“Okay, I understand what you’re saying. I’m not defending what the feds do. Not if they’re breaking down the door and shooting your dog.”
“You even it up on both sides, at least, then you don’t have people moving stuff across the border. You realize it doesn’t matter what the stuff is, right? It could be bubble gum, for God’s sake. As long as people want it and it’s more legal on one side than the other…”
“I know,” I said. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“It’s kind of the golden age for sellers right now. More general acceptance means more people smoking it. Which means a lot more sales for them until it finally becomes legal and Phillip Morris puts them out of business.”
“How come you know so much about selling pot?”
“I don’t sell, if that’s what you mean. Never did.”
Then my cell phone rang and I had to spend the next few moments locating the damned thing on the floor.
“Mr. McKnight, I’m returning your call.” It was Chief Benally.
“Hello, Chief,” I said, trying to remember why the hell I had called him. This was earlier in the day, before I had found Vinnie’s father and everything had taken such a sudden left turn.
“What’s going on? My officer said you wished to speak to me.”
“I guess I was just wondering if you had heard anything from Vinnie yet.” I sensed Lou sitting up straight and leaning closer.
“I told you I’d be in touch if I heard anything. Where are you right now, anyway? You sound like you’re in your vehicle.”
“I’m just heading into town,” I said, looking over at Lou. He gave me a double wave of his hands, like a man signaling to the bartender not to tell his wife he’s there.
“Kinda late, isn’t it?”
“I’m a night owl, Chief. But I appreciate you calling me back.”
“I’m dead serious,” he said. “You’re not out there trying to find Vinnie, are you?”
“I’m driving to the Soo. I can’t imagine why he’d be there. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”
The line was silent for a few seconds. I could picture him on the other end, closing his eyes and counting to three.
“I think I’ve been very up front with you,” he finally said. “I was hoping for the same in return.”
“I’ll try to do the same,” I said, not quite sure what else to say. “Not that I’m in the loop here. At all.”
He hesitated again, but then he let me off the hook and wished me a good night.
“Which chief are we talking about?” Lou said as I put the phone down.
“Bay Mills. Chief Benally.”
“Benally? I don’t know that name.”
“He’s not a local. They brought him in from Wisconsin.”
“Are you kidding me? A foreigner is running the Bay Mills police?”
“I said Wisconsin, not France.”
“That’s been a steady gig for somebody on the rez ever since they formed the department.”
“Maybe getting some new blood is a good idea, then.”
He shook his head at that one. “I can’t believe it.”
“I notice you didn’t want him to know you were in the truck with me. You were assuming he’d remember you?”
“There’d be a few of the old-timers who’d be surprised to see me around, put it that way. Even if this guy didn’t grow up on the rez, I’m sure he’s got a few other guys around him who have.”
“So what’s the big deal? What happens if some of these old-timers find out you’re back after all these years?”
“I think we’ll probably find out eventually,” he said. “I just don’t see any reason to flag down the welcome wagon.”
I looked over at him, wondering just how high the pile of ashes was from all of the bridges he had burned in his life. I kept driving down that dark empty road, listening to his breathing. He sounded tired. It was a long, long day for him, one that had started on the other side of the country, but I didn’t figure he was ready to rest. Not quite yet.
I hit the highway and gunned it north until we reached the first exit.
“Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan,” he said as we pulled onto the side streets. “I spent a few years drinking in the bars there. I wonder how many are left.”
“I’m guessing one or two of them are still around.” I looped up to Ashmun Street and headed into the downtown area, or what you’d call downtown if the Soo were big enough to have one. We were looking for a Mr. Andy Dukes, apparently the man to see for high-quality marijuana if you’re in Sault Ste. Marie. He lived on Hursley Street. I vaguely remembered that street hitting Ashmun somewhere around the power canal.
We passed a few cars coming in the opposite direction. It was just after 1:30 A.M. now. Almost closing time, but all of the good bars were down this way on Portage Street so this would be the one part of town still awake. As if to make that point, a solitary Soo police car sat still and dark in front of the theater, waiting for somebody with beer-dulled senses to come roaring by.
The bridge over the power canal was just ahead of us. That’s when I saw the turn for Hursley Street, the very last turn before the canal. I took the right and drove down the street. Once we had put Ashmun behind us, it quickly became two parallel rows of suburban houses, not much different from any other street in any other town. Although even now on a warm July night, you could see how the long winters had taken their toll on these houses. There wasn’t a single sheet of siding or a single window frame that didn’t bear the scars.
“Not the ritziest street in the world,” Lou said. “Not for a successful pot dealer.”
“This town doesn’t do ritzy.”
“You’re right about that. Some things don’t change.”
“Pot dealers like to stay under the radar, even if they can afford a mansion.”
Lou looked at me and laughed. “Okay, Detective Friday. Whatever you say.”
I shook my head.
“That was from Dragnet. Gannon and Friday.”
“Yeah, I got the reference.”
“Which house are we looking for, anyway?”
I slowed down and began checking the house numbers. We found the one we wanted a block and a half down, on the north side of the street. I rolled to a slow stop, turned off my lights and then the ignition. We sat there for a while, letting our eyes adjust to the darkness and listening to the warm engine ticking.
The house was one of several in a row that seemed to have been built with the exact same plan, probably by the same builder in the same year. Dukes’ was two stories high, and it looked tall and narrow as it stretched back to make the most of the lot. There was an enclosed front porch, pretty standard for any house this far north, and there was just enough room on each side of the house for a driveway, with a detached garage in the back. Two beat-up old lawn chairs sat empty in the front yard.
The house was completely and utterly dark. There was no car in the driveway or parked immediately out front on the street. We couldn’t tell if there was a car in the garage.
“Doesn’t look like anybody’s home,” Lou said.
“It is kinda late. Maybe he’s asleep.”
“This is prime time for a pot dealer.”
“What do you say we go knock on the door, just to make sure?”
“You cops don’t have any manners at all,” he said, but he got out and went right along with me. I knocked on the exterior front door first, then opened it and stepped onto the porch. A distant memory told me this wouldn’t technically be illegal entry, although I may have had that wrong. Not that it mattered anyway. There was a doorbell next to the interior door. When I pushed it, I heard the bell ringing somewhere deep in the house. Then there was nothing but silence. As I left, I looked around the porch and saw a great mess of old furniture, broken-down antiques and toys and God knows what else.
I looked around the side of the house and spotted Lou out back by the garage. He was peeking through the window.