Page 53 of Cold, Cold Bones

“Of course I did. The guy’s got no sheet and I came up empty on a photo search. There’s no record of a 911 or complaint about thecamp. Hospitable or not, the asshole better be flying his welcome flag today.”

“The kid at the gas station said it’s along here.” Despite Skinny’s protests, I’d insisted on stopping.

“Yeah. That yak won’t be opening no acceptance letter from Yale.”

We went slowly, watching for the gravel road and swinging gate mentioned by the yak. Spotted the landmarks five minutes later. Slidell made the turn.

We both lowered our windows. Assessed, ears alert, eyes scanning.

A chain secured one end of the gate’s horizontal iron pole to one of two vertical uprights anchoring barbed wire running to the left and right. A sign hung from the pole’s center:Keep Out. Trespassers will be shot. Survivors will be shot again.The artwork consisted of a capped figure holding a long gun.

Mounted high on a tree was a single security camera. I glanced toward Slidell. He’d spotted it, too.

I saw no one. Heard nothing but the soft drip of reluctantly yielding snow.

Slidell got out and strode to the gate. I noticed he was carrying heavy.

When Slidell yanked the chain, the links slid free in his hand. So much for tight security. He kicked the barrier. It swung inward with a harsh grating sound.

We both froze.

No salivating dog rushed forward. No gorilla with a twelve-gauge emerged from the woods.

Slidell retook the wheel and we crept forward. Fifty yards farther, a man cradling an AK-47 blocked the road. He wore head-to-toe camo and, beneath his unzipped parka, a black tee that said:A gun in the hand is better than a cop on the phone. Scruffy beard. Skin once fair, now looking like decades spent in the Kalahari. Acre-wide chest providing plenty of room for the tee’s slogan.

In a clearing beyond AK, I could see crudely built lean-tos, arock-bordered firepit surrounded by stumps, one large yellow tent, and what looked like a small corral. Except for the assault rifle, the setup reminded me of the pioneer unit at Camp Pinewood.

AK raised a hand, palm out. It was not a friendly hand.

Slidell rolled to a stop.

“That’s as far as you go, pal.”

“And you would be?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Police.” Slidell said. “I’m gonna raise my badge now, real slow.”

I doubted AK would be impressed.

Slidell held his shield out the window.

Never lowering his firearm, AK took a step closer and glanced at the shield for half a heartbeat. “You got a warrant?”

“Do I need a warrant?”

“You’re treading on private property. Got it posted, real clear.”

“We’re here about a guy named Cougar Piccitelli. You must know him, this beinghisposted property.”

AK looked startled. Or not. Hard to tell with the low-brimmed cap and all the facial hair.

“What do you want with him?” AK was nervous, his finger jittery on the trigger.

“Mainly, we want to know if he’s still breathing.” Slidell’s voice was getting that edge.

“What the fuck?”