Squall

chapter three

THE WEATHER BROKE ALL of a sudden, six in the morning, just south of Parry Sound. An hour earlier they'd been sitting at a dead stop behind a tractor-trailer jackknifed across the highway, flares everywhere, an O.P.P. officer coming right up to Dale's window and asking him where they were headed. Dale only stared at the man and Ronnie said, "Kukagami eventually, but we'd be happy to make Parry Sound tonight, find a hotel and get out of this weather." The cop said that was a good idea, flashed Ronnie a smile and went on to the next vehicle. Dale saw Ronnie tuck her handgun—a nickel-plated Colt .380 she carried with her everywhere—back into her bag and thought, This is a nightmare, somebody wake me up.

The drive in the snow, slow and hypnotic, had settled Dale's nerves a little; but seeing that cop stroll up to the window like that, and then Ronnie, ready to shoot the man in the face, brought it all back hard. He was a fugitive now, running not only from the most ruthless crime boss in the country but from his own brother. The law, too, if the cops got involved. Christ, three dead Asians.

He kept thinking maybe it wasn't too late. He could call Ed, tell him the truth. This wasn't his mess, it was Ronnie's. Maybe—

Ronnie said, "I know what you're thinking."

Trying to get some edge in his tone, Dale said, "You're a mind reader now?"

"You're thinking of calling your brother, am I right? Telling him it was me? You had nothing to do with it?"

"Would I be lying?"

Ronnie said, "Fuck those guys, man. This is petty cash to them. Your brother'll get his wrist slapped and life'll go on. Meanwhile we're sipping gin fizzes in Florida sunshine."

Dale glanced at the phone and Ronnie said, "Okay, you want to call him?" She picked up the receiver and held it out to him. "Be my guest. See what he has to say. Better yet, call Copeland. It's his dope, anyway. And you know how forgiving he can be." When Dale didn't move, Ronnie set the phone back in its cradle. "You're in this, Dale. Don't kid yourself. You are it. Fucking slant, thinks I'm gonna suck his yellow dick. Whatdick? I hate those slippery creeps, think they can have whatever they want." She said, "Did you see the look on his face?" and brayed laughter.

Dale tuned her out. Let her rant.

Traffic got moving again after that, the drive to Parry Sound slow but smooth.

Then, almost without noticing, Dale was driving on center-bare blacktop under a white sky, the moon burning through like a dull beacon, guiding them north.

* * *

They stopped for breakfast at an all-night joint along the highway, Ronnie bringing the cash and the drugs inside, bitching about the country music on the radio as she led Dale to a booth by the window. She ordered black coffee, bacon and eggs over hard with white toast and Parisienne home fries and dug in without saying a word.

All Dale could stomach was dry toast and a few sips of apple juice. He'd lost his appetite for food. What he needed now was inside that gym bag. He kept thinking about that first sweet rush when the tourniquet comes off, the warm calm that washes over you like tropical surf, the only true antidote to fear he'd ever found. And he was shit-scared now, more afraid than he'd ever been. Every minute that passed without dealing with this thing was a minute closer to the grave. Until now he'd always been able to turn to his brother when he got in a jam, Ed always coming through for him. But this...this fucking mess didn't have a solution. At least not one Dale believed he could survive.

He looked at Ronnie looking at him, then down at her plate as she pushed her fork into a small round potato, spun it in a glob of ketchup then tugged it off with her perfect white teeth, eyes full of dark humor.

Dale thought of Trang screaming and felt his stomach clench, the dry toast congealing into a missile shape inside him, and he stood up fast saying, "Goin' out for a smoke," making it through the door just in time to gulp the cold morning air and keep his meager breakfast where it belonged.

He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall under the overhang, smoking and watching the dark clouds in the south race to catch up with them.

Ronnie came out a few minutes later with her cargo.

"Pay the bitch," she said, "and let's go."