Chasing a Blond Moon(14)
Service grabbed his arm. “Do you have a problem, Jet?”
The old man sneered and pulled loose. “Bein’ alive is the problem. I can take care of myself.”
“You’re welcome for the lift,” Service said.
The old man didn’t bother to approach the smoldering ruins. He walked straight into a cedar swamp and disappeared.
“You’re going to let him stomp off into the bush alone?” Nantz asked.
“He’s not totally blind,” Service said.
“What?”
“I watched him. He plays at blind, but I saw his hands moving when we approached turns. I baited him by making him think I was going the wrong way. He didn’t say anything, but he moved his hand or leaned in the direction he wanted to go. Maybe it’s unconscious, but I’m sure he can see something and he’s clammed up over why he was up on the Firesteel.”
“Who is this Dowdy Kitella?”
Service shook his head. “Bad as they come.”
“Worse than Limpy?” she asked.
Limpy Allerdyce was the leader of a tribe of poachers, mostly his relations, who lived like animals in the far southwest reaches of Marquette County. Limpy’s crowd had been known to kill bears and sell gallbladders and footpads to Korean brokers in Los Angeles for shipment to the Far East, where such things sold for prices most people would have trouble comprehending. Allerdyce and his clan killed dozens of deer, took thousands of fish, and got substantial money for their efforts from buyers in Chicago and Detroit. Despite their income, the clan lived like savages. Service had put the leader of the clan in prison for seven years and since his release last summer, Allerdyce had become a strange breed of informer for him, claiming that he had done the same for Service’s father.
“Not exactly worse than Limpy,” Service said. “More like a competitor.”
Service picked up his cell phone and punched in the number of CO Simon del Olmo, who lived in Crystal Falls. Simon had been a CO for five years now, and they had become pals over the past year. Like Gus, he was an officer who could be relied upon in any circumstances. The younger officer had been born near Traverse City to Mexican parents, migrant workers who spent summers in Michigan and winters in Texas. Simon had a degree from the University of Michigan and had been in combat with the Air Cav in the Gulf War.
“This is Grady, where are you?”
“Snake Rapids on the Net River. Got tips on some early baits—dirty to boot. Why?”
Dirty baits were those that used illegal materials or illegal amounts, or weren’t properly presented. No baits could be out until a certain number of days before the season began. “You know Trapper Jet?”
“Wish I didn’t. What’s up?”
“His cabin burned down today. Nantz and I are on site now.”
“Too bad,” del Olmo said sarcastically.
“Bearclaw found him up on the Firesteel last night. Wouldn’t say why he was there or how he got there. Nantz and I brought him back and found the fire. Can you get hold of the Troops and get the Arson unit out to the camp?”
“Roger that, but the thing was a firetrap and the old bastard’s as stubborn as he is blind. Billy Klesko cuts wood for him sometimes and Jet’s always bitching that the stuff’s too long and some day there’s gonna be a fire.”
Klesko was a fish technician out of the Crystal Falls District DNR office. “Soon as we found the fire, Jet started making noises about Dowdy Kitella being responsible. When I tried to question him, he clammed up.”
“He still with you?”
“Nope, he limped into the bush, said he’s gotta rebuild.”
“Crazy bastard,” del Olmo said. “Kitella and Jet, there’s a combo for you. I’ll call Arson and get on up that way to meet them. You check out his dugout camp?”
“What dugout camp?”
“It’s on the east side of the high country just east of that little pisshole lake about a half-mile south of his cabin.”
“Never knew about that.”
“I think it’s his hideaway. I found it a couple of years ago when I was running surveillance on some of Kitella’s baits. I think I’ll check it out after Arson gets through.”
“Kitella’s baits are close to Jet’s places?”
“Damn straight.”
“Have there been conflicts?”
“Mostly carping and bitching, but I’ve always thought that sooner or later those two would tangle and we’d have us a major wreck to deal with.”
“Be careful,” Service said. His father had once declared when he was drunk that Trapper Jet was potentially the most dangerous man in the Upper Peninsula.