Free Cold by John Smolens Page A

back down.   But Warren simply grinned, and his eyes had something in them that Norman’s didn’t possess.   Something dead on, something that didn’t flinch.   So they stared at each other in the dim light of the bar as though it were some kind of a duel; Noel eventually gave up and went to the restroom.

She stayed there a long time, staring at the mirror, trying to see what men saw in her face.   It was a wide face, with a good jaw and a mouth that she knew was too big.   Her eyes were green beneath the strong arc of dark eyebrows.   There was something in those eyes that seemed to be asking for it, and that’s what they saw.   Fuck me.   Leaning closer to the mirror, she tried to make it go away.   But she knew that your eyes never really change; you can laugh, smile, pout, whatever, but if you just look at the eyes there’s really not much that changes.
     
      Noel went back out to the bar, to a new round of beer and schnapps.   The Haas brothers always bought a new round when the Wings scored.   She did her shot, drank some beer and they watched and talked about the game for the rest of the second period.   She didn’t look at Warren, and the longer that she held off the more she felt the need to, because she was certain he was waiting.   It distracted her, sitting here between the two brothers, her fiancé on her left, his older brother on her right, all of them with elbows on the bar, leaning forward watching the Wings-Canadiens game.   Nothing more should be going on, no one should be waiting for anything more important than another Wings goal.   What distressed her was that she was certain that Warren thought he knew what it was they were waiting for.
    Of course, Norman didn’t know any of this was going on.   He had a sense of clarity and purpose that she had never seen in a man before, and it made him oblivious to things.   She never really understood this about him until his brother returned from the Navy; then she came to realize that she hadn’t known Norman at all because she hadn’t known his brother.   Occasionally Warren would say something that suggested that Norman’s view of things was simple; it both aggravated and intrigued Warren.   He seemed even jealous at times.   He understood that this was a quality that Norman had that might be attractive to a woman, and that he didn’t have it.
    When the second period ended Norman went to the men’s room.   Noel kept her eyes on the bar.   The colors from the television reflected off the wet rings her shot glass left on the wood.   She kept waiting for Warren to say something, something about the Wings, something to break the silence.
    Finally, he said, “We’re going up to Big Pine Monday.”
    “We?”
    “Your father’s got this hunting party flying up from Minneapolis in a seaplane.”
    “You and Norman?”
    Warren nodded.
    “You’re working for Daddy now too?”
    Warren finished his shot and placed the glass on the bar.   “Call it a partnership.”
    They didn’t speak again until they could hear Norman’s boots coming down the hardwood floor.   “Let me know,” Warren whispered as he raised the bottle of Labatts to his mouth.   “You let me know when, Noel.”
    She didn’t say anything.
    It was at that moment that she began to blame Norman.

 
    •

 
    Even during a blizzard, Warren liked to cruise around in his Ford Ranger, listening to the radio or a tape, drinking from the pint of schnapps he kept in the glove compartment with his .38.   He had an appointment at seven, a couple of kids he told to meet him in the public restrooms behind the skating rink in Hiawatha Park.
    Warren had to admit he was impressed:   Norman had walked away.   In a blizzard, no less.   Chances were very good he’d die out there, freeze to death in the woods.   Every spring bodies were found once the snow finally melted.   He could see the expression on Norman’s face; even badly decomposed, there’d be that