Max sighed as he entered the old bar. After a week of searching the town of Clayton, there was no end in sight. He sat up at the bar and ordered a Budweiser. Around him the murmurs of tourist conversations filled the room. He chugged down half of the bottle, then turned around to scan the dimly lit room. Except for a few hustlers looking sour, everyone seemed content and comfortable as the discussed their travels. Max drank the rest of the Bud and put the empty bottle back on the bar and stared into the beer-stained mahogany wood.
"Hey? Beer?" a female voice asked. Max looked up to find himself face-to-face with a tall young woman, tanned and heavy-busted. She wore a periwinkle-blue swimsuit, and her long, chestnut brown hair ran down far past her shoulders.
"Oh, yeah, thanks" he replied, then turned away. The bartender took his empty bottle and left for another. Max watched her go. The swimsuit was one piece, and she looked pretty good with a pair of short pale denim cutoffs, her long hair barely reaching past her butt. Her legs were strong and lean, the muscle extended all across her body, simple leather sandals on her feet. Max turned back to the bar. A few moments later, she returned with a cold bottle. She noticed his depression.
"Wife gone?" she asked. Max looked up at her.
"Yeah." He muttered under his breath, avoiding her eyes. The bartender leaned her elbows on the bar in front of him.
"Cheating?" she asked.
"Nah." Max muttered, still avoiding her eyes. He took a breath. "She's gone." He said.
"She died?" The bartender whispered. "Awesome!" Max looked up at her for the first time. Her eyes were an inquisitive kelly green, the type of eyes that searched through him twice as fast as the police and uncovered three times as much.
"You might say that. No, she's not dead." Max said, sounding more confident than he was.
The bartender stared.
"She's just gone? No phone call? No note? No middle finger outstretched?"
Max shook his head. The bartender leaned back. "Damn, there's no fun in that. It's cruel."
Max smiled for the first time in days.
"Yeah, it is cruel." The bartender stared back.
"Do you think she crossed the border?" Max shook his head.
"She didn't go voluntarily."
"Shit, godamn it- some guy took her?" Max straightened up, trying to fight back tears. He didn't want to cry, especially in front of the type of girl that could break his heart, and then his arms without breaking a sweat. All he could do was nod. The bartender continued to stare, trying to see if Max's story was true.
"All-all I've been doing is looking, and there- there's no sign of her. I've only searched the town, and I think she's somewhere on- on the river," Max began, trying to hold back tears. "I can't search the river very well because, well, I'm a tourist- I'm from Washington, and I don't know where to- to begin." The monster inside of him that was his love for 99 started pushing the tears out. He turned his head away and wiped the tears with his arm.
"Damn." The bartender whispered. "Hey." She said, "In as much as I love seeing a man cry…" (Max quickly wiped his eyes) "…I think that if you love your wife enough to be up here from Washington, I should give you some help." Max turned back to her. "I'm dead serious. A good friend of mine's lived here all her life. Knowing her, she'll be happy to be your, uh, guide. Y'know, to help you look. For a modest fee, of course- motorboats don't run on love." Max stared.
"You sure you're dead serious?" he asked.
"If you don't find her after two weeks, you don't have to pay." The bartender said. Max held out his hand.
"Deal." He said. The bartender shook it. "By the way, my name's Max." he said as she leapt over the bar.
"Barry!" She yelled over her shoulder, "I'm outta here!" She turned back to Max. "Max. Call me Cassie." Max paused as he slid off his stool.
"Cassie." He repeated.
"Yeah, Cassandra Ann Raye." She said as she led him out of the bar. They stopped at the corner. "It's a three-block walk, I usually ride my bike." She said. Max had walked from the hotel.
"It's fine. I don't mind a walk."
"Good." Cassie said as she led him at a fast pace down the sidewalk of the business district. Max jogged to catch up with her.
"So, who's this friend of yours?" he asked. Cassie looked at him.
"She's a fisherman's daughter, and has more testosterone than any man I know. She can bench 205, and knows every island and channel in the Thousand islands. All 1750 islands."
"There are 1750 islands? Jeez, what'd she do? Count 'em all?" Max said, laughing. Cassie stared.
"Some survey counted them in the fifties." she said, and Max stopped laughing. "Gray's good, real good."
"Gray?" Max paused. Cassie stopped and turned to him.
"Yeah, Gray. Her full name's Jennifer Grace O'Connor. The last guy who called her 'Jennifer Grace' is in Riverside recovering from a cracked skull. She beat him pretty good."
"Gray." Max said quickly as they started waking again. "By the way, what's Riverside?"
"Only American hospital for fifty miles." Cassie said, unwavering. "And about your wife…"
Max turned away.
"Max, listen, I know it's gonna be tough, okay? I know that. The only way we'll be able to help is if you give us some information."
"I know…" Max said quietly. He was unsure whether or not to tell Cassie the truth. "It's just that…"
"Just what?" Cassie asked. "It's not like you're a secret agent or anything like that. Imagine, a spy here in Clayton!" She started laughing. Max gave a forced laugh.
Cassie stared into his eyes. "Oh, shit godammit- you are a secret agent, aren't you?" Max glanced to either side, and nodded slightly. "Damn." Cassie whispered, still looking into his eyes, "Your wife's a secret agent too, huh?"
"99." Max muttered.
"And she's being held captive by an enemy organization, right?" Max nodded, tears spilling out of his eyes. Cassie turned away. "Damn." She repeated. "Max, c'mon, let's get to the marina." She quickened her pace. Max followed, keeping his eyes down.
They crossed Route 12, and came to a small, two story-split level house, with a garage that led into the water and a long, empty dock. The sign nailed to the wall read "FRENCH CREEK MARINA: OFFICE". Cassie led Max to another house on the water; this one had a single floor over a garage. A fairly long dock jutted out into the water where a medium-sized steel-bodied fishing boat bobbed in the water. A yellow "POSTED: PRIVATE PROPERY" sign was nailed to the door. Cassie pointed. "That's where we live. Gray's down at the docks." She pointed across the bay to a labyrinth of boats and docks. Max sighed as they continued towards the docks.
"Cassie, you gotta promise me something." He said.
"What?' Cassie asked.
"About the whole 'secret agent' thing, you need to keep that quiet. Gray too. 99's mother doesn't even know that her daughter's a spy."
Cassie made a fist and pounded her chest with a dull WUMPF!
"Promise, Max, I won't tell a soul. I swear. It's a part of our deal. Don't worry about Gray," she added, noting the look of insecurity on Max's face, "I'm the talkative one."
Max nodded. "Good."
The docks were mildly crowded; fishermen were bringing their boats in from fishing all day, while others were preparing to leave for the evening catch. Cassie led Max past all the chaos of the docks up to a small store, where two men stood, talking. Well, at least one of them was a guy. The other was taller than everyone else, tanned and muscular, wearing an old "MONTREAL CANADIENS: 1966 STANLEY CUP CHAMPIONS" sleeveless shirt and a short sleeved-sleeved flannel shirt, exposing muscles Max had always hoped for but never got. They also wore denim shorts that barely reached the knee, and leather sandals. Their entire body was covered in black hairs, and their hair was pulled back in a long braid. A huge Newfoundland dog/North American Black bear lay at their feet.
"Gray?" Max blurted out. The tall one acknowledged Max's presence with a nod.
"S' me." Gray said in a deep voice. Max stared. Gray's face was freckled, with dark eyes and sunburned cheeks. "Hey Case? Wha'choo doin' back?" she asked.
Cassie motioned to Max. "Max needs some help."
Gray nodded again. The other man at the shop was busy with a customer, so Gray left with Max and Cassie to go back to the house. The dog followed.
"Who's the dog?" Max asked, stroking its large furry head.
"Wolfe."
"It doesn't look like a wolf. It looks like a bear. "
"Wolfe's its name. Add an 'e'.
"Gray, listen, when we're done with Max, we gotta keep the stuff we found out quiet, okay?"
Gray nodded. "Needs help wi' summat?"
"We gotta find his wife."
"Los' on the river?"
"Taken and hidden on the river."
"Any ideas?"
"Pretty sure she didn't get to the Canadian mainland, but still..."
"Crossover?"
"I doubt they'd take her that far upstream."
"Jes' gotta keep 'em off the ships."
The St. Lawrence Seaway had been constructed ten years ago, connecting shipping from the Great lakes to the Atlantic. If 99 was on one of the ships, she could be anywhere from Duluth to Montreal. Max listened to the conversation; the monster inside of him calm, like it knew that enlisting the help of two 16-year-olds- a river rat and a bartender- was the right thing to do.