Rough Country

never stop . They just go at it all the time . I saw the boy come out of the room a few times, and saw him come back, with food, but I never saw her. I could only hear her, all the time . Anyway, I saw you in the parking lot, and I recognized you from the newspaper, and I thought you’d be the best one to tell.”
    “If you haven’t seen her . . .”
    “But I did. Ten minutes ago, coming back to the lodge, and she had a big hat on, but I was looking out the window and they were walking right toward me, and she pushed the hat back and looked up and I thought, ‘Little Linda!’ I recognized her right away. Then, they came up the stairs, and they started in again.”
    “You’re sure it’s Little Linda.”
    The woman stopped talking, her mouth hanging open, then her eyes slid to the side for a moment, as she thought about it, then snapped back: “Yes. I’m sure. And she’s not being held captive, I promise you that. She’s there with a boy who looks like he’s about sixteen. They know each other very well.”
    Virgil had talked to a lot of cops in the past week, but he remembered the one called Service, because Service had been a friendly guy, and had said something about living in town all of his life. He didn’t want to call Sanders, because Sanders could ask that Virgil stick around. . . .
    He called the sheriff’s administration line, identified himself, and got a home phone for Service. Service’s wife answered, passed the phone to her husband. Virgil said, “I can’t tell you why, because it would cause me some trouble, but get your ass over here.”
    Service took ten minutes. Virgil regaled the woman, whose name was Debbie, with the story of the buried couple at Slibe’s place.
    Service arrived, and Virgil said, “I want you to meet Debbie. Debbie, this is Service.”
     
     
     
    DEBBIE AND SERVICE DISAPPEARED into the lodge. Five minutes later, sirens started simultaneously in several parts of town, and Virgil went back into his room and rebrushed his teeth. When he came out, a pod of cop cars had gathered at the lodge.
    He wanted to go to Sig’s . . . couldn’t help himself. Got in his truck, rolled across the parking lot, left the car running, walked into the lodge, found a cluster of cops. Service was coming down the hall, looking happy, spotted Virgil.
    “Got ’em,” he said. They slapped hands. “And thank you. The kid’s her secret boyfriend from Apple Valley. The sheriff’s on his way back from Bigfork. I’m smelling like the biggest rose in Minnesota. Clean bust, all mine.”
    “Pretty good service, huh, Service?”
     
     
     
    VIRGIL GOT CRANKED DRIVING out to Signy’s, heart beating harder, that wash of adrenaline working through his arteries; and though he was tired from the day, the fight itself put an edge on him. Must be like when the barbarians came home from battle, he thought, and jumped the old lady.
    And in addition to polished boots, women also liked to care for injured guys, he thought.

    THE ANTICIPATION OF IMMINENT sex, some argued, was as good as the sex itself, but Virgil thought they were wrong about that. Nothing was better than sex. Not even a forty-pound musky. A fifty-pounder, he’d have to think about. . . .
    And thinking about it amused him, and he turned on the satellite radio where, by chance or by God, ZZ Top was running through “Sharp Dressed Man.”
    An omen, and a good one.
    He was still pounding the steering wheel in time with the ZZs when he got to Signy’s, where some of the air came out of his balloon; a strange and battered pickup was parked in the yard, which was truly inconvenient.
    In his mental approach plan, he’d thought to drag her ass through the kitchen and throw her on the bed. Now they had to get rid of somebody first. He parked the 4Runner, climbed down, looked around once, and headed for the door.
    Signy banged through it before he could knock, and then pressed her back against the closed door.
    She looked wonderful: the slightly tired green eyes, the messed-up hair, the bruised lips, the slack cast of her face . . .
    The bruised lips?
    “Ah, Virgil,” she said. She put her hands flat on his chest. “Ah, guess what?”
    “Ah, what?”
    She looked up with her sleepy green eyes, the eyes of a woman whose brains were anything but tight.
    “Ah, jeez,” she said. “You know Joe? Joe came back.”
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