CHAPTER 43
Thursday, February 23rd
Moyie Springs, ID
The wooden door was old, with its green paint faded and peeling in long, thin strips. It rattled on its hinges and seemed like it might fall into the house when Kyle knocked on it. He took a step back, cleared his throat, waited, and listened. Thanks to bad directions, a slow horse, and the remote location, it had taken him three days to find this house, which could have been longer if not for Garfield’s patient service. The resilience of his loyal steed, even though Garfield had seen better days, was a blessing.
Kyle couldn’t hear anything from inside the house, so he stepped forward and knocked firmly on the door again. Having spent so much energy locating it, he refused to give up and go away.
The last few days in Moyie Springs had been most interesting. Collin had finally begun talking and, once Gene had gained the boy’s trust, had opened up about everything.
Collin’s story had come out in drips and drabs over the course of a few days, to a point where Kyle and Gene had been able to put together enough pieces to make sense of it. Though there were still lots of holes to be filled in, they had learned, firstly, that Collin was from Seattle, where he had lived with his mother.
Collin related how the lights in their apartment building went out one day and never come on again. They stayed in their apartment for a week, never going outside, just living on what little food they had, until the stench from the toilets forced them out, at which point they walked across the city to where his sister, Stacy, lived.
While staying with his sister, increasing local violence forced the three of them to abandon her duplex and travel out of the city and seek out Christopher, an old boyfriend of Stacy’s. After they had been there for a while, Collin’s mother disappeared and Christopher became more violent towards Collin, hitting the boy if he asked for food or water, and forcing Stacy to protect him.
The three of them, Stacy, Collin, and Christopher, eventually moved further out of town, to where Andre, a friend of Christopher, lived. There they had hunted and fished and eaten things they could scavenge. At some point, Andre acquired a working vehicle, and they had driven further away from the city, ending up at the cabin where Kyle had found them, surviving on deer meat, tree bark, and food taken from strangers. Collin recalled that Stacy hated how mean Christopher had become, and that she spent more and more time with Andre, who seemed to like her a lot.
Collin didn’t know how long they had been at the cabin when Kyle found him. He had just said they were there a long time, that they were hungry a lot, and that Andre and Chris fought about him and Stacy, and sometimes Christopher would hit them both, at least until Kyle had shown up.
What the complete story was, Kyle didn’t know, but he was glad Collin was out of the situation. The last few days, Collin had spent a lot of time with Gene, even calling him grandpa, and smiling and laughing. Today they were going fishing and pheasant hunting, building a relationship that Kyle recognized was good for both of them.
There was still no answer at the green door. Kyle had stepped forward to knock on it one more time when it was thrown open with a slam. A man stood beyond the door, a shotgun leveled at Kyle. “What do you want?” the man demanded.
Kyle pulled his hands back, raising them helplessly over his head. “I’m sorry to bother you. I’m looking for Roman Bakowski. I was told he lived here.”
“I’m Roman Bakowski. What do you want?” The man had an accent like a Russian gangster’s from the movies, a low, guttural growl of a voice that was heavy on the letter w and rolled around in his mouth like he was chewing marbles.
“My name is Kyle Tait. I was told that you have a HAM radio, unless there is another Roman Bakowski around.”
“I the only Roman Bakowski in the area. Who told you I do the HAM radio?” He still held the shotgun leveled at Kyle, but his demeanor eased up a little, and the scowl on his face was softening.
“My friend, Frank, said there were people in the area with radios. The sheriff told me about you and where you lived, but it was hard to find. Frank does HAM radios. Said I should look someone up so I could talk to him.”
“I don’t know a Frank. I talk to lot of people on my radio. Why would he tell you come here?”
Kyle gave an edited version of how he’d come to the area and explained that Frank was the closest one to his family who could communicate out of the area.
“So why I should help you? What have you done for me?”
“I have silver,” Kyle said, holding out a silver quarter.
Roman looked at it and scoffed. “Why do I need silver? You have gold?”
Kyle felt his wedding ring on his finger, spinning it around a couple of times. “Just my wedding ring, but I…”
Roman cut him off. “You married?”
Kyle nodded.
“Keep ring. Your wife kill you if you give it to me. I take the silver.”
Kyle handed him the coin, an old 1962 quarter.
Roman held it out in front of him in the light, squinting. “You giving me twenty-five cents?”
“But it’s silver, an old one; it’s worth more.”
“I know it’s silver, but it still say twenty-five cent. This all you have?”
Kyle stuck his hand in his pocket, fished out another one, and handed it to Roman. “Here. Can you help me?”
Roman sighed. He’d lowered his gun and now looked at Kyle more closely, his bushy, silver -flecked eyebrows dancing on his forehead as he tried to focus. “I need my glasses. Pretty blind without them. Was sleeping when you got here. You lucky I’m not so cranky.”
“Sorry I woke you.”
Roman shrugged and led Kyle into the house, groped around on the kitchen table until he found his glasses, then led Kyle out the back door to an old barn behind the house. “You like rats?” he asked as he forced the barn door open.
“Not especially.”
“Then we are good, because I only have mice here.” He let out a hearty laugh and propped the door open. “Come. Sit down here,” he said, pointing to a bale of hay positioned in front of an old desk. “I go start generator. What is friend’s address, where he talks?”
Kyle handed Roman a piece of paper with a series of numbers that Frank had written down for him, and Roman studied it as he walked to another door that led out the back of the barn.
Roman was gone a few minutes, then Kyle heard the roar of a generator. A small fluorescent light flickered on above him, and Roman returned.
“I don’t think I know this Frank person. What you want to tell him?”
“I need to see if he’s had any contact with my family or town and make sure everything is okay. I’ve been gone for almost a month now.”
“That’s it? You just want to say ‘how’s it going?’”
“Well, I don’t have a script. I just want to see how things are for my family and my friends there.”
“Okay. If that what you want, we get to work.” Roman’s fingers flew expertly across the keypads and dials on the old radio. After thirty seconds of adjusting, he grabbed the mic and keyed it. “This Big Polack looking for Silver Fox, Frank Emory. Over.”
“How do you know his name is Silver Fox?”
Roman shrugged. “I call all Americans on the radio Silver Fox. It’s good American name. You have problem with that?”
“Not. Just thought maybe you actually knew Frank or something.”
Roman chuckled, wiped something from his eye, then continued to adjust the dials. “Shhh. This hard work.”
Kyle waited patiently as Roman worked for another fifteen minutes, adjusting dials and talking into the microphone, but there was no success.
Roman finally got up without saying a word, walked outside, and shut off the generator. He returned with a grim look. “How far away is this Frank guy?”