Northern Lights

coffee, about his missed breakfast, about what drove a man to dancing naked on a snowy street when Bing came slamming in. He was big as a tank and looked ready to commit murder.
    "Found these in my gear." He slapped two fishing rods onto the counter, then jabbed the auger, which looked like a curly sword, before slamming it down as well. "I ain't no thief, and you better find out who stowed them there so I'd look like one."
    "Would these belong to Ed Woolcott?"
    "Got his name engraved on the damn rods, doesn't he? Just like that prissy gnat-ass to have his name plated on overpriced fishing rods. I'm telling you right now, I'm not having him say I took them. Clean his clock good and proper if he does."
    "Where did you find them?"
    He worked his hands into fists. "You try to say I took 'em, I'll clean your clock, too."
    "I didn't say you took them, I asked where you found them."
    "In my shack. Went out last night. Gonna tow my shack in for the season. Found them then. Mulled over what to do about it, and this is what I'm doing." He jabbed a finger at Nate. "Now you do what you're supposed to do."
    "When's the last time you were in your shack before last night?"
    "Been busy, haven't I? Couple of weeks, maybe. If they'd been there, I'd have spotted them right off, just like I did. I don't use that prissyassed gear."
    "Why don't you come back to my office, Bing, and sit down."
    He readied meat-slab fists again, bared his teeth. "What for?"
    "You're going to make an official statement. Details like if you noticed if anything else was disturbed, added or subtracted, if your shack was locked, who might want to get your non-prissy ass in hot water."
    Bing scowled. "You're gonna have to take my word on it?"
    "That's right."
    Bing jutted his bearded chin. "All right, then. But it's gonna have to be quick. I got work to do, don't I?"
    "We'll make it quick. You get that crater fixed on Lunatic before it swallows a family of five."
    Since Bing was a man of few words, the statement took under ten minutes.
    "Do you and Ed have a history I should know about?"
    "I put my money in his bank, take it out as I need it."
    "You two socialize?"
    Bing's answer was a snort. "I don't get invites to dinner at his place and wouldn't go if I did."
    "Why's that? His wife a lousy cook?"
    "Likes to put on airs—both of them—like they were better than the rest of us. He's an asshole, but so's better than half the world's population." He shrugged his massive shoulders. It was like watching a mountain stretch. "I got nothing against him, particularly."
    "Can you think of anyone who'd have something against you? Enough to want to cause you trouble?"
    "I mind my own and expect people to do the same. Anybody's got a problem with that, I'll—"
    "Clean their clock," Nate finished. "I'll see Ed gets his property back. Appreciate you bringing it in."
    Bing sat another moment, drumming his thick fingers against his wide thighs. "I don't hold with stealing."
    "Me, either."
    "Don't see why you're so fired up to lock up a man who's had a few drinks or punches somebody who gets in his face, but a thief 's different."
    Nate believed he spoke his own truth. There'd been violence on Bing's record, but no theft. "And?"
    "Somebody took my buck knife and my spare gloves out of my rig."
    Nate pulled up another form. "Give me a description."
    "It's a goddamn buck knife." He hissed through his teeth when Nate simply waited. "Got a five-inch blade, closed-lock back, wood handle. Hunting knife."
    "And the gloves?" Nate prompted as he keyed in the description.
    "Work gloves, for Christ's sake. Cowhide, fleece lining. Black."
    "When did you notice them missing?"
    "Last week."
    "And you're reporting it now because?"
    Bing didn't speak for a minute, then moved those mountainous shoulders again. "Maybe you're not a complete asshole."
    "I'm touched. Let me blink these sentimental tears out of my eyes. You lock your rig?"
    "No. Nobody's been stupid enough to mess with my stuff."
    "Always a first time," Nate said.
    When he was alone, and waiting for the town doctor to come give Toby some sort of psych eval, Nate studied the reports on his desk. A decent stack of reports, he thought. Maybe not the sort of load he'd been accustomed to in Baltimore, but a definite stack. With petty theft and petty vandalism leading the pack.
    Enough so, he mused, that he'd been kept busy the last couple of weeks. So busy he'd had little time to spare for his unofficial investigation.
    Maybe it