“You let queers be game wardens?”
“Why? You looking for work?”
Allerdyce hissed, “I ain’t one a dose, hey!” He screamed, “Don’t youse never call me no queer!”
Limpy’s face was red, his fists clenched, and he looked like he was going to strike out. Service kept his voice soft. “Why do you want to know?”
“Just wonderin’,” the old man said. “You hear about Dowdy Kitella?”
“He fell down and hurt himself?”
Allerdyce cackled. “Got shit kicked out of him, is what.”
Classic Allerdyce, always on top of everything that could potentially affect his business. Kitella was a longtime competitor and there was no love lost between the men, though for years they had avoided tangling directly.
“You confessing?” Service asked.
Allerdyce grinned. “A body wants Kitella outa da way, he just go missin’, eh?”
Service waited for additional comment, but Allerdyce chewed away and stared at Lake Superior.
“How’s Honeypat?” Service asked. Honeypat had been the old man’s daughter-in-law. They had been sleeping together before his son Jerry died. Limpy and Honeypat had more or less hooked up until last fall when Service informed her that Limpy had hit on his grandson’s girlfriend.
The old man didn’t directly answer the question. “Fucked ole Honeypat right here on dis island many da time,” Limpy said. “Could hear her scream all da way to da ore docks. You heard she got her own place over to Ford River?” Limpy added.
Honeypat had a place, meaning they were still apart.
“How’s Aldo?” His grandson seemed a nice kid, totally unlike his grandfather.
“Up da college.”
“He still seeing Daysi?” Daysi was Aldo’s Ojibwa girlfriend.
“He don’t say. Lives da college, nose in books.” Limpy made a sour face and spit. “Guess I better get on.”
When Service got to the truck, Limpy walked past him, heading down the narrow road that looped the park. “You’re not riding?”
“Got the time?”
Service checked his watch. “Almost one.”
“I’ll walk,” Allerdyce said. “Good for ticker, and good for da ticker’s good for da pecker, sonny.” The old man looked Service in the eye. “Ya know, Aldo’s queer as da five-dollar bill. Like all dem Hershey packers down to Jackson.” Limpy flashed a look of total disgust and spit a thick line of yellow phlegm.
“Three-dollar bill,” Service corrected him.
Allerdyce grunted and shuffled on.
Service started the truck and followed and when he drew alongside, buzzed down his window. “You still in the bear business?”
Allerdyce gave him a dark look. “Give dat up long time back. No money.”
“I hear it’s major money.”
“Not on da gettin’ end of da business. Da Chinks make all da money dese days, eh?”
Allerdyce walked slowly, his pace barely a shuffle. Usually the old man could outwalk professional walkers. Service drove to the end of the island, found a parking place, and waited.
What the hell had Limpy wanted? Allerdyce always had a plan. Always.
When the old man passed by his parking place he stopped at a trashcan, took off the top and fished around in it, shoving some of the take into his bag. Then he walked slowly on, looking straight ahead.
Back at the DNR office Fern LeBlanc turned away and Service looked down at the captain’s office and saw Aldo Allerdyce in his boss’s office, both of them at a small round conference table. The boy wore a long-sleeved dress shirt and a red tie.
The captain waved for Service to join them.
“Hey, Aldo,” Service said. The boy was tall and thin, his hair neatly trimmed and combed, his shoes shined.
“I came to ask the captain about careers in law enforcement,” the young man said. “I’m majoring in criminal justice with a minor in wildlife management.” Aldo paused. “Given my grandfather’s predilections, I thought it wise to find out if his history would disqualify me.”
The captain spoke. “Mr. Allerdyce has a four-point average and he’s taken the state civil service exams and scored in the ninety-sixth percentile.”
“That’s great,” Service said. “Does Limpy know about your career interest?”
“He said it’s my choice,” Aldo said grudgingly.
Typical Limpy, playing two angles. He tells the boy one thing, and goes behind his back to poison the well. “How’s Daysi?”
“Fine. She’s in school at Northern, too.”
“Good to see you,” Service said, excusing himself.
Later, Aldo came to his cubicle. “The captain says that what matters is my record, not my grandfather’s.”