Devil's Pass Read Free Page A

his knees, clutching his crotch, and barfed. Then he toppled into his own barf.
    That’s when the cop stepped into the luggage area and saw Webb standing above Brent, ready to kick him if he tried something else.
    The cop barked at Webb to step away, like Webb had started the fight.
    Webb looked around, hoping Stephanie would say something. Something like Brent threw the first punch.
    But she was gone.
    Webb looked at George. “Tell him,” Webb said. “The guy threw the first punch.”
    â€œWhat I saw,” George said, “was you walking up to the guy and hitting him without warning.”
    Then George folded his arms across his body.
    That’s why, on a sunny June afternoon three days after the reading of his grandfather’s will, Webb found himself in handcuffs in the back of a cop truck outside Norman Wells airport, ninety miles south of the Arctic Circle.

FOUR
    As the cop drove Webb through Norman Wells, Webb saw streets with names like Raven and Lynx. He knew from Internet research that there was also one named Honeybucket, because, in the past, that’s what they called the pails they used on long frozen nights when a person didn’t want to go to the outhouse.
    He wasn’t in the mood for sightseeing though. He was mad at himself for not paying attention in the airport. On the streets, that kind of carelessness could get a person killed.
    He was also mad at George, who lived in this small town. George knew the cop who had arrested Webb. Webb wouldn’t be sitting in the cop truck if George had told the truth. No, Brent would be in it instead. But George had lied.
    It didn’t help Webb’s mood that his lower jaw hurt. A lot. There was a tooth loose. It felt like it was sticking through his skin. He used his tongue to push his lower lip forward and touch the tooth. It was leaning forward at more than forty-five degrees. The pain felt like lightning going through his veins. But that slight touch was enough to pop the tooth loose.
    With his hands cuffed behind him, there wasn’t much else to do with the tooth except spit it out, swallow it or roll it under his tongue. He decided not to give the cop the satisfaction of seeing a tooth come out like a Chiclet, and he sure didn’t want that small, hard chunk of enamel going through his digestive system. So he kept it under his tongue and watched the streets of Norman Wells go by.
    He had never been to Norman Wells before, but he knew as much about it as a person could learn through Wikipedia. Webb disliked going anywhere without knowing what to expect. He knew every free Wi-Fi spot in a twenty-block radius of his territory in Toronto, and Google and his iPod were his best friends. Much as it had hurt to draw from his tiny savings, he had even invested in a solar-powered battery charger so he wouldn’t have to depend on coffee shops and the library for power.
    Webb knew a lot about Norman Wells, but he hadn’t known that the cops drove police trucks, not police cars. White with horizontal stripes like a regular police car. Same Plexiglas and bars between the front seat and the back, but in a 4x4. Made sense, given the climate.
    The cop pulled up to a building on a corner across a gravel parking lot from a fenced playground. Symbolic, Webb thought. Ironic, even. A playground for those who still had lots of opportunity to make good choices; police station for those who hadn’t. Probably lost on people who spent time in the police station, but not lost on him. Maybe a song was in there somewhere, he thought, losing himself in that instead of worrying about what lay ahead. That’s what he always did—escaped into the music. Most of the time it worked. Now his anger and the broken tooth were distractions.
    The cop hit a button on a remote on the visor, and the door to a huge garage bay opened. The cop slowly drove the truck into the garage and shut the door with the remote before opening the rear