prepared…”

“You hid it in the pontoon boat, Dyson. That's why you left the cabin late last night when you thought I was asleep; you went to hide it. If things don't go your way, you intend to blow up the money, or at least threaten to. Am I right?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. Look, Daniel. I need leverage to make sure the girl is safe. Brand—I don't trust him. Do you?”

“I wouldn't trust Brand as far as I could throw him. He likes to fuck with people. He lies for fun.”

“So you understand…”

“Give me the phone.”

“The girl…”

“The girl will be fine. You have my word on that. As for you—I can't make any promises there.”

“Fair enough.”

“Now give it up.”

I pulled Jimmy's cell phone out of my pocket and handed it to Daniel. He threw that out the window, too.

*   *   *

It was difficult getting the pontoon boat down the makeshift road once we reached Crane Lake. The trailer kept hopping across ruts and potholes, throwing the boat up against the trees that lined the narrow path—paint and tree bark seemed to be scraped off equally. Finally we broke into the clearing. The pickup's headlights told me that there were six men gathered around a fire pit; the flames were bright enough to illuminate their faces, yet little else. Three men were sitting in canvas chairs—Brand, Fenelon, and the Mexican. From the way they cradled their AKs, I guessed the three men who were standing belonged to the gunrunner. The seaplane was tied to the dock, its engine facing the lake. The Subaru Forester and Chevy Malibu were parked on the left side of the clearing like before. Deputies James and Williams and their cruiser were nowhere to be seen. I knew exactly what that meant.