Author's website: http://racinestreet.pixelstationery.com

Disclaimer: Improbable inventions are undoubtedly the product of Red Green's imagination--not mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks to Kelly for all that information about the fish. Thanks to Deb Hann and Mr. Hann for helping me calculate the number of apricots per unit volume.

Story Notes:

Chapter 1

"Good morning, gentlemen." Lieutenant Harding Welsh looked pointedly at his watch before returning his attention to the two men standing in front of his desk. "Nice of you to find the time to join me."

"Good morning, Sir." Detective Ray Vecchio addressed his commanding officer in the crisp, almost-military tones he used when he was about to be the giver or recipient of bad news. "Sorry we're late, Sir. A little problem down at the Courthouse."

"And the State's Attorney. How is she?" Welsh's stone face betrayed no hint of what a loaded question this was, given Vecchio's history with the redheaded lawyer.

Vecchio stole a glance at his companion, Constable Benton Fraser, before replying. "Ah, she's fine, Sir. Just fine. What was it you wanted to see us about?"

Fraser's eyebrows had raised just slightly at Vecchio's reply, but he stood quietly at attention in front of the Lieutenant's desk, determined not to speak until spoken to.

Welsh settled his reading glasses on his nose before reaching for a file folder. "Yes. Here it is." He handed the folder to Vecchio, who began leafing through it. "The Ronzoni Brothers, Sir?" Vecchio in turn handed the folder to Fraser.

"Yes. As I recall, you're familiar with them."

"Drug smugglers, Sir. Currently doing time for bringing in high-quality Canadian pot, grown on hydroponic farms in, ahh . . ."

"Manitoba, Ray." Fraser spoke for the first time. "Manitoba has become internationally recognized as a producer of some of the highest-quality marijuana in the world. It far surpasses . . ."

"Geeze, Fraser, you sound like a commercial for agricultural products."

"Well, it is an agricultural product, Ray. The relatively short . . ."

Welsh held up his hand and sighed deeply. "Thank you, Constable. And we are understandably concerned at having such a high-quality agricultural product flourishing just the other side of the world's longest unprotected border." He tapped the folder with his glasses.

"Completely understandable, Sir. But in all fairness, I should point out that American law enforcement authorities aren't alone in wanting to put a stop to this. In fact, Inspector Thatcher and I . . ." Fraser stopped for a moment and tugged at the neck of his tan shirt, as though he would like to loosen his tie.

"Sir, Constable Fraser and Inspector Thatcher were instrumental in the operation we ran against the Ronzoni Brothers three years ago."

"Yes, and it was my impression after the trial that they'd been dealt a pretty stiff sentence," Fraser added.

"We're all aware of, and grateful for, your contributions to that effort, Constable. But as you are no doubt aware, the wheels of justice in the United States are sometimes connected to a revolving door." Welsh folded his hands and looked up at the two men. "To make a long story short, gentlemen, they're out. And they're back in business again."

"And they're bringing over the pot again?"

"No, Detective. Whatever they're bringing in is coming from Eastern Ontario. It's being brought through Detroit and into Chicago by means of small vehicles -RV's, campers, minivans - vehicles that are fairly common and difficult to trace. Driven by . . ." Welsh was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Come in. Ah, Inspector." He stood, allowing himself a rare smile as the slim figure of Inspector Margaret Thatcher entered the room.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant." Thatcher smiled briefly at Welsh and allowed herself a nod in the direction of the two men standing in front of his desk. "Sorry I've kept you waiting. There was an unavoidable delay as I waited for this information to come in from Ottawa."

"Not a problem, Inspector. We were just getting started." Welsh indicated a couch and chairs in a corner of the crowded office. "Shall we make ourselves comfortable? I trust you have the rest of the material for the briefing."

Chapter 2

That evening, Fraser and Vecchio, followed by the wolf Diefenbaker, emerged from the 47th Precinct into the warm August air.

"Will we see you at dinner, Ray?"

"Oh, yeah. I wouldn't miss it for the world. How're Ray and Maggie gettin' along, anyway?"

"Well, they seem to be doing just fine, Ray. Maggie's on administrative duty pending the arrival of the baby, of course."

"When's that? Ma's gonna' want to know. She'll have some things."

"Approximately mid-December."

Vecchio chuckled. "Somehow I can't picture Kowalski as a father. Just goes to show you never can tell."

Ben shook his head and smiled. "Yes, well, I can't picture him running a guide, bait and tackle business, either. But they seem to be happy."

"See you at Meg's at 8:30, Benny."

"See you then."

The two friends parted on the sidewalk in front of the precinct house, and Ben and Diefenbaker began the long walk to Meg Thatcher's apartment. Although he had finally moved out of his bunk at the Consulate and into his own place, Ben spent as much time at her apartment as he did at his own.

Ben was delighted that the relationship between his sister Maggie and his friend, Ray Kowalski, had begun to flourish in the time immediately the six-month expedition to the Arctic. Although the city-bred Kowalski would never enjoy those cold, far northern regions, he had turned into quite an outdoorsman. When the romance between Ray and Maggie turned to thoughts of marriage, they had purchased a small cottage on a lake in the beautiful Quetico Wilderness area of Ontario. Ray's venture into the charter fishing business had proven quite lucrative in view of the tourists who arrived at the lake in masses every summer. And though Maggie occasionally missed her home, she was happy with Ray.

As he and Dief turned the corner to Meg's apartment, he allowed himself a small smile. For as many times as Ben had taken this walk to her apartment, the prospect of seeing her still gave his heart a lift . His step quickened slightly as he nodded to the doorman and approached the elevator.

Aromas of cooking filled the small apartment as he let himself in, and he found Meg in the kitchen opening the door of the oven. She smiled and brushed her hair out of her eyes as he came in.

"You cooked all this?" He moved to take her into his arms.

"You must be joking." She smiled up at him and kissed him lightly. "I got it all at Schirmer's. All we have to do is heat it up, but if you keep doing that, it might burn." She gave him a small shove. "How about setting the table?"

Ben complied, and a few minutes later they were seated in the living room - she with a glass of wine, he with his usual mineral water.

"So what do you think of the assignment?" Meg was not immune to talking a little shop every now and then.

Ben took a sip of his water before answering. "Of course I'm perfectly willing to follow the directives of the Lieutenant in this," he began. "But from what little I know of that area, and from the report you brought, it seems to be a highly unlikely hub for drug activity. The usual biker gangs haven't moved in?"

Meg shook her head. "They've given it a wide berth. It really is in a godforsaken part of the world, and the people aren't exactly the sharpest knives in the drawer. There's nothing up there but woods and lakes. The nearest large town is . . ."

They were interrupted by the doorbell. Ray and Maggie arrived, followed closely by Ray Vecchio. This dinner party was a farewell for Ray and Maggie. Their weeklong visit to Chicago was almost over, and they did not expect to return until after the birth of their baby. Meg served the drinks, and the talk turned to other things.

Much later, Meg stirred sleepily as she heard Ben moving softly around the bedroom. She watched him for a few minutes through half-closed eyes. He really was a beautiful man - inside and out, she thought. And if he and Vecchio managed to pull this off, there would probably be a change of jobs for Ben that would put him outside of her direct command. But it best not to allow herself to think that far ahead. "Leaving?" she finally asked.

Ben knelt by the side of the bed and kissed her gently. "I'd hoped not to waken you."

"I don't have to remind you to be careful," she replied, tracing the line of his jaw with her finger.

He laughed. "You're not going to get rid of me that easily." He sat back on his heels. "I'm still debating whether or not I should take Dief."

"I'll look after him for you if you like."

"Thank you. He'd certainly be useful. I just can't decide if he belongs on a fishing trip to eastern Ontario. An Arctic wolf would stick out like a sore thumb."

"So don't let on he's a wolf."

Ben raised his eyebrows.

"Seriously. You're undercover, so let him be undercover. Just tell everybody he's a husky or a malamute, or somesuch. Perfectly normal to bring a dog along on a fishing trip."

"Not a bad idea at all, Inspector." Ben kissed her again, then stood up. As he opened the bedroom door, she said, "Take care of yourself."

She saw the glint of his smile in the dim room. "Don't worry about a thing. What could possibly go wrong in a place called Possum Lake?"

Chapter 3

An hour later, Ben was waiting outside his apartment as Ray Vecchio pulled up to the curb in the pre-dawn darkness. Ben settled his ancient knapsack, sleeping bag, fishing rod and tackle box in the trunk before sliding into the front seat of the Riviera.

Wordlessly, Ray handed him a cup of take-out coffee.

"Good morning, Ray. Thank you." Ben sipped the coffee gratefully. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, what little sleep I got. God isn't even awake this early." Vecchio was not a morning person.

"I noticed your tackle in the trunk," Ben went on. "Very nice."

"Borrowed it from Tony. He went on a fishing kick about five years ago. Bought all this expensive stuff and I think he made about two fishing trips."

"Ah, well. And you? I've never know you to fish, Ray."

"I'm gonna' have to get a few lessons from you, Benny."

"No problem, Ray. And the tent. Is that Tony's as well?"

"Yeah. Supposed to sleep two grown men comfortably. I got a sleeping bag back there, too."

Diefenbaker gave an audible yawn from the back seat as Ray eased onto the highway and headed east, towards Detroit, directly into the blinding light of the sunrise.

Ben knew his friend well enough to remain silent whenever they went anywhere together early in the morning. As Ray finished his coffee, he became much more alert and talkative. "So how far do we have to drive, Benny?"

"It's a little under seven hundred miles, Ray. About twelve hours, I should say."

"That far?"

"Ontario's a big place, Ray."

"And how far is it from there to Ray and Maggie's place?"

"Well, they're clear at the other end of the province, Ray. Near the border with Minnesota."

"Minnesota. Land of ten thousand lakes and ten billion mosquitoes. Will there be mosquitoes where we're headed?"

"I expect so, Ray. I've brought along some insect repellant, but you'd probably do well to try to learn to live with them."

"Well, I figure we can wrap this up pretty quick. We track down the Ronzoni Brothers, locate the Canadian source of the doobage, and get ourselves outta there."

"Doobage, Ray?"

"Pot. Marijuana." Ray shook his head.

"Ah."

"How long could it take? And how much trouble can we get into in Possum Lake, Ontario?"

Chapter 4

Plans called for the two officers to spend the night in a motel in a somewhat-larger town near Possum Lake, which had no motel. Evening found them settling into their room, provided with sandwiches and coffee from a local shop.

The artificial knotty-pine paneling decorating all four walls of their tiny room did nothing to relieve its box-like feeling. "I feel like I'm on the inside of a coffin," observed Ray as he sat on the bed. It creaked and sank low - very low - beneath his weight. "Nice bed."

"The rollaway cot's over here," replied Ben. "But I'd suggest we not unfold it until we're ready for bed. Here's your sandwich."

Ben sat on the straight chair next to the small desk and opened his own sandwich. The two men were hungry, and they ate in silence. He had placed Dief's sandwich on the floor, and when the wolf finished, he picked up the waxed-paper wrapper, laid it on Ben's lap, and looked up at him expectantly.

"Yes, I did get dessert since we're supposed to be on vacation. Here." He unwrapped a Danish pastry and offered it to the wolf, who gave a barkwhine before taking it. "Yes, I know it's not a doughnut. They didn't have any doughnuts. It was the best I could do." He handed Ray a Danish and started in on his own. When Dief brought his cellophane wrapper over, Ben placed it in the empty bag and observed, "By the way, Dief. For the duration of this initiative, you're to be known as a husky. No wolf blood at all." Dief gave a disdainful snort. "It's a deep-cover operation, Diefenbaker."

"Did you find some brochures, Ben?" Ray had finished his supper, pulled off his shoes, and settled back on the pillows.

"Yes. It looks as though there's a camping area overlooking the lake shore, just a few kilometers outside of town, and adjacent to the golf and country club. It's probably our best bet."

"Anything else?"

"Well, the motel manager told me there had been quite an influx of tourists into the area this summer. American tourists. He couldn't account for it."

"Interesting. Any idea where they're coming from?"

"He wasn't a great deal of help in that regard. He did recognize our license plate, though."

"And that's all?"

"That's about it. We'll have to stop in the morning and get our fishing licenses. I've left a 5 a.m. wakeup call, but Dief should take care of waking us up."

"Fishing licenses?"

"We don't want to call attention to ourselves by doing anything illegal, Ray." Indeed, the local authorities were not to be informed about their operations. While their respective commanders had not threatened to disavow any knowledge of their actions, it would be a mistake to underestimate the threat posed by the Ronzonis. Ray had left his weapon at home, but they both knew that Ben's had crossed the border tucked into the bottom of his knapsack.

"I guess not, Benny."

"I'm going to take Diefenbaker for a little walk. He needs to try on his new disguise. Would you care to join us?"

"No thanks. I'm gonna turn in. 5 a.m. is a little early."

There was still a hint of light in the sky despite the lateness of the hour. Ben and Dief set off on a brief walking tour of the town of Port Asbestos.

"No, it's not very impressive," said Ben in reply to a low growl from Dief. "But we only have to stay the night here. You'll like where we're going a lot better." Their stroll had carried them to the very edge of the town. Ben stopped in front of an inconspicuous sign that read "Town Dump, 1 km."

He was about to turn back towards the motel, feeling no need to visit the dump, when the evening quiet was shattered by a loud banging. It seemed to be approaching him from the direction of the dump, emanating from within a cloud of white smoke. Ben listened carefully for a moment and concluded that the sound was being made by chattering engine valves - several of them. His suspicions were confirmed by the loud report of a backfire. He peered through the haze and noted that the distressed vehicle was an aged van of some indeterminate color. He could barely make out the driver and passenger. The van clattered past, and he was able to determine that it had local plates.

"See anything interesting?" Ray's disembodied voice seemed muffled by the covers on the bed, which he had obviously staked out for himself.

"Not really. There was a van with a bad engine, but it was local." Ben began the process of unfolding the rollaway. It seemed to clatter about as loudly as the van had. He realized that, having unfolded it, he had blocked his way to the bathroom. It looked about six inches too short, anyway. With a sigh, he folded it back up, detached his sleeping bag from his pack, and unrolled it. Ben turned out the lamp, plumped up his pack to use for a pillow, and was asleep shortly.

Chapter 5

"Good morning, Ray. Here's your coffee. And a Danish."

The voice of Benton Fraser could be unmercifully cheerful early in the morning. Ray Vecchio peered out from under his covers with one eye to find his friend silhouetted in the doorway against an overly-bright morning sun. Ray had not slept well. The bed's ancient mattress was very soft, and he'd had the impression all night that he was swimming upstream for his life. This had been further reinforced by the fact that he was chilled to the bone, despite the fact that it was early August. "What time is it?" He'd managed to get that out without too much difficulty.

"A little after five. Dief and I have already been out. Fortunately, the coffee shop up the street was already open. But this was all they could manage." Ben handed Ray his coffee and pastry, then took his own seat. The wolf gave a sharp whine. "Oh, stop it. You've already had yours."

Ray struggled to an upright position, feeling a brief, sharp twinge in his lower back. He sipped gratefully at the coffee before nibbling at the pastry. It was a little stale. "So, today we head over to Possum Lake," he finally managed.

"Yes. We can set up camp, see about renting a boat, get our fishing licenses and some groceries. Just generally settle in."

"That'll give us plenty of time to talk to the locals and AAGH!"

"Ray?"

Vecchio had made the mistake of trying to stand up. The malevolent mattress had apparently done its work, and he found it difficult to straighten up without some degree of pain. Well, rather a lot of pain.

"I'm OK, Benny. Just a night spent on the Mattress from Hell. Nothing that a hot shower won't fix."

A half-hour later, the two friends were back in the car. Ray found that he had to ease them into a steady stream of traffic on the street in front of the motel.

"Interesting," observed Ben.

"Yeah?"

"About half these cars have United States license plates. They're all headed south, back the way we came."

"So what's around here in the way of a tourist mecca?" "Well, there's a large provincial park not far from here. But on balance, you can get to the same kind of scenery a lot sooner from the American Midwest."

"And that's where all these cars are coming from?"

"Well, Illinois, Indiana, one or two from Iowa, Michigan. Yes, I'd say they were all from the Midwest."

"Maybe we'll find the answer when we get where we're going."

The two rode in silence for the hour or so it took them to get to Possum Lake. The scenery was pretty much the same as they'd seen during their entire visit - evergreen trees and stone outcroppings. They met an occasional car or camper, but the major morning rush hour seemed to be over.

Finally, Ben consulted the brochure. "We should be seeing the turnoff to the campgrounds any time now, on the left."

An in fact, in a minute or so, there it was. Ray pulled up in front of the sign. "Circle KB Camping Resort," he read. "Office, .5 km."

"Stop here for just a minute, Ray." Ben got out of the car, walked over to the car, and tugged at the sign. It was suspended from hooks, and by peering underneath it, he was able to see that it covered another, older sign.

"Interesting," he observed as he took his seat again. "There's another sign underneath it that says "Future Home of Chateau Manor Estates."

"Well, before they build any Chateau Manors, or any other houses, they're gonna have to do something about the roads." Ray was clearly wrestling with the Riv. The road had been laid with gravel at some point in the distant past, but its current condition was deplorable. Ruts and potholes big enough to swallow them whole seemed to yawn around every turn, and Ray winced constantly because of the pain in his back and the insults to the Riv's undercarriage. The short trip seemed to take an eternity.

They began to bounce over huge, recent tire tracks, and at long last the road widened and the trees gave away to a clearing. A rustic cabin - a shed, really - stood to one side. The sign saying "Camp Office. Canoe Rentals" was partly obscured by a substantial tank truck labeled "Rothschild's Sewage and Septic Sucking Services."

Ray groaned as he slid out from behind the wheel. Ben jumped out with his usual catlike grace, and they scrambled up the deteriorating flagstone steps and into the front door of the camp office. They could make out the sounds of two men arguing in the other room.

"I can't believe you're going to charge me that much to clean out the septic tank, Winston. It's highway robbery." The voice that answered sounded vaguely adenoidal. "Now, Kevin. You need to think win-win here. You pay my price and we're both happy. I get paid, and you get your septic cleaned out. Otherwise, you're going to have to wait six weeks for somebody else to get out here and take care of you. By that time, the season will be over."

"Oh, you might as well go ahead. Otherwise I'll be shut down. But be quick about it. I need it done by this afternoon. Friday at the very latest."

At that point, Ray interrupted the conversation by ringing the bell on the counter. He was startled at the appearance of the man who emerged from the back room. Tall and impeccably dressed, he looked almost exactly like Ben.

"Good morning. May I help you gentlemen?" He even sounded like Ben.

Ben, seeming remarkably unperturbed, smiled and said, "Yes. We're up here to do a little fishing, and we'd like to see about a campsite."

"You've actually come here to camp?"

"Yes. To camp and fish." Ben began to get the feeling that he was somehow failing to communicate.

"Well, then. It's, ahh, $20.00 per night for the campsite, first night payable in advance. There aren't many people around in the middle of the week, so you can take your choice. Perhaps something overlooking the lake . . ."

"Or something near the bathrooms," observed Ray.

"Well, the wash house is out of order at the moment. We expect to have it fully restored by this evening."

"I noticed you have canoe rentals," Ben added.

"Yes. That's $20.00 per day, first day . . ." His voice trailed off as he caught sight of Ben's raised eyebrow. "Actually that's included in the price of the campsite. If you'll just sign here."

Ray signed the register, giving Ben's name as Ben Draper and his own as Ray Amalfitano.

"Welcome to camp, Mr. Amalfitano. Mr. Draper." He put out his hand. "I'm . . ."

He was interrupted by the arrival of a small man wearing a voluminous gray coverall and a white hard hat. "Golly, Kevin. You didn't tell us you had a brother." The man extended his hand to Ray and Ben in turn. "Winston Rothschild. President and CEO of Rothschild's Sewage and Septic Sucking Services."

Chapter 6

"That guy looked just like you, Benny." Ray winced a little as he got back behind the wheel.

"Nonsense, Ray. He didn't look anything like me. I thought he looked . . ."

"You thought he looked how? He looked just like you is how he looked."

"If you want my honest opinion, I thought he looked shifty. Now, let's go find a campsite." Ben looked over, saw that Ray was scratching his forearm, and added. "You might want to roll down your sleeves, Ray. You'll find there are a lot of mosquitoes around here."

"Great," replied Ray, moaning just a bit. "I get to spend a week hunting drug smugglers through stagnant water."

Ray was not sure what he expected of the campground. From his limited experience, campgrounds consisted of a series of neat little clearings, each with its own fire ring and possibly a picnic table. All he saw here were evergreen trees and underbrush. There was no sign of Mr. Rothschild or his truck.

"So, where do we set up, Benny? I don't see anything that looks like a campsite."

"I guess we just pick a spot, Ray." A few moments later, the rutted lane began to curve around, and they realized that they were beside the lake. "Stop here," Ben went on.

He got out of the car and began to look around, disappearing for a few minutes beyond the curve in the road. He returned a short while later. "Just ahead around the curve. Bring the car. I'll walk ahead." Indeed, Ben seemed to have found the best spot the campground had to offer. Situated on a slight rise, and relatively clear of underbrush, it was located across the road from the lake but offered a fine view of it. "I think this will do nicely," he went on. "Let's get set up and then head into town."

Ben was as efficient at setting up a camp as he was at everything else. The tent proved to be a large, elaborate construction designed to be suspended from a spiderweb of flexible poles stuck into the ground. This took him a few moments to figure out, and when he had hooked up the last hook, he looked around and saw Ray approaching with a large hank of rope. "Thank you kindly, Ray. But we won't be needing that. The tent appears to be perfectly self-contained."

Ray looked at the rope in his hand, then at Ben. "I can't believe you don't know what this is for. I thought you were supposed to be Mr. Outdoorsman. What, they don't have any snakes where you come from?"

"Well, actually they don't, Ray. But what do snakes and ropes have to do with each other? Outside of being long and thin, of course."

"Even my old man knew about snakes and rope. You lay the rope all around the perimeter of your tent. Snakes won't crawl across it because it's scratchy. They don't like how it feels, I guess."

Ben sighed. "Snakes have a scaly outer covering, Ray. They crawl across rocks, brush, sand, just about any terrain there is. That rope won't deter them for a moment. But it will come in handy."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. We'll use it along with the rope I brought to hang our food on a tree limb at nights."

"Hang our food?"

"Yes. To keep it out of reach of the bears."

Chapter 7

"Ray, you survived a plane crash and three days in the woods tracking a criminal. I don't see why you're concerned about a little bit of wildlife."

The two friends were strolling back up the road towards the camp office. Ray had not held back his displeasure at the prospect of being confronted by bears, and he was only just calming down.

"Wildlife. Bears. Snakes. Mosquitoes the size of jumbo jets. Just what else are we planning to run into?"

"Well, hopefully the Ronzoni Brothers. You don't have a thing to worry about. We're adequately prepared for any contingency. I suggest you relax . . ."

"Yeah. I'm real relaxed. What's our plan at this point, anyway? It's taken us an awful lot of time just to get this far."

"We should stop by the office and find out about getting a boat. Then I suggest we take the car and head into town. Buying groceries and getting our fishing licenses should afford us a good opportunity to get a look around."

As they climbed the embankment to the office, they could hear the camp director's voice through the open window, apparently talking on the phone. "I expect another shipment to be ready on Friday. I've got people lined up for this weekend. If I can continue to recruit some of the locals, we ought to be able to ship about a hundred."

The pair backed down the hill and headed up the lane. When they were out of sight of the office, Ray said quietly. "A hundred kilos a week. Respectable. Definitely respectable."

"Sounds like he's recruiting the locals as couriers," Ben replied. "It's possible they're carrying it as far as the border and handing it over to Americans."

"So how does that tie in with all the American cars we saw this morning?"

"I'm unsure at this point. But we're up here. And we're in an American car. I'd suggest we see about getting ourselves recruited."

As the two strolled back into the clearing they began to discuss the boat.

"I'd rather get something other than a canoe, Benny. Think we could find something like a nice rowboat?"

"What's your objection to a canoe, Ray?"

"They tip over a lot."

"That's certainly true, Ray. And an inexperienced person might find the water moccasins a bit disconcerting."

"Water moccasins?"

"Yes, Ray. It's a type of snake."

They entered the office, still deep in discussion.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Did you find a good site?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr. ah."

"Black. Kevin Black."

"We're on a slight rise overlooking the lake. It should do nicely," Ben went on. "We'd like to see about picking up a boat."

"Certainly. Just continue following the road past your campsite. Eventually it widens out. You'll see the bath house on your right, and the boats are to your left." He fished in the desk drawer for a key. "Here's the key to the shed. You'll find paddles in there."

"Thank you."

"If you stay on that road, you'll come to the back entrance to the campground, immediately adjacent to the future Golf and Country Club."

"Thanks again."

"What did I tell you, Ray?" The two friends had left the camp office and were headed back to their campsite. "There was just something about him that doesn't ring true."

"And you're sure you don't have any long-lost relatives."

"Quite sure, Ray. Although I'll admit Maggie came as quite a surprise."

"Let's go into town now and pick up the boat later."

"Agreed."

Chapter 8

Ray turned the Riv around with practiced ease and pointed her towards the camp office. As they emerged into the clearing, they had to swerve to avoid Mr. Rothschild's large tank truck.

"Good. Maybe he'll have the johns cleaned out by the time we get back," observed Ray.

The road to town seemed to run parallel to the lake. It was a little after noon, and they soon caught up with what appeared to be a steady stream of cars, all headed in their direction.

"Just what I need. A traffic jam in the middle of nowhere." Ray's back was bothering him more than he cared to let on.

"They all seem to be turning up that road on the right," Ben observed. "I've counted at least twelve cars, possibly more."

"The plates?"

"All from around here." Ben frowned thoughtfully. "Let's see if we can find a bait shop and a place to get food. I think we should wait a while before checking on those cars. Let them get out and go into wherever it is they're going."

The small village contained a bait shop but there wasn't anywhere to buy food. They opted not to use the drive through window at the live bait shop. The tall, sandy-haired taciturn proprietor waited on them quickly, providing a quantity of worms in a cardboard container and the necessary fishing licenses.

"Is there a men's room?" asked Ray as they turned to leave.

"No, sorry. It's out of order," replied the owner. He followed them outside, flipped a "closed" sign over on the front door, and began to get into his car.

"There seemed to be quite a bit of traffic around here a few minutes ago," Ben said pleasantly.

"Lodge meeting," replied the man. "I'm late as it is." He got in his car and headed back in the direction of the turnoff.

The two friends spent a few futile minutes strolling up and down the single main street. Like the live bait shop, most businesses sported a "Closed" sign. "I'm gonna want a men's room soon," observed Ray.

They returned to the Riv, and Ray drove quickly to the side street - a lane, really - where all the cars had been turning. He turned to Ben and raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Might as well," Ben sighed.

The road began to twist and turn back toward the lake. Although many of the side streets in the town had contained pleasant-looking houses and cottages, this one seemed to be bordered on both sides by a number of sheds, garages, ancient RV's, and a surprising number of out-of-commission "K" cars.

Eventually they arrived at a dead-end. Ahead and to the right, across a stretch of lawn, was a large, rustic cottage. Cars were parked everywhere, and people were getting out and entering the cottage.

"Drive a little closer, Ray."

"I wonder if this is that lodge meeting."

"That van." Ben pointed to a nondescript vehicle parked in front of the cottage. "That's the van I saw last night in Port Asbestos."

"Well, they must have to go over there to do errands," Ray replied. "Look, there's the fish bait guy."

"Yes. And there's Kevin Black." Indeed, the well-dressed Mr. Black was having an earnest - one might almost say heated - discussion with Mr. Rothschild. Most of the men seemed to be dressed casually in jeans or khakis, and flannel shirts. Some carried toolkits. "Interesting," Ben went on. "No women."

"Well, it's supposed to be a lodge meeting. That looks like the emblem hanging there on the front porch. What's that say?"

"Quando Omni Flunkus Moritati," Ben read slowly. "Not very good Latin, but I suppose a loose translation would be, "When all else fails, play dead. That would make sense since we're at Possum Lake and the sign also says Possum Lodge. It would be good if we could get inside, Ray."

"I have the perfect excuse. You look around out here. I'll get inside. Let's go."

Ben opened the door.

"Wait a minute, Benny. Are you gonna be American or Canadian?"

"Well, I hadn't thought of it, Ray. I guess I'd better be Canadian. Might make people more inclined to talk to me. But I'd suggest we not bring it up until somebody asks."

"Right. Let's get over there."

Chapter 9

The two friends left the Riv, and with Diefenbaker following approached the cottage. An affable-looking bearded man of about fifty was standing on the front porch greeting the steady stream of arrivals. He shook hands with an unkempt gentleman in a cardigan sweater and said, "Yeah, Dalton. This should help you with a few of those bills, right? Now excuse me. It looks like we've got visitors."

"Good afternoon." Ray spoke first, and held out his hand.

"Afternoon. You fellows new in town? Visiting from some other Lodge?"

Ray smiled. "No, we're not Lodge members. We're up here to do a little fishing, and I was wondering . . ." He paused for a moment, because he had just noticed that the man was wearing suspenders of two different colors - one red, one green. "I was wondering if you might have a men's room. All the ones in town seem to be . . ."

"Out of order?"

"Yeah."

"Sure. You go on inside and look for Harold. He's dressed pretty much like I am, except he looks a lot younger and a whole lot stupider. He'll show you where it is." He shook Ray's hand. "I'm Red Green."

"Ray Amalfitano, and this is my friend, Ben Draper."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Green." Ben shook hands.

As Ray fled inside, he heard their host say to Ben, "You know, you look just like one of the local fellas, Kevin Black."

A short while later Ray, feeling decidedly relieved, was looking around the small washroom for a towel. He had just given up the search and was drying his hands on the seat of his pants when he heard a strange sound. It somehow put him in mind of a pig being slaughtered, and he left the washroom quickly. The young man who had introduced himself as Harold was standing just outside.

"Sorry, Mr. Amalfitano. The meeting's about to start, and I have to get downstairs. It's a private meeting."

"No problem, Harold. Thanks for letting me use the bathroom." Ray did not shake hands, since his were still decidedly damp.

"Have a nice visit," Harold waved as he disappeared through a door and down a staircase.

As Ray emerged onto the porch, he found Ben shaking hands with another Lodge member. The man was wearing a baseball cap pulled down over a head of thick gray hair.

"Are you sure you're all right, Mr. Draper? You look a little ill." The stranger appeared concerned.

"I'm . . . I'm fine, thank you kindly Mr. Shaughnessey."

Ray thought Ben looked awful but refrained from saying so.

"Well, I need to get into the meeting. Here's my card. If you need a boat or a guide, don't hesitate to call. And I'm real sorry I wasn't your Dad." He nodded to Ray, backing slowly away from Ben as he entered the lodge.

"You OK, Benny?"

Ben waited a long moment before answering. "I'm fine, Ray. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you look like you've just seen a ghost."

Chapter 10

"Fraser, I haven't seen you look this bad since . . . well, in a long time." Ray Vecchio's face was concerned as he started the car.

"I'm fine, Ray. Really. It's just that . . ."

"Just what?" Ray sat still, regarding his friend intently.

"Well, that man looks just like my father. Enough like him to be his twin." Ben shook his head as if to clear it. "I'll admit it startled me. But he's not a thing like my father."

"Gee, I'm sorry Ben. First you meet your own twin, then your father's twin. Must not be easy."

"Let's go get some food, Ray. There's a Wal-Mart back on the road to Port Asbestos." Ben clearly did not wish to discuss the situation further.

"Sure thing." Ray drove silently for a few minutes then added, "You know, with a little ingenuity, you can live like a king out of Wal-Mart."

A few minutes later, they were pulling into the parking lot. "Geeze, it's as crowded as any Wal-Mart in Chicago," Ray observed. "Remind me to pick up an adjustable wrench while we're in here."

"Adjustable wrench?"

"Yeah. One of the knobs on the stove is broken off. Tony told me I could use an adjustable wrench instead."

As the two headed inside, Ben said, "Let's split up. I'll take care of the food, you go get the wrench." A few minutes later, he was carefully pondering the relative merits of several brands of pork and beans when Ray approached empty-handed.

"Strangest thing, Ben. Their hardware department is just about cleaned out. Not a wrench or pair of pliers to be found."

"That is odd, Ray. Especially in light of the fact that this is a Wal-Mart. They seldom run out of anything." He added several cans of beans to the collection of dried foods and canned meats in the cart.

"Well, we need to figure out what to do for a knob. I have the knob - it's just busted so it won't fit tight enough to work."

Ben stopped for a minute. "How about some duct tape?"

"Yeah, that would work. We could just wedge it in with a little duct tape."

"I brought some in my pack," Ben went on. "But you can never have too much duct tape. I'm just about finished here. Let's go find some."

Ray surveyed the contents of the cart and quickly added an assortment of chips, dips, and soft drinks. He also located and added marshmallows, Hershey bars, and graham crackers. "I always wanted to do those s'mores," he explained.

"Lead on to the hardware department, Ray."

Moments later they were both standing, considering the empty shelves.

"See what I mean?" Ray shook his head.

"Very unusual," Ben replied. "Even the Wal-Mart in Yellow Knife never ran out of anything. There's no duct tape, either. We'll just have to rely on whatever's in my pack. I'm sure we'll manage."

"Anything else we need while we're in here?"

"Yes. Plastic garbage bags. Since you brought that extra rope, we can hang our garbage at night from a separate tree. And some smaller plastic bags or plastic wrap will be useful if we actually catch any fish. That and some ice for the cooler and we should be ready to get back to the lake."

The plastic bag and wrap department was located near the food. Like the hardware department, it had been picked clean. Ray's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he glanced at Ben, who looked back at him coolly.

"Let's get our ice and get outta here, Benny."

"Agreed."

After they had stored their purchases in the trunk and started back for camp, Ray finally spoke. "Well, I may not know what they use adjustable wrenches and duct tape for. But I do know what they use plastic bags for."

"They've cleaned out every plastic bag in the Wal-Mart." Ben was thoughtful.

"Well, it would be consistent with the quantities Kevin Black was talking about."

The car was approaching the main street in Possum Lake again. Both men had the same thought, though neither voiced it aloud: How could such a quiet little village have become such a cesspool of crime?

Two young boys, neither more than ten years old, were playing catch. Ray braked as one of them ran into the street, waiting patiently as the child retrieved the ball before starting up again. He shook his head. "We gotta put a stop to this, Benny."

"I know, Ray."

Chapter 11

They passed the turnoff to Possum Lodge in silence, each man quietly sifting and analyzing the meager body of evidence they had gathered so far. If they had turned up the lane, they would have observed that all was quiet. The cars, trucks, and vans were still parked outside as their owners attended the lodge meeting.

In the dark, cavernous basement that served as the Lodge meeting room, Kevin Black stood at the podium addressing the group. "Gentlemen, I've now distributed all the profits from last month's efforts. So, in conclusion, we are continuing to show an excellent profit, and I see no reason why that should not continue. If you're interested in serving as a courier this weekend, please see me after the meeting. Are there any questions?"

"Yeah, Kevin. I've got one."

"Go ahead, Dalton."

"Who are those two Americans staying out at Blood Point?"

"Their names are Ben Draper and Ray Amalfitano. As far as I know, they're just up here to fish."

"They bought bait," a disembodied voice chimed in from the back of the room.

"Now just a minute." Hap Shaughnessy stood up and approached the podium, crowding Kevin just a little. "Ben Draper is not an American. He's as Canadian as you or I."

"And just how do you figure that?" Dalton's tones were a bit sarcastic.

"Americans do something dreadful with their vowels. I talked with the man for ten minutes, and his vowels are a hundred percent Canadian. He's got a few other problems, but he's certainly a Canadian."

"What do you mean 'a few other problems'?"

Hap stroked his chin thoughtfully. "In my professional judgment, he's got a major complex of some sort. Possibly something to do with his father."

"A complex?" Dalton remained unconvinced. "What do you mean a complex?"

"Well, he may be a hundred percent Canadian. But he's as crazy as a bedbug."

"Gee, maybe they're up here doing something . . . illegal." The tones of the small, sharp-nosed man who offered this were almost hopeful.

"I have no evidence of that, Mike." Kevin Black allowed himself a sigh. "But I'll keep an eye on him. Now are there any more questions?"

The group was silent.

"Well, I'd just like to add that I've been in touch with Troy and Kirk Ronzoni this morning. They're expecting another hundred by the end of this weekend. We have our work cut out for us, gentlemen. Let's get to it."

Harold, carrying a clipboard, approached the podium. "Thank you, Mr. Black. Everyone see me for their committee assignments. And don't forget the Annual Apricot Festival this weekend."

The men stood, raised their right hands, and mumbled something in unison. The lodge emptied quickly. Kevin Black was the last to leave. As he prepared to open the front door, his eye fell on several hockey sticks leaning against the wall. He looked at them thoughtfully and picked up one or two, rejecting them before settling on one that interested him. He examined it carefully, flexing it on the ground before trying a couple of practice shots. After a final vicious crosscheck, directed at some unseen opponent, he nodded his head in satisfaction and carried it with him out of the Lodge.

Chapter 12

"Let's try the other entrance this time," Ray said as they arrived at the campground's main entrance. He drove slowly down the road, finally locating the turnoff a few yards from a sign that said "Future Home of Chateau Manor Golf and Country Club." Surprisingly, this stretch of road was in much better condition than the deplorable main entrance. There were individual campsites laid out, each with a tidy fire ring, picnic table, and what looked suspiciously like electrical hookups.

"I wonder how he got electricity out here," Ben mused.

"I'm not gonna look a gift outlet in the mouth, Benny." Ray drove on silently for a few minutes, then added. "That looks like the bath house up ahead. And there's the shed."

They were soon out of the car. Ben examined the canoes with great interest, running his hands over several of them before turning to Ray and shaking his head with disgust. "These canoes are in deplorable shape, Ray."

"What, they have holes in them or something?"

"Well, no. But they're dented and scratched. Personally, I don't think much of a man who doesn't maintain his canoes."

"Look, he rents them out all summer to people who probably don't know what they're doing. Just pick the best one, and let's get going."

Ben sighed, shook his head, and slid one of the canoes towards Ray. "This one will do, I guess. Now, let's unlock the shed and get the paddles." He unlocked the shed, and soon a pair of paddles had joined the canoe on the grass. "Why don't you drive on ahead, Ray. I'm going to use the men's room, and I'll bring the canoe around."

Diefenbaker pushed his head to one side. He looked first at Ben and then at the canoe before ambling over to the car, sitting next to the passenger door, and thumping his tail expectantly at Ray.

"Oh, all right. Take the lazy way out, Diefenbaker."

As Ray drove away, he reflected that Ben looked downright cross. It wasn't surprising, considering what he'd been through. But Ray began to wish that they had located some ice-cold beers. A few minutes later he and Diefenbaker were unloading the food and bait and packing everything into the ice chest when he saw Ben paddle calmly into view. Ben made short work of beaching the small boat on the pebbly shingle that served as a beach. As he dragged it a safe distance from the water, Ray could see that he was shaking his head.

"Well, that didn't take long, Benny. How about a juice? They're almost cold." "Thank you kindly, Ray." Ben took a sip of his drink, then observed, "We're going to be lucky if that boat lasts us the week."

"Don't worry about it. I was thinking of making a couple of sandwiches. What have we got?"

"Well, there's peanut butter."

As they ate their sandwiches, Ben said, "There's something strange about the plumbing in this town. There's only one toilet in the men's room that's in working order."

"One?"

"Yes. The others had out of order signs hung on them, and when I checked in the stalls, the toilets had been taken out. I had a quick look into the women's room, and it was the same in there."

"One functional toilet per bathroom? How about the other stuff - showers, sinks, you know?"

"All in perfect working order. Mr. Rothschild must have finished his assignment."

"OK. So they're a bunch of criminals and they got faulty plumbing. I can't see what one thing has to do with the other."

"Neither can I, Ray."

Chapter 13

Ben and Ray finished their lunch quickly. Ben's program for what little remained of the afternoon included gathering firewood, constructing a fire ring, and various other small chores. Ray assisted as best he could, but he also spent a great deal of time slapping mosquitoes and applying insect repellant. "I don't understand why they don't bother you," he finally observed.

"I've learned to live with them."

"Right. You were not only Scotchgarded at birth, you were pre-treated with Jungle Juice." Ray put down the armload of kindling he was carrying and wiped his face on his sleeve. "So when are we going fishing?"

"Early evening is a good time," Ben replied. "The fish should be biting well then, and we might get one or two for our supper. It looks like we're about done setting up camp. Why don't we see to our fishing gear?"

Ray finished slapping on some more insect repellant, and the two friends carried their gear and bait to the canoe.

"Have you ever been in one of these before, Ray?"

"Not that I remember. But I'll try anything once.

"Sit in the bow after we get it into the water. I'll sit in the stern and steer. Hold your paddle like this." Ben demonstrated. "Just do as I tell you, and we'll be fine. Remember not to make any sudden moves, because canoes tip easily."

"Yeah, right. I already said that."

"We should practice tipping it and righting it, but there may be leeches in the water."

"Leeches? Aw geeze. I thought you said there were snakes." He looked over at Ben, who could barely suppress a grin. "It's OK, Benny. I can swim."

After a false start or two, Ben pushed off. "This looks like a likely spot," he finally observed.

"I'll take your word for it."

Despite the mosquitoes, they were soon contentedly fishing. "So are we gonna see any water moccasins this time of day?" Ray finally asked.

"Not likely. But they are aggressive. They'll crawl right up your canoe paddle and into the boat." "Geez, Fraser. I think I'll take my chances in Chicago any day."

"It happened to my grandmother one time before they moved out to the Territories. She was out picking cranberries. She dropped her paddle into the lake to get away from the snake, and somebody had to come out and rescue her. Wait just a minute, Ray . . ."

Ray felt the boat jerk sharply, and from his place in front, he heard the unmistakable snick and hum of Ben's line as he began to work the fish. He looked clumsily over his shoulder and observed that Ben wore the attitude of cool, relaxed attention he often displayed on stakeouts. "It's a good fighter," Ben observed laconically.

Ray continued to peer over his shoulder from time to time at Ben. He had sense enough not to say anything until he felt a tug on his own line and saw the end dip sharply down towards the water.

"Pull up sharply," he heard Ben say quietly. He did so and felt an active, intermittent tugging. "Let the line run out slowly. Not too far or too fast."

"Thanks, Benny." Ray wondered how Ben was going to land his own fish and coach him at the same time.

"Now start reeling him in. Slowly."

A few minutes later, Ray's fish broke the surface of the water and began to fight.

"It's a pickerel, Ray. He'll fight you for a while longer now that he's at the surface."

The while longer seemed like an eternity to Ray, but the fish tired eventually, and he was able to get it into the boat.

"Just pull the hook out. Look behind you, there's a bucket you can put it in."

"My arms feel like they're about to break off," Ray replied. But he dealt with the hook and the fish joined Ben's, which was already in the bucket. "You got him in and I never saw you do it," Ray observed. What kind of fish is that?

"It's a bass. We'll have a very good supper tonight."

"Yeah, well mine's bigger. Should we catch more?"

"Why? This is enough to make us supper and breakfast besides, if we want it."

The quiet of the lake was disturbed by the sound of a small outboard motor.

"Sounds like it's coming from behind that little island in the middle," observed Ray. "Wonder if it's some of our friends." "Yes, and I wonder what they're doing out there," added Ben. "It's hardly big enough for two people to sit on. Maybe they're just fishing as we are."

A small silver-colored flat bottomed boat approached. It was carrying two men, one of whom they recognized as Red Green. It also contained two large, green plastic lawn and leaf bags full of some indeterminate lumpy material.

"Evening, fellas." Mr. Green waved as he stopped the boat. Ray held on for dear life as the slight turbulence rocked their canoe.

"Good evening, Mr. Green," Ben replied courteously.

"You might as well call me Red, everyone else does. How're you doing, Ben? Ray? Catch anything?"

"Enough for supper," Ben replied.

"Do much fishing?"

"Not as much as I'd like to, Red." Ben smiled amiably.

"I'm forgetting my manners," Red went on. "This is Mike Hamar, a fellow lodge member."

"Hi, there," Mike smiled and waved, then subsided into quiet. Ben found his smiling, somewhat vacant stare disconcerting, but said nothing.

"So what brings you two out on the lake this evening?" Ray asked calmly.

"Well, we're . . . that is, these are . . ." Red stroked his beard, at a loss for words. "This is some material for a Lodge project. We're moving it out of storage."

"Must be quite a project." Ray smiled thinly.

"Yeah. It sure is. Well, we'll be seeing you fellows." Red pulled on the cord several times and the little motor sputtered to life. He headed the boat in the direction of the Lodge.

"Are we goin' back for another load, Red?" asked Mike when they were finally on dry land.

"I don't think so. Those two give me the creeps. I feel like they're spying on us somehow. Here, grab this bag and I'll take the other one."

"Yeah, I know that one fellow." Mike shouldered the bag and stopped for a moment. "He's a cop."

Red stopped in his tracks and turned to look at Mike intently. "Which one?"

"The one in back. He's a Mountie. He arrested me . . . let me think, now." After a long, pregnant pause, he continued. "Oh, yeah. I remember. It was in Moose Jaw a few years back. I was . . . I was borrowing a 1974 Ford LTD. I would've returned it."

Chapter 14

"There's somethin' about the people here that just gives me the creeps." The lake had become silent once more. Although it appeared deserted, Ray spoke quietly. "The worst dealers in Chicago aren't that obvious about it. Here they just carry the stuff around in boats." Ben did not answer right away, and Ray turned around to find him carefully cleaning the two fish. "How can you think of cleaning fish at a time like this, Ben? Those guys just floated right under our noses with two trash bags full of pot!"

"Well, the fish need to be cleaned, and we need to eat in any case." Ben made a cut or two with his knife, and the fish was reduced to filets. "And you learned tonight, there's no point in going after the small fish when there are bigger ones to be caught." He tossed the remains overboard before speaking again. "Besides, what I have to say had best be said right here, out of earshot of anyone."

Ray turned a little in the boat, grabbing convulsively at the sides when it started to rock. "What's up?" he asked as casually as he could.

"I've arrested that man. Mike Hamar."

"You don't say. What, does everybody in Canada know everybody else?" Ray kept his voice deliberately calm.

"Not quite. It was in Moose Jaw, a couple of years before I came to Chicago." Ben finished with the second fish and cleaned his knife. "He stole an automobile. I recall he had an extensive criminal record."

"Do we need to have Meg get more information?"

"I don't think so. I can't remember all the particulars, but it was mostly for petty theft, breaking and entering, burglary. Nothing violent, and certainly no prior drug convictions. He stole a 1974 Ford LTD. Of course the nature of his crimes may have changed in the intervening years."

"OK, so your cover is probably blown." Ray Vecchio was no stranger to blown covers. "How do you want to handle it?"

"Let's not do anything at the moment. We're up here on a fishing trip, so let's fish. I'd like to watch their responses. Now, put your paddle in on the left. It's time we headed back to shore."

The sun had almost disappeared as they beached the boat, took their gear and the fish, and headed across the road to their campsite. Ben had laid a fire earlier, and he had it going in no time. He opened his pack and pulled out an enormous, filthy-looking black object.

"You're not gonna cook in that!" Ray was remembering Ma's immaculate kitchen.

"Of course I am. A well-seasoned iron pan is a real asset when you have to cook over an open fire."

"You're not gonna use the stove?"

"Not necessary."

"I'd feel better if it was a well-seasoned microwave."

Ben rummaged in the ice chest and boxes, and before long the air was filled with delicious aromas. In what seemed like no time at all, he was saying, "Grab the plates and come eat."

Ray didn't need to be asked twice, and neither did Diefenbaker, who had been ignoring them pointedly after not having been invited along on the canoe ride. Ben's ugly black pan was soon yielding up delicately browned fish and bits of crispy potatoes.

"I thought you were a lousy cook," Ray observed from behind a forkful. "I must've been mistaken."

Ben laughed. "I've never been able to find my way around an indoor kitchen. But I don't do too badly outdoors."

The two ate in silence for a few minutes, relishing the fresh-caught fish. Ray had just set his plate down when the peaceful dusk was shattered by a dreadful, piercing scream that seemed to go on endlessly.

Ray was on his feet in an instant, his hand reaching for the gun hidden in the top of his boot. "My God, what was that? It sounds like a woman being murdered." He crouched low, peering around through the gloom.

"A gun, Ray? You know, technically I could arrest you. Should arrest you."

The cry resounded again.

"What the hell's wrong with you. Those bastards are torturing some woman, and you're still sitting there!"

"That would be a loon, Ray. Put the gun back, sit down, and relax."

"A loon?"

"A loon. It's a kind of duck."

Chapter 15

The next morning, Kevin Black was up and around almost as early as Ben was. His cell phone rang as he made the turn into the entrance at the Circle KB Camping Resort.

"Yes?"

"Harold. Did you make the delivery? Good." He held the phone away from his ear.

"You did what?" Kevin could barely conceal the exasperation in his voice. He drew a deep breath.

"All right. I suppose that will work out. But next time, please ask. Yes, goodbye Harold."

Kevin parked in front of the office, got out of his car, and pulled a hockey stick from the back seat. As he opened the front door, the cell phone rang again.

"Yes? Good morning, Red. I just heard from . . . " He leaned the hockey stick against the wall.

"You're joking! Well, we can't take any chances, I suppose."

Kevin sat down heavily. "It may be nothing more than a simple fishing trip, you know." He covered his eyes with his hand. "All right. I'll keep an eye on things. Yes. Goodbye."

He sat quietly for a moment as though collecting his thoughts before opening his cell phone again.

Ben and Ray's morning at the campsite was considerably more serene. Ray had slept poorly, his back bothered by the hard ground beneath the tent. His dreams had been dark and troubled, haunted by the cries of some unknown, faceless woman who desperately needed his help. He woke with a start, realizing that her helpless screams were actually the calls of the local population of loons.

He was greeted by the delicious aroma of coffee as he emerged, with difficulty, from the tent. Ben handed him a cup of the lifegiving brew.

"Good morning, Ray. Did you sleep well?"

"I guess so. Aw, geeze, Diefenbaker!" The wolf had just emerged from a morning swim. He stood next to Ray and shook himself from nose to tail, splattering drops everywhere. Ray made his way to the fallen log by the fire that was serving them as bench and table. He sat with some difficulty. "Next time, I'm bringin' a lawn chair."

Ben stood quietly with his coffee, looking out over the lake. Unlike Ray, he had slept like a log. He was also a morning person. He was enjoying the sunrise, the calls of the loons, and the quiet surroundings. The lake was shrouded with mist, but the sun was getting higher, and it promised to be a beautiful, clear day. He allowed himself a small sigh of contentment.

The quiet was soon interrupted by the sound of an outboard motor, this one much larger than the one they'd heard the night before. A motor launch emerged from the fog and approached Ben's spot on the beach.

"Good morning, Mr. Shaughnessey," Ben called out as the motor cut off. Ray, still holding his coffee, crossed the road and stood next to Ben.

"Good morning, Ben. Ray. Planning to do a little fishing today?" Shaughnessey rubbed his nose with his index finger once or twice.

"We might," Ray replied. "What brings you out so early?" He could see the bags of pot lying on the deck of the launch.

"A delivery, you might say." He rubbed his nose again.

"Something wrong with your nose, Mr. Shaughnessey?" Ben asked.

"Nothing that I can talk about," replied Shaughnessey with a significant look at Ray. "So tell me, Ray. Are you from the South?"

"No. I'm from Chicago. That's in the Midwest."

"I was thinking about the South of Italy, Mr. Amalfitano." He rubbed his nose again.

"No. My family's from the area around Bologna. That's in the North of Italy. Why do you ask?" Ray had forgotten about the fact that he was supposed to be sleepy and irritable.

"Oh, just this thing of ours. But I'm not permitted to say. I thought I remembered an Amalfitano family from my years in Italy."

"You spent time there?"

"Certainly. I studied art in Florence for several years, but I was wounded fighting for the local resistance during the war. All but ruined a promising career as a painter. They sent me to, ah, well, they sent me to a certain family in the South to regain my health." "Well, Mr. Shaughnessey, there are certain areas of Italy that are definitely hazardous to your health. See you around." Ray waved a bit dismissively and walked back towards the camp. As he turned, Ben could see that he was smiling.

"Enjoy your day, Mr. Shaughnessey," Ben said a little more politely. "I hope we'll see you again soon."

"Goodbye for now." And with that, Hap Shaughnessey started the launch and headed up the lake in the direction of Possum Lodge.

Ben returned to camp to find Ray pouring another cup of coffee. He was still smiling.

"What was that all about, Ray?"

"You didn't catch that? That was every bad clich from 'The Godfather' and every other Mob movie, all rolled into one. I never saw anything like it." Ray chuckled. "So why would the water taxi captain in Possum Lake be trying to convince me he was a made man? Another clich, by the way."

"I can't imagine. Illegal activities aren't usually controlled by the Mafia in Canada. If there'd been anything like that going on around here, Meg or Lieutenant Welsh would have known about it."

"Well, it beats anything I've ever seen."

"Still, he was carrying several very full trash bags."

"Yeah. And he was headed towards the Lodge. We gotta get ourselves back into that lodge, Benny."

Chapter 16

A short while later, the two friends rounded the curve in the road that led to the bathhouse.

"Looks as though we've got company," observed Ben.

Indeed, the site adjoining the bathhouse had been occupied since their last visit. A large silver Airstream trailer, attached to a large Ford Expedition had been parked under the trees. The site had been artistically decorated. The bare ground was covered by a wide, green swath of indoor-outdoor carpet. Electric lanterns in colorful Japanese shapes were festooned from several trees, and two comfortable chairs and a picnic table were set up and ready for their occupants. An enormous gasoline-powered generator stood outside the camper, mercifully quiet at this early hour. A rustic wooden sign had been placed in the dirt by the road.

"We're spending our children's inheritance," Ben read thoughtfully. "Herb and Mabel Drucker, Des Moines, Iowa, USA." He paused a moment before continuing. "Get Revenge. Live long enough to be a problem to your kids."

"Well, at least they have a sense of humor," Ray said. "We're gonna want to talk to them."

"Let's go on to the bathhouse," Ben replied. "Perhaps when we come back they'll have come outside."

The men's side of the facility had received a delivery. There were a couple of dozen large, cardboard crates stacked outside the door. Ray opened one carefully and looked inside.

"Toilets. I guess they're gonna fix the johns. But that seems like too many toilets for the number of stalls."

"Yes, and there's another stack outside the women's door." Ben walked over and looked into one. "Also toilets."

"I dunno, Benny. I do know I'll be able to think better after my shower."

Ray headed directly for the shower. Ben began to explore the bathroom as he waited for his turn. Aside from the out-of-order cubicles and other plumbing fixtures there did not appear to be any closets or other places that could be used to conceal anything. The building was constructed very simply of wood on a poured concrete slab. The screen-covered windows were set high in the walls. The room was lighted by bare light bulbs.

His eye fell on the row of four stalls. They were constructed of plywood on simple wood frames bolted to ceiling and floor, and Ben noticed something he had missed the day before: The stall doors reached almost to the ground. There was no way to see what was - or was not - concealed behind them. He tried the first door marked "Out of Order" and found several more cardboard boxes piled inside. A quick check revealed the contents - more toilet parts. The second stall contained a few more boxes with the same contents.

Perhaps he was less cautious in opening the third stall. He ignored the message conveyed by the rubber doorstop that was wedging it shut. Perhaps he was just not properly prepared. For whatever reason, he could not suppress a wordless shout as the contents of the stall came crashing down in an avalanche when he pulled the door open.

Diefenbaker, completely forgetting the wolf side of his nature, barked deeply and furiously.

"Benny! What is . . . Oh, my God!" Ray, clad only in a towel, had bolted from the shower. He held his boot gun at the ready.

"Well, Ray, assuming an average toilet stall size of one-point-five by one-point-five by two meters, and a capacity of, say, 3,375 fruits per cubic meter, that would be 10,125 fruits. I'm standing in a lot of apricots." His voice was curiously flat and toneless. "Now, would you please put that gun away where I can't see it? I really am going to be forced to take some action."

The door opened to reveal the immaculately-clad form of Kevin Black. For reasons Ben could not fathom, he appeared to be carrying a hockey stick. "Gentlemen. Is something wrong?"

Ray backed hastily away, hoping their host had not seen the weapon. In his present condition, he did not have too many options for concealing it.

Fortunately Ben had regained his composure. "Good morning, Kevin. Isn't it a little warm to be getting up a hockey game?"

Chapter 17

Kevin Black smiled mirthlessly. "I guess you didn't seen the out of order sign, Ben."

Ben spread his hands. "A simple mistake."

Ray re-appeared, now completely dressed. "We'll clean this up, Kevin. Where would you like the fruit? Back in the stall?"

"Yes, thank you. That would be fine. They ran out of storage space for the Apricot Festival. I volunteered the campground facilities for a day or two."

"The Apricot Festival?" Ben asked.

"Yes. It's being held this weekend by the Lodge. You gentlemen are certainly welcome to attend if you're still in town."

No one said anything about the oddity of keeping food products in a toilet stall, though it was certainly on everyone's mind.

"Benny, go ahead and get your shower," said Ray. "I'll take care of this."

"I'll be in the office if you need anything, gentlemen." Kevin flexed the stick on the floor a couple of times, then turned and left.

Ben sighed. "Well, having seen the storage facilities, I suppose I could arrest them all on Sunday for improper food handling."

"Hit the shower, Bento. You'll feel better."

And Ben did feel better. Whatever else malfunctioned at the Circle KB Camping Resort, the water was blessedly hot. He emerged refreshed, in time to see Ray tossing the last of the apricots into the stall.

"I got smart and locked it from the inside," Ray observed. "You ready to head back to camp?"

"I don't know about you, Ray. But I could do with a bit of breakfast."

As the friends left the wash house they were greeted by the clatter of the Drucker's gas generator. An elderly man hailed them as they passed the campsite. "Morning, boys. What kind of dog is that?"

"Good morning, Sir. He's a husky." Ben threw Diefenbaker a sharp look, but the wolf remained quiet.

"Name's Herb Drucker." The man extended a bony hand first to Ben, then to Ray. He scratched Diefenbaker behind the ears. "Fine dog. Mighty fine dog."

"Thank you kindly, Mr. Drucker. And what brings you to Possum Lake?"

"Well, the wife and I are retired. Thirty years as a salesman in the Midwest. We bought this RV, and we enjoy seeing the world from it. We're up here to see about buying a campsite."

"Here?"

"Yep. Free long weekend of camping in exchange for a presentation. You can't beat that. That and we understand there's an Apricot Festival here this weekend. How 'bout you fellows?"

"Just doing a little fishing, Mr. Drucker," Ray replied.

"Call me Herb."

"I'm Ray Amalfitano, and this is Ben Draper."

"How about a cup of coffee?"

"Thank you kindly, Mr. Drucker." Ben smiled graciously and accepted a mug. After taking a sip, he went on. "So who contacted you about the property, Mr. Drucker?"

The old man settled into one of the chairs before answering. "I believe it was K and T Recreational Properties out of Chicago. Mabel and I get a lot of real estate offers."

"And it was the usual thing?" Ray asked. "Show up, look the place over, listen to the spiel?"

"Well, they did promise a free gift, too. But that's not unusual. "It's never something you can really use."

Ben took a sip of his coffee. "It must be a long drive up here from Des Moines."

Before Mr. Drucker could respond, they were joined by a round, white-haired apple-cheeked woman who looked a great deal like Mrs. Butterworth. "Yes, young man, it is a long way," she said. "But we don't live in Des Moines any more. Haven't lived there in ten years." She favored Ben and Ray with a sweet smile.

"It's our hometown," her husband went on. "That's why we keep it on the sign."

"But we live with our daughter in Fort Wayne. That is, when we're not on the road. I'm Mabel Drucker, by the way."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am. I'm Ben Draper, and this is Ray Amalfitano."

Ray smiled. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Drucker. I guess it's a lot easier to get up here from Fort Wayne than it is from Des Moines."

"You're right about that, Ray. And call me Mabel. Everybody else does."

"So when do you listen to the presentation, Mabel?"

"Tomorrow evening. There's supposed to be a get-together in a lodge hall somewhere in town."

"OHHHHH! SHIT!"

"What the devil was that?" asked Herb Drucker.

Ray and Ben were already headed for the bathhouse at a dead run. "It sounded like a woman," said Ray.

Chapter 18

As the two officers entered the clearing, they heard another cry from the bathhouse. "GODDAMMIT TO HELL! WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF A PLACE IS THIS? MIKE, ARE YOU OUT THERE? MIKE!"

"Definitely a woman," observed Ben. He pounded on the door to the bathroom. "Ma'am! Are you all right in there?" He knocked again.

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?" The woman's voice sounded angry rather than frightened.

"We're staying here at the campgrounds. We heard you shouting and wondered if you required any assistance."

"You might as well come in," the woman replied. "I'm sure as hell not going anywhere."

Ray bit his lower lip, hard, to keep from laughing at the sight that met his eyes. The occupant of the ladies' room was a middle-aged woman of somewhat below average height and somewhat above average girth. She was dressed much as they were in jeans and a flannel shirt. Her most distinguishing characteristic was probably her bright red hair. That and the fact that she was standing almost hip-deep in a pile of apricots.

"The thing is," she went on conversationally, "I can't move. Every time I try to take a step, the damned things just fall back in on me. I can't kick them out of the way, and I can't step on them, either. Not without breaking my goddamned neck. What the hell are they, anyway?"

"They're apricots, ma'am. Ray, give Ms, ah, Ms . . ."

"MacDonald. Helen MacDonald."

"Give Ms MacDonald your hand, and I'll clear enough of these out of the way that she can step over the rest of them safely." Ben knelt and began making a neat pile of the apricots. Before too long, Helen was able to step carefully, with Ray's assistance, over what remained of them.

"Thank you very much," she said, smiling. "I was beginning to think I was in one of those kids' ballrooms."

"You're certainly welcome, Ms MacDonald." Ray was still biting the inside of his lip.

"Please call me Helen."

"I'm Ray Amalfitano and this is Ben Draper."

"I'm glad to meet you both." Helen had knelt on the floor and was helping Ben with the pile of fruit.

"Which stall did these come out of, Helen?" Ben asked.

"How did you know they came out of a stall?"

"The same thing happened to me earlier this morning in the men's room."

"You're joking. It was that one." She pointed to one of the middle stalls.

"Would you be kind enough to open that door, Ray?"

Ray obliged, and the apricots were soon restored to their place in the cubicle.

"Well, I certainly do thank you both. I guess we won't be buying any property here."

"You've come here to look at property?" Ben asked.

"Let's get out of here," replied Helen. When the three were standing outside, she continued. "Yes. One of those 'free weekend if you'll listen to our presentation' things. My husband and I like to camp, and this seemed like an ideal spot. We just bought our first RV after twenty-five years of tent camping. This is close enough that we could get up here for long weekends. And there's supposed to be a golf and country club next door. We figured it was worth a look."

"Where are you from, Helen?" Ben had pretty much ruled out Canada as her point of origin, but her accent was peculiar.

"We're from Baltimore. We drove up yesterday, but we got off to a late start, so it was almost midnight when we came in. It was a nice drive up here, but this place is a dump. The mosquitoes are eating us alive. And what kind of people would store fruit in toilet stalls?"

"We've been wondering the same thing, Helen," replied Ray. "Would you mind telling me who sent you the invitation?"

She threw him a sharp look but answered readily enough. "It was T and K Recreational Properties in Chicago. I looked them up. They seem legit. Well, I'd better go see what my husband is up to," Helen went on. "Stop by later for a cold beer if you have the time."

"Where's your campsite, Helen?" Ben asked.

She pointed up the road towards the back entrance. "Back that way. We don't like being too near the bathrooms. See ya' later."

"Interesting," observed Ray.

"Yes, if we hadn't come along when we did . . ."

"I wasn't thinking of that. I wonder how many people from the States will show up for the real estate presentation."

"A good question. An even better one would be, can we get ourselves an invitation." Ben motioned for Dief, who strolled slowly to his side. "Or are we under enough of a cloud of suspicion that they won't want us to come?"

"That is a good question. I don't know about you, but I'm ready for breakfast."

Chapter 19

The Lodge members were having a busy morning, too. Several of them had apparently taken time off from work to assist with a variety of Lodge projects.

Since the day was fine, a large crew had spread out on the lawn behind the Lodge. The place looked like a plumbing graveyard, littered as it was with an assortment of porcelain bowls, tanks, and the simple mechanisms that made up the guts of Civilization's most important invention.

Red, closely shadowed by Harold, was making the rounds. Harold was busily scribbling on a clipboard. "These units are ready, Harold. Have a couple of the boys start bagging 'em and packing 'em. Remember, use plenty of the plastic bags. We don't want any broken porcelain."

"Got it, Uncle Red. What about these over here?"

Red turned towards another group of workers, who were still assembling the toilets' mechanical innards. Dalton Humphrey was dubiously attempting to bend a long, thin lever. Red stopped, took the lever from Dalton, and pulled an adjustable wrench from the toolbelt around his waist. He laid the lever on the ground, held it with his foot, and hit it once or twice with the wrench before handing it back to Dalton. "Remember, any tool is the right tool, Dalton."

Edgar Montrose growled, "Well, the only thing that's going to help this is a stick or two of dynamite." He handed Red a float.

"Looks like it's got a little hairline crack, Edgar. Nothing that a little duct tape won't fix." "Any more like that, fellows, just use the duct tape. That's what it's for." He turned towards the Lodge. "Hap! I was wondering when you'd show up. The women are waiting for those."

Hap Shaughnessey was toiling across the yard burdened with two enormous plastic garbage bags. "Where do you want 'em, Red?"

"Oh, the porch will do just fine. Harold? Why don't you take those over to the porch."

"Yeah. I need to talk to you, Red. Privately." Hap gestured toward the lake, and Red followed.

"What's up, Hap?"

"Well, you know that fellow Ray Amalfitano?"

"The American?"

"Yes. The one who's up here from Chicago with that crazy fellow."

"What about him?"

"I think he has ties to organized crime."

"Organized crime?" Red rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You mean like the Mafia?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

"And how would you know that, Hap?"

"Well, you remember the time I spent as a freedom fighter."

"Oh, yeah. You mean the time you fell in love with the beautiful Spanish nurse, only she died?"

"No, not that time."

"Well then, it must've been the time you were shot down in the south of France, and they were going to amputate your leg on the kitchen table in that farmhouse, only the beautiful nun brought that holy water from . . . Lourdes. Yeah, that was it. Lourdes. Not very gentlemanly of you making her break her vows like that."

"Not that time, either, Red." Hap was beginning to sound impatient.

"Oh. OK, now I remember. It was the time you were pinned down in that cottage in the woods around Bastogne, and the two German soldiers came in, and you thought they were going to kill you, only it was Christmas Eve, and you all shared your rations and sang carols with that beautiful farmer's daughter."

"Sometimes I wonder why I bother," Hap sighed. "It was when I was an art student in Florence, and I was wounded fighting for the Resistance. They sent me to the island of Sicily to recover."

"Don't tell me. Let me guess. You met up with the beautiful daughter of a famous crime family."

"Well, something like that." Hap gestured impatiently. "My point is, Ray Amalfitano is from Chicago."

"Yeah? So?"

"Well, he knows all the secret signs."

"Ah, you mean like wearing one of those pinky rings? Funny, I didn't notice he had one on the other day."

"A mere Hollywood clich, Red. Trust me. He's LCN, all the way."

"LCN?"

"Yes." Hap's voice grew even more conspiratorial, and he threw a look over his shoulder before continuing. "It's what my colleagues in the American CIA refer to as La Cosa Nostra. That's Italian for 'Our Thing'. It's what they call themselves."

"You don't say, Hap." Red managed to look both dubious and distracted. "Now if you'll excuse me, the women'll be here any minute looking for those bags. Can't keep 'em waiting. You'll keep me posted, right?"

"I'll do what I can, Red."

"I heard that, Uncle Red. Are we in some kind of trouble?" Harold had materialized silently behind him.

"What kind of trouble would we be in, Harold?"

"Well, Mike Hamar says that Ben Draper fellow is a Mountie. I knew it was wrong to take those apricots!"

"Now, Harold. If they wanted to arrest us for the apricots . . ."

"Us? What do you mean, us?"

"Well, whose idea was the Apricot Festival, anyway?"

Harold looked abashed.

"Besides, if they'd wanted to arrest us and throw us in jail for liberating a bunch of apricots, which were fair game anyway, on account of they were all over the middle of the road, why would they send somebody all the way here from Moose Jaw to do it? Answer me that, Harold."

Harold was silent.

"They ought to give us a reward for clearing an obstruction to traffic. I'd say we were very civic-minded, getting rid of all those apricots."

"Yeah, well what about that Ray guy? Hap says he's in the Mafia."

"Use your brain, Harold." Red shook his head. "It's no different than with the Mounties. Why would the Mafia bother to send some hit man all the way from Chicago just to rub us out over a bunch of toilets? They're not even illegal. Why would the Mafia be interested in something that's not even illegal?"

"But they are illegal, Uncle Red."

"I thought we'd been over this, Harold. It's not illegal for us to sell them. It's not illegal for the Americans to come up here and buy them. They don't even have to pay duty on them because of that NAFTA thing."

"So why don't they just buy American toilets in the United States? Answer me that one, Uncle Red. How come?"

"It's got something to do with the flush. Canadian toilets flush better than American toilets. People are willing to pay extra to have a decent flush, that's all."

"Yeah, right. They've got some kind of law against them."

"Don't you have to get ready for the show or something?"

Chapter 20

"I'll make breakfast, Benny. You've had a rough morning." Ray was still having trouble suppressing his laughter. "Have we got some cold cereal?"

"Thank you kindly, Ray. I'll just stir up the fire and re-heat the coffee."

Ben was standing on the beach, coffee in hand, when Ray called him over. He stopped in order to avoid being run down by a conversion van coming around the curve in the road, headed towards the bathhouse. He observed that it had New York plates and a bumper sticker that read, "If this van's a-rockin' don't come a-knockin'."

"That doesn't smell like cold cereal, Ray."

"Well, I decided to try out that black thing you call a pan. Makes pretty good bacon and eggs."

"In all the years I've known you, I've never seen you cook a meal."

"Yeah, well, don't thank me, thank Ma. She taught me how to make a breakfast, and how to iron a shirt. I guess she wasn't going to inflict me on some unsuspecting woman without any survival skills at all."

The two ate in silence, staring out across the lake. A large Tioga camper with Michigan license plates passed their campsite. Its occupants waved. Ray waved back, then spoke thoughtfully. "There's something more going on here than meets the eye. What do you think of Shaughnessey?"

"At this point, I don't see him as anything but a harmless lunatic. Well, not quite harmless. He was, as you said, transporting the goods right under our noses."

"So who's in charge? Red Green? Or Kevin Black"

Ben paused and considered this for a moment. "Hard to tell. Kevin is obviously not from around here. And it looks to me as though he's made some bad investments." He extended his arm. "Just look at this place. On the surface of things, Kevin Black would be far more likely to have the criminal contacts to undertake an operation of this magnitude. But . . ."

"I know what you're thinking. Red Green is not as dumb as he looks."

"No, he's not. He obviously occupies a leadership position in the community."

"Yeah. Maybe a little too obvious."

"Maybe a little too obvious." Ben polished off the rest of his eggs, then looked at his watch. "It's almost ten o'clock."

"We need to put together a plan, Benny."

Diefenbaker, who was lying at his ease nearby, laid back his ears and gave a deep growl. The morning quiet was shattered by a muted roar. Ben and Ray stood up and strolled to the edge of the campsite in time to watch the arrival of a motor home the size of a city bus. The enormous vehicle failed to negotiate the curve, and they watched as the white-haired driver put it into reverse to try again. Of course this filled the air with a series of ear-splitting beeps, which nearly drowned out the sound of the honking horn on the vehicle that had driven up behind it - a pickup with pop-top camper attached. Mercifully, the motor coach rounded the curve at last, revealing Pennsylvania license plates and a bumper sticker that read "We're Spending our Children's Inheritance."

"Seems like a popular slogan among American retirees," Ben mused. "The pickup is from New Jersey."

"Stands to reason the one doing all the honking would be from Jersey," Ray observed sourly.

"Well, Ray, it appears the campground is filling up." Ben was by the fire, where he was heating water for their breakfast dishes. "I'm going to suggest we split up."

"How do you want to work that?"

"Well, since I've been recognized, why don't you head into town while I interview the people here?"

"Good idea." The silence was once again shattered by the sound of Mr. Shaughnessey's motor launch. "Hang on a second, Benny. Got an idea."

Ray ran across the road to the beach, waving at Hap Shaughnessey, who obligingly headed towards the shallow water and cut his motor. "We meet again, Mr. Amalfitano."

"Please, Sir. Call me Ray. Can you give me a lift into town?"

"Sure thing. Can you wade out here?"

"I'll be right with you, Mr. Shaughnessey." Ray turned to Ben and handed him the keys to the Riv. "Meet me in front of that bait shop at noon," he said quietly. "And drive carefully." He pulled off his boots and socks and carefully waded out to the launch.

Ben finished drying the dishes and turned to Diefenbaker. "I suggest we reconnoiter by canoe," he said to the wolf. The wolf sat down with the air of a being who would not be moved. "Oh, all right. Have it your way."

Chapter 21

Ray sat quietly in the bow of the launch, staring out over the lake with what he hoped was a moody scowl. The motor was loud, and conversation would have been difficult in any case. As they approached the small island in the middle of the lake, he turned and signaled Hap to stop.

"You want to stop here?" Hap asked.

"Yes. I thought this locale would afford us some privacy," Ray replied.

"Privacy?"

"I'd like to talk a little business with you, Mr. Shaughnessey."

"Business?" Hap stopped the motor, then said more quietly, "What kind of business, Mr. Amalfitano?"

Ray spread his hands. "Ray, please." He turned around to face the older man. "Mr. Shaughnessey," he began. "I can tell you are a man of stature in the community. A man of substance."

"Well, I . . ." Hap was nothing if not modest and unassuming.

"I can see you are in a position to do favors for your friends."

Hap spread his hands, thinking fast. He knew from the movies that he couldn't be a made man if his parents weren't Italian.

"Your family name is Irish," Ray went on. "But I can tell that deep down, there beats the heart of a paisan."

"I'm Italian by blood," Hap replied. "Son of a wealthy family. My father was coming to the United States on a personal errand for Lucky Luciano."

Ray nodded. "I could tell."

Hap sighed heavily. "It was a foggy night. Child though I was, I do remember that much. My mother had left my father at the Captain's Table and come in to put me to bed in our first-class stateroom. She kissed me. A last, tender kiss. A mother's kiss. She was so beautiful, Mr. Amalfitano. Little did we know we would never see each other again." He sighed again. "Unbeknownst to me, in my childish innocence, another ship was steaming towards us through the fog. It was just past the Nantucket Lightship. That mighty ocean liner bore down on us in the fog. There was a thud . . ."

"Let me guess," said Ray. "The Andrea Doria."

"I was rescued by a humble Irish priest. Father Shaughnessey. I never saw my father or my dear, sainted mother again."

"May they rest in peace, Mr. Shaughnessey." Ray crossed himself. Hap hastily did likewise.

"There I was, an orphan at the tender age of six. My father had . . . certain enemies. Our family fortune was lost to me. Father Shaughnessey was a wise man. He gave me to his own brother to raise as part of his family. They took me in, fed me, clothed me, loved me as a son. Sent me to art school in Florence." Hap sighed deeply. "I owe them everything. I owe them my very life."

"And you are a man who pays his debts. A man of honor."

"Well, I try. There was the time the Gambino family called in my marker. But I never speak of it. Or the time Geraldo Rivera came to Port Asbestos looking for the lost treasure of Al Capone. Or . . ."

Ray interrupted. "No need to speak of it. I would like to find favor in your eyes, Mr. Shaughnessey. I can do many favors for a man of your stature."

"Like what?"

Ray's eyes burned with what he hoped was passionate intensity, but which in reality might have been too much insect repellant. "You have competition here in Possum Lake. All this," Ray made an expansive gesture with his arm, taking in the entire lake. "All this should be yours by right, Mr. Shaughnessey. The bait shop. The marina. The camping resort."

Hap glanced at his watch. "I really need to get going, Ray. I promised to drop off some of the ladies."

Ray looked at him with undisguised admiration. "A man who pays his debts. A man who keeps his word. A man who honors the sacred memory of his dear, sainted mother. We'll speak again, Mr. Shaughnessey."

Chapter 22

Ben rounded the point and took a look at the shoreline. From his vantage point on the lake, he could see that the campground was filling up rapidly. He saw Helen MacDonald wave and waved back at her. That would be as good a place as any to get started, he thought as he beached the canoe.

"Ben. It's nice to see you again." Helen beamed at him. "It's a little too early for that beer I owe you. How about a cup of coffee?"

A middle-aged, bearded man came out of the camper and handed Ben a cup before he could decline. "Michael MacDonald," he said, offering his hand. I understand you and your friend rescued Helen this morning."

"It was nothing, really. It seems that the locals have some unorthodox ideas about fruit storage."

"Yeah. They've got unorthodox ideas about a lot of things," Michael replied. "They've offered me a voucher for a free fill-up on the RV if I'll drop off a couple of boxes for them at a gas station just the other side of Buffalo."

"Boxes?"

"Yeah. No idea what's going to be in them, but I intend to check them out pretty carefully. If it looks harmless, I'll probably take them up on it."

"Putting gas in one of these things costs the earth," Helen added.

"So what brings you to this part of the world, Ben?" asked Michael.

"Oh, I'm just up here with a friend to do a little fishing. The fishing's not bad here."

"And are you one of them?"

Ben looked a little perplexed. "One of whom, Michael?"

"Are you Canadian or American?"

"Ah. I'm Canadian. But I'm not from around here, actually. I'm from out West."

"I see."

Ben finished the last of his coffee and placed the cup carefully on the picnic table. "Thank you kindly for the coffee, folks." He headed for the road, then turned and asked casually, "And how long will you be staying?"

"Oh, we're just here till Sunday," Helen replied. "We'll listen to the presentation tonight, do a little fishing and relaxing tomorrow, and then head back to Baltimore. We were going to stay for the Apricot Festival, but I don't think so . . ."

"Well, enjoy your visit. Thanks again for the coffee."

As Ben approached the road, he heard a voice. "Oh, Ben!" It was Mabel Drucker.

"Hello, Mabel."

"I want you to meet these nice folks from Waco, Texas. John and Mary Vaughan." Mr. and Mrs. Vaughan were also middle-aged, though substantially younger than the Druckers.

"Pleased to meet you." Ben shook hands, noting that John Vaughn was about his height, with a touch of gray at his temples and that Mrs. Vaughan was drop-dead gorgeous. "Waco's a long way from here."

"We're from there originally," replied the man. "But we're living temporarily in Dearborn, Michigan. That's our conversion van over there."

Ben recalled the bumper sticker.

"Up here to do a little fishing, John?" Mabel handed Ben a cup of coffee.

"Well, I might," John Vaughan replied. "But we're really up here to listen to that property presentation tonight."

"Ah. It seems a lot of people are here for that," replied Ben.

"I don't know about this place, John." Mary Vaughan spoke for the first time. "There were fruit flies in the ladies' room."

"That reminds me," said Mabel. "What was going on over there? Why was that woman screaming?"

"Oh, it was nothing," Ben replied. "Just a slight mishap. Some of the plumbing is out of order."

"Fruit flies and non-functional plumbing." John shook his head. "Doesn't sound like my kind of place. But at least we'll get some free gas."

"Free gas?"

"Yeah. They've offered me a free fill-up on the van if I'll drop a package off at some filling station on the Interstate on the way back to Dearborn." "Herb got one of those, too," Mabel replied. "Quickie Mart on I-94?"

John fished in his pocket for a piece of paper. "Yep."

"Are you going to take them up on it?" asked Ben.

"Well," replied John. "I'm not going to turn down a free fill-up. But I'll certainly make sure everything's above-board before I go making any deliveries to the Quickie Mart."

Ben set down his coffee. "I've got to be going, Mabel. Thank you for the coffee."

Ben re-crossed the road and headed for his canoe with a wave at the MacDonalds. He glanced at his watch. Still an hour before he had to meet Ray. He beached the canoe and strolled down the road in the direction of Kevin Black's office. The first camper he came to was a classic Winnebago with Ohio license plates. Time to meet another group of neighbors.

Chapter 23

A few minutes later, having interviewed Gary and Maria Buonfiglio from Toledo, Ohio - over coffee, of course - Ben had added another nearly-identical story to his information. All the couples were middle-aged to elderly, fairly prosperous Americans who liked to camp and owned recreational vehicles. All had arrived in Possum Lake in response to an invitation from K & T Recreational Properties, a Chicago-based company. All would listen to a sales presentation this evening at Possum Lodge, enjoy a day of camping, and possibly attend the local Apricot Festival. And all had received the offer of a free fill-up at a Quick-E-Mart gas station on whatever Interstate led from their side of the border - in exchange for dropping off a package. About eighty percent of them were dubious of this proposition, and less than half were interested in buying a property. Finally, all lived within a fairly easy day's drive of Possum Lake.

Ben felt he had learned enough, and the six or so cups of coffee he'd downed were beginning to interfere with his ability to think clearly. He allowed himself a small sigh of contentment as he regained the campsite. That thick clump of underbrush towards the interior . . .

"Well, hey there, Sugar. What brings you to Possum Lake."

Ben turned with a sigh, giving his belt a nervous little pat. "Good morning," he replied a great deal more cheerfully than he felt.

"I'm Dixie Lee Ravenel," said the owner of the Southern accent. "And this is my friend, Denise de la Warr."

Dixie Lee fitted her name exactly. She was a petite and amply-endowed blonde with a peaches-and-cream complexion that seemed to indicate little exposure to the sun. About twenty-five - or perhaps a well-preserved thirty - she was clad in very brief shorts, a bikini top, and high-heeled sandals. Denise, a brunette, was considerably taller with a trim, athletic figure. For some reason Ben could not fathom, she was carrying a hockey stick.

"Pleased to meet you, Ms Ravenel, Ms de la Warr." Ben smiled again and shook hands with each woman. "I'm Ben Draper. Welcome to Possum Lake."

"We saw you making the rounds," began Dixie Lee, "And we thought we'd invite you over for a little drink." Ben noticed she was carrying a closed pitcher, which she shook. "Bloody Mary's," she smiled. "Breakfast of Champions."

"It's a little early for me," Ben replied with a glance at his watch.

"Well then, how about a cup of coffee," added Denise.

"Thank you kindly." Ben smiled again and willed himself to ignore the urgent signals from his bladder. He reminded himself sternly of the stakeout . . . and then there was that time he'd spent in the coffin. He followed the two women down the lane, noting with some interest that Denise looked as though she knew what to do with the hockey stick. The trees parted to reveal an enormous land yacht - fully the size of a tractor-trailer - parked in a clearing. A buffet table containing all kinds of breakfast and lunch delicacies had been spread out, and there were several comfortable-looking rustic chairs.

"So, Ms de la Warr," Ben began as he settled in with his seventh cup of coffee, "You look as though you know how to use that hockey stick. But it's a little warm for a game, don't you think?"

The brunette woman flexed the stick on the ground with a meditative air. "You're right. I do play hockey. But I found this in the bushes not far from the camper. Somebody must've thrown it there."

"Are you ladies here for the presentation?"

Dixie laughed. "Well, no. Actually, we are the presentation."

"Ah. Then you're with K & T Recreational Properties?"

"That's right. Denise is the accountant, and I'm Mr. Kirk Ronzonis, personal assistant."

"And Mr. Black?"

"We're assisting Mr. Black to develop his property commercially," added Denise. "I don't remember seeing your name on the guest list," she went on, taking a sip of her drink.

"My friend and I didn't receive an invitation. We were just passing through and decided this looked like a good place for a few days' fishing." Ben noticed that a slight furrow had appeared on Denise's brow, a clear signal that he'd probed enough. He set down his coffee and glanced at his watch. "Look at the time! I promised to pick my friend up in town. Thanks for the coffee, ladies." Ben smiled, set his cup down, and fled.

Without a thought for his bladder, he climbed into the Riv, settled Diefenbaker, and headed for town.

Chapter 24

Ben parked the Riv on the main street of Possum Lake and got out with Dief. He knew he would encounter Ray sooner or later, and he occupied his time by strolling up the street, looking for an open shop with a men's room. Once again, most of the stores seemed to sport CLOSED signs.

"Benton! Benton Fraser!" Ben's mind worked furiously as he kept walking. The ringing, tenor voice was coming from behind him. "Hey Ben! Wait up!" It sounded vaguely familiar. The footsteps drew nearer, and the voice called out his name again. "Ben! Don't you remember me?"

Ben turned around. The owner of the voice was a tall, dark-haired good-looking man of about Ben's age, dressed in the uniform of a Fire Warden. The man extended his hand.

"I haven't seen you in years, Ben. Don't you remember me? Gord! We were at the Academy together. At least for a little while . . ."

Ben noticed that despite his good looks, the man's face had a vacant quality. He was probably the sort of person about whom people said, "He's a few sandwiches short of a picnic." In an instant of clarity, he recognized just who he was dealing with.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr., ah . . ."

"Gord! And you're Ben Fraser from the Academy."

"Academy?" Ben smiled with what he hoped was a great deal of puzzled sincerity. "My name is Draper, and I've never been to any academy."

"Oh." Gord's face fell. "I guess I mistook you for someone else." He brightened and shook Ben's hand again. "But it's nice to meet you anyway. Stop out and visit at the fire tower. I'll open a few cans of creamed corn!"

"I'll be sure to do that, Mr. Gord. Nice to have met you." Ben turned away with relief to find Ray hurriedly crossing the street.

"And if you don't like corn, we could have carrots! Or beets! Why I've got just about any canned vegetable you might want." Gord continued to suggest vegetables as he made his way down the street in the direction of Possum Lodge.

"Who the hell was that?" asked Ray.

"Look at these interesting fishing flies, Ray. All hand-tied, I believe. Excellent workmanship." Ben turned and indicated a shop window.

"Ah, yeah. Real nice workmanship. Now who was that?"

Ben sighed. "It was somebody I went through training with. Or at least started to go through training with."

"You mean somebody else has recognized you. What'd I say? Everybody in Canada knows everybody else.

"You know that's not true, Ray. Gord was in my class at the Academy. But he didn't stay long."

"Flunked out?"

"Well, he just wasn't the sort of person who fit in. He left after two weeks, as I recall. The official designation in his file probably read BTC."

"BTC?"

"Yes. Big time crazy. Now, I really need to devote some attention to finding a wash room."

Chapter 25

After a few minutes' walk, Ben and Ray located a store that appeared to be open.

"Dalton Humphrey's Everything Store," mused Ray. "Looks like a junk shop."

"Well, let's hope they have a men's room."

The proprietor, a surly, oddly-dressed man in very old clothes, gestured with his thumb towards the back of the store. Ben fled gratefully, leaving Ray to chat with Mr. Humphrey.

The unisex bathroom was certainly clean enough. But Ben found that, try as he might, he could not raise the seat. He gave up trying and simply sharpened his aim and focus on the task. As he was finishing up, his eye rested on the porcelain area behind the seat. A blue imprint in the china read "American Standard. 13.25 L.P.F." Another reason to be thankful for being a Canadian, he mused as he pressed the lever. It was a quality of life issue. Despite bad weather, high taxes, and annoying international neighbors, at least Canadians could expect a good flush. An American toilet would have read 6.5 litres per flush.

Ben left a quarter in the Styrofoam cup on the back of the toilet and turned toward the sink. He realized he'd have a difficult time getting to it because the space surrounding it was piled high with green plastic lawn and leaf bags. Surely they wouldn't be so brazen as to store the marijuana in a public washroom. He gave a cautious sniff, but his senses were occluded by the presence of some kind of air freshener. He carefully lifted the edge of a bag with the toe of his boot.

The contents of the bag shifted suddenly, causing the other bags to shift as well. It started as a small slide, but it quickly gathered momentum and became a full-fledged avalanche. Apricots! Ben never swore - well, hardly ever - and he did not do so now. But for the second time that day, he found himself half-drowning in a sea of the nasty little yellow fruits. With a deep sigh, he washed his hands and stooped to begin replacing the apricots.

When he emerged from the washroom, a considerable amount of time had passed. A young woman in designer jeans was waiting impatiently outside. She threw him an annoyed look as she entered.

"Benny. You OK?" Ray was holding a large decrepit black men's umbrella. The fabric had aged to a rusty brown in many places, and several spokes stood out at odd angles.

"You bought that?" asked Ben as they left the shop.

"Yeah. You were in there for so long I felt like I had to buy something. This is supposed to have belonged to the first Canadian Prime Minister or something."

"I doubt that, Ray. But as for what took me so long in there, it was another apricot-related incident."

"Apricots? You mean like this morning?"

"Not precisely. There weren't as many of them, and they were stored in some of those large green plastic lawn bags."

"You mean like the ones they're using for the pot."

"Exactly."

The two men looked across the street. The young woman in the designer jeans was leaving the Everything Store, headed for a car parked nearby with two large plastic lawn and leaf bags. The proprietor, Mr. Humphrey, followed with at least two more.

"Interesting," mused Ben. "She looks enough like him to be his daughter."

"How could he stoop so low?" Ray exploded. "Using his own flesh and blood to courier the stuff!"

"Yes, but if those are the same bags I saw in the washroom, Ray, they're not doing anything wrong. Last time I checked, transporting apricots was not illegal."

"Let's get some more bait and get outta here. We can compare notes in the car."

Chapter 26

After his conversation with his nephew, Red's morning at the lodge had gone rapidly down the toilet. It had started with the arrival of an unexpected shipment of 100 additional units, all requiring re-conditioning. Problem was, they would need to stop work at about 3 p.m. so as to have the Lodge in some kind of presentable shape for the meeting that evening.

After his third attempt to reach Kevin Black, Red hung up the phone in exasperation and stroked his beard thoughtfully. Surely there was some way out of this. After a moment, he brightened, stood up, and went to the front door. "Harold!"

"Yes, Uncle Red?" Harold, still carrying the clip board, looked troubled. "We need to put these toilets somewhere, Uncle Red."

Red held up his hand. "Not to worry, Harold. I want you to get two of the fellows and load as many of the units as you can into the back of the Possum Van."

"What're you going to do, Uncle Red? Hide them in the woods?"

"No, Harold." Red sighed patiently. "We're going to get a little assembly line action going."

"There aren't that many people here, Uncle Red. People do have to work and stuff."

"You miss my point, Harold. Take the units over to my place and leave them by the garage. We're going to mass-clean them in my car wash. I figure we should be able to do about a third of them at a time. Assuming the hot water holds out, we should have all of them clean and ready to go in about fifteen minutes."

"I don't think Aunt Bernice is going to like that."

"She's not home, Harold. She's headed over to the Humphrey's to make apricot preserves. If this goes according to plan, she doesn't even have to know about it."

"She was pretty unhappy with what you did to her dishwasher last time you ran that thing."

Red patted his nephew on the arm. "Relax, Harold. Just start taking the toilets over. I'll ride along with the last load."

"Red! It's great to see you!"

Red turned with a sigh as he heard the voice of his good friend, Ranger Gord.

"Gord. I take it you've come to help with the projects." Red shook the younger man's hand.

"You knew I wouldn't let you down, Red." Gord heaved a deep sigh.

"Something wrong?"

"Well, Red, sometimes I think I might be losing my grip just a little."

"You don't say."

"Yes. Take this morning, for example. I met somebody I thought I knew, only it turned out I didn't know him at all."

"And who was that?"

"Well, he said his name was Ben Draper. I could've sworn his real name was Ben Fraser. I remember going to the Academy with Ben Fraser."

Red stroked his beard again, thoughtfully. "You mean way back when you were going into the RCMP."

Gord brightened just a little. "You remembered! You really are a good friend, Red."

"Well, your departure was certainly their loss, Gord. But if this fellow, Ben Draper, or Fraser, or whoever he is had stayed in . . ."

"Oh, I'm sure he stayed in. He was pretty smart." Gord sighed again, deeply. "Well, you're right. It was their loss. And if Ben had come into the Forest Service with me, maybe we could have had a lot of fun up there on the tower."

"Tell me something, Gord. Just how far is Regina from Moose Jaw?"

"Oh, it's not very far. About an hour's drive. You want to take a drive out there sometime? I could show you the sights."

"We'll do that sometime, Gord. Now, would you mind helping the fellows get the van loaded?" With a sigh, Red headed back to the phone. It was more than past time to get hold of Kevin Black.

Chapter 27

"Red, we have to talk."

Red looked up to see the disheveled form of Hap Shaughnessey standing in front of him. Resignedly, he hung up the phone. "What's up, Hap?"

"It's that Amalfitano fellow. What was I telling you this morning?"

"Something about the Mafia, Hap."

"Well, it's true. It's all true. He caught a ride into town with me, and he's just about offered to give me control of the waterfront of Possum Lake. The entire waterfront, Red!"

"Just what do you mean by that, Hap?"

"Well, he's virtually offered to eliminate my competition."

"Competition?"

"Yes, Red." Hap sighed with exasperation. "He's just about offered to hand me full control of the bait shop, the marina and . . ."

"And?"

"The campground."

"What's this about the campground?" Kevin Black's voice rang out from the other side of the room.

"Nothing. Nothing at all, Kevin. I was just telling Hap here that I'd been trying to call you. We've got a big problem." Red stood up and came out from behind his desk.

"Problem?" asked Kevin.

"Yes!" Hap spoke up. "Ray Amalfitano just offered to rub you out."

"Rub me out? What in the world are you talking about?"

"I told you he had Mob connections, Red. But you wouldn't listen. Now Kevin's very life is at stake. Not to mention Glen's. And Earl Battersby's." Hap went on.

"Mob connections? Amalfitano has Mob connections? Why would he tell you that?" Kevin was authentically puzzled. "Besides, I thought Mike Hamar said his friend Draper was a Mountie." "My, word does get around," Red added drily.

"Red! Red!" Another voice called from the doorway.

"You might as well come on in, Glen. Everybody else is here." Red sighed deeply.

Glen Brackston was breathing hard as he approached the small group. "I've got to go, Red. Sorry I can't stay around to help you. There's been an explosion."

"An explosion? At the marina?" Even the imperturbable Red Green was caught off guard at this announcement.

"Yes! It's . . ." Glen paused, struggling for breath. "It's my RV!" These words came out as a half-sob as he ran from the room.

"And you weren't going to believe me, Red! Why I just don't know what's gotten into you. When did I ever not tell you the truth?" Hap was having a wonderful time working his way into a state of outraged indignation. "You mark my words, Kevin! You're next in line. And has anybody thought about warning poor Earl Battersby?"

Kevin sighed deeply. "Would someone please tell me what's going on? Red, how about you?"

"Well, all right. But we're going to have to hurry. I'm due back at the house. Kevin, we just got another hundred toilets in."

Chapter 28

The owner of the bait shop was on the phone when Ben and Ray entered. This time he sported a pair of crutches.

"How did you injure yourself?" asked Ben conversationally as the man hobbled around preparing their order.

"It was a freak accident. I tripped over some . . . ah, some fruit that had spilled. It's just a sprain. Doc says I'll be good as new in a week or so."

"Ah, yes," replied Ray. "These home accidents can be so annoying."

"Didn't do it at home. Did it right here in the store this morning, coming out of the washroom. Now, will that be all?"

"Yes. Thank you kindly, Mr. ah . . ."

"Battersby. Earl Battersby. Now, will that be all, fellows?"

Ben and Ray left the shop with their day's supply of worms. "Just a minute, Ray," Ben began. "Let's just cross over and stand near the car. I want to see what he does."

Ray opened the trunk, and the two busied themselves with the task of looking busy. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Earl came out of the shop, turned over the CLOSED sign, and locked up before hobbling to his car. He did not appear to notice Ben and Ray.

"Let's follow him, Ray." Ben slid into the passenger seat with Dief not far behind him.

Following Earl without attracting his notice was not easy in this small town. Ray managed, and soon they were a couple of miles outside the town, turning onto a quiet street in a pleasant housing development.

"I'm gonna have to stay way back," Ray remarked. "But something tells me we won't lose him." He pulled over to a curb, waited a few minutes, and then went cautiously on. The main street of the little development seemed to lead only to one cul de sac after another, and before long they spotted a traffic jam on one of them.

"Looks as though they've moved the Lodge meeting out here, Ray. There's that van again, and I recognize a couple of cars from the Lodge meeting the other day."

"What the hell are they doing?" Ray squinted a little and shaded his eyes.

Ben was silent for a moment, then said, "Can you get any closer?"

Ray put the car in gear and moved a few yards closer to the action. It didn't appear that anyone was paying them the slightest bit of attention.

"That's the strangest looking thing I ever saw in my life," observed Ray. "If I wasn't seeing it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it."

"You're right, Ray. There must be a hundred toilets sitting out in the driveway."

And it was true. The Lodge members had a forest of toilets out on the yard and drive. As the two officers watched in fascination, four men went into the garage and began removing toilets, which they placed in another area of the yard. Four other men stood at the ready and began replacing the toilets with more from the seemingly unlimited supply.

"Leave a little space between them, Dalton," they heard Red call.

Someone closed the garage door.

"Ready, Uncle Red!" shouted Harold.

Red turned to Winston Rothschild, who was standing nearby. "Those modifications to the car wash setup have really made this an efficient operation, Winston. I can see all kinds of applications for this - power cleaning, sandblasting." He raised his hand. "OK, Edgar! Let 'er rip."

Ben and Ray observed a man standing nearby turn a valve, connected to a garden hose that seemed to run into the house. They watched, fascinated, as the garage door began to open slowly. Jets of steaming, soapy water from what looked like garden hoses attached to the door began spraying down on the toilets within. As they stared in utter disbelief, a row of what looked like old neckties descended from the ceiling to move slowly, back and forth, over the now-cleaned units. The rinse cycle seemed to take the form of more water - this time soapless - from the hoses on the garage door. The entire job was finished in less than . . . well, in much less time than it took Ray to put the Riv through the local brushless carwash.

"I'll be damned," observed Ray. "It looks like a do it yourself carwash. Now, let's clear out of here before they see us."

Chapter 29

Kevin Black looked grim as he sat, shirtless, on the cold metal table in the doctor's office. The idiot nurse had insisted on cutting the perfectly good black turtleneck off him. "To minimize the risk of further injury, until we get an x-ray," she'd said just as she finished off the shirt and started on his undershirt.

"That should do it," the doctor observed as he added one last piece of tape to a large silver splint now supporting the middle finger of Kevin's right hand. The splint had done something to ease the throbbing, but as Kevin looked at it he realized he was going to spend the next four to six weeks making an obscene gesture.

"Now, let me see to that knee," the doctor went on. They both looked down at Kevin's left knee, which was clearly visible through the large rent in his summer-weight wool trousers. "Don't worry. I won't let her cut your pants off. How did you say you did this?"

"A rake," replied Kevin between clenched teeth. "I stepped on a rake."

"A gardening accident, then."

"No, the rake was in the men's room at the Lodge. It was mostly covered with clothes. I didn't see it." It had been another one of Red's inventions gone terribly, terribly wrong.

"I see," said the doctor, though he really didn't. He finished cleaning the knee and applied a bandage. "Well, you can get dressed now if there's anything left of your clothes. I'll see you back here in two weeks."

Kevin summoned all of his remaining dignity, pulled on his jacket carefully, and left the doctor's office. Mercifully, the jacket had not been damaged in the disaster, but the skinned left knee gave him a slight limp. And then there was the finger.

"Kevin! Kevin, my God!"

Kevin sighed deeply. It was Hap Shaughnessey.

"My God, man! What's happened to you?"

"It was nothing, really, Hap. I tripped over one of Red's clothes rakes at the Lodge."

"Clothes rake?"

"Yeah. You know he sticks his clothes all over those rakes with duct tape. Then when he wants something, he just . . ."

"You don't have to hide anything from me, Kevin." Hap's blue eyes were troubled. "I know what's really happened. I told you this morning you were next."

"Really, Hap. It was nothing but a rake. In the washroom."

Hap gave him a knowing look. "Ah. I see they require your silence. Well, enough said. Take care of yourself, Kevin."

Kevin entered his car with a feeling of relief and glanced at the clock. He had just enough time to go home and get cleaned up before the party.

Hap Shaughnessey stared after Kevin's car as he drove away. It was all coming true, just as that Amalfitano fellow had predicted. The Possum Lake waterfront would soon be Hap's exclusive territory. But did he want it?

Chapter 30

"You want to tell me what that was all about?" Ray asked as they turned out of the housing development and headed towards the lake.

"No idea at this point," Ben replied thoughtfully. "There seems to be a lot of activity around here surrounding two unrelated things - apricots and toilets."

"Yeah, and they're both unrelated to what we're after."

The two drove back towards the campground in silence. As they turned in, Ben observed, "You're going to find quite a few more people around this afternoon, Ray."

Indeed the place was filling up rapidly, and when Ben and Ray got out of the car, they could here the sounds of voices, music, and beer can tops being lifted all around them in the woods.

"Let's fish, Ray. I don't think I can handle seven cans of beer as easily as I handled seven cups of coffee."

"You made a few friends, did you?"

"Well, I did manage to put the time to good use. Let's get out on the water, and I'll tell you about it."

Ray managed to get himself and his gear into the canoe without tipping it, and the two friends were soon paddling out towards a promising spot on the other side of the lake.

"There's our friend, Mr. Black." Ray smiled - insincerely, if convincingly - and waved at their host, who was standing on a wooden pier near the MacDonalds' campsite. Several tables containing food and drink had been set up nearby. Mr. Black returned the wave coolly and unsmilingly.

"Did he just give me the finger?" asked Ray.

"I don't believe so, Ray. It appears the middle finger of his right hand is in a splint of some sort. Didn't you see the sunlight on the metal?"

"Ah."

"I wonder what he's up to this afternoon," Ben mused. "Probably no good. He seems to have a hand in everything around here."

"Let's fish where we can keep an eye on him," replied Ray. "Now tell me what you found out this morning."

Ben went over his morning visits, one RV at a time. "But the last visit of the morning was by far the most interesting," Ben added. "That was when I met Dixie Lee Ravenel and Denise de la Warr.

"You're kidding. What kind of names are those?"

"Well, Ray, ordinarily I'd say that prejudice is an incorrect attitude. But in this case, I'd have to say that the women match their names pretty accurately."

"You mean they're bimbos."

"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say that. Ms de la Warr in particular seemed fairly intelligent. What's significant is that they work for K and T Recreational Properties. Ms de la Warr is an accountant. Ms Ravenel is Kirk Ronzonis personal assistant."

"Ahh, yes. And I'm sure she renders a great deal of personal assistance," observed Ray. "So what'd you find out from them?"

"Not a great deal." Ben's reel clicked as he began half-heartedly reeling in whatever had just hit his line. "They're planning to do the presentation this evening. They work for the Ronzonis, who are the owners of K & T Recreational Properties. And they're helping Kevin Black develop this land."

"Anything else?"

"Bass," remarked Ben as he landed the fish and placed it in the bucket. "No, that was about it. The Americans have all received the same offer: If they transport something to a specific gas station on their route home, they'll receive a free fill-up. Obviously someone is trying to set them up as mules. It remains to be seen which of them will take the bait."

"All we need is something to tie this back to the Ronzonis," Ray observed. He looked over at Ben, who was staring across the water with a meditative air. "There's something else on your mind," he went on.

"Yes. It's the Druckers. I wonder if . . ."

The quiet of the lake was shattered by the familiar sound of Hap Shaughnessey's motor launch bearing down on them. Ray waved as he approached, but Hap did not return the salute. The canoe rocked alarmingly as Hap pulled up close enough for a conversation before cutting his engines.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Shaughnessey," Ben said courteously.

"I'm not here to talk to you. I'm here to talk to Mr. Amalfitano. Privately."

Ray took in the distance between the two boats and the unsteadiness of his own craft before replying, "Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of my friend here."

"Very well then, Mr. Amalfitano. I'm here to ask you to call off your dogs."

Chapter 31

"My dogs?" Ray spared a brief, confused glance for the figure of Diefenbaker, clearly visible on the beach.

Hap raised his hand. "Oh, don't get cagey with me, Mr. Amalfitano. You think I was born yesterday?"

Ray, who was baffled but had no choice but to play along, responded with a lift of his chin.

"The marina, the bait shop, the campground. You remember that?"

"Sure." Ray was still struggling to come to grips with whatever it was Hap was trying to communicate.

"Well, call off your hit man before somebody gets killed. First it was Glen Brackston. We still haven't heard from him. Then you went to work on Earl Battersby. What'd you do, have your goons break his kneecap?"

Ray was silent for a moment. "You mean the guy that owns the bait shop?"

"You know perfectly well who I mean. And now Kevin. The poor suffering bastard's too intimidated even to talk about what happened. Call off the hit, Mr. Amalfitano."

Ray steepled his hands and peered at Shaughnessey intently. "I see." He paused as though deep in thought. "All right, Mr. Shaughnessey. I'll call off the hit. For now."

"Good, then I'll just . . ."

"I'm not finished, Mr. Shaughnessey. I'll call off the hit. But you owe me. And as I recall, you're a man who always pays his debts."

"Fine, fine. I owe you." Hap turned away.

"I'll be calling on you, Mr. Shaughnessey. In the very near future." Ray signaled to Ben, and the two men began paddling toward the shore.

Hap started the launch up with a deep sigh.

Chapter 32

"Would you care to fill me in on what just happened, Ray?" Ben asked as he prepared to clean the bass.

"Simple. We know Earl Battersby sprained his ankle on some apricots this morning. We saw him walkin' around on crutches. And Kevin Black has done something to a finger. A very unfortunate finger, I might add. I don't know anything about this Glen Brackston, but I'd be willing to bet he owns the marina."

"Yes, and perhaps he's had some unfortunate accident today as well."

"You catch on fast. As far as we know, it's pure coincidence. But Hap Shaughnessey obviously thinks I've got something to do with it. Now all we need to do is figure out how to turn that to our advantage."

Ben was silent for a long moment before he finally spoke. "It's a shame Shaughnessey doesn't carry more weight with Red Green."

"You think he doesn't?"

"I doubt it, Ray. Without delving too deeply into the underlying psychology, he seems to be an habitual teller of tall tales. I doubt anyone takes him too seriously."

"Good point. There's probably no way we can use him to get to the Ronzoni Brothers. Wait a second. Got a bite." Ray stopped and began working the fish. "Damn." The fish dropped his line with a splash.

"Never mind. We can eat perfectly well on this one."

"Now, what were you saying about the Druckers? You mean those two old people, right?"

"It's just that it's a long way from Des Moines, Iowa to Fort Wayne, Indiana."

"Probably about 500 miles or so. Why?"

"If they're living in Fort Wayne, why would their sign say Des Moines?"

"Well, like the old man said. They're originally from there."

Ben sighed. "You're probably right." He looked at his watch. "It's about 5:15," he went on. "Let's get this fish on ice and see about getting an invitation to Possum Lodge."

"Just how do you plan to do that?" Ray asked as they beached the canoe.

"Take care of the fish, Ray. I'll be back in about ten minutes." Ben squared his shoulders and marched out of the campsite.

Ten minutes later, Ben was back, looking more cheerful than he had all day and carrying a handful of printed brochures and flyers. "The meeting starts at 7:30, Ray. They've reserved two seats for us."

"How'd you manage that, Benny?"

"Simple. I spoke with Ms. Ravanel and Ms. De La Warr. I said we'd been enjoying the fishing and that I might be interested in a lakefront property here."

"Won't Kevin see through that?"

"I don't think it will matter, Ray. By the time they get to compare notes with him -- if indeed they do compare notes with him -- we'll have accomplished our objective and will be at the Lodge."

"Good point."

"Let's eat quickly. There isn't much time."

A short time later, the two friends joined a long line of cars, pickup trucks, and RV's all headed up the lane towards Possum Lodge. The Lodge looked quite cheerful in the evening light, which hid most of the surrounding junk. Ray parked the Riv on a grassy spot at some distance from the building, and he and Ben headed quickly inside.

Red Green, flanked by Harold and Mike Hamar, stood at the door to greet them. "Evening, fella's." His smile was cordial, but his eyes were sharp. "I didn't realize you two were interested in any of the properties out there at Blood Point."

"Blood point?" Ray echoed. "Ahh, you mean the Circle KB Campground. Yeah. Ben here likes to fish."

"The fishing is pretty good, Mr. Green." Ben added, holding up his brochure. "I thought I'd at least listen to the presentation."

Red nodded. "Well, you'd better head downstairs. The meeting is about to start."

The main floor of the Lodge was crowded with milling campers. Ben recognized most of the people he had talked to this morning and others he had seen around the campground. Across the room, Herb and Mabel Drucker seemed to be carrying on an animated conversation with Ranger Gord. Next Ben noticed the unmistakable red hair of Helen MacDonald, who appeared to be making her way toward them with great determination.

"Evening, Ben. Ray." She smiled and nodded at both men. "Michael's around here someplace. I didn't expect to see you two here."

"I'm here to listen to the presentation, Helen," replied Ben. "The fishing is pretty good out at the lake. I'm thinking of buying a lot."

Helen wrinkled her nose. "I'm glad the fishing is good, Ben. Frankly, we're not impressed." She sighed deeply. "You'd think they would at least have some refreshments. There's not even a lousy cup of coffee. Oh, Mike. There you are."

The bearded Mr. MacDonald had emerged from the washroom to join them. He was limping slightly and rubbing his backside. "Damndest thing," he observed. "They've got rakes all over the floor in there with clothes stuck to them. I backed right into one." MacDonald was interrupted by an unearthly squawking that went on for several seconds. "What the hell is that?"

"Meeting time, ladies and gentlemen!" Harold, carrying his clip board, strode briskly into the room. "If everyone would just take a seat downstairs, please, the meeting can come to order."

"This isn't a Lodge meeting, Harold," observed Red, who had come to stand beside his nephew. He continued, more loudly, "They'll move downstairs soon enough when they find out that's where we put the beer and cold cuts."

Ben and Ray turned to follow the crowd.

Chapter 33

Dixie Lee and Denise, dressed in januty matching hot pants, high-heeled sandals, and midriff t-shirts, were ready to do a splendid job of the sales presentation. They warmed up the crowd with a few innocent double entendres and a brief dialogue about the years of pleasant living just waiting for the fortunate property owners at the Circle KB Campground.

Harold had stationed himself at the back of the room and was preparing to engineer the audiovisual presentation. The multimedia extravaganza, for which he had practiced diligently, incorporated a montage of slides, taped disco music, and (so he had been told) a dance number by the two young ladies. He followed his cues carefully. It was a bit dark in his little corner of the basement, but he managed nevertheless to replace the "sounds of nature" tape used during the opening of the presentation with the disco tape. Now it was time, and Dixie Lee and Denise stood poised in front of one of his Aunt Bernice's sheets (borrowed to serve as a screen) ready to dance. Harold hurried to replace the "sounds of nature" tape with the disco tape. Right on cue, he pulled the string he had used to connect all of the overhead bulbs, pressed the correct button on the projector, and hit "play" on the tape player.

The sounds of whale song filled the room.

Shamefacedly, Harold pressed the "off" switches and announced to the room at large, "Sorry everyone. I must've gotten the wrong tape." Nobody said much, but he could see Dixie Lee and Denise standing impatiently, hands on hips, at the front of the room. It was so dark where he was standing! He turned on the overhead lights and began searching for the disco tape, but it was still too dark in his little corner for him to see.

"No problem, Harold." Here came Uncle Red with a dilapidated lamp. "I just happen to have this refurbished unit . . ."

"I wouldn't do that, Uncle Red. All this equipment . . ."

"Nonsense, Harold. Just let me plug 'er right . . ."

Fortunately there were a number of smokers in the audience. Their collective Bic lighters and wooden matches pierced through the gloom like a thousand points of light.

"Now you've done it, Uncle Red. What am I supposed to do now? Somebody better go change the fuse."

Grumbling, Red made his way to the front of the room, stopping along the way to borrow a Bic from one person and a penny from someone else. He disappeared through a door near the stairs, and in a few minutes the lights came back on again and the multimedia extravaganza got under way.

The men in the audience were highly appreciative of the extravaganza, though the same could not be said of their wives. The two women ended their portion of the show by calling on Kevin Black.

Ben's eyes narrowed intently as Kevin Black stood up at the podium. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'd now like to introduce Kirk and Troy Ronzoni, owners of K and T Recreational Properties, who will answer your questions about financing options." Kevin began to lead the applause, then apparently realized how ridiculous he must look with his bandaged finger, and settled for giving a "thumbs-up" sign before yielding the floor to the brothers.

Ben placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward in an attitude of intense concentration. In reality, he was trying to make himself less conspicuous. He and Meg had nailed the Ronzoni Brothers once before, and he was well aware of the risk he was taking now. The brothers looked none the worse for their term in prison. Both were tall, fit, and tan with carefully-maintained iron-gray hair and blue eyes. For the occasion, they had dressed in similar -- but not matching -- "business casual" outfits consisting of immaculately pressed khakis and coordinating golf shirts. Identical Rolex Oyster watches graced their wrists. Ben caught a glimpse of Ray out of the corner of his eye. His partner sat back casually in the rickety chair. Only his slightly-narrowed eyes betrayed his true attitude of total focus and concentration.

Several people stood up with questions, including the Buonfiglios from Ohio, the Texas couple, and one or two others Ben did not recognize. Financing, as it turned out, was on easy monthly terms -- so long as one did not inquire too closely into the interest rate. Ben resolutely swallowed any inclination he might have had to point this out and returned his attention to the two men, who were now sitting down after a smattering of applause.

Kevin Black returned to the podium. "Thank you, Troy and Kirk. Ladies and gentlemen, Troy and Kirk have generously authorized me to offer you an additional five percent discount if you sign up tonight. The ladies and I will be circulating among you with the necessary papers. And if there are no further questions," he paused and looked out expectantly. "Well, if there are no further questions, we'd like you to enjoy the rest of your evening. There are, ah, there are refreshments ready at the back of the room . . ." he paused, unable to make himself heard over the sudden scraping of chairs. "And don't forget about that discount," he concluded.

"Mr. Amalfitano! Ray!" They heard the voice of Hap Shaughnessey, who was fighting his way towards them. He arrived a little out of breath. "I'd like to introduce you to some people." He paused for a moment. "Just you, if you don't mind."

"Excuse us, Ben. Why don't you go see if you can get us a beer and sandwich before all the food's gone?" Ben left silently, and Ray turned back to Shaughnessey. "I'm all yours, Mr. Shaughnessey."

"The Ronzoni Brothers would like to meet you," Hap went on quietly. "Just one thing I'm not clear on. Won't they know you already from Chicago?"

"No," replied Ray. "I'm from Chicago originally. But the major focus of my activities is in Vegas."

"Las Vegas? What about your friend Mr. Draper?"

"Ben's obviously not Italian, Mr. Shaughnessey."

Hap nodded. "Say no more," he said knowingly.

The introductions were brief. Ray shook hands with the Ronzoni Brothers, and one of them (it was difficult to tell them apart) gave the signal for Hap to leave. Hap did so reluctantly, stopping several times until Ronzoni made a gesture that clearly said, "Shoo!"

"Won't you join us back here for some refreshments, Mr. Amalfitano?" said Troy. (Or was it Kirk?) He led the way to a small back room that housed the furnace, a few pairs of unstrung snowshoes, and parts of an old toboggan among other less-identifiable objects. Part of the room had been cleared out, and there was a table stocked with liquor, a large platter of shrimp, and a tray on which had been arranged caviar, crackers, and hard-boiled eggs. It looked better than what the poor schmucks out front were probably getting. Denise and her colleague stood by.

Kirk (or was it Troy?) made an expansive gesture towards a row of liquor bottles with unpronounceable names on the labels. "Single malt Scotch, Mr. Amalfitano?" he asked genially. "Just name your poison."

Ray pointed to the bottle labeled "25 Years Old," and Dixie Lee poured him a generous slug, then looked questioningly at the ice cubes.

"No thanks," Ray said, taking the drink. "A Scotch like this deserves to be savored." He took an appreciative sip. For all its great age, the Scotch tasted a little like mulch to him. He supposed that was the famous peat flavor.

"Girls," said Troy (or was it Kirk?), "Why don't you go and mingle with our guests? And see that no one bothers us."

When the ladies had cleared out, the two brothers turned to Ray. One of them spoke. "I'll get right to the point, Mr. Amalfitano," he began. "You've been pointed out to us as a man of some substance."

Ray spread his hands modestly. "A few business dealings here and there. A man has to support his family."

"A man who can make things happen," Ronzoni went on. "A man who has made things happen, even right here in this Godforsaken backwater."

"We all do what we can, Mr. Ronzoni."

"To come to the point, we're running a little business here. Small-time, mostly, but it's bringing in a nice income."

"Go on."

"As a sign of our respect for you, and our respect for the organization in . . ." He turned to his brother. "Where was it, Phoenix?"

"Vegas."

"Ah, yes. And as a token of our respect for the organization in Vegas, we would like to cut you in for a percentage of the profits."

Ray's eyes narrowed again. He took another sip of his drink, wishing for a moment that he'd accepted an ice cube or two. "I'm honored, Mr. Ronzoni. And how can I return the favor?"

"No need to return the favor. Of course, we would be honored if word of our activities were to reach the appropriate ears in Vegas."

"I understand," replied Ray. What he thought to himself was, "Having a little trouble with your finances, boys?" He knew that most of their drug empire had been dismantled during their prison term, and they were probably desperate for financial backing.

"Just regard it as a gesture of our respect," added the other Ronzoni.

"You have my undivided attention, Mr. Ronzoni," replied Ray, gazing at the amber liquid in his glass.

The two brothers leaned toward him confidentially. "OK, here's the deal," began Kirk (or was it Troy?)

Chapter 34

"Toilets!"

"Toilets, Ray?"

The two friends had re-united after Ray's meeting and were now safely alone in the car, headed back to camp.

"Yeah. You heard me. Grade-A, top quality, reconditioned Canadian crappers. They get top dollar for them on the U.S. black market." Ray shook his head. "Of all the . . ."

"Explain this to me again, Ray. As I understand you, no crime has been committed on Canadian soil."

"That's right, Benny. It's not illegal for the Canadians to sell them. It's not illegal for Americans to come up here and buy them. Of all the . . ."

"You know, Ray, under the terms of NAFTA, they would probably be duty-free."

"Yeah. Well it's illegal to install one in the United States. It's been illegal for six years now. I needed two small-time hoods to inform me of this."

"It must have something to do with the flush, Ray."

"The flush? You're tellin' me there's some difference between an American flush and a Canadian flush?"

"There is. Approximately 6.5 litres, give or take a little. Canadian toilets use twice the volume of water per flush."

"And the United States of America has found some way to regulate this legally."

"Apparently so." Ben paused for a long moment, then went on thoughtfully. "You know, I'll bet Meg knows about it. When the toilet malfunctioned in the downstairs bathroom at the Consulate, she was adamant that we order one direct from Ottawa even after we had located an acceptable local substitute."

"Yeah. We only get to use half the amount of water, so we all flush twice."

"So go on with your story."

"The Ronzoni Brothers needed a source of quick income after their little stay at Joliet. They met Kevin Black down in Cancun . . ."

"Cancun? They couldn't have been that short of cash."

"Whatever. Anyway, there was a ready supply of used toilets in this area, on account of there's a huge dump over at Port Asbestos. When they ran out of toilets around here, Kevin used his contacts in other places to haul 'em in by the vanload."

"And not a single law has been broken."

"Yet," corrected Ray. "Red Green and his Lodge buddies are perfectly happy to recondition the toilets for a fee."

"And the Ronzoni Brothers recruit visiting Americans to haul them across the borders in their RV's," Ben finished for him. "Still, nobody's broken a law."

"I need to look into that," Ray replied. "It seems like we ought to be able to bust them all for possession as soon as they get back into the U.S. Even if it's up to the Feds."

"I don't think so. Not if they can clear through U.S. Customs without being stopped. It's obviously not illegal to import the toilets.."

"Nah. Just to install them. But there are people willing to pay top dollar -- more than twice the going rate -- for a good quality used Canadian toilet. And you say it's all in the name of getting a good flush. These guys are rakin' in a tidy bit of cash. Of course it's a drop in the bucket compared to what they're used to pulling down in the narcotics business."

"And what does Chicago have to do with all this?"

"Nothin' that I can figure out except that these two assholes live there. Obviously somebody's been watching their activities without being able to pin anything specific on them."

"Ray."

"Yeah, Benny?"

"Meg is not going to be too happy about this."

"I know. Neither is Welsh."

Chapter 35

Ben was awake early the next morning. Contrary to his normal habits, he had not slept well, a fact he attributed to worry over his inability to make any headway in this ridiculous case. He looked across the tent, noted that Vecchio was still sound asleep, and thought idly that his partner had learned quickly how to filter out the morning calls of the loons. Ben reached quietly into his pack and extracted his shaving kit and a change of clothes. A hot shower would be refreshing, and if he went now, he could avoid the inevitable crowds at the washroom. Dief joined him as he left the tent, and the two companions walked silently up the road in the early dawn.

Ben had finished his shower and was preparing to shave when he was disturbed by the arrival of Herb Drucker. The old man was lugging a large canvas bag.

"Mornin' there, Ben. You're up kinda' early."

"Good morning, Mr. Drucker. As are you."

The old man staked out an adjoining sink, undid the zippers on what Ben now recognized as a hockey bag, took out a straight razor as wicked-looking as Ben's own, and began to sharpen it. "I like to stake my claim before the rush."

"I would have thought you might use the facilities in your camper," Ben observed.

The old man threw him a sharp look. "Nope. Those are strictly for when we're on the road, or if the public washrooms are bad. Otherwise, we use what's available. We didn't get to where we could travel and enjoy life by throwing away our money."

"Understood." Ben put down his towel. "Well, I guess I'd better be getting back. What time is it?"

Drucker looked at his watch. "It's only quarter to six. I'll bet your friend isn't even awake yet. Why don't you come have breakfast with Mabel and me?"

"I couldn't impose."

"No imposition at all. Mabel's an early riser, too. She'll have the coffee ready by the time we walk over there."

"Thank you kindly."

The two men left the wash house and made their way quickly to the Druckers' camper. Herb led the way inside. The cramped interior was lit by the cozy glow of a Coleman lamp, and Mabel was working over a small propane stove. That explained why the generator was quiet this early morning.

"Good morning, Mrs. Drucker. Mabel." Ben corrected himself.

"Sit yourself down, Ben. Coffee's just about ready." Mabel turned away from the stove with a sweet smile and handed Ben a cup of coffee before pouring a cup for herself and one for her husband. Ben took the seat she indicated at the small table, then took a sip of the steaming brew.

"Delicious, Mabel."

"Shoot!" Herb exclaimed. "I've left my hockey bag over there in the washroom." He stood up and took another swallow of his coffee. "Better go get it before somebody walks away with it. I'll be right back, Mabel."

"I'd better get started on the breakfast," Mabel observed. She turned and slid open a panel in the wall of the small galley revealing a pantry stocked floor to ceiling with canned and dry food. With decisive movements she pulled out a canister of flour and one of baking powder. "Waffles sound good to you?" she went on.

"Wonderful," replied Ben. "You certainly carry a lot of groceries."

"We buy in bulk," replied Mabel. "It's the only way we can afford this RV. Everything you see there was bought at the Food Warehouse in Fort Wayne."

"Interesting," replied Ben. "You can certainly economize by purchasing in bulk." He looked down at his coffee with a thoughtful air. "But there's also the exchange rate. Wouldn't it be just as cheap or cheaper . . ."

"Nope," replied Herb Drucker from the door of the camper. "This whole RV is full of bulk foods. We buy a year's worth at a time."

Ben looked around at the neatly paneled bulkheads. "Understood. Mabel, those waffles smell wonderful."

"Here y'are, Ben." She set a steaming plateful in front of him, following them quickly with the butter and a bottle of syrup. "There now, dig in."

Ben didn't have to be told twice. The waffles were as light as air, crisply browned on the outside and tender within. His eye fell on the syrup's label. A shame it wasn't real maple. These waffles certainly deserved it. But the nutrition label listed only artificial flavours. Despite that, he added a generous portion of syrup and dug in as instructed.

Mabel looked down at Diefenbaker. "How about your dog? Would he enjoy a waffle? Most dogs I know have a sweet tooth."

Ben looked at his companion thoughtfully. Although he was seated comfortably enough, Diefenbaker did not turn his head. His eyes followed Ben's every move, but he gave no indication by any movement--not so much as the twitch of an ear or tail--that he had noticed the delicious treat being consumed by the humans.

"Thank you kindly, Mabel." Ben rubbed his eyebrow. "He's been trained not to beg at the table, and he's pretty strict with himself about it."

"Such a nice dog," observed Mabel as she sat down. "We won't tempt him."

A companionable silence took over the trailer as the three enjoyed their breakfast. Mabel was ready with second helpings when the time came. When Ben finally put his fork down and took a sip of his refilled coffee, he felt ready to take on the new day.

"So what's on tap for you boys today?" asked Herb.

"I guess we'll do a little more fishing, maybe drive into town. It's our last full day here, so I hope we can enjoy it fully. How about you two?"

"Well, we thought we might attend the Miss Apricot Pageant this evening," replied Herb. "By the way, did you decide about buying a property?"

Ben put his coffee down. "I decided it wasn't a good idea, Herb. I didn't like the financial terms or the fact that I couldn't get an adequate financial report on K and T Recreational Properties. How about you?"

"Wouldn't have it for a gift," Herb replied decisively. "We're gonna' look around, see what else is available in the area. If we don't find anything that suits us, we're thinking of heading out West, maybe checking out the Rockies."

"That's a long way from here."

Mabel laughed and kissed the top of her husband's head before sitting down. She gave Ben another of her startlingly sweet smiles before replying, "What have we got but time?"

"Understood," replied Ben. "And did you decide to take the Ronzonis up on their offer of a free fill-up?"

Herb shook his head. "Nope! I think what they were asking us to do is illegal?"

"Illegal? What did they ask you to carry?"

Herb leaned forward with a conspiratorial air. "Toilets. Canadian toilets."

Ben looked puzzled. "How could that be illegal?"

"Well, I used to be in the construction business . . ."

"I thought you were a salesman."

"Well, I was. I went out and got the contracts, dealt with the clients. Had customers all over the Midwest. Anyway, as I was saying, I used to be in the construction business, and I like to keep up with the times. Canadian toilets use twice as much water for each flush, and it's been illegal to install 'em in the U.S. since 1992. The damned EPA." He took a triumphant sip of his coffee.

"Ah."

"Those Ronzonis are up to no good," added Mabel. "You mark my words, they're a couple of hoodlums." She stood up and began to clear away the dishes. "I wonder what else they've got people smuggling."

"I'm willing to bet there's quite a black market for these refurb toilets," added Herb. "Anyway, we said thanks, but no thanks."

Ben put down his napkin and stood up reluctantly. "I need to get going. Thanks for the breakfast. It was delicious." He submitted to a kiss from Mabel and extended his hand to Herb. "Look me up if you ever make it to Chicago," he added. "I'd like to return the favor. Herb, maybe we could take in a hockey game."

Herb laughed a little derisively. "Never quite got the hang of it," he replied. "I'm not much of a sports fan, but when I take in a game, it's baseball all the way. The only real game."

"Understood. Well, then, come in the summertime." Ben motioned to Dief and turned to go. "And thanks again."

Diefenbaker strode silently down the road beside Ben. As they passed the curve that took them out of sight of the Druckers' RV, he sat down suddenly and gave a low, menacing growl.

"Yes, I concur," replied Ben.

The two had resumed their walk to the campsite when Ben stopped again. "And by the way, I'll see that you get some breakfast when we return to camp. You wouldn't have liked the waffles. The syrup wasn't real."

Chapter 36

The smells of hot coffee and frying fish greeted them, and as they rounded the bend, Ben could see his partner bending over the fire.

"You're just in time," observed Vecchio. "Why don't you pour us some coffee while I see to this fish."

Ben poured out two mugs of coffee and took a sip from one. "Well, it seems you've mastered the art of outdoor cooking, Ray," he observed.

"Yeah, well," replied Ray. "I heard somebody say that men would cook as long as there was an element of danger involved. I guess that's why it suits me." He handed Ben a plate of crisply fried fish.

"It smells delicious, Ray. But I don't think I have room for any. I've already had three waffles with Herb and Mabel Drucker."

Ray managed to look a little disappointed.

"Diefenbaker, on the other hand, hasn't had a bite. I'm sure he would benefit from the fish far more than I would."

With a shake of his head, Ray set the plate of fish in front of the wolf, who sniffed it appreciatively before digging in. "So how come you ate waffles and the wolf didn't?" he went on.

"Finish your breakfast, and let's talk about it while we're fishing."

Ray made short work of his breakfast and headed for the wash house while Ben took care of the dishes. As he was putting the last plate away, Ben heard the ear-splitting sound of the Druckers' generator starting up.

When Ray returned, the two got into the canoe in silence and, at Ben's direction, paddled to a far corner of the lake.

"So what's up?" Ray finally asked.

"I can pretty much confirm that the Ronzonis are in the toilet business," Ben began. "Herb Drucker made a point of telling me over breakfast. The Ronzonis asked them to carry several toilets across the border."

"And is that it?"

"No, there's more." Ben sighed. "Some irregularities about their trailer. For example, they both made a point of the fact that they buy every scrap of their nonperishable food in bulk at a market in Fort Wayne. They say that only the strictest economies enable them to enjoy their present lifestyle."

"Hah," snorted Ray. "That SUV they're driving cost 'em forty grand if it cost a dime. And the Airstream?"

"Ah, yes. The Airstream. Next time you're walking to the wash house, notice how low to the ground it's riding." Ben shook his head. "Of course it could be all that food. The trailer was a great deal more cramped on the inside than one would have expected from seeing the outside."

"Still not much to go on, Benny."

"It just doesn't ring true to me that they would buy all their food in bulk in the States, yet serve me Canadian syrup for my waffles."

"There's a difference?"

"It's mainly a matter of the labels, Ray. Anything sold here is labeled in French as well as English. And there's the orthography."

"Orthography?"

"The spelling. Here, we spell things in English."

"Yeah. What's an extra 'u' or two between friends? So they ran out of syrup and had to pick some up locally."

"There were several bottles of syrup in the pantry. Same brand."

"OK. So they're either food nuts, or they're hiding something in that trailer."

"I suspect the latter, Ray. You were wondering why Diefenbaker didn't get any waffles."

"Well, you have to admit, it's a little unusual."

"He sniffed out something in that trailer as soon as he got in the door. He sat there at point the whole time we were in there. He never moved a muscle."

Ray turned around to look at Ben. "None of it adds up, Benny. But it all adds up."

The two fished quietly for nearly an hour before Ben spoke again. "I'd like for us to plan to attend the opening of the Apricot Festival this evening."

"And why's that?"

"I'm not convinced I have all the information there is to be had," Ben replied.

"You're probably right, Benny."

Chapter 37

Although they occasionally returned the greetings of passing neighbors, Ben and Ray kept pretty much to themselves during the early afternoon. Ben took over the cooking chores at lunch, and they enjoyed another meal of fresh-caught fish.

As they were finishing, Kevin Black walked into their campsite. His eyes lingered for a long moment on the ample contours of the Riv, now a little dusty from the dirt road. "I see you fellows have taken advantage of the excellent fishing," he observed agreeably enough. "Ben, did you decide about buying a property here? We could let this parcel go at a very attractive price."

"Thanks, Kevin. I'd like to think about it for a while longer. It's a big decision."

Kevin smiled, a bit insincerely. "Well, let me know if you change your mind. But at these prices, the lots won't last long."

"Thanks. I'll do that."

"So long." Kevin turned to leave but stopped. "And how long will you be staying with us?" he asked.

"Probably another day or two," replied Ben. "The fishing is very good. And we'd like to attend the Apricot Festival."

"I see. Well, enjoy the festival." Kevin extracted several envelopes from the pocket of his immaculate blazer. "I also wanted to drop off this certificate for a free fill-up at Quickie-Mart." He sorted through the envelopes and pulled one out of the stack. "You fellows would be headed home on I-94, I take it. All you need to do is drop off a package for us." He held out the envelope.

"Thanks," replied Ray as he took and pocketed the envelope. "These old cars aren't cheap." His mind worked, but he could not recall having been observed last night as he talked with the Ronzonis. Maybe Kevin honestly hadn't seen him.

"Where do we pick up the package?" asked Ben. "And what about U.S. Customs?"

"We'll drop the package off here," replied Kevin. "And the contents are perfectly legal. Even duty-free. Plumbing supplies."

"Ah. Thank you kindly."

"Enjoy the festival." This time, Kevin actually left.

Ben turned to Ray. "In case you're concerned, I don't believe he saw you last night. He was busy with the Buonfiglios when you went in, and by the time you got out, Helen MacDonald had gotten hold of him." Ben smiled. "She's an opinionated woman."

Ray was reading the contents of the envelope. "Says here we should ask for Steve," he said. "I guess we could fit a toilet in the trunk. Or in the back seat, maybe."

"I don't think we'll have any trouble, Ray. Maybe the Ronzonis will take it as a goodwill gesture." Ben looked at his watch. "It's past three. We should be getting ready to head into town."

Ray reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. "Yeah, well. I've been thinking about that. I'm not going to the festival." He tossed the keys to Ben.

"Why not, Ray?"

"Face it, Ben. Your cover is shot to hell. Half the people here know you're a Mountie. As for me, enough people think I'm with the Mob. If we're seen together too much, people are gonna' start wondering."

"You may be right." Ben began looking around for Diefenbaker.

"Just take care of the Riv."

Diefenbaker had taken to the lake and was paddling around in the shallows, obviously enjoying himself. When he ignored Ben's efforts to attract his attention, Ray said, "Let him stay here with me. I don't want him in the car anyway."

"Point taken. I'll be back before supper."

Ben got in the car, carefully adjusted the seat and mirrors, and drove slowly away from the campsite.

Ray shook his head. "How much trouble can he get into on these back roads?" he muttered dubiously.

Chapter 38

Ray, feeling a little thirsty, looked at the contents of the cooler. He briefly considered popping open a beer; but he had work to do, so he contented himself with a can of fruit punch and a couple of apricots he and Ben had salvaged from the stack in the latrine. As he sipped on the juice and munched on the fuit, he watched as most of his neighbors left the campground, hopefully headed for an evening of debauchery at the Apricot Festival.

Ray had to admit to himself that he was relieved that Red Green and his cronies probably weren't dealing in illegal drugs - that in fact they didn't appear to be doing anything illegal at all. Nothing wrong with using your handyman skills to turn an honest buck, he reasoned. And although this little town wasn't his problem, some part of him was relieved that the inhabitants hadn't found it necessary to turn to a life of depravity. He was willing to bet that all the garbage bags had contained . . . apricots. Ray shook his head and sipped meditatively at his juice. By the time he had finished it, the campground appeared to be deserted.

He entered the tent and fished around in the bottom of his duffel for his gun, which he secured firmly to his ankle before going back outside. He had reasoned quite early in the trip that it was pointless to risk ruining it during a dunk in the lake. Diefenbaker was waiting outside when he emerged. "You ready, Dief?" Ray asked quietly. "Good. Let's go for a little walk."

Ray and Dief turned first towards the office. This side of the campground, at least, seemed devoid of any campers. No car in front of the office, either. When he reached the entrance to the campground, he turned left and walked down the road towards the back entrance. It was cool in the woods, and the walk would have been pleasant if Ray's mind hadn't been so intent on his project. When he and Dief turned into the campground again, he found the same thing. Everyone had left for the Apricot Festival.

Passing the wash house and the Druckers' campsite, he noted with satisfaction that the Airstream had been separated from their vehicle, which was nowhere in sight. Just to be certain, he completed his circuit of the campground by returning to the site he shared with Ben. Then, with Dief at his heels, he returned quickly to the Druckers'.

"Stay out here, Dief," he said, making sure the wolf could see his mouth. Dief settled with an air of relaxed wariness very much like Ben's when on a stakeout. Ray considered the lock as he pulled on his gloves. He had anticipated problems with it, but the door opened immediately; it wasn't locked. Keeping a wary eye out for traps, he entered the trailer through what appeared to be a miniature foyer, paved in imitation slate tiles.

The galley and living area occupied the rear of the trailer, which he estimated was about 27 feet long. His first surprise was that there was no stove installed. A small table held a garden-variety Coleman propane unit, almost exactly similar to the one he and Ben were using. Beneath it stood a small refrigerator with wood-grained exterior of the kind favored by dormitory residents and bachelors. A small sink unit stood next to it. Ben, who was accustomed to sleeping on the ground, had probably not noticed anything odd about the arrangement. But all Ray had to do was look in the blank places where the standard stove and refrigerator had been removed. The stash was almost comically easy to find. A panel behind the stove and table pulled aside to reveal the food larder Ben had been so interested in. Sure enough, each package, can, and bottle was labeled in French and English. Ray moved the table and refrigerator out of the way easily, and the pantry shelves swung aside to reveal brick after dark brick of processed weed, neatly wrapped in plastic wrap and packaged in plastic.

After re-assembling the hiding place, Ray turned his attention to the living area at the rear of the trailer, quickly checking out the sleep sofa and a cupboard or two. Nothing.

He doubted he would find anything in the main sleeping area to the front, but since he was here, he might as well finish what he'd started. He entered the small bedroom. Most of the floor space was occupied by two single beds and a nightstand, but there was a hanging clothes closet. He decided to look through the nightstand first.

"Just hold it right there, Sonny." The quavery female voice startled him. "And keep your hands right where I can see them . . ."

Chapter 39

Diefenbaker was faced with a dilemma. He had been keeping watch from a convenient clump of bushes a few yards from the trailer where the gasoline reek from the generator did not interfere with his sense of smell. He continued to watch from his covert vantage point as the two elderly humans drove up in their large vehicle and entered the trailer. He and Ben had been with them this morning, and despite the drugs he had scented within the trailer, they did not appear to present any threat to Ray.

Now they had hooked up their home and driven off, carrying Ben's friend with them. Was this desirable or undesirable? Should he follow while the scent was still fresh? Go and locate Ben? Stay here, per instructions? He resolved that staying was his wisest course of action and settled back down in the shrubs.

It was here that Ben found him a half-hour or so later. Dief gave a low whine and emerged from his hiding place. Ben began observing tire marks and other signs in the dust.

"Gone, are they?"

Dief replied with another low whine.

"Is Ray with them?"

Dief growled and began to show slight signs of agitation, moving swiftly off the campsite and a few yards along the dirt road, nose to ground. He stopped, looked back at Ben, and barked.

"I take it there's no time to lose?"

Dief went to the Riv and sat expectantly by the passenger door until Ben got there.

"And you can manage if we're driving?"

Dief did not deign to respond.

Ben turned the car around and returned to their site. He broke camp quickly as Diefenbaker watched impatiently. "We might need some of this," he explained to the wolf. Less then ten minutes later, the two friends had reached the back entrance to the campground. Diefenbaker indicated that they should turn left, away from Possum Lake. After a few miles, and several more turns, they reached a main highway, and the wolf signaled that they should turn north.

Ben complied, discouraged. He recognized the highway as a main route leading north from Toronto, which was some distance to the south of their present location. On a fine August weekend, the traffic could become heavy. He noticed that Diefenbaker, while he still had his nose out the window, had settled into a more relaxed position. It meant that the wolf was still on the trail of the missing Druckers - and hopefully of Ray. Ben relaxed slightly and attended to the traffic.

Benton Fraser did not curse often, and he had not done so this afternoon. Not even when he lost the Druckers. He had hung back, keeping them well in sight, during the parade. But shortly thereafter, the man standing next to him had become ill - doubled over with stomach cramps. Ben had done his best to assist him, learning in the process that the man had eaten nothing but apricots since his breakfast that morning. Was it possible for apricots to go bad? Or perhaps it was merely a case of eating too many of them. At any rate, by the time Ben located someone to drive the victim to the hospital, the Druckers had given him the slip.

Now, as he drove along, he wondered if he would ever catch up with them. While he had great faith in the power of the Riv, they were driving one of the biggest SUV's on the market. He eyed the dashboard, applying the three-fifths rule since the Buick was too old to have a multi-cultural speedometer. Diefenbaker seemed to be on top of things. The wolf glanced his way occasionally as if to say all was well.

They had been driving for nearly two hours - Ben never deviating from the posted speed limit - when they arrived at the outskirts of a substantial town, and the road suddenly diverged into four lanes. Ben looked at Dief, who growled in reply.

"You really want me to pull over."

The wolf did not reply, and Ben located a safe place to pull over. A few anxious moments later, Dief signaled that they were on the right road, and they moved on - passing, Ben noticed, a Fraser Street. The road signs did not look promising, for their road had just merged with the Trans-Canada Highway.

A glance at Dief told Ben that his friend was still on the trail. As they left the town behind, the wolf settled into a relaxed, easy posture. To Ben's relief, their surroundings took on a decidedly rural aspect. Narrowing his eyes against the late-afternoon light, Ben turned the Riv west.

Chapter 40

The parade to Possum Lodge was winding down when Kevin Black realized he'd made a mistake. It looked as though the Buonfiglios were going to be the only couple out of this whole mob scene who were interested enough to sign up for a piece of property. In fact, they were the only couple who'd shown any interest all summer. Better, he thought, to get their signatures and a cheque while they were enjoying the carefree atmosphere - and cheap beer - provided by the Apricot Festival. He looked at his watch. Plenty of time to run back to the office, get their folder, and be back here in time for the crowning of the Apricot Queen. He headed for his car.

Damn it all! The car was hemmed in by a solid wall of assorted older model "K" cars, local pickups and RV's. He'd be hours just finding everybody, much less persuading them to move.

Help arrived in the unlikely shape of Red Green. He was chewing on an apricot. "Got a problem there, Kevin?"

"Red. Just the man I wanted to see. I do have a problem. I need to pick up some papers back at the office, and these idiots . . ."

"You mean our honored guests."

"Right. These honored guests have me completely hemmed in. Any chance you could run me out there in the van? Take about twenty minutes."

Red stopped, discarded the apricot pit, and nodded. "I don't see why not. Got a live prospect?"

"Yes."

"The Possum Van's right over there."

A few minutes later, Kevin Black was in his office, picking up the file of papers - and an extra pen, too, just in case.

"Thanks, Red. I've got what I needed," he said as he got back in the van again.

Red started forward.

"Aren't you going to turn around and drive out the front way?" Kevin asked, puzzled.

"Ah. Well, she won't go into reverse, Kevin. I've been looking at the junkyard for the right part for the transmission. We'll just have to drive forward."

Moments later they passed the vacant spot where Ben and Ray's tent had recently stood.

"Damn it all!" Kevin's broken finger throbbed, and his head was beginning to keep time. To top it off, he seemed to be developing a case of indigestion.

"Problem, Kevin?" Red squinted just a little. Actually, he didn't feel very well either. "Say, isn't that where those two . . ."

"Yes it is. They've stiffed me. Left here without paying their bill, and if you figure in the boat rental, it would come to almost $200."

"Gee, that's too bad, Kevin." Red put the Possum Van back in gear and started off slowly. The parking brake didn't work too well either. "Well, I guess we'd better be getting back to the festival."

"Festival nothing. We're going after those two creeps. I saw Draper at the festival. He must have left his mobster friend back here to break up the camp. They owe me for five days of site rental and five days of canoe rental."

Red opened his mouth to speak.

"Besides," Kevin silenced him before he could start. "I'll have to recoup my losses one way or another. I'll see that it comes out of the profits for the toilets. Overhead, you might say."

"I see your point," replied Red, turning the van towards the main highway.

They drove along in silence until they were within sight of the entrance to the highway. "I figure they probably headed south," said Red.

"Good thinking."

As they arrived at the intersection, they were met with a disheartening sight. Southbound traffic appeared to be backed up as far as the eye could see. "Well, would ya look at that," observed Red.

"OK. I give up. Turn the van around and let's head back to the Lodge." Kevin rubbed his temple with his good hand.

"Well, as I was saying, I can't really do that. She won't go into reverse." Red surveyed the traffic with a critical eye. "You figure they're going to try to turn in the toilets you gave them?"

"Why not? They've already swindled me, they might as well cash in on the free gas. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I know a few back roads." Without waiting for permission, Red turned the Possum Van to the right and headed north on the main highway. As he made the turn, both men were startled by a clanking noise.

"That would seem to be your side-view mirror on this side," observed Kevin with a sigh.

Red coasted to a stop. "Guess I should've re-checked that duct tape," he observed. "Would you mind getting that, Kevin?" He patted his stomach. "I'm not feelin' too good."

Kevin fumbled the door open with his bad hand, climbed out, picked up the mirror, and returned to the van. "Just get on with it," he growled.

Chapter 41

Ray Vecchio was having an uncomfortable ride. Not only had he been overpowered and relieved of his weapon by a little old lady, but he was now trussed like a chicken - bound securely, hand and foot, with duct tape. He dreaded the prospect of getting it off.

His head throbbed. The booming music wasn't helping. Somehow his tormentors had rigged their CD changer so that there were speakers in the trailer as well as in the car. The worst part of the whole thing wasn't the music. Nor was it the indignity of being captured by an old lady who looked like Mrs. Butterworth. It wasn't losing his gun. It wasn't even the duct tape. These geriatric drug lords seemed to have a fondness for the golden hits of Tom Jones, Don Ho, Barry Manilow, and Engelbert Humperdinck. He'd just heard "She's a Lady" for the third time, and he thought he might be going mad.

His captors had at least permitted him the comfort of sitting on the large sleep sofa that occupied the entire rear of the trailer. His seat afforded him good views from two large windows, one at his back and one on his right side. He had briefly lost track of their location on several winding back roads, but they had eventually emerged onto a reasonably busy highway.

"I think we're headed north," he mused. Then he shook his head. "Geez, I'm startin' to sound just like Fraser. North. What the hell difference does it make? I'm goin' with them wherever they're headed." They went through a large town, and Ray noticed that they had curved toward his left.

Engelbert (or was it Tom) lapsed into "Please Release Me." Ray groaned and tried hard not to think of his stomach, which was beginning to churn. He began to wish he hadn't eaten those two apricots.

Chapter 42

Ben and Dief had been driving west for about a half-hour when Dief gave a low growl.

"Do you really?" asked Ben with some asperity. "You should have thought of that before we left camp." His eye fell on the gas gauge. "We could do with a little gas. I'll look for a place to stop." He sighed. He was beginning to despair of ever catching the Druckers, even though he had begun cautiously to exceed the speed limit.

This part of Ontario looked much like many other parts of Ontario, consisting largely of the requisite conifers, picturesque lakes, rocky outcroppings, and the occasional small town. Ben knew that the road bisected a number of First Nations reserves, although this information probably wasn't going to be of much use to him. Finally, on the right, he spotted a gas station and caf. "First Nations Fast Food," he read thoughtfully. He pulled up beside a pump, and Diefenbaker jumped out before he had a chance to open the passenger door. Ben had just begun to remove the gas cap when a teenager appeared. He had almost forgotten that he was in Canada and that the young man, far from driving off in the Riv, would fill the gas tank, check under the hood, and clean the windshield.

Ben leaned thoughtfully against the car as the youngster set to work. "Tell me," he began. "You haven't happened to see two elderly people driving a large black Ford Expedition . . ."

"Yeah," said the kid. "They were through here about a half-hour, maybe forty-five minutes ago. Pulling an Airstream." He opened the hood.

"Which way were they headed?"

"West," replied the youngster unhesitatingly. "You could use some oil."

"Go ahead and add it, thanks." As Ben extracted some Canadian money from his pocket and paid for the gas and oil, Diefenbaker bounded up. "I believe I'll go inside."

"I'll add the oil and leave the car over there for you," replied the kid.

Ben and Diefenbaker entered the long, low building. The entire right side was occupied by a convenience store providing bread, milk, souvenirs, and the assortments of fireworks that seemed universal in these establishments. The caf was through an archway to the left. Not surprisingly, there weren't too many people there on a late Saturday afternoon. But Ben was pleased to observe that a long table in the back accommodated several substantial-looking middle-aged men working their way through pie and coffee. A compound hunting bow, somewhat the worse for wear, sat in the middle of the table, and two of the men appeared to be examining it. Just the sort of people he'd been hoping to run into. He took a seat near, but not too near, the group and surveyed the menu with increasing satisfaction.

"Bark tea and a bannock, please," he said to the woman who came to take his order. "And do you have any jelly doughnuts for my . . . for my dog?"

"He doesn't look like a dog to me," observed one of the elders at the next table.

Ben looked over. The man who had spoken was tall and slim with only a slight trace of middle-aged softness around the middle. His gray hair, shot through with white, seemed to mark him as the eldest man at the table. "You're right," he replied. "He's not a dog. He's a wolf."

"Arctic wolf by the look of him."

"Yes, sir. Half wolf. I tell people he's a dog because he frightens them otherwise."

Dief, who had finished his doughnut, obligingly strolled over and stood near the man.

"And how did you come to be traveling with an Arctic wolf?" the man went on. "If you don't mind my asking."

"Well, actually he saved my life. We've been together ever since."

"Then you've traveled in the Arctic?"

"I was born and raised in the Northwest Territories."

The old man sipped his coffee with a thoughtful air. "You wouldn't happen to know a man named Quinn, would you?"

Ben took an equally thoughtful sip of his tea and replied, "I certainly do. In fact, he taught me everything I know about hunting and tracking." Secretly he reflected that perhaps Ray was right and everybody in Canada actually did know everybody else.

"He's a good man. I've known him since we were young."

Ben sat quietly for a long moment and then said, "Sir, may I speak with you privately for a moment?"

At a nod from the old man, the other occupants rose and moved to a table on the far side of the large room. He beckoned to Ben to join him. "What's on your mind, son?"

Chapter 43

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Kevin asked his reluctant chauffeur. "We're headed directly away from Toronto."

"Trust me," replied Red. "We're going to head up here, then go west. I know a back road or two that'll let us double back."

"But we've been driving this way for almost an hour."

"First we have to get to Seventeen."

Kevin sighed deeply and squinted into the sun.

"Good fishing up this way," Red added.

Chapter 44

"This is not good, my son," observed the old man, whose name was George Duncan. "Do you realize that there are sixty known carcinogens in that stuff? Not to mention that what they grow now has enough THC in it to put you under the table permanently. It's not the Summer of Love anymore. We grow better pot here than they do in Mexico." He stubbed out his cigarette with an aggrieved air. "And the government goes on at us about tobacco!"

"So you'll help me," replied Ben.

"Certainly we're going to help you. I don't want this place turning into some kind of transport corridor for the stuff. We haven't had any problems up to now." George stood up, approached the group on the other side of the room, and exchanged a few words with them. Each man dug into a pocket, extracted a cell phone, and began making calls.

A few moments later, George returned. "Taken care of. They're about thirty minutes from here, and they won't get much further." He pocketed his cell phone and picked up the bow. "I take it you have a car."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, let's go."

George lagged behind as they left the store, picking something up from the display behind the counter. As he and Ben emerged, the teenager silently handed Ben his keys. Diefenbaker, glad to be outside, looked both ways before trotting briskly across the highway.

"He'll pick up the scent on that side," observed Ben.

George, who had been talking on his cell phone again, hung up and replied, "He won't need to. They've been spotted. Let's get out of here."

Chapter 45

To Ray's immeasurable relief, the Airstream slowed to a stop and the rendition of "Weekend in New England was cut short. His need for the bathroom had become critical. He peered out of the back window and observed that they had pulled into a roadside rest stop. Although he could not see what was in front of them, the area appeared to be deserted. As he watched, he heard both doors of the Ford slam in turn. The Druckers approached what appeared to be portable toilets - his and hers, he noted. The sight reminded him of his profound discomfort.

"Hey!" he began yelling. "HEY!"

"Keep your shirt on, Sonny." Herb Drucker, carrying an impressive-looking 9mm Glock, finally appeared in the doorway followed closely by Mabel.

"I need to use the bathroom," Ray started belligerently, choosing to ignore the weapon. "Now."

"Get up," replied Drucker, gesturing with the gun.

Vecchio stood with some difficulty, looking down at the duct tape that secured his legs.

"No, I'm not going to untie your legs. Bathroom's over there," Drucker jerked his head.

Ray, seething all the way, made his way down the corridor with a combination of hops and baby steps.

"Undo his hands, Mother."

"What about the window?" asked his wife.

"Too small for him to get through," replied the old man. "Just don't be too long in there."

Ray closed the door gratefully, noting that it activated a ventilator fan. He looked around as he sat. "No paper," he muttered. The room contained a small vanity sink. "Maybe under here," he went on. But he was disappointed; the space under the sink held only assorted empty plastic bags and several rolls of duct tape.

Ray sat where he was for a few moments, considering. It occurred to him that while there was no easy answer to the tissue situation, the duct tape might be helpful in other ways. Getting himself back together with some difficulty and not a little discomfiture, he reached into the vanity, extracted a roll of tape, and quietly removed the cellophane wrapping. He knew from experience that while the stuff had great tensile strength, it would tear easily if you nicked it. So he was careful not to nick it.

Working quickly, he secured the end of the tape around the sink's drainpipe with several hard knots. Quietly, and as quickly as he could, he began unrolling yards-long lengths of the stuff, feeding it carefully out of the small open window.

"Hurry up in there!" Drucker's voice came from the other side of the door.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," replied Vecchio, feeding several more lengths. When the roll of tape was about three-quarters out the window, he called out. "There's no paper in here."

"This isn't the Ritz," replied the old man. "Just get on with it."

Ray finished unrolling the tape, peered out of the window to make sure it wasn't bent or kinked too much, hid the empty roll amid the junk under the vanity, and finally flushed the toilet.

"You took long enough in there," observed Herb. "Now, sit back down."

Ray complied wordlessly, glaring at Mabel as she secured his hands with more of the tape.

As they pulled out of the rest stop, the trailer filled once again with the melancholy strains of Barry Manilow.

"Shit," observed Ray to no one in particular. All he could do was hope that the flapping duct tape would attract the attention of another motorist, somehow cause an accident, or perhaps wind itself around the undercarriage of the Airstream. It was a slender hope, but it was all he had.

Chapter 46

"Red," said Kevin. "This is Highway 17."

"Very observant, Kevin."

"Where are you taking us, Red? And have we got enough gas to get there?" Kevin sounded querulous even to his own ears.

"There's plenty of gas, and I'm taking us to the short cut."

The Possum Van belched a cloud of white exhaust.

"That didn't look too promising, Red. How's the engine in this thing?"

"The engine's fine."

"We just passed a gas station."

"Oh, I don't want to stop there. I know the owner. Fella' named George Duncan. He and I had a little discussion one time about fishing."

"Fishing?"

"Right. I wanted to. He said I couldn't. Real disagreeable man, that George."

"I see."

They drove in silence for a few minutes.

"I'd really like to do something about that side-view mirror on your side, Kevin." Red looked over at his passenger. "Any duct tape in the glove box?"

Kevin checked. "Only this empty roll. I'd suggest you concern yourself with the engine," he snapped. "If that goes, you won't need the side view mirror."

Red shook his head. "Can't imagine why I would have come off without any duct tape. Well, I've had a lot on my mind."

The Possum Van backfired a time or two, emitting a few more white clouds.

Chapter 47

George Duncan had stored the bow, together with his small box from the store, carefully in the back seat. He opened the window and lit a cigarette as Ben turned out of the gas station.

"What's our plan?" asked Ben, politely ignoring the cigarette and trying not to think about what Ray would say.

"Well, we've got a pretty good idea of their location," began George. "The guys will set up a roadblock of sorts. There's plenty of construction in the area they've got in mind, so it should be an easy job. Just re-locate a few signs and cones. They'll be redirected down a side road that dead-ends at a lake. We can contact the local cops from there if you want to."

"What about bystanders at the lake?"

"Not a problem. It's been taken care of." The car ahead of them belched several more puffs of white smoke. "Say, Ben?" George lit another cigarette before continuing. "Would you happen to have air conditioning in here? That car ahead is really stinking us out with those fumes."

"Not a problem."

Chapter 48

Red squinted as the sun grew lower in the sky. Although he knew he should be concerned about the state of the Possum Van's engine, he had to admit that the missing side mirror bothered him a great deal more. He was nudging the speed limit - well, he was more than nudging it, he was abusing it. He needed every advantage to keep an eye out for approaching law enforcement.

Red's problems were compounded by the fact that the vehicle ahead seemed to be bright silver. The sun continued to glint annoyingly. He nudged the gas pedal a little harder, hoping to overtake and pass whatever it was.

"Aren't you going a little fast, Red?" Kevin had given up worrying and was now trying to relax. The excess speed and white smoke weren't helping.

"Ahh, not all that fast, Kevin. That camper up ahead is making a terrible glare. I'm going to try to pass her. Just relax."

Kevin shaded his eyes with his good hand. "You know, it looks a little like the Druckers' camper," he observed. "I can't quite make out the license plate, though. Can you get a bit closer?"

"I thought you said they paid."

"They did. But they might know where those two deadbeats are headed. By my guess, they left at about the same time."

"Sure thing, Kevin." The Possum Van surged ahead in a cloud of white smoke.

Kevin peered ahead through the smoke and glare. "It's them," he announced. "Indiana license plates."

"What's that flapping out from behind?" asked Red, puzzled.

"It seems to be . . . well, it looks like a long streamer of duct tape."

"I'll be. I wonder if I can get close enough to 'er so you could grab some."

"Have you taken leave of your senses? What the hell . . ."

Kevin fell silent as both men stared ahead. The unmistakable features of Ray Amalfitano had materialized at the back window of the Airstream.

Chapter 49

Ray's mental state hadn't improved after the pit stop. The flapping duct tape, which he could see clearly from his vantage point, had begun to seem like a pretty lame idea. He had no idea what kind of violence his antiquated captors were capable of; they'd both looked as though they could handle their weapons. The music seemed to have switched from Barry Manilow to Wayne Newton, and now some asshole was tailgating them.

He looked out of the back window again, thinking perhaps he could attract the attention of the maniac in the van on their tail. The driver's face was familiar. The guy was a dead ringer for Red Green, although Ray couldn't imagine why Red Green would be on the road behind the Druckers, and at least three hours from Possum Lake.

He looked again. That was either Fraser or Kevin Black in the passenger's seat. Damned if he could tell them apart from his vantage point - that and the van seemed to be generating a lot of exhaust fumes. Kevin, he decided. The guy was too well dressed to be Benny.

Ray set about trying to attract their attention.

Chapter 50

"Can't you go any faster?" asked George Duncan impatiently?

Fraser cleared his throat. "I'm going faster than the legal limit, Mr. Duncan."

"Call me George." George lit another cigarette just as his cell phone rang. "Yeah? OK, you fellows know what to do. We should be there in . . ." He glanced at the speedometer, then at his watch. "I'd say about twenty minutes. Right. Thanks."

"They've been spotted about five miles from the turnoff," George said to Ben. "Guess it's time for me to get ready." George turned in his seat and reached into the back. When he turned around Ben noticed that he had the box and several arrows. "You wouldn't happen to have any duct tape, would you?"

Ben frowned thoughtfully. "I do, but it's in the trunk. We'd have to stop."

"Do it."

Ben pulled off to the side, got out, and brought the duct tape back. The Riv was moving in less than a minute. "It's a good thing there's not much traffic tonight," observed Ben. "What's in the box?"

"M-80's."

"You mean fireworks?"

"I guess you could call them that. You really need to step on it, Ben."

Ben complied. Within a few minutes, George had carefully attached an M-80 to each arrow.

Chapter 51

"That has to be Ray Amalfitano. Can't you go any faster, Red?" Kevin had apparently forgotten his earlier concerns about their speed and the truly deplorable condition of the Possum Van.

Red was happy to oblige. "You want to roll down the window and see if you can catch hold of some of that duct tape?" he asked. A large sedan had materialized in the rearview mirror, but it was too far back for him to get a good look at. It didn't look much like a police car. But he'd still be happier if he could manage to attach that passenger-side mirror.

"And just how am I supposed . . . Did you see that? Did he just give me the finger?"

"I don't think so, Kevin. Looks more like he's waving. Or maybe practicing some kind of weird martial arts thing."

The two men stared at Amalfitano, who had raised both of his hands and seemed to be waving at them. Either that or he was praying, since the hands seemed to be folded together.

"You know?" Red rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It almost looks like his hands are tied together with some of that duct tape. What do you make of it, Kevin?"

"You may be right. What the devil is he doing now?"

Amalfitano's face and hands had disappeared, to be replaced in the window by his feet and lower legs.

"That's some kind of strange," Red observed. "Now he's waving his legs at us."

Kevin shaded his eyes and looked closely. "I think his feet are tied together, too."

"That doesn't make any sense," observed Red. "Why would those two nice old people have Ray Amalfitano tied up in the back of their vehicle?"

"Maybe he tried to swindle them, too."

"Or maybe they've kidnapped him. I wonder where the other one is."

The feet had disappeared, and in a few moments they were replaced in turn by Ray Amalfitano's face. He appeared to be trying to communicate something.

"Wonder if he knows we're not lip readers," said Red. "Can you make out what he's saying?" Kevin squinted. "I think he's saying 'HELP ME, HELP ME.' What do you intend to do, Red?"

"Well, I intend to help him." Red hit the gas pedal again, and the Possum Van surged forward in another cloud of smoke. They were so close to the rear of the Airstream that they could make out every hair on Amalfitano's head.

"ALL RIGHT. WE'RE COMING'" Kevin shouted, enunciating as clearly as he could. As an afterthought he followed up with a thumbs-up gesture.

"That would have looked better if you'd done it with your good hand, Kevin."

Chapter 52

Diefenbaker coughed and sneezed violently in the back seat.

"Gesundheit," replied Ben, following up with a sneeze of his own. The smoke from George's cigarettes was beginning to give him a slight headache. The billowing exhaust from the van ahead, which had penetrated through the air conditioning, wasn't helping.

"Not much longer," observed George calmly.

"Have the people been cleared out of the lake area?"

"Taken care of. The guys have the barrels and cones ready, and they've taken down all the signs on the road to the lake."

"What about vehicles that are just passing by?"

"Not a problem. We've got two of the boys there to flag them on." George lit a cigarette. "That stretch of the road's been torn up for years now. Nobody thinks anything of it."

"You and your friends have covered every contingency," observed Ben. "I'm grateful to you."

"Don't mention it. Now would you please give this car some gas? We'll never make it otherwise."

"Understood."

Chapter 53

"Ohh, my." Red applied his brake suddenly. "They're slowing down. Looks like they're going to turn right."

They watched Amalfitano's head disappear, then re-appear as he was thrown about by the sudden turn.

"Well, follow them."

Red and Kevin's view of the road ahead had been obscured by their proximity to the Airstream. As Red made the turn, both men could see a number of barrels and cones obstructing the main highway. A sign read DETOUR, and there was a young man with a flag directing the traffic.

"Funny they should be out working on a Saturday," Red observed.

"It's about time they finished this construction," replied Kevin.

"Well, this road doesn't look too bad. We'll just follow our friends up there."

The Druckers had slowed down substantially, but on this narrower road there was no opportunity at all for Red to pass them. Kevin gave his shoulders an exaggerated shrug in response to a questioning look from Amalfitano.

Although it was clearly marked with large orange "DETOUR" signs, the road was obviously not much more than a country lane. It took them on a meandering path through the woods, rolling a bit but tending gradually downhill so that Red and Kevin both expected a lake to materialize. The road was bordered on both sides by deep drainage ditches.

Red glanced at his rearview mirror. "That dark sedan is following us," he observed. "Looks like they're gaining on us."

Kevin brandished the passenger-side mirror. "I wouldn't know," he replied.

"Whoever's driving it is flashing his lights at me. Wants to pass. Not real polite, is he."

"He must be an American. Can you make out the license plate?"

Red checked his mirror again. "I couldn't swear to it, but it might be Ben Draper. Weren't they driving an old green car?"

"A Buick."

"Yep. It's them all right."
The Possum Van gave a short, croupy cough. Red's eye strayed to the dashboard.

"Gas?" asked Kevin.

Red patted his stomach. "Sorry. Guess I had one too many apricots at the Festival."

With that, the Possum Van coughed again and stalled. Red turned on the flashers and steered as far off the road as he could get before stopping.

"Gas it is," Red observed as the green Buick finally passed them.

Chapter 54

"I thought he'd never get out of the way," observed Ben irritably as he pulled around the disabled van. He paused a moment. "It looks just like the van Red Green drives."

George looked back. "You're right."

"You know him?"

"He and a bunch of deadbeats from that cesspit down at Possum Lake decided to come up here and fish on my property one time." George lit a cigarette. "Let's just say it wasn't a pleasant conversation."

"Understood."

Ben had lost a little time in his efforts to get past the Possum Van, but as he left it behind, the Airstream came into plain view. Ben slowed, staying well back. His sharp eyes could make out the figure of Ray Vecchio, materializing from time to time at the back window of the camper.

"We should be coming to the barricade in about two miles," observed George.

"Barricade?"

"The road dead-ends into a parking lot," replied George. "There's a boat launch at the other end, and the trees are fairly thick there. The lake is off to the left. We thought it would be better if we could stop them just before they got to the lot. Too much chance for them to escape otherwise."

"Good thinking," replied Ben. Secretly he wondered just how far the elderly couple could get on foot.

They rounded a curve in the road, and Ben could make out the barricade ahead, complete with several very convincing "construction workers" waving orange flags, holding signs, and otherwise adding charm and character to the scene. He slowed in anticipation of stopping.

"I'll be damned!" George was staring ahead. "They're going to crash through the barricade.

Sure enough, the volunteers scattered just ahead of the splintering crash that signaled the Druckers' intentions to keep moving no matter what. Ben sped up, wincing slightly at the thought of what all that splintered wood might do to the Riv.

As they entered the parking lot, George said, "Stop right here!"

"Stop?"

"Just stop!"

George Duncan was out of the car in seconds. His cigarette dangled from his mouth as he grasped the bow and a supply of arrows in his hands. Pausing only briefly, he fitted an arrow to the bow, ignited the fuse of its M-80 with the end of his cigarette, took effortless aim, and shot. The arrow found its mark in the right front tire of the black Expedition with gratifying swiftness. There was the loud report of a tire blowing out.

"Nice shot," came a voice from the group of volunteers. The explosion, which followed immediately thereafter, was strangely muffled. During the next few moments, time slowed as George Drucker fought for control of the heavy vehicle. It was a losing battle, and as the car veered sharply to the right, the Airstream, heavy enough in its own right, continued forward. The trailer hitch gave way with a loud screech of metal, and as the Expedition rolled onto its side, the silver camper made its way slowly, almost deliberately, down the boat ramp and into the water.

"Damn," breathed a voice from the crowd.

Chapter 55

Ben turned over and woke with a start, unsure for a moment of his surroundings. He could hear the clamor of a thunderstorm outside, and the room lit up with an occasional flash. Between the thunderclaps, he could also make out the reassuring tick of an old-fashioned wind-up alarm clock, and he realized that he was at Meg's. The clock's luminous dial read 3:15, and Ben realized that further attempts at sleep would be useless. He began to get quietly out of bed, moving cautiously so as not to disturb Meg, who was sleeping beside him.

She stirred and sighed. "What time is it?"

"It's very early," Ben replied. "Go back to sleep. I'm sorry I woke you."

At the sound of another loud thunderclap, Meg sat up, fully awake. "I don't know about you, but I could use a snack."

"Just what I was thinking."

A few minutes later they were seated over cinnamon toast and milk at the kitchen table.

"When did you get in?" Meg asked.

"A little before midnight. I didn't want to wake you." Ben yawned and stretched.

"Long day?"

"I had no idea this case was going to be so hard to clean up after," Ben replied. Indeed, he and Ray had been in Canada for nearly a week after the arrests, sorting through things with authorities from several jurisdictions and in two countries. Their work was far from over, but they'd seized the opportunity to return to Chicago for a long weekend.

"You two did a good job," Meg replied. "What's the latest?"

"Well, it was a classic case of identity theft. The actual Herb and Mabel Drucker are in a retirement home in Otumwah, Iowa. All it took was a Social Security number."

Meg frowned. "They've been at this for years. They employ dozens of people, and they've made millions. This was their first mistake."

"Well, for a first mistake, it certainly was a good one."

"There's just one thing I don't understand," Meg went on. "Why were they headed west? They'd just driven in from Winnipeg."

"Traffic jam, pure and simple. Nobody could drive south that afternoon. They decided to go north and west and double back. Red Green did the same thing, and that's how he found us." Ben poured himself another glass of milk and fed half a slice of his toast to Diefenbaker. "I couldn't have done any of it without George Duncan."

"He must be quite a character. I'd like to meet him someday."

"They're all characters. One of these days I'll have to tell you about Hap Shaughnessey." The thunder and lightening were occurring almost simultaneously now, and the lights flickered. "That storm's pretty close," he finished. "So what's been going on around here?"

"Well, let's see," Meg began. "Kevin Black has agreed to drop his lawsuit against the government."

"His lawsuit?"

"Pain and suffering caused when you ran them off the road on the way to the lake."

"The man's a complete idiot. They ran out of gas. That or their engine died."

"That's what Red Green says. He says the reward money ought to be enough for anybody. That and the profits from the, ah, the plumbing business."

"So you've talked with him?"

"He seems like a very nice man, very down to earth. He invited me to visit Possum Lake any time and ended our conversation by telling me to keep my stick on the ice." Meg laughed.

"What about the Ronzonis?"

"We can't pin a thing on them except the toilets, and that's apparently a federal matter. Harding Welsh was apoplectic until we found out the extent of the Drucker empire. That seemed to satisfy him."

"And is that all?" Ben asked?

"Well, there's the little matter of your promotion."

Meg was interrupted by a resounding thunderclap, and the lights went out. She and Ben got to their feet, and Diefenbaker gave a low growl.

"Let me get a flashlight out of the drawer," Meg began.

"I have a better idea," replied Ben, moving to her side of the table. He folded her in his arms and went on. "As they would say in Possum Lake, 'Quando Omni flunkus . . . it's probably time to give up and go to bed."

End American Standard by Josephine March: jo@pixelstationery.com

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