I didn’t like the way Bruckman was holding the gun. Beyond the simple fact that he was pointing it at my head. The way it was shaking in his hand, I was afraid he’d shoot me without even meaning to. It had been three days since I saw him on the ice rink. Whatever was racing through his blood that night, there had to be twice as much of it now. He was practically vibrating.
“Put the gun down,” I said.
“Talk,” he said.
“After you put the gun down.”
“You’ve got three seconds,” he said. “Start talking. Where is she?”
“I don’t know where she is,” I said.
He switched the gun over to his left hand and then hit me across the face with his right. It was more of a slap than an outright punch, but it was enough to make me taste blood.
“Where is she?” he asked again.
“You took her,” I said. “Why are you asking me?”
He switched hands, then hit me again. It would have been a lot more efficient to just keep the gun in his right hand and hit me in the face with that, but I wasn’t about to make the suggestion.
“I swear to God, Bruckman. I thought you took her. I’ve been looking for you.”
He took a long breath, shivering from the cold or from whatever drags he was on, or some combination of both. He looked at the men on either side of me. I could feel their grips tightening on each arm. I didn’t know what the two men behind me were doing. They were probably just getting ready to kick me again when the time came.
“She was here,” he said. “And she brought something with her. Where is it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He didn’t hit me this time. He took a two-handed grip on the gun, pointed it between my eyes, and said, “Where?”
“If your friends will let go of me, I’ll get it,” I said. I thought about the gun in my right-hand pocket.
“Tell me.”
“Let me get it.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s in this pocket,” I said. I looked down to my left. Please don’t go for the other pocket, I thought.
The man on my left dug into my pocket and came out with the hockey puck.
“What is it?” Bruckman asked.
The man threw it to him. Bruckman caught it and looked at it. “What the fuck is this?”
“It’s your hockey puck,” I said.
“My hockey puck.” He kept looking at it like he had never seen one before.
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“This is a joke, right?” he said. “You think I came all the way out here for a fucking hockey puck?”
“It’s signed by Gordie Howe,” I said. “I knew you’d want it back. That’s why I saved it for you. And now that you’ve got it back, why don’t I get us all a beer?”
There was a silence, then a slight flex in his hands. Then the gunshot ripped everything apart. As it roared through my ears I was back in that apartment in Detroit, lying on the floor next to my partner.
The blood. I am dying.
The gunshot ringing in my ears.
I am dying and my partner is dying because I didn’t go for my gun.
No. I’m not bleeding. I am in my cabin. Bruckman fired over my head, into the wooden wall. The men have let go of me. My arms are free. The gun. My right pocket.
I went for the pocket. I fumbled around for what seemed like an eternity, finally found the opening and reached in for the gun. I felt the cold weight of it. Pull it out and fire. Shoot the fuckers one by one, starting with Bruckman.
I tried to pull out the gun. I felt a hand on my arm. Then another. My arm bent back, the tendons stretching to the breaking point. The gun falling to the floor; the dull thud of the metal hitting wood.
Then Bruckman’s voice against my ear. “I’ll fuck you up so bad, McKnight. I swear to God I’m gonna fucking kill you.” He gave me a shot to the ribs, the same place he had hit before. My breath was gone again. This time I thought I would never get it back.
“Somebody’s gonna hear us,” one of the men behind me said. “Did you ever think about that?”
“Joe, we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere,” Bruckman said to him without taking his eyes off me.
Breathe, goddamn it. Why can’t I breathe?
“There’s other cabins,” the man named Joe said. “They’re gonna call the police.”
The other man behind me spoke up. “The police ain’t our biggest problem,” he said. “Look at this place.”
“Who did this?” Bruckman said. “Who trashed your place?”
Breathe. I still cannot breathe.
“Who did this?”
I held my hand up as I fought for air. Finally, it came to me, as if I had just come up from the bottom of the ocean. “You,” I said. “You did this.”
Bruckman grabbed my hair and put the gun under my chin. “You’re really pissing me off here, you know that? Now listen to me very carefully. I’m gonna go through this nice and slow so even you can understand it.”
His face was less than six inches from mine. There was a sickly sweetness to his breath that was worse than any gin drank.
“She came out here Friday night,” he said. “She found you at that bar down the road. Am I right?”
I didn’t say anything. He dug the point of the gun into my neck. I swallowed and said, “Yes, she was there.”
“She left with you, didn’t she? In that piece of shit truck of yours with the window missing.”
I nodded.
“Did she give you a little hummer in the parking lot before you left?”
I stared into his eyes.
“Then you came back here to your cabin, right? An old man like you, she probably wore you out in five minutes. Am I right?”
“Lonnie,” the man on my left said, “cut the shit.”
“Shut up, Stan,” he said to the man. And then to me, “How many times did you fuck her, McKnight? I want to know.”
“I didn’t touch her,” I said.
“I know most goalies are faggots, McKnight. But I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care what you believe,” I said.
“Fine,” he said. “You were the perfect gentleman. Now tell me where the bag is.”
“What bag?”
“She had a white bag with her. Made of cloth or something.”
“Canvas,” the man on my left said. The man on my right hadn’t said a word yet. His only contribution had been nearly twisting my arm off my body and making me drop the gun. Was it on the floor still? I couldn’t see it anywhere.
“Canvas,” Bruckman said. “Thank you. The bag was made of fucking canvas.”
I tried to remember. Yes, she did have a bag with her. It was white, and yes, it looked like it was made of canvas. She wouldn’t let me carry it for her.
“I’m telling you the truth,” I said. I didn’t see any reason not to. Although I knew he wouldn’t like it. “The next morning she was gone. The bag was gone, too. I thought you had taken her. That’s why I was looking for you.”
“You’re lying,” he said. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Look at this place,” one of the men behind me said. “Lonnie, I’m just thinking, you know, about who could’ve done this.”
“Shut up, Stan! Goddamn it, will you just shut up for a minute!”
“Look around, Lonnie! Who else could it be?”
“If it was them and they found the bag here,” he said, looking at me, “then this fucker would be dead already.”
“Something’s wrong here, Lonnie,” the man said. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
Bruckman put both of his hands on the collar of my coat, the cold gun metal against the left side of my face. “I cannot believe this is happening,” he said. He was still looking into my eyes but he said it like he was talking to nobody in particular. “I cannot fucking believe that this is happening! ”
“What are we gonna do?” the man on my left said.
Lonnie let out an animal shriek and hit me in the ribs with the gun again. The other four men took their cue and started beating the hell out of me. Or maybe one of the men held back this time. I wasn’t counting.
When they pulled me off the floor, my left eye was starting to swell shut. Everything else was hurting so much, it made me wish I was unconscious.
“Give me that rope,” I heard somebody say. I had lost all ability to separate the voices. It was all one monster now, with ten arms and ten legs.
I felt my hands being tied together, so tight that the rough hemp bit into my wrists. And then my legs. I was picked up like a big bag of rock salt and taken out into the cold air. I felt a stinging over my left eyebrow and felt the blood dripping into my eye.
I was dropped into the snow, which opened to receive me, then closed back over me, the cold white powder covering my face. I could see nothing but white.
Footsteps. Walking away from me. I am being left for dead. In the spring they will find what’s left of my body, after the coyotes have had their way with me.
It was quiet. Only the distant sound of the wind and the newly fallen snowflakes collecting over my head.
Then the explosion as all five snowmobiles started at once. The metallic whine of engines racing, then the hollow clunk of gears engaging. They will leave me and I will go numb with cold until I am dead.
Then the sudden jerk on my legs. My body moving. I am… I am sliding. They’re pulling me. Somebody is pulling me behind his snowmobile.
I felt myself rising to the top of the snow as I was pulled feet first into the woods. I could hear the machine laboring through the drifts. Then when we were on the trail he opened it up. The rope strained at the sudden acceleration, almost snapping. And then I became a body in motion. I felt nothing but speed and the smooth blanket of snow beneath me, almost without friction. The snow blew into my face like a thousand tiny needles.
They dragged me for some period of time I could not even register. Then the machines stopped. I heard voices. Words with no meaning. I couldn’t feel my face. I couldn’t feel my hands. I tried to sit up, to look around me. Through the snow in my eyelashes I saw only trees and more snow. They’re taking me into the forest, I thought. They’re taking the trail due west, away from town, into the heart of the wilderness. Nobody will see them.
But why have they stopped here? I tried to clear my head and listen to them. Two men were yelling at each other. Fuck you. No, fuck you. You’re fucking crazy. Let’s just go then.
The machines roared again. This time they were coming right at me. I tried to cover my head, but it was useless. I could barely bend at the middle. The machines passed on either side of me. I could feel the rope pull tight against my body, digging into my neck, and then a sudden violent jerk. My legs were whipped sideways and my whole body flipped over. I hit the ground with my face. I could feel the warm blood flowing from my nose.
They’re pulling me back, I thought. Back toward my cabin. I have to stay conscious. I have to think. Somebody has to see me. Somebody else out on the trail. It’s my only chance.
I tried to look, tried to keep my eyes open against the onslaught of snow in my face. There was nothing but white.
Until the tree.
I didn’t see it until a split second before it hit me. I tried to roll away from it, but it caught me in the ribs, right where Bruckman had already nailed me. It knocked all the air out of my body and sent a shooting pain from my right arm all the way down to my leg.
This is it, I thought. This is how it ends.
We stopped. I was off the trail, back in the deep snow. I sank into it, fighting for my breath.
Breathe, goddamn it. Breathe.
Bruckman’s face appeared above mine. He bent down over me. “Are you gonna tell me where it is?” he said.
Breathe. Take a breath.
“I’ll kill you,” he said. “I’ll kill you right here.”
One breath. Please.
“Where is it?” he screamed. “Tell me where it is!”
“He doesn’t know!” a voice behind him said. “Can’t you see that? How stupid are you?”
Bruckman’s face was gone. I looked up at the branches and the clouds and the snowflakes falling down upon my face. From a thousand miles away I heard the voices blending into one.
“The fuck is wrong with you, anyway?… I’ll show you what’s wrong with me… What’re we gonna do, drag his ass all the way back with us?
… Yeah, that’s what we’re gonna do… All the way back over the river, that’s what we’re gonna do… Yeah, that’s what we’re gonna do… You’re so fucking crazy. Stuff has fucked you up so bad you can’t even think straight anymore… Just get the fuck out of the way, then… My pleasure, Captain Fuckhead. I’m outta here.”
A single machine taking off again. Then another. I waited for the pull. I tried to tense my body but I couldn’t even do that anymore. I was dead weight now.
Motion. Slow at first, like before. When we hit the trail he’ll open it up again. Can’t hold on much longer.
Can’t hold on.
No. I must fight it. One more try.
I picked my head up. I opened my eyes.
From the tree. A sudden movement. Something hitting the driver from the side. He is down. The snowmobile has stopped. I am looking at it like it is something in a dream. A snowmobile with no rider on it.
A man. He has a big knife. The biggest knife I have ever seen. He is cutting the rope. He is not wearing a helmet like the riders. I know the man. I have seen him before in my dreams.
Another man. I know him, too. I have seen him in the same dream. He is fighting with the rider. The rider still has his helmet on. They are wrestling in the snow. It is all happening in slow motion.
A gunshot rips through the dream.
“Don’t shoot me, you idiot!”
I know that voice.
More gunshots. And then a man’s body covering mine, the impact hard enough to wake me, to chase away the warm numbness in my body. I am cold again. And I am in more pain than I have ever felt before.
I heard the whine of the snowmobiles, the sound getting smaller and smaller until finally there was only the sound of his breath against my ear. “Don’t worry, Alex,” the voice whispered to me. It was Vinnie. “They’re gone.”
Vinnie rolled off me, sat up next to me. Leon knelt down on the other side of me.
“Help is on the way,” Vinnie said.
“You’re gonna be okay, partner,” Leon said.
I tried to speak. Finally, a short breath. And then another. “I…” I couldn’t say any more.
“Don’t move,” Vinnie said. “Don’t try to talk.”
“Just relax,” Leon said. “They’ll be here any minute.”
“I…” I took as much of a breath as I could, swallowed hard and then tried again. “I… hate…”
They looked down at me. The snow continued to fall all around us.
“I… hate…” I said. And then with my last ounce of strength, I finished the sentence: “… snowmobiles.” And then I was out.