"Europe to the rescue," Grijpstra said, pulling the oars. One oar slipped, he fell over backward.
Flash tittered.
De Gier was waiting on Squid Island's dock. "You bed them all down for the night," Grijpstra said, "and give me the key to the Ford product, please."
"Phone the netherworld," de Gier asked. "Cross the final frontier. Call on the ogres. Release revenge."
Chapter 22
"Maybe we should do this," the commissaris said, tapping the table where he had spread his maps.
Katrien wasn't sure.
The commissaris rested his finger on Rogue Island. "But, Katrien. .."
"But they're dealing with the sheriff of Woodcock County," Katrien said, "with an elected official. Please, Jan, this is a civilized world now, there must be better ways. Tell them to have the villain arrested…"
"How?"
"The DEA," Katrien said.
"Ineffective," the commissaris said. "Remember that marijuana shipment?" His finger prodded the map. "Right here, onBar Island. Akihadthatallplannedoutfor them, there were agents behind every bush. The bad guys still won."
"America is a democracy, Jan."
"So is Holland," the commissaris said, "and little Jimmy next door got AIDS while prostituting himself to get cash to buy crack."
"You said there were no bad guys," Katrien said. "That things just happen."
"Let's happen along too." The commissaris rubbed his hands together. "Let's be sly, Katrien."
Katrien made a face.
"If only you could be a little bit more negative," the commissaris said gleefully. "You know what we have here, Katrien? Tribal warfare." He pointed. "Check that encyclopedia. Read up on Native American East Coast tribes. You'll find that the Iroquois were fierce and the Algonquins were sly. They had fun together."
"Scalping," Katrien said. "Torture. We're beyond that now."
"We're never beyond violence," the commissaris said. "This kind could be fun. Know your enemy, Katrien. Hairy Harry is a paranoid Iroquois. He firmly believes Grijpstra and de Gier will interfere with his drug operation, and all this stealing of yachts, hiding of corpses, shooting of airplanes, willful destruction of a little dog's obstacle course is his brand of defense. Fear makes him twist facts. He never knew about Lorraine's disappearance, never cared either. He sees Grijpstra the Algonquin telephone overseas, reporting to someone. To the Big Guy Back Home."
Katrien kissed his cheek. "Chiefjan of the Algonquin."
"De Gier was in Maine before," the commissaris said. "The state police flew him into Jameson. Maybe a legend started up then. Ishmael knew Jeremy. Jeremy the hermit knew me. I was chief of detectives."
The commissaris found his cane, limped to the porch, descended to the garden.
Katrien, by watching his lips, caught most of what the commissaris said to Turtle.
"Tribal warfare," the commissaris told Turtle. "Katrien is still an idealist. I'm not saying she isn't right, but we act on lower levels here, within desire and fear. Fierce warriors threaten us peaceful people.
"Rationalizing our interference, Turtle? Certainly. We need an excuse. The war on drugs? Well, maybe yes, although I'm all for pot myself. The weed of procrastination slowing down pollution. How about Sheriff Shoots Eagle?
"Okay? Okay.
"Turtle?
"No ordinary violence, Chieftain Katrien advises? Make use of the magic way, you say? Do I remember the shaman under the banyan tree, Milne Bay, New Guinea?
"Sure, sure, Turtle, we didn't send de Gier to the end of the world for nothing, did we now?
"Yes, Turtle, I do remember de Gier's report on the method of Pointing the Bone, oh yes, I do.
"How that works? Piece ofcake. Get a bone. Get some powerful minds to help. Point the bone at the paranoid Iroquois. Visualize effects. That sheriff dies.
"Yes?
"Have a tribal powwow first? Get a tribal mandate?
"Yes. Must follow proper protocol, Turtle. You're a good counselor. I thank you kindly."
"Oh dear," Katrien said, watching the commissaris climb the garden steps.
"Katrien?"
"Now what, Jan?"
"I wonder," the commissaris said. "That leg of lamb I saw in the freezer? How about cooking that up sometime, say tomorrow?"
"With Brussels endive, Jan?"
"Delicious," the commissaris said. "Isn't Nellie very fond ofBelgian endive? Why don't I ask her over? And while I'm at it, I'll put a call in to Beth's Diner too. Get things going again, my dear."
He limped to the phone, leaning on his cane, swinging his free arm martially.
Chapter 23
"Look what I made in therapy, folks," Lorraine said.
Lorraine had kayaked over from Bar Island and brought her war pipe, an artifact she had made herself, copied from a museum piece on view in Jameson's town hall.
Lorraine believed in using local materials to evoke local power. The pipe's stem was "moose wood," a type ofwillow, hollowed out with a stone awl dating back to a Penobscot village that preceded Jameson. She had found it on the beach. The pipe's bowl was birch she had cut herself. The raccoon-skin thong wrapped round the stem was part of a worn-out Seminole sandal, bought at an Indian road stall in the Florida Everglades. Five long feathers shed by Jameson Bay eagles, later dyed blood red with the juice of cranberries, had been found on the shore by Lorraine and Aki.
Bad George set the kitchen table in the pagoda. Flash baked biscuits and passed them out. Ishmael created a study in apple slices and grapefruit. Bad George had fried bacon dripping on paper napkins and an omelette puffing up on the stove.
They ate first, while the war pipe, a sinister presence in spite of their tribal banter, dangled from fishing thread attached to the kitchen lamp by de Gier.
Lorraine had brought tobacco too, Drum, in a plastic bag.
"Made in Holland," de Gier said, reading the plastic bag's print.
There was no shortage of omens.
"Beth?" Ishmael said into the CB radio's microphone. "Would you and Aki join us for coffee? I'll be picking you up at the dock at the Point."
Beth, being boss, got to untie the war pipe from the kitchen lamp. Lorraine stuffed the pipe's bowl with Drum shag tobacco. Aki lit the match.
The warriors puffed on the war pipe in turns.
"We condemn the accused?" Beth asked when the pipe passed back to her.
Bad George raised his hand. "For trying to kill Krip here by not picking him up when he was sucked east by the ocean in Little Max's dory."
"Humph," said the congregation.
"For sinking the Kathy Three by cutting her free and tapping her rotten bottom with a hammer."
"Humph."
"For willful destruction of Ishmael's Tailorcraft and of his collection of What."
"Humph."
"But that's okay," Ishmael said. "I'm going to do this new depth thing in the cannery now, with the colors. I still have those cans of yellow and orange paint and those sheets of old plywood. What I'm trying to achieve is some experiments with depth. You see…"
The group applied peer pressure by staring.
"I'll just humph on the Tailorcraft," Ishmael said. "Okay?"
"Killing loons?" Flash asked. "Mallards? That dolphin? Bears?"
"Humph."
Beth raised her hand. "For not taking the lady from the Macho Bandido to the hospital."
The group reflected.
"You think the lady might have been saved?" Bad George asked.
Beth had overheard Billy Boy talking to Hairy Harry in her diner, saying that he thought "she'd looked dead enough for burial."
"Humph."
"Humph what?" Beth asked.
Grijpstra thought that there didn't have to be action. Not on this side, he thought. Smoking the war pipe and humphing along might just do it.