Die a Stranger by Steve Hamilton Page A

I’ve got grandkids sleeping in those houses back there. You don’t think I know that? You don’t think I recognize that that’s the saddest thing in the world, that they’ve probably never even heard of me?”
    “Fair enough,” I said. “Sorry I got a little sensitive about the cop business.”
    “It’s all right. I was out of line.”
    We passed the sign letting us know we had just left the reservation.
    “This place we’re going,” Lou said, looking behind him, “it’s not on the rez?”
    “No, it’s in Brimley. Just around the bay here.”
    “You gotta leave the rez to drink?”
    “You can drink at the casino, or hell, you can drink at home if you want. But yeah, most of them seem to end up at the Cozy.”
    “The Cozy! Are you kidding me? That place is still around?”
    A minute later, I pulled up in front of it. There were a good dozen cars in the lot. When we got out, Lou took a quick walk across the street, stopping over at the guardrail where the river came out from under the road and fed into the bay.
    “Good old Whiskey River,” he said, “and Whiskey Bay.”
    “You better not let Vinnie hear you say that.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “It’s Waishkey,” I said. “Not whiskey.”
    “So what’s the big deal about that?”
    “Try drinking a few shots while he’s in the same room. You’ll find out.”
    “I can’t wait.” He turned back and looked out over the water.
    “The water’s pretty calm tonight,” I said.
    “I know that can change in a second. That’s something you don’t forget. But we didn’t come here to gaze out at the lake, huh? This is the place where you figure Buck might buy his weed?”
    “It’s where he drinks most of the time. So I’m just guessing.”
    “All right, then. Let’s go see if anybody’s holding in there.”
    As we crossed the street, he stopped dead in the middle. It’s the kind of thing you can do in a place like Brimley, Michigan. After midnight, or hell, pretty much anytime of the day for that matter.
    “Something’s not right here.” He looked back and forth from one side of the road to the other.
    “They dragged the Cozy over to this side a few years ago,” I said. “Then they added on to it.”
    “So I’m not crazy,” he said. “At least not in this particular case.”
    We finished crossing the street and went inside. As you step into the place, you’re greeted by the heat and the noise, and you can see where they built on to the one side of it, turning the place into a genuine restaurant and not just a corner bar. Although you can eat dinner there with your family only up until nine o’clock. Then they kick out everybody who’s underage and the only thing you can do there is drink. Either that or play pool on the one table in the middle of the room.
    We picked out an empty table and sat down. A waitress came by and we ordered a couple of beers. I knew they wouldn’t be real Canadians, but we didn’t have much choice. As we sat there drinking, Lou looked the place over.
    “How many Bay Mills’ you figure are here right now?”
    “Maybe half.”
    “Seriously? What about those guys right there?” He nodded to a table where six young men sat quietly. The empty bottles were gathered in the center of the table like bowling pins.
    “Those are all guys who work at the casino,” I said. “I saw them at the funeral.”
    “I forgot how much the blood gets mixed up here, man. A couple of them look whiter than you do.”
    “So, what next?”
    “I think you should stay right here for a minute,” he said. “No offense, but I don’t think these guys are gonna believe you’re really looking to score.”
    I couldn’t argue with him. He walked over to the table. “Hey, little brothers,” he began, putting on a big smile and talking so loud I could hear him across the room. “I’m from out of town, wondering if you can help me out.”
    He bent down for the rest and I couldn’t make out a word. From the body language