“What’s the problem?” I said. I knew he was out on parole now, and saying all the right things about staying straight. But hell, if he was in trouble again, it wouldn’t exactly shock me.
“He was on a hunting trip in Ontario. He was supposed to be back a couple of days ago.”
“And he didn’t make it back?”
“No.”
“You don’t think-”
“What, that he’s passed out in some bar in Canada? Is that what you mean?”
“Vinnie, come on.”
“It’s different this time, Alex.”
Here it comes, I thought. He’s been going to the meetings; he’s a changed man. The whole speech. That’s what I expected.
That’s not what I got.
“This time,” Vinnie said, “he’s me.”
Chapter Two
“He took my place,” Vinnie said. “Don’t you see what I’m saying? Tommy was up there pretending to be me.”
I didn’t get it at first. Then it hit me.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Are you telling me he was up there on a hunt?”
“Yes.”
“And he was pretending to be you.”
Vinnie looked down at his hands. “Yes.”
“Because you couldn’t go. On account of you helping me with the cabin.”
“No, that’s not it, Alex.”
“Vinnie-”
“It was his job, not mine. They called him.”
“So why did he have to pretend to be you?”
“It’s kind of a long story,” Vinnie said. “Bottom line, I’m the one who let him do this. It’s all on me.”
“When was he due back?”
“Couple of days ago.”
“Who else went?” I said. “Did anyone else get back yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“Who was it, Vinnie? Who did he go with?”
“Look, can we talk about this on the way? I’ve got to get over to the rez.”
“We’re both going?”
“Yeah, I need you to go with me,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”
“You gonna tell me why?”
“I need you for protection.”
“Protection?” Jackie looked at me and then threw his towel in the sink.
“It’s my mother,” Vinnie said. “I figure if you’re there, she’ll be less likely to kill me.”
I knew that was just a line, but I went with him anyway. I figured I owed him that much. We took my truck, and he sat there on the passenger’s side, looking out at the trees. After a few minutes of silence, he gave me the rest of the story.
“This man called him,” he said. “From Detroit. He said he had heard he was a good guide, that he knew how to turn a hunt into a real party. You know, not just the usual slog through the woods. Tom told him that he wasn’t really doing too many hunts anymore. He recommended me, instead. He told them I was the real deal.”
I knew that was Vinnie’s first love. There were other hunting guides who could track animals for you, and then field-dress and tag them if you were lucky enough to bag one. Vinnie would do all that and then tell you the stories his grandmother had told him, about the land and the sky, the animals and the seasons. The four points on the compass and how they got their names. The manitous, which were the great mysteries, the spirits of Ojibwa mythology. If it was a dark, windy night, he’d tell you about the windingo, which was an evil, flesh-eating monster. Vinnie could take an ordinary hunting trip and turn it into summer camp for grown-ups.
Of course, he used his Ojibwa name on these hunts-Misquogeezhig, which in English is “Red Sky.” It just doesn’t work when your Indian guide is named Vinnie.
“So why didn’t they take you?” I said. We were going along Lakeshore Road, curling around the southern shore of Whitefish Bay to the reservation in Brimley. It was my favorite road in the world, and I figured I’d take it while I still could. In a couple of months, it would be obliterated by ice and snow.
“They told him he was the guy they wanted, and then they said something about him and peace pipes.”
“Peace pipes? Oh no, wait a minute-”
“Yeah. He got the idea. He told them he didn’t do that kind of thing anymore. This is what got him into so much trouble in the first place.”
“Did he tell them he just got out of prison?”
“No, I don’t think so. He just told them he was out of that business.”
“Okay, so then what?”
“They say they really want him and they’ll pay him a thousand dollars.”
“A thousand dollars for a week in the woods?”
“And Tom says no. He really can’t do it. So they say okay, we’ll pay you two thousand dollars.”
“Two thousand?”
“So Tom says no, and why are they even asking him to do a hunt in Canada, anyway? He’s never led a hunt up there. They have their own guides. In fact, the Canucks would have a cow if they found out these guys from America were bringing their own guide with them. They probably wouldn’t even let them go out.”
“What did this guy say about that?”
“He said, don’t worry, we’ll take care of it. And then he offered him three thousand dollars.”
“Good God.”
“And Tom said, where do you want to pick me up?”
“Vinnie, who is this guy?”
He shook his head. “Tom said his name was Albright. He didn’t say what he did for a living, but it sounded like he was some kind of heavy hitter in Detroit. The kind of guy who usually gets what he wants. He said he had four other guys who wanted to get away for a few days. You know, just cut loose in the woods.”
“I know that one,” I said. “I get the ‘cut-loose’ type staying in the cabins during firearm season. They stay up all night drinking and then they go out the next morning and shoot anything that moves. They all want that big buck so they can mount his head on the wall.”
“Actually, this was a moose hunt. That’s why they were going to Canada. They said they’d already done the deer thing. They wanted the big game.”
“Moose. Even better. What do those things weigh, like eight hundred pounds?”
“A bull can weigh over twelve hundred.”
“Is it firearm season up there already?”
“Yeah, it’s a lot earlier in Canada.”
“Okay, so for three thousand dollars he said yes. When did they pick him up?”
“Saturday before last.”
I did the math in my head. “That was before I even started working on the cabin.”
“Yeah, it was.”
I looked over at him. “So it really wasn’t about you sticking around to help me.”
“No,” he said. “I told you that.”
“Okay, okay. So you let Tom go. Why did he have to pretend to be you?”
Vinnie didn’t say anything. He watched the trees go by.
“Oh, wait a minute,” I said. “Don’t tell me.”
“It would have violated his parole.”
I just about drove into the lake right there. “Oh, that’s beautiful,” I said. “This is getting better by the minute.”
“He’s not supposed to leave the country.”
“Yeah, no kidding. When they’ve already caught you bringing a twenty-pound bag over the bridge, they kinda like you to stay off it for a while.”
He looked at me, and then back out the window. “I know it doesn’t look like such a good idea right now,” he said. “The rest of my family sure doesn’t think so.”
Lakeshore Road took us away from the bay, onto the Bay Mills Reservation. If there wasn’t a sign there to tell you, you wouldn’t even know you were on Indian land. It looked just like any other middle-class housing development. There were raised ranches on either side of the road, with well-kept lawns dying off in the cold weather. The road to Mission Hill, with the old burial ground at the top, would have been the first clue that you were in a different kind of place. Then, of course, there were the two casinos-the little King’s Club, the first Indian casino in the state, and then the bigger Bay Mills Casino, with its great cedar walls rising against the backdrop of Waishkey Bay.