“And we’ve got all these fucking wetbacks now, man. All those spics over on Detroit Street. They practically own East Cutler.”
“Grease Cutler,” said Shelton.
“El Cutlero,” said Zeke.
“But those Mexicans are cool,” said Shelton.
“I’m sure some of them are,” Zeke said. “I’m just telling you what I seen on the television. What was on the investigative report. You know any of those boys over there?”
“I know Little Hector Valquez. He does some work for me. He’s a good kid, man. He moves a good amount of dope for me.”
“Well, that would be where I’d start,” said Zeke. “I’d go and ask that boy a couple of questions if I were you.”
“Shit,” Shelton said. “He does know about Jenna. I had Kayla and her with me last time I was over there to make a drop.”
“Who’s Jenna?”
“The baby.”
“Damn,” Zeke said, and shook his head. “You can’t trust nobody.”
“Motherfuckers,” Shelton said.
“I’d go with you,” Zeke said. “But I can’t miss this gig, man.”
“Don’t even bother with the entry road,” Shelton said. “Just drive me as far up Grain as you can, then I’ll walk in the long way and cross the lake.”
“I’ll take you up, man. It’s no bother.”
“You can’t get in the back,” Shelton said. “Not in all this snow. Quicker if I walk in.”
“How you going to get back out then?”
“I’m going to drive right out across the lake.”
“Will it hold?”
“It’ll hold,” Shelton said. “I was out there doing donuts a week ago.”
“You sure you don’t want me to drive up and see if we can’t get in? I still have faith in the 150, Shelton. I’d hate to think you didn’t.”
“It’s not like that,” Shelton said.
“They didn’t take the bailout,” Zeke said. “People forget that, but they didn’t.”
“I can’t say that I would choose a Ford,” Shelton said. “That’s not something I can truthfully put my name to, but I can say that I think they have made some strides in recent years. Obviously I would never paint a vehicle purple, but I have no business reasons to do so.”
“As long as it doesn’t have to do with the truck.”
“This is strictly about time,” Shelton said. “Rest assured.”
“Shelton,” he said. “Can I ask you something, man? It might seem a little funny but I feel I need to ask.”
“Shoot.”
“Have you been wearing that helmet the whole time?”
“I wasn’t at first, but then I put it on here a minute ago.”
“Thank God, man. I thought I was losing my damn mind.”
“You’re straight, Zeeker,” Shelton said. “And right here is good.”
Zeke stopped the truck, but didn’t even bother pulling off the road.
“Are you sure?”
“I promise you,” Shelton said.
“I can’t see a goddamn thing.”
“Neither can I,” Shelton said. “But I know where I’m going.”
“I’ll come by in a few days,” Zeke said. “Make sure all this turned out.”
“It’ll turn out,” Shelton said. “I’ll turn it out myself.”
Chapter Seven
Portis handed me Jenna when we got to the shanty, then lit a kerosene lamp and hurried to load his stove from a small woodpile in the corner. I hadn’t been inside the shanty since middle school, but as the light flickered on I realized it was exactly as I remembered it.
The walls and floor were unfinished plywood and they were stamped with the Indian head from the Big North lumber company. Portis had a Packer stove that was short and flat and vented through a little hole in the roof, and there was a cot and a lawn chair along opposite walls. There was a pile of clothes in the corner and a milk crate full of gloves and hats. Between the clothes and the stove was a fishing hole where Portis worked at the ice with a hand auger. The whole place smelled funky, like wild animal, but like Portis himself was undercut mercifully with alcohol—an astringent, if nothing else.
We had tried to shield Jenna as best we could but I could see now that her cheeks were burned red from the cold. She wasn’t complaining, though. Somehow she was as calm as she could be, just lying there in her papoose like we were at a Sunday school picnic.
Portis looked over at me as he cranked the auger.
“Change that baby’s diaper,” he said. “And then we’ll deal with you.”
“Deal with me?”
“Don’t be a jackass,” he said. “We don’t have time for it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “But okay.”
“You’ve been walking on your heels because you can’t feel your toes,” he said. “You’ve been hobbling around like a goddamn penguin all night, thinking I can’t notice. Acting like I’m blind or a fool, either one.”
“They’re just cold,” I said.
“You’re frostbit, Percy.”
“I don’t have any frostbite,” I said.
“Then I am the greatest swordsman in all of France.”