Purgatory Ridge

Lindstrom walked quickly to the phone. He waited to pick up until Arnie Gooden gave him a thumbs-up. He put the call on the speaker.

“Lindstrom here.”

“Do you have it?” Once again, the true voice was hidden behind a grating electronic mask.

“Yes.”

There was a long pause. “You have it?”

“I told you, yes.”

“Son of a bitch.” Even the mask couldn’t hide the fact that the caller was chuckling.

“What now?” Lindstrom asked.

“The drop will be tonight. After dark. I’ll call at nine-thirty P.M. sharp with delivery instructions.”

“Not delivery,” Lindstrom said. “Exchange.”

“That will be arranged.”

“I want proof my family is all right. And O’Connor’s.”

“Or what?” the voice chided. “Until tonight, Mr. Lindstrom.” The line went dead.

“Did you get it?” Cork snapped at Agent Arnie Gooden, who was in contact via cell phone with the telephone company.

“Just a minute. Yes. It came from a public phone at 3414 Harbor Avenue…” His face clouded. “… Duluth.”

“Duluth?” Lindstrom repeated.

“Damn,” Kay said quietly. She turned to Arnie Gooden. “Give Duluth PD a call. Ask them to secure the phone booth until we can get an evidence team down there.” She looked at Agent David Earl. “That was smart.”

“Yes. But… did you hear? He sounded surprised when Lindstrom indicated he had the ransom money. What do you make of that?”

“I don’t know.” Kay rubbed her temple. “He’s put off the drop until after dark. That makes sense. Hoping to be invisible.”

Schanno said, “Somebody needs to give a statement to the press out there.”

“I’ll talk to them,” Lindstrom said, his voice at the edge of a threat.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Agent Kay said. “I’ll do it.” She turned to Agent Earl. “You’re welcome to accompany me out there. Represent the interest of the state.”

“All right,” Earl said.

Kay looked at Schanno. “We have some plans to make. I’ll need your help.”

“Whatever it is, you’ve got it.”

When Kay moved toward the front door, Cork said quietly to George LeDuc, “Meet me at the Bronco in a few minutes. I’ll give you a lift back to the rez.”

“Where are you going?”

“To shake hands with the Devil.”

Cork let himself out the back door as the reporters flowed to the front lawn in response to the appearance of the agents from the FBI and BCA. He slipped among the throng, which was focused on Kay and Earl. Kay stood on the front porch, the sun in her eyes, blinking at the upturned faces.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I appreciate your patience…” she began.

Cork found Hell Hanover without any trouble. From behind, he leaned to the man’s ear and spoke softly. “Got an exclusive for you, Hell.”

Hanover turned and his face showed genuine surprise. “O’Connor. What do you want?”

“I’ve got a story for you. An exclusive.”

“About your wife and boy being snatched?”

“No. About your ass and keeping it out of jail. Meet me at Sam’s Place in an hour.” He slipped away before Hanover could object.

Hell Hanover’s maroon Taurus wagon rumbled over the tracks near Sam’s Place and pulled to a stop in the empty parking area. Hell sat a moment looking things over. He opened the car door, swung his stiff artificial leg out, and stood up. His right hand shaded his face against the low morning sun, and once again, he carefully took in the lay of the land. He appeared wary of what he might be walking into, and with good reason. A year and a half earlier, he’d been careless in a confrontation with Cork, and that carelessness had nearly sent him to prison. He dropped his hand, limped to the door of the Quonset hut, and knocked. He saw the door was already slightly ajar, and he pushed it open fully with his artificial foot.

“O’Connor?” he called inside.

When he received no answer, he glanced behind him and to both sides. His left hand slipped under his wrinkled sports coat to the small of his back and came out with the butt of a small handgun nestled in his palm.

“O’Connor?” he tried again. Then he made the mistake of stepping inside.

Cork left the window of the serving area up front in Sam’s Place. He’d been watching Hanover through a small hole cut in the middle of a poster featuring Sam’s Big Deluxe Burger. He stepped silently to a position just inside the doorway that separated the living area of the Quonset hut from the serving area of Sam’s Place. He was holding a baseball bat, the Louisville Slugger he’d given Annie for her last birthday.

The floor of the old Quonset creaked under the weight of Hell Hanover, and it was easy for Cork to track the man’s position. Hanover went straight to the place Cork wanted him and he stopped. Without needing to look, Cork knew Hell was staring at the photograph-mended with tape and hung over the kitchen sink-of Jo naked and making love to another man. Paper-clipped to the photo was a note on which Cork had written in big red letters, I DON’T GIVE A DAMN, HELL.