That Dog Won't Hunt Read online

  Damn few women can finish nearly a whole bottle. It was a miracle she was still alive, but something told me she was used to this. I went back for what Mama called an overnight case. So’s she could freshen up in the morning. I let the dumbass dog out for a pee and a dump, then left the car windows down for him.

  Back inside, I tested the other bed. Hard, but better than the car. Cheap TV, commercial carpet with a few scorches, a desk and chest of drawers. Never many lights. Guess people don’t want to see too clear in places like this. On the wall was a big ship with a hundred sails. I never wanted to go to sea. The desert was my ocean. Miles and miles and miles of space. One of my teachers said it was all water once. What a crazy idea.

  The smell rising off me was almost as bad as the stale tobacco and mold in the air. I took a long, hot shower and gave myself a quick shave with the little soap. I checked my pockets for change and went down the hall to the machine. Wouldn’t be the first time I had a Snickers bar and bag of Fritos for dinner.

  Back in the room, I pulled the drapes and stripped to my underwear. Then I lay down on the other double bed, finishing eating in record time. I fell asleep to the sound of Gladys burbling along with the swamp cooler. I was dreaming about my old cowpony Nufflo. Was he still watching for me?

  Something woke me in the middle of the night.

  CHAPTER THREE

  C

  ar tires screeched outside. A jet took off. Then an eighteen-wheeler’s motor gunned. A strong sun lit the corners of the drapes. I struggled to open my gritty eyes. Gladys was sitting in a lacy black slip on the only chair, blowing smoke rings. Three, four, five.

  “Morning, sunshine,” she said.

  If I hadn’t seen that empty bottle, I would’ve thought I’d dreamed it. The dog was sleeping on the floor, an ice bucket filled with water next to him.

  “Morning, yourself.” I let a smile do the talking. Maybe she didn’t even remember what happened last night. “Coffee? Know I could do with some. Back in a flash.”

  She nodded. Somehow she had fixed herself: hair, clothes and makeup. The old girl had powers.

  “Know what? You’re a handy man.”

  I pulled on my jeans and last clean shirt, then boots.

  “There’s a restaurant down the way. Bunch of trucks outside last night. A good sign.”

  “Usually is.” She was tapping ashes into a fake potted plant. “Just coffee for now. I take mine black. And strong.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I brought back a couple of donuts with the large coffees. “Cinnamon. My favorite,” she said. “Aren’t you the mind reader?”

  Her teeth were her own. Little, sharp and white.

  I took a seat on the bed while she opened the cup, inhaling the aroma.

  “Damn. I forgot. We need to get the car to a garage.”

  “Arranged for that next door,” I said. “She’ll be ready tomorrow. New plugs, new points. Water pump’s on the fritz too. Special order from the junkyard. Save you a bit that way.”

  “Well done then.” Gladys arched one eyebrow and crossed her legs. “I guess we’re loose on the town. Right time at the right place. You a gambling man?”

  “No way. I got ten bucks and it’s gotta get me home.” I took out my wallet and showed her the lone bill.

  “You could have had more. And you know it.”

  She looked at me with those ice-diamond eyes again. I could feel them undressing me. Like they did in the dark last night. I might never walk straight again. Who knew that an old lady had that much energy?

  “Let’s hit the quarter slots. More fun than profit. Then a big dinner’s in order. My treat. You don’t have anyplace you have to be, do you?”

  I thought of the long road ahead. Back to work for me. It might take years to earn the money for that small ranch.

  “I’m all yours.” I tossed her a wink. Her face brightened, and I wondered how far I could go.

  Casinos know the bottom line. Only big spenders get free drinks. I hustled us a few beers. Gladys gambled down to her last quarter, then hit a jackpot that paid five hundred.

  “Gotta know when to fold ’em,” she said, loading her stash into the plastic buckets. At the wicket she traded her coins for twenties. Outside, we blinked in the light. Night was better here. In the dark, it was all one big cozy bear den in the middle of nowhere, its own country with no clocks.

  “Come on,” Gladys said, taking my arm. “I remember a good spot from the old days.”

  At the Branding Iron Restaurant, we ordered up two T-bones, baked potatoes, salad bar. Pitcher of Bud.

  “Beer is an honest drink,” she said. “Order wine in any of these places, the markup is three hundred percent.”

  Gladys ate everything on her plate, even the green stuff. Must have had a metabolism like a jackrabbit. She took out her cigarillos.

  “I didn’t forget last night,” she said. “That was a treat.”

  “Not sure what you mean, ma’am,” I said, tucking the last piece of steak into my mouth. Mama lived long enough to teach me manners. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

  “You know full well, cowboy. And stop it with the ma’ams. You’re making me feel old.” She finished the glass of beer and wiped her mouth carefully. “You got any real plans? Anything that can’t wait?”

  I shrugged. She was getting at something. “I like working with my hands. Never get rich that way, but it’s enough.”

  “Your hands are far from ordinary.” She sat back and worked her lips over a thought. “What skills do you have?”

  “Little of everything. Carpentry. Electrical. Plumbing. When you work on a ranch, there’s always something needs fixing. I pay attention. Experience is way better than books.”

  “Smart man.” She observed me like a prime steer. There was hunger in those cool eyes. Like dry ice smoldering. “I have a proposition.”

  Gladys and her late husband George owned a hunting lodge a few hours north of Sault Ste. Marie in Northern Ontario. Several hundred acres with wilderness up the wazoo. They took tourists on bear and moose hunts at over two grand a week, meals and rooms included. He had passed with a heart attack five years ago.

  “I’ll be honest with you, Rick. He was a lot older than me. The father I never had, and my best friend too. I miss him, but life goes on. It’s taken me a while to realize that. Everything’s gone to pot.”

  “What do you mean?” She seemed to be doing all right. Car, clothes, cash.

  “The climate’s rough in Canada. Much can go wrong in a few years. The maintenance is brutal.”

  “What’s its name, your lodge?” I asked. Things were falling into place. Sounded as good as a big ranch.

  “Call of the Wild. Americans are suckers for that stuff. Especially from the big eastern cities. Imagine charging folks to stay in the bush. Why, we just got electricity in. Before that it was lanterns and hand pumps.”

  “Here they call ’em dude ranches,” I said with a nod. “Same difference.”

  “Look…Rick,” she said. “We can do each other a favor. You need a job, right? I need a man.”

  I didn’t answer. Pop always said, “Keep your mouth shut, no one knows you’re a fool. Open it, and they’re sure.”

  “This is a business proposal. Not that I didn’t appreciate the…other service,” she said, patting my hand. “There’s plenty for both of us.”

  “How long are we talking?”

  “You’ll be home on the range before Christmas. Count on it. And your share will be a fair one.”

  “What would that be? Just asking.” I spoke with respect because I didn’t want to blow my chances.

  “Oh…four hundred a week, give or take. But that’s chicken feed. We’ll settle up the big money at the end.”

  “Sounds okay then. So we’re all set?”

  She folded her arms, tanned and wiry. Not like most sixty-year-old women.

  “We need a way to get you over the border. There’s no time for an official work permit. And I don’t want my escor
t to look like a tramp. No offense.” Then she called the waiter over and ordered a raw sirloin to go for Bucky.

  The first stop was a clothes store. Gladys flashed her Visa until it was smoking. Pants, shirts, jeans, jackets. I picked up a hundred-dollar Stetson, but she shook her head. “Too damn cold where you’re going. You’ll need something with ear flaps.”

  I held up a jim-dandy pair of alligator boots. Everyone knew Tony Lama.

  “Not this time, bub. Those high heels get stuck in muskeg, you’re a goner. Let’s go with some work boots.”

  At a barbershop, she got me a haircut and the closest shave I ever had.

  “Follow my lead. If we play it straight, we’ll have no problem at the border. After all, what do we have to hide?” she asked, touching my cheek and sniffing the aftershave. “Old Spice. George used to wear that.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  O

  ver the next couple of days, we made our way east, then north. I felt kind of sad driving through Utah without stopping. Not many folks appreciate this rough country. Dad said it was the last part of the US ever mapped. Gladys just grunted at the Book Cliffs.

  “Nice if you like rocks,” she said. “But it’s one long sand dune with damn few places to drink. Look where we stopped for lunch in Green River. Dry counties. Supper clubs. That would never fly in Canada. We never even had Prohibition.”

  “Pro…what’s that?”

  “That’s when alcohol was illegal. Back in the twenties. Even before my time.”

  “Liquor’s hard to find in some counties. Mormons aren’t supposed to drink. Where I live, they usually sneak down into Arizona to get their booze,” I said.

  Colorado was pretty but ritzy with all those ski resorts. We passed a bunch of big gas-sucking rvs slowed to nothing at the Eisenhower Tunnel. At Denver we joggled up to Nebraska. One big cornfield. We passed Des Moines and skirted Chicago. North of Lansing we took the I-75 north on a straight shot for Canada. That’s when I started noticing the snow. Even in the desert we have a few inches at high elevations. This looked like the remains of twenty feet. It was collapsing on itself as it melted.

  “Jesus,” I said. “There’s a million legs of dead deer sticking up.”

  Gladys laughed. “Happens every winter when they cross the highway. Plows shove the bodies to the berm. Life can be brutal if you’re little…and weak.”

  At Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, we slowed with the traffic. A sign said that we were heading for the same city in Canada. Go figure. Gladys freshened her lipstick in the mirror.

  “Do just like I said, honey, and don’t be nervous. We’ve known each other for years. Your father and George were army buddies. Hunted together. That’s the way they think in Youperland. You’re coming up for the summer to give me a hand. Which is true.”

  “Youperland?” I asked. Too many ideas flooded my head.

  She sighed and shook her head.

  “People who live in the Michigan Upper Peninsula are called Youpers. The U-P. Remember that big bridge?”

  “Sure. This is one exam I’m going to ace,” I said. They called me a slow learner or something until I quit in grade ten. Slow nothing. I had better things to do.

  “They may have their suspicions, but there’s not a damn thing they can do. Just imagine a tall, cool ice cube clear down to your toes. Slow your pulse. Think before each answer, but do it fast.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “One more thing. I might as well use up my limit.”

  We stopped at a hardware chain, and Gladys bought a Stihl. Biggest they had. When the clerk took it from the box, Gladys handed it to me.

  “Here’s your chainsaw, boy. When we get home, I want land cleared for more cabins.”

  Looks like she planned on getting her money’s worth. So what? Hard work never killed no one.

  “Okay, hon,” I said.

  After stopping a minute at the duty-free store, we crossed over into the Canadian Sault, and Gladys taught me the anthem as we started up the bridge.

  “Coming south, George and I always used to sing it halfway to the flags, then the US anthem.” She turned that ring on her finger, and I heard her sniff.

  “I admire your ring. It’s real unusual.”

  That brought a smile. “We didn’t have a pot to pee in, starting out. George gave me a cigar band for a ring. Kind of a joke. Then he had this made. It’s always been lucky for me. Remember, I had it on when I won that jackpot.” She looked at it like an old friend. Maybe it was.

  We headed for the booths. I pulled up to the window. She thought it would look better if I was driving. “Citizenship?” the officer asked.

  “I’m American, and she’s Canadian,” I said. I showed a driver’s license, and Gladys had her birth certificate.

  “Anything to declare?”

  “Just a chainsaw, duty-free liquor and cigarettes.” Gladys handed over the slips. He glanced at them.

  “You’re a long way from home, sir. And the purpose of your trip?” the officer asked, emerging from his booth. He stepped forward and took a note of our plate.

  “Just a visit for the summer,” Gladys said.

  The man’s face was hard to read. Poker would have been his game. He gestured to a building. “You’ll have to fill out a declaration form. Then see the immigration officer. Pull in over there and go up to the counter. Shouldn’t take too long… unless you have warrants that show up on the computer.”

  Inside, a fat female clerk gave us a number, and we took a seat on a wooden bench. My stomach turned over and rumbled. Gladys crossed her legs and sighed.

  An hour later, she went into a small room with a table and two chairs. Twenty minutes had passed when she emerged, giving me an unseen nod. She was one smart lady. Then I entered the room as directed.

  “Mr. Cooper, I understand you have known Mrs. Ryan for a number of years,” the bald man said. Haig was on his name tag.

  Like to have wiped that smirk off his face. I managed a decent blush instead. It had gotten me outta trouble more times than I can remember.

  “Yes, sir. Daddy used to hunt with… Uncle George. Why, one time—”

  “Never mind that.” Haig tapped his pencil on the table. “How long are you going to be in Canada?”

  Soon after, Gladys was brought into the room and we exchanged glances.

  “Everything okay, officer?” she asked. “I simply don’t understand why we’re been disaccommodated. I have a mind to call my Member of Parliament. He was a friend of George’s.”

  I smiled. Damn. She had one good vocabulary.

  Haig looked like he had swallowed vinegar.

  “You can go. But you must return to the US after two months, Mr. Cooper. Is that clear? If you wish to work in Canada or stay longer than that, you must apply for landed immigrant status.”

  “I understand. No problem.”

  Gladys moved out like she owned the place. I held the door for her.

  On the way back to the car, I wanted to give a high five. But she motioned me to keep walking.

  “They can still see us. Smarten up.”

  I walked straight and cool, never even looking back.

  Gladys opened the rye and poured herself a healthy snort. I popped a beer. The Soo, as she called it, looked like kind of a dump next to the US side, but I kept my mouth shut. Didn’t want her to feel bad.

  We stopped at a food store for some grocery basics. There would be nothing at the lodge but flour and a few canned goods.

  “I could eat a horse. How about you?” Gladys asked. “Giovanni’s makes great pasta. And I could use a bottle of their Chianti. You deserve a treat too. That guy must have put you through the wringer.”

  What did she mean about a ringer? They talked different up here.

  “Yeah, kinda.”

  It was past dark when we left the grill after a couple of pounds of spaghetti and meatballs. I could have done with a nap after the drinks, but I could tell Gladdie wanted to get home. I’d taken to calling
her that, and she seemed to like it. Bucky was let out but never seemed to have to go. He could last twelve hours between pit stops.

  “Got no Interstates up here?” I asked. “Says Trans-Canada, but it’s a two-lane cow path.”

  “Behave,” she said. “Bigger isn’t necessarily better.” She muttered some directions.

  An hour later we headed north around Elliot Lake. It was pitch-dark, but the snow cover on the ground and trees lightened things up. Pines, I guess, or spruce or fir. Reminded me of ponderosas but a hell of a lot smaller. The moon rising helped, and we passed swamp after swamp. Swamps meant mosquitoes. I had to use bug dope once when I went after trout at Fish Lake.

  “Hope I haven’t passed the place,” I said to Gladys when she woke up. She lit a cigarette and the glow filled the cab.

  Things all looked alike to me but not to her. “Another fifteen minutes,” she said. “That’s the old Royce cabin.” She pointed at a burned-out shell. It was the first place I’d seen in thirty minutes.

  “What the hell did they ever do up here?” I asked. “It’s not ranching country.”

  She shrugged. “Farming is piss-poor except for hay and potatoes. Trappers opened up the country back in voyageur days.”

  “Like the hoser guys on TV? In plaid jackets? Back bacon?”

  Gladys smothered a yawn. “Earlier than that. French Canadian explorers. Timber to follow. At Elliot Lake they had the uranium mine until that business went belly up.”

  “Your place doesn’t glow none, does it?” I asked.

  “It will now,” she said. “You’re going to make it sparkle.” Then she sat up. “Slow down, sonnie. Next drive’s ours,” she said. She rummaged in her purse for a padlock key.

  I got out and opened up. I removed the chain and pushed back the large gate. Call of the Wild was routered on a sign across the top. A mailbox stood by, barely on top of a snowbank. Someone had cleared the drive. Bucky woke up in the back and started barking.