The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10)

The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10) Page 78

“Well, what?”

“Well, what are we going to do?”

“Nothing is going to happen, Josie, until we have the money. Until we actually have the cash in hand it’s just a bunch of guys pretending they’re tough.”

“You’re saying I shouldn’t be afraid.”

“Not yet.”

“When?”

“I’ll let you know.”

Scott, the bartender at Buckman’s, looked nervous. His eyes flitted all over the place, moving from me to the deputies to Brand and Fenelon seated in a booth to Brand’s thug sitting at the bar and nursing a bottled beer, and then back again. I had no idea what he was thinking, yet my intuition told me he was afraid something bad was going to happen while at the same time wondering how he was going to profit off it.

I took hold of Josie’s arm and whispered in her ear. “Sit at the bar, order a vodka Collins, let the boys see how pretty you are.”

“What the hell…”

I tightened my grip on her arm. “Make sure the thug can see your hands. Whatever happens, stay out of it.” Jose gave me a look as if she wanted to protest some more. “Please,” I said.

She nodded and went to the rail. I marched to the booth and sat next to Fenelon across from Brand. “Gentlemen,” I said. “Funny meeting you here.”

Brand showed me his empty hands, which made me flash on the knights of old. Whenever they met fellow knights they didn’t intend to slaughter, they would make a production out of revealing that they weren’t holding weapons—that’s how the handshake was developed. Funny the things that pop in your mind when you’re nervous.

“We heard this was your favorite spot,” Brand said. He seemed incapable of speaking softly; the words flew like bird shot from a 12-gauge, and I thought, this is supposed to be a secret meeting?

“It’s the only place I know of up here, although I’m told you have a gentleman’s club down the road somewhere.”

I felt Fenelon’s body stiffen next to mine, yet his face gave nothing away.

“It’s a few miles from here on County 21,” Brand said. “You should drop in sometime. I’ll take care of you.”

“I’ll bet,” I said even as my inner voice spoke to me—He doesn’t know about your conversation with Fenelon.

“Speaking of which…” Brand reached into the pocket of his charcoal sports jacket. It was the same color yet a different cut from the suit coat he wore the night before. He stopped, though, when the bartender appeared at the table and set a bottle of Summit Extra Pale Ale in front of me.

“Hey,” I said. “Thanks, man.”

“Anything I can get you others?” Scott asked.

Both Brand and Fenelon glanced at the drinks in front of them and said no, they were fine. While Scott drifted back to the rail I took a long pull of the Summit. “I love this stuff,” I said.

Brand didn’t seem to care. His hand disappeared into his pocket again and reappeared with a thumb drive. He slid the device across the table.

“We scanned the blueprints you wanted,” he said. “We couldn’t give you the actual documents, though, could we?”

“Of course not.”

“Someone might suspect we’re up to no good.”

I slipped the drive into my own pocket. “What about the other half?” I asked.

“Other half? Oh, yes. The … other half. Do you know where Crane Lake is?”

“No idea.”

“Get a map,” Fenelon said.

I turned in my seat to get a good look at him. His bruises seemed more pronounced than they had that morning.

“What happened to you?” I asked.

“None of your damn business.”

I liked hearing the anger in his voice. It suggested that he was pissed at me instead of Brand.

On the other hand … my inner voice warned.

I took a long pull of the ale and contemplated the interior of Buckman’s. It was half filled, and most of the patrons seemed to be having a reasonably good time. Except for the thug, who sat with his back to the rail and balanced a beer on his knee, and James and Williams, who were seated at the far end of the bar. They were watching us intently, a grim expression on their faces. Josie sat between them, sipping from a tall, frosted glass, her back to us. Yet I could see her unhappy face in the mirror behind the bar, and I knew she was watching us, too.

“Crane Lake?” I said.

“It’s a U.S. Port of Entry in Voyageurs National Park near the border,” Brand said. “It mostly serves seaplane traffic. Something like five thousand takeoffs and landings each year. Do you know where Orr is? The town of Orr?”

“No, but I’ll get a map.”

“After you find Orr, get on 23, follow it to 24, and then go north toward Crane Lake. Go east on County Road 425. That will take you to Scotts Seaplane Base, but don’t stop there. Stay on 425. You want to take the first left after you pass Rocky Road. It’s an unpaved road. No sign. Follow it to the end. That will take you to a private seaplane base. Mine.”