“What happened?”

Nate sat staring at Cal, who was awake again after having drifted off for half an hour. He glanced at Nate and then his eyes strayed to the glass on the wide, flat arm of the chair. Nate had only given him a glass of scotch from the new bottle, afraid he might drink the whole thing, and then where would they be? Cal’s gaze lifted to Nate hopefully, but Nate showed no sign of interpreting the look Cal was giving him. And so Cal began.

“Ambush.”

“An ambush?”

“That’s what I said. Cops.”

“Whoa! Maybe you’d better start at the beginning.”

The escaped convicts had followed Cal Crow to the Branigan logging camp. There was no one there to meet them. The place was closed down, locked up. They broke in and waited.

“You know how well Shaker takes to waitin’,” said Cal. He shook his head. “I shoulda guessed somethin’ was up. Shoulda been able to tell from the way Beck was actin’. Kept apologizin’ for how long it was takin’. ‘Well, what’d you expect?’ he’d say. ‘I mean, it’s only a few hours since I talked to them,’ and blah, blah, blah.” Cal frowned. “It’s always the one who talks too much got something bad hid up his sleeve.” He shook his head. “At first, I figured he was on edge because Shaker was working himself into one of his frenzies, pacing back and forth, wearing out the floorboards, building up a real head of steam. He’s a mean bugger behind all his fancy language. When he’s on edge, anybody in their right mind oughta be on edge. That’s what I was thinkin’.”

“Who was supposed to be coming?”

“The mob. The boys are well connected, if you know what I mean.”

“You mean like gangsters? The Mafia?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. The folks in these parts who run the gambling operations, loan sharkin’, extortion, drugs — you name it. Gangbangers.”

“Oh. Right.”

“The ones broke the lads out of jail. Like I said, well connected. Beck is a hustler. They’re a dime a dozen. It wasn’t him they wanted. Shaker, on the other hand, is valuable to those folks. He’ll do people for you. That’s what he was in for.”

“You mean kill people?”

Cal nodded. Raised his hand, index finger out like a gun barrel. “Bang!” he said.

It wasn’t anything Nate really wanted to hear. “A hit man,” he said.

Cal nodded. “Probably more than a few, but they was only ever able to pin one on him that stuck. Some scuzzbag whose leaving the earth has made it a better place. Thing is, it’s still a capital offense. Don’t you just love democracy?” Cal wagged his head with disgust, and Nate wondered at how Cal could manage to have ideals about wrong and right. “Anyway, the mob wanted Shaker back; he’s as crazy as a rat in a garbage can, but, like I said, he’s useful. And Beck . . . Well, he happened to be in the same jail, so it was a twofer.”

“A twofer . . .”

Cal’s eyes rolled. “Two for one.”

“Right.” Nate was struggling to keep up. “So the ambush . . .”

“Didn’t see it comin’,” said Cal. He tried to move, make himself more comfortable, but ended up groaning in agony at the attempt. “Christ, what ’d you do to me?” he shouted.

“While you were sleeping, I shoved a bullet into this handy hole in your leg,” said Nate.

Cal burned a hole in Nate’s forehead with his eyes but didn’t comment. Then his face contorted with pain again and Nate made an executive decision. He went back to the shelf and got the bottle of Johnnie Walker. He poured Cal a couple of fingers’ worth.

“That’s more like it. And just leave the bottle, why don’t you.”

But Nate put it out of reach on the table, and was cursed for his efforts. Then he straddled the kitchen chair just out of reach of the old man. “The ambush,” he said.

Cal took a swig and swished the alcohol around in his mouth as if it were mouthwash. He swallowed, winced, sighed, wiped his dry lips with the back of his forearm. “Kev’s plan, hah! It wasn’t Kev Beck was talkin’ to at all. He was gettin’ cozy with the pigs instead, hopin’ to make some kind of a plea bargain, I guess. I don’t know. I don’t know why I ever got involved with those two lunatics.”

“So why did you?”

“I just tol’ ya!” said Cal. “I don’t friggin’ know!” Then he lowered his voice. “They was in the slammer, waiting to be sent south. I was in there serving a short sentence. And don’t ask me what for; the pigs don’t need a damn reason to throw your ass in jail once you’re on their watch list.” He fumed for a minute and Nate studied his face, half shocked and half fascinated that this man could share the slightest bit of DNA with his father — or himself. “I seen them there, Beck and Shaker. I knew who they was. Not by name. Di’n’t know them; just knew they was connected. Con-neck-ted.” His tired, wet eyes lit up for a moment. “I seen ’em in the lunchroom talkin’ ’cross the table, quiet, by themselves. No one went near ’em. But I could tell they was cookin’ somethin’ up. I got an eye for that.” He looked at Nate, and perhaps he was hoping for the boy to be impressed because he snarled when Nate didn’t react.

“If I was ever going to make some serious dough, I needed to get in with these people. And so I takes a chance. I jus’ walk up to ’em at lunch and sit down right there beside ’em, interrupt their little chin-wag.” He paused, shook his head. “I start right in. ‘Gen’lemen. Be glad you’re eatin’ in this pigsty ’stead of the staff room.’” He managed a tight little smile. “They just stared at me. ‘Yep,’ I said. ‘I mean the whole place is a pigsty, but that lunchroom . . .’” He took another swig, his eyes staring off into the warm air over the Ashley. “The staff room has this hollow sound to it. The room is kind of echoey. You know why?” Nate wasn’t sure if this was part of his remembered conversation or whether Cal was talking to him. He shook his head. “Because it’s where the drop was, Nathaniel.” Cal’s eyes were large with meaning, a meaning Nate couldn’t grasp.

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s where they hung people, back in the day.”

“Oh.”

“You can still see where the trapdoor was on the staff room floor. Below that is this pit where the body would fall.” He shook his head. “The body would drop down to right outside the laundry room in the basement, where the tunnel is to the courthouse.”

“Really?”

Cal nodded. “That’s exactly what Beck said. ‘Really?’ Meanwhile, Shaker’s staring a hole in his sandwich. Then he looks at me. ‘And how would you know such things?’ he asks. And I say, ‘I seen it.’ And he says, ‘When you were having a bite with your good friends the guards? A narc, maybe? Some kind of snitch?’”

Cal shook his head and looked up at Nate. “I figure I’m this close to him putting a fist through my head, so I quicken things up. ‘Nothin’ like that,’ I said. ‘I was just mopping the floors, is all.’ Then before Shaker can ask any more questions, I lean in close and come right out with it. ‘Gen’lemen,’ I said, ‘if you’re plannin’ a break, maybe you need a plan B.’”

Cal trained his eyes on Nate, and despite everything, Nate was hooked. “A plan B?”

“You got ’er.”

“You said that?”

“Not those exact words. But the thing is, they was plannin’ a break. And they did need a plan B — ’cept maybe they didn’t know that right off, like. Took ’em a bit to come around. And since I was gonna be on the outside in just a few days, it all just come together.”

“So why did they need a plan B?”

Cal seemed to be warming to the story. And strangely, Nate recognized the pattern. It was kind of like Dodge. Dodge was never as happy as when he was talking about some caper he’d pulled off, or some unsuspecting goof at school he’d played for a sucker.

So Cal talked about how the mob had their fingers in all sorts of pies, including a lot of stock in a major construction company in Sudbury, a company with its own helicopter. The thing was to make it anonymous, so they spray-painted over all the distinguishing markers on it. But that was only ever going to be a stopgap, and they knew it. There weren’t a whole lot of Robinson R22 choppers in the area, so soon enough the cops would be around to check on the company helicopter, which would have been washed clean by then. Time was the big factor. How soon would the cops have roadblocks up, and how extensive would they be? How soon could they get the guys to some safe house and return the helicopter to home base? Shaker was considered a dangerous offender, about to serve a life sentence for murder. They got those roadblocks up real fast.

“Which is where I come in,” said Cal. “I could provide these guys with a place right off the map. Not more than a hop, skip, and a jump from the jail in a copter that can go one hundred and seventy miles an hour and fly under the radar. The copter could be back at the construction yard in two or three hours, max, and the boys could cool their heels until things settled down.

“And,” said Cal, “I know how to get out of this place by pathways very few people knows about.” He chuckled darkly. “That’s where Shaker and Beck got it all wrong, cooking up with Kev — whoever the hell he is — some way to squeeze me out of the picture and out of the money we settled on.”

Nate watched the story play out on Cal’s torn-up face. Saw him turn in his thin lower lip and bite down hard on it as another jolt of pain disturbed the memory of how smart he’d been to horn in on the escape plans and deliver on his promise. Then Nate watched the pain win out over the pride, saw the whole stupid escapade dissolve in the old man’s eyes. He seemed to suddenly become aware of Nate looking at him, and fixed his gaze on him. “What are you gawkin’ at?” he snapped.

“Nothing,” said Nate. Then he got out of his chair and tended to the hungry woodstove. By the time he returned his attention to his grandfather, there wasn’t a shred of satisfaction left in his expression.

“I’m an old fool,” he said, his voice reduced to a smoker’s grumble. “I di’n’t see that ambush coming. Di’n’t know I was being bushwhacked, until you told me. You, of all people, for God’s sake.” He shook his head.

“But you got away,” said Nate. “That’s something.”

“Somethin’, yeah. But I’m not gettin’ nothin’ else out of it — not one goddamned nickel — just a bullet in the leg.”

Nate waited before he spoke again, waited for the bitter expression on Cal’s face to pass. “So the cops shot Beck and —”

“Hell, no. Shaker did that! Soon as he figured what was goin’ on.”

“And then he took off?”

Cal nodded. “The cops didn’t get nobody. Completely blew it. Well, they got Beck, all right, but it was Shaker they wanted.”

“And he —”

“Took off, like I told ya. I didn’t see it. Just heard him shoot Beck, heard Beck caterwauling. I’d already left the premises. Shaker shot me when I was hightailin’ it outa there.” He sighed with exasperation, took another swig of his whisky.

Nate looked at the wound on the man’s inner thigh. “How’d he get you there?” he said.

Cal looked down. “Ricochet, I guess. That old wreck of a Ski-Doo’s got itself a nasty little dent.” He smiled. “Your daddy’s sure gonna like that, eh?” Nate didn’t bother to reply. And Cal didn’t look as if he were truly worried about the destruction of other people’s property. His expression was one of outrage. “As if I was in on the double cross, for God’s sake. Hell, all I wanted was my pay. I wanted some real mazuma for a change — enough to get the hell out of here for once and for all. I sure didn’t want this!” He smacked his leg and immediately regretted it.

Meanwhile, Nate was on his feet, though he couldn’t move, seemed glued to the floor. “So where is he? Shaker, I mean.”

Cal held up his hand. “I was getting to that. Just hold your horses, kid. Sit down.”

Nate did not obey. He crossed his arms on his chest. He’d had enough storytelling. Self-aggrandizing storytelling. God, Cal was like Dodge.

“I got out,” said Cal. “Saw the writin’ on the wall quicker ’n Shaker did. Said I was steppin’ out the back to take a piss and skedaddled. I took a shot for it, but it could have been worse.” He managed a dry cough of a laugh. “He let off a bunch of rounds in my direction. Not sure how he ever got to be a hit man with such lousy aim. Anyway, I stopped on a ridge above the loggin’ camp to figure out what was going on. I could see a bunch of vehicles followin’ a grader in. A grader, for Christ’s sake! I don’t exactly know how Beck planned on explainin’ where the mob got its hands on a municipal grader. Meanwhile, Shaker took off in the other direction, south. I guess it looked like the best direction to go to put as much space between him and the boys in blue.”

“So not this way, then?” said Nate.

Cal shook his head. Then he patted the air with his hand, attempting to get Nate to sit down. Nate didn’t. “Where was he heading?”

“Nowhere,” said Cal. “Away. That’s all he could think of. Get outa there while the gettin’s good.”

Nate tried to relax but the thought of that man on the loose wouldn’t let him.

Cal downed the last of his drink and placed the glass firmly on the arm of his easy chair. “Here’s the thing,” he said. “With any luck, he followed a loggin’ trail out to hell and gone, where he’s gonna run out of gas and end up where he belongs, a few rungs down on the food chain. If that happens and if they find him at all, there won’t be more than a few well-gnawed bones. That’s one scenario.”

Nate liked that scenario. What he didn’t like was the idea that there might be another. “But . . .” was all he could make himself say.

“But if he comes to his senses — and I’m not sure whether he’s got any — he might just try heading back.”

“Why?” said Nate. “I mean, if the cops are around.”

“The cops may be around, dependin’ on how long it takes them to get their act together. Whoever Beck talked to about the ambush wasn’t a whole lot aware of what he was heading into. So there was nobody chasin’ nobody — not right away. They didn’t chase me, that’s for sure, but then I was out of there lickety-split. And they wouldn’t have been able to take off after Shaker, neither. They’d need to radio back to headquarters and get some equipment together.” He shook his head, marveling at the lunacy of the operation. “Morons,” he said.

At last, Nate sat down. “So I guess things are okay,” he said.

“Ya think?”

The look on Cal’s face was not reassuring. “What?” said Nate.

“If that big lunk is smart — and that’s a big if — then he’s gonna wanna double back this way sooner or later because one, he’s gonna need fuel, and two, he’s gonna need somethin’ a whole lot more important than that.”

Nate stared at Cal, who stared right back at him. “What do you mean?”

Cal fixed him with a dark eye. “A hostage,” he said.