shit!”
Before you could say “smoke,” Jed leapt up and over the railing of the Fortune Café deck with surprising agility. I glanced behind me to see what had made him scurry, and was alarmed to make out the rear bumper of a black and white pulling up in front of the café. At this angle, the police inside the vehicle wouldn’t be able to see who was in back, especially in the dusky light. I was pretty sure that Gary Wohnt didn’t have anything on me, but I didn’t like the way he kept turning up. Maybe somebody had seen me at Halvorson Park, after all. I looked at Jed’s retreating figure, then at the door Johnny had just left through. Would I rather risk going to jail, or leave Dolly alone to flirt with Johnny? Cripes. It’s tough being single. I dropped a couple dollars on the table for a tip and jumped over the rail.
“I better go see what’s up with Jed,” I said. “Tell Johnny bye from me.”
Dolly smiled, but didn’t respond. I made my way through the back alleys until I reached my bike parked out of the streetlights’ glare near the Rusty Nail. I had never intended to follow Jed, who probably at this very moment was burying a roach and some Zig-Zags in someone’s backyard. I just needed to get away from the police. Since I was on the move, I decided to swing past the Meat and RV Store, the simmering air brushing past me as I pedaled, washing thoughts of Johnny out of my head. For now.
Les’ store was on the south side of town, facing 210, about five blocks from the Fortune Café. When I reached it, I was happily surprised to see a light still on. It was dim, filtering from the back room through the glass panel of the front, but it gave me hope that there would be someone here. I leaned my bike against the building and crunched up to the front window. The “closed” sign was face out, but I could see shadows playing against the light of the back room.
I strode to the rear of the building just as the back door slammed open. I retreated into the shadows out of instinct and was only able to catch a sideways glimpse of the person leaving. He was over six feet tall, with dark hair pulled back in a pony tail. His nose was sharp and arrogant, and his lips were tight in concentration. He strode toward a blood-red Humvee I hadn’t noticed parked behind a Winnebago that was up on blocks. An image abruptly sewed itself into my mind—it was a picture of a red Humvee in my rearview mirror. Not many of those around, even in the summer. Could this guy be the same person I had seen driving toward Chief Wenonga’s post this morning? I’d take that bet.
I heard the “beep beep” of a security system unlocking the Hummer doors, which was a funny sound in Battle Lake. No one here locked their houses, let alone their cars.
Before tall, dark, and angry escaped, Les flung himself out of the back door. He wore a Cenex cap that was too big for his head and threatening to tip off. “Wait!”
The stranger turned around. “I don’t think so.”
“But it’s a good idea!” Les was jogging toward the Humvee, which rumbled awake and carried its mysterious passenger away. Les just stood and watched it go, delicately adjusting his hat.
“Les?”
He jumped at my voice. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Mira. From the library? How’re you?”
“Don’t ask.” Les kicked past me, a tight ball of anger in his camouflage T-shirt and pants. He didn’t look at me as he reentered his shop and slammed the back door shut. I heard the click of a lock on the other side.
“Les? Mr. Pastner? I just want to ask you a couple questions about the Chief Wenonga statue. Mr. Pastner?” I drummed on the back door for a minute or two before I gave up. If there’s anything a militia guy is good at, it’s waiting.
From the direction of town, I heard the muffled chords of an electric guitar warming up, signaling the beginning of the street dance. I could either go home and avoid Wohnt, or I could go to the dance and try to
Before you could say “smoke,” Jed leapt up and over the railing of the Fortune Café deck with surprising agility. I glanced behind me to see what had made him scurry, and was alarmed to make out the rear bumper of a black and white pulling up in front of the café. At this angle, the police inside the vehicle wouldn’t be able to see who was in back, especially in the dusky light. I was pretty sure that Gary Wohnt didn’t have anything on me, but I didn’t like the way he kept turning up. Maybe somebody had seen me at Halvorson Park, after all. I looked at Jed’s retreating figure, then at the door Johnny had just left through. Would I rather risk going to jail, or leave Dolly alone to flirt with Johnny? Cripes. It’s tough being single. I dropped a couple dollars on the table for a tip and jumped over the rail.
“I better go see what’s up with Jed,” I said. “Tell Johnny bye from me.”
Dolly smiled, but didn’t respond. I made my way through the back alleys until I reached my bike parked out of the streetlights’ glare near the Rusty Nail. I had never intended to follow Jed, who probably at this very moment was burying a roach and some Zig-Zags in someone’s backyard. I just needed to get away from the police. Since I was on the move, I decided to swing past the Meat and RV Store, the simmering air brushing past me as I pedaled, washing thoughts of Johnny out of my head. For now.
Les’ store was on the south side of town, facing 210, about five blocks from the Fortune Café. When I reached it, I was happily surprised to see a light still on. It was dim, filtering from the back room through the glass panel of the front, but it gave me hope that there would be someone here. I leaned my bike against the building and crunched up to the front window. The “closed” sign was face out, but I could see shadows playing against the light of the back room.
I strode to the rear of the building just as the back door slammed open. I retreated into the shadows out of instinct and was only able to catch a sideways glimpse of the person leaving. He was over six feet tall, with dark hair pulled back in a pony tail. His nose was sharp and arrogant, and his lips were tight in concentration. He strode toward a blood-red Humvee I hadn’t noticed parked behind a Winnebago that was up on blocks. An image abruptly sewed itself into my mind—it was a picture of a red Humvee in my rearview mirror. Not many of those around, even in the summer. Could this guy be the same person I had seen driving toward Chief Wenonga’s post this morning? I’d take that bet.
I heard the “beep beep” of a security system unlocking the Hummer doors, which was a funny sound in Battle Lake. No one here locked their houses, let alone their cars.
Before tall, dark, and angry escaped, Les flung himself out of the back door. He wore a Cenex cap that was too big for his head and threatening to tip off. “Wait!”
The stranger turned around. “I don’t think so.”
“But it’s a good idea!” Les was jogging toward the Humvee, which rumbled awake and carried its mysterious passenger away. Les just stood and watched it go, delicately adjusting his hat.
“Les?”
He jumped at my voice. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Mira. From the library? How’re you?”
“Don’t ask.” Les kicked past me, a tight ball of anger in his camouflage T-shirt and pants. He didn’t look at me as he reentered his shop and slammed the back door shut. I heard the click of a lock on the other side.
“Les? Mr. Pastner? I just want to ask you a couple questions about the Chief Wenonga statue. Mr. Pastner?” I drummed on the back door for a minute or two before I gave up. If there’s anything a militia guy is good at, it’s waiting.
From the direction of town, I heard the muffled chords of an electric guitar warming up, signaling the beginning of the street dance. I could either go home and avoid Wohnt, or I could go to the dance and try to
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