Chasing a Blond Moon(95)

“Man, you must do this a lot,” he said.

“New cuts or did he open the old stuff?”

“Both. Most of the blood’s from your nose and the head cut.”

Service took gauze and began repairing himself. He looked at Ojibwa. “Go see what the hell the crash was, but don’t touch anything, got it?”

“Yes, officer.”

Service looked at Sioux. “Pigtailing?”

The boy shrugged and grinned. “We wouldn’t hurt each other. We’ve been friends since we were eight.”

“How old are you now?”

“Both twenty.”

“Girls are a better outlet for hormones.”

“That’s the problem,” Sioux said with a grin. “We both want the same one.”

“Great. Take turns with her. It will be easier on everybody.”

“That’s like, totally sick, dude.” He was grinning.

Ojibwa returned. “Ran his pickup into a tree. It’s fucked. Guns on the floor, two fawns in the bed, neither of them gutted. Looks like a bag of weed on the floor, two vodka bottles, some in one, the other’s empty.”

Service nodded. “Stay with him.” He got out his belt radio, clicked over to the District 3 frequency, called for help, gave his call sign 2514.

Peggy in the Escanaba office said, “Twenty-Five Fourteen, AVL shows Gary about three miles from your position.”

Gary was Gary Ebony, who handled parts of Delta County and was built like an NFL linebacker. Violets in the county called him Agony because of the troubles he gave them.

“Rolling,” Ebony reported over the radio.

Service lit another cigarette, got blood on it, wiped his hands on his pants, and waited.

When Ebony pulled up, Service helped the bulky officer secure the crashman. They collected weapons and evidence, the two dead fawns, took photos of the rest of the truck’s interior, and called a wrecker. Ebony looked at him while they waited for a Delta County deputy sheriff to transport the prisoner.

“You need to get to the hospital,” Ebony said.

“I need a new face,” Service said. He ached all over, but the blood flow had been stanched.

Two deputies came in a patrol car and Service and Ebony loaded the prisoner in the backseat. Service stood with the pigtailers when the deputies and Ebony were gone. He handed them their wallets.

“We’re really sorry,” Ojibwa said.

“Leave your knives and get the hell out of here. Thanks for the help.”

The two men ran to their trucks and raced away, their tires spitting stones.

Service went back to his log and sat down, his face and finger throbbing, his arm sore, his knee and trousers split.

Too many of these kind of days, he told himself as he began to run the whole thing through to see what he might have done differently. Find a different job was his final conclusion. He had hesitated when confronted by the boys and the man. Pain had made him hold back. Bad mistake, he told himself. He knew he should head back to the house, but he drove south to Menominee, called Jimmy Cosbee’s house, talked to his mother and asked her to have Jimmy let Newf in tonight. He stopped at a party store near Cedar River, bought two bags of ice for his cooler, and continued south to find a room at a sleep-cheap.

The girl behind the reception desk at the Bayview Motel was blond, small, and meek. She wore a tanktop and her breasts looked like they might fall out the sides.

“I need a room,” Service said.

“Your face,” she said, giving him a look that was part fear, part awe.

“I know,” he said. “One person, one room, one night.” He put his badge and ID on the desk.

She hesitated. “You’re not going to—”

“I’m not going to kill myself,” he said. “I leave that to others.”

She laughed nervously. “I, ya know, like, see a lot of shit in here, ya know?”

Service picked up his badge, held out his hand for a key. “Cops and receptionists,” he said. “Birds of a feather.”

“You want me to get some ice for you, officer?” she asked.

“Got some in my cooler. Thanks.”

“I can call a doctor,” she said.

“Faith will heal me,” he said.

“Far out,” she said, looking skeptical.





23

The morning light hurt his eyes and it stung to stand under the hot shower water, but he forced himself. Dressing was equally uncomfortable. His knee was puffy, his broken finger throbbing, both eyes swollen and beginning to close.

He was coming out of his room when a voice sounded and he turned to find the kid from reception. She looked tired. “You okay?” she asked. “I’ve been worried all night.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”