Blue Wolf In Green Fire (7 page)

“No man, I made one up. Dey never check dat shit.”

“Okay, so you checked in. Where was she?”

“Out in da truck. She come in tru da back door.”

“She never went through the lobby?”

“No, dude. I went out and tolt her da room number and I go in first and open da door and den she slips in.”

Simon interrupted. “I thought you didn't remember a room number.”

“I forgot. It was one forty-three. So, we like scromped all night, dudes—”

“Scromped?” Service said.

“Did it, got it on, like that,” Simon said, acting as interpreter.

“Right on, dude,” Nurmanski said. “Next mornin' she asks me I wanna earn some cash. How? I ask. She says, ‘Bring me a big buck, ten-point at least, and you get five hundred cash, which is worth twice that if you had to report it to da IRS.' I told her I don't pay no taxes and she said, ‘You want da goodies or not?'”

The poacher took a puff on the cigarette and continued. “I tolt her sure. We go out to her truck and she brings Remington outta case. Says it's new but clean, it's da best for poppin' deer. Shoots straight, not much sound. I thought what da hell, and she said when I got back we'd get it on again. She was so hot, eh? I said yes and right dere in da parkin' lot in broad daylight she goes down on me. Dudes, it wasn't da money as much as I'd like ta get down wid dat again.”

“You got the buck, but you didn't keep your date.”

“Right. But she showed up here yesterday morning. She had ID saying she was my sister, only I ain't got no sister. She told me she heard I'd gotten busted an' dat when I got out I better keep my mout shut. She said another guy down in da Kent County lockup was about to learn da hard way to keep quiet.” Nurmanski fumbled to light another cigarette. “When I seen her walk in, I was like that.” The poacher held up his forearm and fist. “After she talks to me, I'm like Jell-O. She scared da shit outta me. Dis morning I hear coupla guards talking about a suicide in the Kent County lockup yesterday and I decide I'm not made for dis shit. I called da sheriff.”

“Who is she?” Service asked.

“All I know is Kate from Wakefield.”

“You're putting me on,” Service said.

Jason Nurmanski made the sign of the cross. “
Honest,
dude. Says she lives in Wakefield. She's got my snake in her hand under da table. I'm gonna ask for ID, dude? I never met a woman who give it up da way she did.”

Service looked back at del Olmo, who shrugged.

“What's she look like?” Service asked.

“Long red hair, dude. Straight like a hippie. Big tits, bush-hair same color as da hair on her head. Bright red, man. You oughta see dat!”

“So this woman hired you, but you don't have a contract or the money, right?”

“No, dude. Tings don't get done like dat. C'mon, you know dat, right? I bring back da goods and she pops da cash.”

“You think this is enough to get you into federal witness protection?”

Nurmanski leaned forward. “Dude, she told me she works da whole Midwest, see? Dat's like federal shit, over state borders an' such? Dudes pay big cash for racks an' she gets 'em. She gets da guys like me to do da work. Buck horns, bear paws and gallbladders, all sortsa shit. Do I get da deal or what?” Service thought about it. Antlers and bear gallbladders. Could this finally be a link to Griff Stinson's bear in McMillan? Not likely. McMillan was nearly 150 miles east. In twenty years he had known only one poacher who ranged across the entire U.P. and that was Limpy Allerdyce.

Service pushed a cassette recorder in front of the prisoner, took out the old tape, put in a new one, and pressed the on button. “Tell the whole story, Jason, from the time you met the lady and she offered you the money through her visit yesterday. When the tape is done we'll have a court recorder type it up. Your lawyer will read it to you and you can sign your X to verify it's the statement you made.”

“No lawyer, dude. Specially not dat wop Tavolacci. She sent dat little prick to me. I don't want
nobody.
Just read it ta me and I'll sign.”

“No promises, Jason. You give us everything you've got and we'll see what we can do. That's the best we can do for now.”

“I
gotta
get outta here,” the man said. “If she can reach a dude down below, she can get ta me.”

“The Kent County death was a suicide.”

“Right,” the prisoner said. “And Santy Claus don't scromp wid 'is missus all summer.”

If this mystery woman had the reach to get somebody inside, her operation had to be large, powerful, and well protected. Sending Sandy Tavolacci was an indicator of clout and provided an explanation of how and why the lawyer had hooked up with Nurmanski. And she had identification that depicted her as Nurmanski's sister, which suggested some sophistication, if there had actually been ID. “We'll see what we can do to move you,” Service said.

“Cool, dude.” Nurmanski began talking into the recorder.

Service and del Olmo stepped outside.

“Paranoid,” the younger CO said.

“Maybe, but check yesterday's visitor roster and see if you can get a description.”

“I doubt the person who admitted her saw her pubic hair,” del Olmo said with a grin.

Service winced. “I'm gonna call Barry Davey in Grand Rapids.” Davey was the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service agent responsible for the U.P. Unlike the FBI, the BATF and USF&WS had their agents live elsewhere and travel into the area. “Sit on our boy and make sure he doesn't fuck up the tape.”

“On it now.”

Service went to his truck, got his cell phone, and called Barry Davey.

“Grady Service, I'm in Crystal Falls.”

“Howyadoin Service?” Davey had a thick New York City accent.

“Good. Listen, we have a prisoner up here who claims he was hired by a commercial poaching operation. He claims that someone from the organization told him yesterday morning that someone was going to be taken out in the Kent County Jail yesterday afernoon. This morning he heard there'd been a suicide.”

“Kaylin Joquist,” Davey said. “It was a suicide.”

“Our guy thinks otherwise. He's under the impression that Joquist was trying to cut a deal and somebody decided to shut him up. Have you or your people been talking to him?” Davey's office was in Grand Rapids, and there were federal aspects to Joquist's crimes.

“He's jerking your chain for a deal.”

Davey hadn't answered his question, which was an answer in itself. “This guy has a room-temp IQ, Barry. His dipstick barely reaches oil. His mind doesn't work deep or fast. He believes what he's saying.”

“Most nuts and cons do.”

“He wants out of the Michigan system and I'm inclined to go with it. Can you work something out?”

“What do we get?”

“Look, I'll need undercover help. If this op is as big as this kid makes it out to be, they'll have resources. Maybe you can send one of your people to give us a hand.” Sending in a fed as an undercover in this case didn't sit well with Service because he had never had full confidence in federal agencies. He knew his own people and what they could do and couldn't do, but his gut told him this was the way to go this time.

“You got a target?”

“Yes.” Wealthy Johns and Skelton Gitter were not part of the Nurmanski deal, but what the hell, he could use undercover help. Nothing else had developed from afar. It was time to try to put somebody in close. Davey wouldn't admit to dealing with Joquist either. Maybe Wealthy Johns was Kate from Wakefield. He smiled at the irony, then dismissed it and told himself to keep his mind on the puck.

Davey asked, “What's the scope of this alleged operation?”

“Midwest at least.”

“That's not peanuts,” Davey said. “Here's what I'll do. We've got an arrangement with South Dakota, and we can put your boy out there until we dope this thing out and see if it's worth more trouble. I've got an agent named Pidge Carmody. I can send him up to scope out the situation. He's the best I've got, and I was just about to give him a break after he finishes something he's doing for me, but he likes to work.”

“How quick can you get him up here?”

“Let me get back to you tonight.”

“Fair enough.” Service gave him Nantz's home phone number and rejoined del Olmo and Nurmanski, who was slugging from a bottle of Classic Coke and smoking another cigarette.

Simon handed him a Xerox copy of the guest log. A name was highlighted in yellow. Name: Kate Cunny, Wakefield, Michigan. Relation to prisoner: sister. Service wrote a note to del Olmo on the back of the paper: “Find who checked her in, get a description, and see if there was ID.” He doubted there would be. Security in county jails was notoriously lax.

While del Olmo took the tape out to get it transcribed and to find the person who had checked in the visitor, Service sat with Nurmanski. “We've got the start of a deal, but still no promises. We're looking at moving you to another state. Nobody will know you're there. You won't even know where until you get there.”

“She knew da guy was in Kent County.”

“This is federal, Jason. When they bury you, you'll stay buried.”

“I don't like dat word, dude,” Nurmanski said.

“Keep telling your story and we'll see what we can do for you, Jason.”

“I appreciate it, man. I can't believe a little pussy got me into dis mess.”

“Shit happens,” Service said. “Sometimes the fucking you get isn't worth the fucking you get.”

“I hear ya, dude,” Nurmanski said disconsolately.

Simon returned after Nurmanski was returned to his cell. “She never showed an ID. Visitors are supposed to, but it didn't happen this time. The description matches. Straight, long red hair. The guy I talked to said she's a knockout.”

That night Barry Davey called back. A copy of Nurmanski's statement had been faxed to him. “Okay, Service. Carmody will come up across the bridge. You got a meeting site in mind?” Service did. “Carmody's the best,” Davey said, but his tone told Service he was trying to sell him something.

“What about Nurmanski?”

“A federal marshal from Minneapolis will drive over and pick him up. They'll fly from St. Paul to Rapid City. He can sit out there until we see how this is going to go down.”

“Thanks,” Service said. “When can I meet Carmody?”

“November ninth is the earliest. He's got something to finish for me first. He'll call you, and you two can set the time and place for a meet.”

Service gave Davey his cellular number. Service had just slid under the covers when Nantz called. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I think I can get away from Lansing for a couple of days.”

“When?”

“Friday through Sunday before deer season opens,” she said.

“Really? What're the dates?”

“November ninth through the eleventh,” she said.

“You're sure about those dates?”

“What is it with dates, Service? Aren't you more interested in the fact that our drought is going to end?”

“Of course. Are you sure you can get away?”

“Right now it looks that way. I hope so, don't you? I love you, Grady.”

“Good night, babe.” Why couldn't he tell her how he felt about her?

What a fall this was turning out to be. Still, November 9 was beginning to look like a day to look forward to.

The next morning he was at his office in Marquette and stepped into the break room to get coffee. The radio was on. “Bombs,” a voice on the radio said and Service immediately reached over and turned up the volume.

“A Michigan Tech public safety officer discovered two explosive devices at three thirty-five this morning before they could be detonated on the campus of the university in Houghton,” the announcer said. “One device was outside the school's forestry school and the other outside the adjacent U.S. Forest Service Laboratory. A Michigan State Police bomb squad is on the scene now.”

Service returned to his desk and immediately called his friend Gus Turnage, the CO in Houghton. They had joined the DNR the same year and worked together ever since.

“Turnage, DNR,” Gus answered.

“Hey Gus. Are you involved in that bomb thing at Tech?”

“Not yet. Wink Rector called me a couple of hours ago and asked if I could be available for tracking if the need arises. I told him sure.” Rector was the FBI's resident agent for the Upper Peninsula, a one-man office in Marquette. “The FBI and BATF are here. Wink is going to lead the investigating team: FBI, BATF, Houghton city police, Troops, Tech public safety, Houghton County sheriff, what a bloody monkey-fuck that will be, eh? Glad I'm not part of it.”

“
Real
bombs?”

“Damn straight. Five-gallon pails filled with flammable liquid and wired to igniters. Wink says it looks like work typical of some environmental loonies, the Earth Liberation and Animal Liberation Fronts.”

“The ones who burned the federal forestry lab in Wisconsin last year?”

“Yah, and they claimed responsibility for putting the torch to an ag biotech program at Michigan State the year before that. Wink says both groups like incendiaries. They like fire. They say it purifies.”

“Good thing the university cop was paying attention.”

“No kiddin'. A professor up to the college told Rector one of the buildings had enough chemicals stored inside to leave a six-story hole in the ground.”

“This has been one fucked-up fall,” Service said.

“You betcha,” Turnage said, “and BOB will soon be upon us.” Blaze-Orange Brigade was the term some conservation officers used to refer to hunters who were required by law to wear hunter orange during the firearm deer season. “Guess we'd all better have eyes in the backs of our heads from here on.”