Dominic lifted Michael tenderly in his arms and carried him towards the boat. Halfway there, he fell to his knees, almost dropping the body. His side was aching and burning. Ettore’s compress hadn’t stopped the bleeding. His father took Michael from him and carried him the remaining distance. Once in the canoe, Dominic lay back as Ettore paddled it across the lake.
Vincent was waiting for them. His eyes filled with the terrible sadness he had known for his mother, then his wife and sons, then Maria, then Junior, and now his brother.
“I’ll take Mike, Papa,” he said softly. He lifted his brother over his good shoulder. Dominic and Ettore dropped their guns into the canoe, picked it up, and they started off. Dawn was breaking and they were all staggering badly when they reached the car. Ettore got into the rear seat. Vincent placed Michael there, his head resting on his father’s lap. Dominic helped Vincent lash the canoe to the car rack, then stood quietly as Vincent tightened the compress on his side. “I’ll drive,” said Vincent. The two climbed into the car. “Before we go, tell me what happened back there.”
Dominic explained all that had transpired up to the gunfight with Bonazzi, then Ettore took over. He and Michael were standing in the hall when Bonazzi fired his gun and yelled for Franko. The shot woke up the others. Ettore stepped into the room and ordered the two men not to move, but they went for their guns, so Ettore killed them. He ran back into the hallway. Michael had traded shots with Franko, who had reacted instantly and aggressively to Bonazzi’s shout. His second shot had killed the gunman. He had then stepped back into the hallway.
The door, flung open desperately by Bonazzi, had struck Michael squarely, knocking him to the floor. As Bonazzi ran out, he collided with Ettore. With extreme alertness, he struck Ettore on the head with his revolver, dazing him, then turned and fired at Michael, hitting him with the fatal shot.
Vincent listened carefully. “Did you bring all your weapons?” Dominic nodded. “How about fingerprints?”
Dominic shook his head. “None. We kept our gloves on and took everything. But there will be footprints, signs that someone came over in a boat, the toilet paper. How do you read that, Vince?”
Vincent sat pondering before turning around to Ettore. “Papa, Mike will have to take the blame. Is that okay?” Ettore nodded, too overwhelmed with grief to speak. “Here’s the way I see it then. The Canadian police will not charge anyone without sufficient evidence to make a case. Therefore, we’ll have to make the case for them - to our advantage. The story will be that you, Dom, and Mike came here to relax, and perhaps do some target practice.” He started the car and drove off. “We’d better get away from here. Someone could just come by. Anyhow, you and Mike bought the guns and rented the canoe with the intention of looking about for a place to practice shooting. Last night both of you met two French Canadians in a bar. You can’t remember which. You had a few drinks together. Then Mike bought a bottle, and the four of you took a ride in the countryside. You and Mike had an argument. Think up a reason. Maybe because Mike was drinking too much and acting like an ass. You got out of the car, told them all to go to hell, then started walking back. You fell asleep along the road, and woke up at dawn. All you remember is that Mike and the Canadians took off with the car, canoe and weapons. While walking back to town, somebody shot you from the woods. You ran away. Now, Dom, this is very important. The story isn’t worth very much as it stands, but it will be meaningless unless you get that bullet out of your side and destroyed before you are questioned. Otherwise the police will tie it in with Mike and Bonazzi.” He glanced back at Ettore. “Papa, keep your gloves on. Take out Mike’s wallet and give the money to Dom. Now, wipe that rifle carefully. Get rid of every fingerprint. Put Mike’s prints on it. Don’t forget the trigger. We must make the police believe that Mike paid the two Canadians to help him fight Bonazzi’s party, that Mike was killed during the shootout, and that the two Canadians brought him back to this side and took the rest of his money. Those footprints you spoke of, Dom, won’t be a problem. The ground is too dry to determine weight and all that. Most of all, you’ll have to get back to the United States and drop out of sight until we see which way this case is going.”
“Won’t they be right after me?”
“They’ll certainly go all out for you here, probably by an all points bulletin, to hold you for questioning. You’ll be their prime suspect. Once they believe or learn you’ve crossed into the United States, they’ll send a request to our central information system to hold you if ever you’re picked up for an offense. But the American police will not make an active search for you. As for you and me, Papa, we came here to do some fishing with Dom and Mike. I have the best excuse possible - I’ve been fishing at Lac Laval for twenty years. Last night Mike and Dom said they wanted to make the rounds, so they took off and we haven’t seen them since. The big problem is where did we spend the night. The hotel will surely know we did not sleep in our rooms.”
There was silence as they thought. “Hey,” said Dominic. “Where do you stay when you go to Lac Laval?”
“I own a cabin about half an hour away.”
“Is it empty now?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have the key?”
“There’s one stashed under an eave of the roof.”
“Can we drive there without being seen?”
“That might be difficult - there are always people moving about. But once off the main road, it’s quite deserted.” He had caught on to the idea the moment Dominic mentioned it, but now the details came into focus. “Come to think of it, it can be done. But we’ll need another car.”
“There’s a garage right in Ste-Anne-de-Beaupré that rents cars.”
Vincent saw the main road up ahead. He pulled over to the side. “Dom, change shirts with me. You can’t go around with that bloody thing on, and I’m going to need you.”
Once they changed, Vincent drove into Ste-Anne-de-Beaupré, dropped Dominic off at a restaurant near the garage which rented cars, then took off. Dominic, his side paining severely, waited in the restaurant over a breakfast plate until the garage opened, then walked to it. Twenty minutes later he came out with a late model Ford.
He drove back on the lonely road until he reached the Dodge parked in a small clearing. Vincent and Ettore were waiting beside it. The three DiStephanos stood looking at Michael’s body in silence, then they climbed into the Ford and left.
They drove through Quebec to the road leading north to Lac Laval. At a public phone booth, Dominic got out and called the police, speaking French with as heavy a Canadian accent as possible to report having seen a dead man in car on the road leading out of Ste-Anne-de-Beaupré. Then he hung up.
“Don’t want to leave Mike out there too long,” he explained as he started off again.
When they reached the rolling countryside where Vincent had spent his fishing vacations these many years, he and Ettore crouched low in the car to avoid being seen while Dominic sped to the narrow road leading to the cabin. Soon they were there.
“We’ll tell the police you and Mike left us here last night,” said Vincent. “That you were to pick us up, but when you didn’t show up, we slept here.”
“Exactly,” said Dominic.
Vincent and Ettore handed over most of their money to Dominic. “You have the hard job now, Dom,” said Vincent. “How you are going to get back to the States and keep out of sight is beyond me. There are several roads without border guards into Maine and New Hampshire. Try to make contact with a wood cutter or farmer.” He embraced his brother with moisture in his eyes, and kissed him as men of the blood will kiss. “Thank you, Dom.”
“Okay, Vince.” He turned to his father. “Goodbye, Papa.”
Ettore wrapped his arms around his brown son, tears streaming down his face as he kissed him. “Take care of yourself, Dom.”
“I will, Papa.”
“Come home when you can. And let me know where I can send you money.”
“Okay, Papa.”
He stepped into the Ford and drove off.
They watched it until it was out of sight. “He won’t be able to come home again, Papa,” said Vincent.
Ettore wiped his face. “I know.”