“There’s just junk in there,” he said as he rejoined me. “No car. You think he ran?”
“If he knows what happened at the airport, I guess I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“But he’d only run if he thought it would come back on him, right?”
I nodded, thinking it over.
“Either the cops connecting him to it,” Lou said, “or somebody else. Somebody a lot worse.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Seems like you’d have to have a pretty active imagination to think they’d be coming after you, just because you happened to be in the same supply chain.”
“Unless he was a little more involved in it.”
“Or maybe we’re the ones with the active imaginations,” I said. “He could just be out at one of the bars. They don’t close for a few more minutes.”
“We could wait,” Lou said, “unless you feel like talking to one of his neighbors.”
The porch light was on in the house to the left, but otherwise the place was dark. The house on the right had no exterior light on at all, but we could make out a flickering blue glow coming through the side window.
“Looks like somebody’s still up over here,” Lou said, “watching a little late-night TV. Think he’d mind a visit?”
I crossed the front lawn and driveway. I was just about to knock on the door when I saw that this house actually had a doorbell on the exterior. An amazing innovation. I pressed it and heard a two-tone chime going off inside the house. Lou was standing right next to me, and for a moment I wondered what we’d look like standing there at somebody’s door at almost two in the morning, my beaten-up ex-catcher ex-cop white face next to Lou’s sun-ravaged version of an old Indian. If it was a woman here in the house alone, say, then I could imagine her being scared right out of her socks.
A light came on outside, just about blinding us. The exterior door opened and the late-night television watcher looked out at us. It was a man, and then some. He had to go around two hundred and a half, a lot of it beer gut, but he also had hamhocks for arms, with faded tattoos on either side. He was wearing an almost-white undershirt and black pants that sagged under his belly.
“Who are you guys?” he said. He was unshaven and the hair he had left on his head was slicked back. “What the hell do you want?”
“We’re looking for your next-door neighbor,” I said. “Andy Dukes. Do you happen to know where he is?”
“He left,” the man said. “He drove to Texas a couple of days ago. I got no idea when he’ll be back. If ever.”
“Do you know of any way to get in touch with him?”
“I told you, he’s gone. I got no phone number. No address. No nothing.”
“I’m smelling a little something in the air,” Lou said. He took a step closer and tried to peek around him, into the house. “I take it you’re a loyal customer of Mr. Dukes?”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” the man said. “I think you guys should leave.”
“If you’re not a customer, then maybe you sell some yourself? What do you say?”
The man was flexing his forearms and looked about ready to jump on us both at the same time. But Lou stepped even closer to him.
“Come on, friend,” he said. “We’re just looking to take the edge off, okay?”
“I’m not your friend,” the man said, “and I still don’t know what you’re talking about. So why don’t you get the hell out of here?”
“Can we leave a phone number in case you hear from-”
“I told you, he’s gone and I don’t expect to have any contact with him.”
“Okay,” Lou said, nodding slowly. “Whatever you say. Sorry to disturb you, friend. Please have a nice night.”
The man took a step backward and closed the door in Lou’s face.
“Charming gentleman,” Lou said as we walked back to the truck. “It’s a shame we didn’t have more time to talk.”
“Why were you trying to buy off him?”
“I was testing him. I wanted to see if he’d sweat. Hell, maybe he does sell. Maybe his next-door neighbor is his partner.”
“Or maybe he just gets paid by the ounce,” I said, “for being so good about taking messages.”
“He’d make a great receptionist, wouldn’t he?”
When we were back in the truck, we sat there for a while longer, looking at the two houses. Lou leaned his head back against the seat. It was obvious he was running out of gas.
“You’ve had a pretty long day,” I said. “Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow morning, we’ll figure out what to do next.”
He banged his fist against the dashboard, but he didn’t argue with me.
I pulled out onto the street. He looked at the two houses one more time as we drove by. He didn’t say a word as we drove through Sault Ste. Marie, the streetlights flickering across his face. He stared straight ahead and stayed silent as we left town and found that empty road back to Paradise, running across the hayfields and through the trees, then rounding the bay with the water stretching out into the darkness.
I took us back on the northern route, through the reservation.
“Let’s stop at the casino,” he said. “The one where Vinnie works at.”
“I’ve already been there. Nobody could help me.”
“Even so. I wouldn’t mind seeing where my son works. Get a feel for the place. Hell, maybe something new will occur to us.”
It sounded like another lap around a track I’d already been on. But I had no better ideas at the moment, so I slowed down as we came around the bend and pulled into the parking lot. The Bay Mills Casino was lit up and shining in the darkness. Not Vegas level, of course, but as bright as anything else you’ll ever see up here. The lot was mostly full at the end of a beautiful summer day. Plenty of visitors to the Upper Peninsula who find out there’s not a whole hell of a lot to do after dark aside from drinking. I parked and we went inside. Instead of going right into the gaming area, Lou wandered around the lobby for a minute, looking up at the giant moose head mounted over the fireplace, then going down the line of pictures in the hallway. There were portraits of the Bay Mills Executive Council going back a few years, and Lou studied each quintet carefully.
“I went to school with a couple of these guys,” he said, more to himself than to me. “Looks like they’re doing just fine.”
I sensed some movement to our left, turned and saw two old-timers watching us. I elbowed Lou, but as soon as he turned to see what I was looking at, the two old-timers did a quick 180 and disappeared.
“Old friends of yours?”
“I kinda doubt it. But whatever. What exactly does Vinnie do here?”
“He’s been a blackjack dealer here for years. He’ll move over to pit boss if they need him, but he still likes dealing. He’s probably the best they’ve got here.”
“Taking money from white tourists. That’s quite a gig.”
“Nobody’s making them play. Sometimes they even win.”
He looked at me. “Yeah, sometimes. Look at this place and tell me just how often you think that happens. Hell, come to Vegas sometime.”
“Do you want to see where he deals, or not?”
“Yes, I do.”
I led him around the corner, past the slot machines, to the table games. There was a circle of people around the roulette table, another playing craps. Then we hit the line of blackjack tables. Most of them were full. Lou found two empty seats at a two-dollar table and he sat down.
“Couple of hands,” he said to me. “Just to clear our heads.”
I took the spot next to him. Lou took out a hundred-dollar bill and put it on the table. I went for my wallet and he stopped me.
“I’ve got you covered,” he said. “We won’t be here long.”
The dealer was a woman in her thirties, a tribal member of course, although like most people up here you could see the European influence on her features. A little German here, a little Finnish there, the intermarriages going back through the generations. Her name card said “Jennie.” She gave us an all-business smile and made change for Lou’s hundred. He slid half the chips over to me without looking at them.