North Country(10)

As they struggle to haul the groaning, cursing drunk out of the bar, I level Matt with a flat look.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “I know …”

“We’re not your damn bouncers.”

“Joey doesn’t start till eight. What else was I supposed to do? Benny was already hammered when he showed up. If I’d refused him, he would have gone nuts. The guy is the size of a silverback. Who was gonna stop him? Me?” He gestures at himself. Matt’s far from scrawny but he’s no match for Benny the Hulk. Hell, Holt’s biggest bison bull might have a challenge and that beast is close to eighteen hundred pounds.

“Relax, I’m just giving you the gears. You did the right thing.” Benoit has been banned from the Bale House, but I can see why no one wanted to remind him of that. “Any idea what steered him back to the hard stuff?” He’s been a model citizen since his last arrest three years ago, sticking to draft beer and attending AA meetings without fail .

Matt carefully picks a shard of glass off the counter and tosses it into an open garbage can in the corner. “Heard they’re idling PEC.”

“Shit.” The engineered-wood mill has operated in the area since the 1980s. It employs at least two hundred and fifty people, including Benoit. “Do you know why?”

“Same old. It’s too expensive to keep it running. Something like that.”

“Another one bites the dust.” It’s becoming a common story around these parts, mills and factories shuttering their doors. “This is not good.” Christmas holidays are less than three months away and that’s a lot of local people out of work. A twinge of guilt stirs for pushing the steep tickets on the guy.

“Benoit driven into the loving arms of Canadian Club is never good,” Matt agrees. “What’s his wife gonna do this time?”

“Yell at him, like she does every other time.” My officers have visited his address more than once to find Margaret throwing his belongings out the window as she screamed.

She always takes him back.

“Our camera out front is busted, but Shawna saw him driving in, if you need that for your report.” He nods toward the blond waitress nearby, cleaning up the broken glass.

“Again with the cameras?” Half of the Bale House’s security system is inoperable at any given time.

Matt shrugs. “What can I say? Little shitheads throwing rocks. I can’t keep up with replacing them anymore. I thought once they opened that arcade, kids would have somethin’ better to do, but nope.”

Shawna hisses and studies her finger, searching for her injury.

“Here, let me do that. Don’t want those hands of yours cut up.” He collects the broom and dustpan from her grasp. “Get a Band-Aid and then table ten looks like they want to cash out.”

“On it, Matty.” She sashays to the back, sucking on her finger.

“Those hands of yours?” I mock. “What else has she been doing with them? Huh, Matty?”

He chuckles. “Don’t start. She’s a consenting adult. Twenty-five.”

“That’s an improvement.” The last one was twenty-two. Then again, Matt easily passes for a decade younger than his forty years .

“It’s not my fault!” he exclaims, sweeping up the mess behind the counter.

“Yeah, you’re too good-looking for these poor girls to resist.”

“Exactly. What am I supposed to do?”

“Not every staff member.”

“Come on, now. It’s only been two. Or three.” He pauses his task to flash that cocky grin of his.

I can’t help but laugh. Yes, I’ll admit Matt Danes is attractive, with his bright blue eyes and dimpled smile, his deep voice, and country-boy style—always in jeans and a plaid button-down, with a ball cap pulled low. I swear, I think half the women who come to the Bale House are here for a chance to flirt with the handsome owner. One girls’ night out a few years back, after too many tequilas and feeling especially low, his charm almost worked on me.

“You want a beer? On the house for your troubles,” he offers.

I shoot him a look—I’m in uniform, for god’s sake—and then I survey the small crowd. “Nice to be here when it’s quiet.” Most times we’re called when it’s bustling and loud and someone’s bleeding in the parking lot from a well-placed fist.

The Bale House Tavern and Inn is perfectly situated on the mostly two-lane Trans-Canada Highway that serves as the main artery to some of Northern Ontario’s largest cities.

The inn is little more than a tiny motel—a strip of three rooms off one side of the building. On the other side and around back is a massive gravel clearing where truckers can park for the night and come in for a hot meal. Many of them are regulars, planning their route so they can stop here.

The place has evolved since Matt took over six years ago. It’s now a weekend hot spot for Cold River and neighboring towns. Saturday nights are always hopping with a mix of barely legal nineteen-year-olds to gray-haired barflies, here for the live band and buoyant atmosphere. Sometimes it gets a little too rowdy, and my officers end up paying a visit.

“What are you doing answering calls, anyway?” Matt eyes the gold crown and chevrons on my shoulder. “Doesn’t the big boss stay behind a desk and take weekends off?”