Northern Lights

walked out. "Call it," he said to Otto and Peter.
    "Heads." Otto set down his Field & Stream while Nate flipped the coin in the air.
    He slapped it on the back of his hand. "Tails. Okay, Peter, you'll come with me. Little altercation over at The Lodge." He snagged a two-way, hooked it to his belt.
    He stepped into the entry, began dragging on gear. "If it hasn't broken up by the time we get there," he said to Peter, "I want you to tell me the players straight off, give me the picture. Is it something that's going to turn nasty or can we resolve it with a few strong words?"
    He shoved out the door, into the blast of cold air. "That mine?" he asked, nodding toward the black Jeep at the curb.
    "Yes, sir."
    "And that cord plugged into that pole there would be attached to the heater on the engine."
    "You'll need it if it's going to sit for any time. There's a Mylar blanket in the back, and that'll cover up the engine and keep the heat in for up to twenty-four hours, maybe. But sometimes people forget to take them off, and then you're going to overheat. Jumper cables in the back, too," he continued as he pulled the plug. "Emergency flares and first-aid kit and—"
    "We'll go over all that," Nate interrupted, and wondered if navigating down a road called Lunatic Street would entail the need of emergency flares and first aid. "Let's see if I can get us to The Lodge in one piece."
    He climbed behind the wheel, stuck the key in the ignition. "Heated seats," he noted. "There is a God."
    The town looked different in the daylight, no doubt about it. Smaller somehow, Nate thought as he maneuvered on the hard-packed snow. Exhaust had blacked the white at the curbs, and the storefront windows weren't exactly sparkling, and most of the Christmas decorations looked the worse for wear in the sunlight.
    It wasn't a postcard, unless you looked beyond to the mountains, but it was a few solid steps up from dreary.
    Rugged was a better term, he decided. It was a settlement carved out of ice and snow and rock, snugged tight to a winding river, flanked by forests where he could easily imagine wolves roaming.
    He wondered if forest meant bear, too, but decided it wasn't worth worrying about until spring. Unless all that hibernation talk was bullshit.
    It took less than two minutes to drive from station house to lodge. He saw a total of ten people on the street and passed a brawny pickup, a clunky SUV, and counted three parked snowmobiles and one set of skis propped against the side of The Italian Place.
    It seemed people didn't exactly hibernate in Lunacy, whatever the bears did.
    He went to the main door of The Lodge and walked through it just ahead of Peter.
    It hadn't broken up. He could hear that plainly enough through the shouts of encouragement— kick his fat ass, Mackie! —and the thud of bodies and grunts. What Nate calculated was that a Lunacy-style crowd had gathered, consisting of five men in flannel, one of which turned out to be a woman on closer inspection.
    Encircled by them, two men with shaggy, brown hair were rolling around on the floor, trying to land short-arm punches on each other. The only weapon he saw was a broken pool cue.
    "Mackie brothers," Peter told him.
    "Brothers?"
    "Yeah. Twins. They've been beating the hell out of each other since they were in the womb. Hardly ever take a swing at anyone else."
    "Okay."
    Nate nudged his way through the press of bodies. The sight of him had the shouts toning down to murmurs as he waded in and hauled the top Mackie off the bottom Mackie.
    "All right, break it up. Stay down," he ordered, but Mackie number two was already springing up, rearing back. He landed a solid roundhouse to his brother's jaw.
    " Red River, numbnuts!" He shouted, then did a victory dance, fists lifted high, as his brother slumped in Nate's arms.
    "Peter, for Christ's sake," Nate said as his deputy remained immobile.
    "Oh, sorry, chief. Jim, settle down."
    Instead, Jim Mackie continued to bounce in his Wolverines to the cheers of the crowd.
    Nate saw money being exchanged, but decided to ignore it.
    "Take this one." Nate shoved the unconscious man into Peter, then stepped up to the self-proclaimed champ. "The deputy gave you an order."
    "Yeah?" He grinned, showing blood on his teeth and an unholy gleam in a pair of brown eyes. "So what? I don't have to take orders from that shithead."
    "Yeah, you do. I'll show you why." Nate spun the man around, shoved him against the wall, had his hands behind his back and