“Seven at the Hoar House.”
“Way cool. It’s on Hosmer Street in the Menekaumee bar area. When you cross the river from Michigan, turn left. You can’t miss it.”
Newf jumped on the bed to let him know she wanted out, but he pushed her away and told her to lay down. “I’m not ready to get up,” he said. He was awakened an hour later by Cat and Newf fussing with each other, and swung his feet down to the floor. “Goddamned animals. Knock it off!”
While the animals did their morning constitutional he went into the garage to work the free weights and found himself struggling to do his normal number of reps. All the damn office and phone time were killing him.
He called the office at eight. Fern LeBlanc answered.
“Cap’n in?”
“He’s going to get out of the hospital at noon and be resting at home for the next two days. The doctor says it’s a mild concussion. I’m going to pick him up. He would like for you to cover his calls in his absence. Are you coming in?”
“No, just relay his calls to me—either cell or the eight hundred. I’ll monitor Channel Twenty.” Lansing liked to brag about its technology. Let it prove its value.
“Please let me know where you are,” LeBlanc said.
Service telephoned Vince Vilardo and asked to meet him at St. Francis Hospital in Escanaba. He wanted to visit Nordquist and get his stitches yanked.
He filled Newf’s food and water dishes in the dog run built off the garage and told her and Cat they were on their own for the day.
On the way to Escanaba he drove past Outi Ranta’s house. Her red Jeep was parked in the driveway beside an older gray Honda. Probably Honeypat’s, he told himself. He called Station 20 and ran the plate on the Honda. It belonged to Outi.
Kate Nordquist looked sad and pale, but perked up when she saw him.
“I’m honored,” she said. “Where’s Mar?”
“Wild blue yondering. She’ll be home Friday night.”
“You smiled when you said that.”
“Did I?”
“What’s with your leg?” he asked.
“I’ll keep it, but if the plastic surgeon doesn’t work magic my miniskirt days are over. The doctors say I have to go on medical leave—up to six months. I’ll miss deer season.”
“There will be others,” he said to reassure her. He understood how she felt. Deer season was the most intense and rewarding time of the year for officers. And often the most frustrating.
“Still a tough pill to swallow,” she said. “This was to be the first on my own.”
“You’ll handle it.”
“That’s what Moody says too.”
“You should listen to him.”
“Did you stop by just to see me?”
“I did, and I asked Vince to come in and pull some of these stitches.” He peeled the bandages back.
Nordquist appraised his face. “Looks like we both need time with the plastic surgeon.”
“This face stays the way it is,” he said.
“If Nantz agrees.”
He nodded. “That too.”
“How’s your son?”
“Fine.” How long had it been since they talked?
“Grady,” the young officer said in a hushed tone. “I was sitting in the truck waiting for Eddie. A truck pulled up. The driver got out and went over to a trash can and knocked it over. Then he fell. I got out to see what was wrong and he came at me with a pipe or something. I never reacted. I went down and my head was swimming and then I saw the truck coming at me and I don’t remember anything else. I think I fucked up.”
“When you get hurt self-doubt is natural. Good officers always second-guess themselves. The dumb ones don’t.”
“Not you. They shoot you, break your bones, cut up your face, and you keep going like the Energizer Bunny.”
“Appearances aren’t the whole story,” he said. “The feelings will pass, Kate. Your job now is to heal, rehab, and get your butt back in the woods with the rest of us. You can’t leave Gutpile out there alone.”
She smiled and reached out her arms. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.
“Mar and I will be over this weekend,” he said on his way out.
Dr. Vince Vilardo stared at his face. “We should leave them in.”
“The damn things itch like hell.”
“That means you’re healing.”
“Get them out, Vince.”
Vilardo smiled and set his jaw. “Not this time, pal. How’s the finger?”
Service held up his hand, waved the taped-together fingers. “Good as new.”
Vilardo shook his head. “You’re a caveman.”