Calendar Mystery 6: A TRIP TO ORR
Characters:
Frank Zanetti, 24, detective sergeant
Sebastian Ericson, 19, artist; Vera's grandson
Peter Red Crow, 19, Ojibwe in Orr
Simon Red Crow, 22, Peter's brother, gone missing; identified as
`Mr. August' in the gay calendar
Maggie Red Crow, mother to Simon and Peter
This one's for Sonny, with thanks for moral support! Frank (accompanied by Sebastian) gets a breakthrough in the Calendar Mystery. He learns that of one of the calendar pin-ups, `Mr. August', is Simon Red Crow, an Ojibwe from a farm near Orr who had moved to Duluth to work in the harbor district. Frank is optimistic that Simon is alive, but where should they look for him?
Goran: goranbixo@aol.com
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Saturday, September 12, 2020. Sebastian's sketch of Mr. August' was evidence enough for his captain to allow Frank to drive his patrol car to Orr. Still, he worked on Saturday for free. No matter. Sebastian wasn't getting paid, either. "The situation will change if we get a name and a formal missing person report'," the captain said. Frank reported the conversation to Sebastian while they drove to Arrowhead Road in his patrol car.
"It would be good public relations for the cops to be seen helping an Ojibwe family," Sebastian observed as they turned off Arrowhead to Highway 53.
"Whatever works, partner," Frank replied.
First time anyone had ever called Sebastian `partner'. He liked it. And as Frank kept his eyes on the road, Sebastian took the opportunity to appraise his appearance. Handsome Italian-dark face, dark curly hair, trim figure, promising basket. That's as much as he could see of Frank in the driver's seat. His upbeat, outgoing manner drew Sebastian out of his shell, like a hermit crab daring to wander across the sand. They chattered about art, Sebastian's favorite subject.
"It's fascinating that when you compose a human figure, you have to draw him as a nude first, and then put clothes on him," Frank said. "Did you learn this from an art class or a book?"
"Neither one," Sebastian said. "I discovered it by trial and error when I was quite young. I was trying to sketch Spiderman, my favorite action figure at the time, and I couldn't get the clothes right. Finally, a sketched a nude Spiderman and then the clothing came easy."
"That's amazing!" Frank exclaimed. He changed the subject by the time they drove past an unincorporated township called Cotton. "You know, Sebastian, I've been in the police force for five years now, and I've yet to meet another gay cop. Guess I'm the only one. Oops, sorry, I forgot that I'm not `out' to you, or at least I wasn't."
"Do other cops know?" Sebastian asked.
"They know I'm gay-savvy," Frank replied. "I get assigned to cases that involve the gay scene in Duluth. Otherwise, I keep my personal and professional lives separate. I don't want to have to say to straight cops, `Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I'm interested in YOU'. Besides, I'm a tough Italian, so I don't get guff. And when our squad is on a case, I can always count on Chris to give me a hint or two. He's a psychic, you know."
"I've heard that rumor," Sebastian said.
"Chris always denies it, but I've seen evidence. It's usually some small detail," Frank said. "Other guys on the force think I'm Colombo, blest with an inexplicable ability to corner a suspect with some unlikely detail."
Anyone familiar with Frank's work would say that he exaggerated Chris's influence on him. There was no way that he could have made detective sergeant at the young age of 24 based on psychic tips from Chris. Frank was a complex personality, charismatic and humble. Other guys admired him, desired him; usually without his knowledge, because he never imagined himself as superior to anyone. In the present instance, he was aware of Sebastian's youthful inexperience and his `fem' manner, but, awed by the guy's artistic ability, he was proud to be seen with him in public, never mind what other people might think.
Sebastian still bore the bruises he sustained in his younger years, so much so that his schooling gave credence to the question, `Is there life after high school?' No one had greater need for the friendship of guys like Father Andrew and Chris and especially of Frank, whose simple acts of kindness taught him self-confidence, but the process was gradual. All Sebastian needed was for someone to be nice to him. His grandmother, Vera, was wise enough to know this. She encouraged his male friendships, knowing that he would get his heart broken once or twice, as happens often in the world of gay men.
"Did other kids pick on you in high school?" Sebastian asked.
"Pretty much, until I beat up a guy on the football team who seemed to be the ring-leader," Frank said. "When a gay kid gets bullied by others in school, usually it's coming from one culprit. The way to end it is to take him down. That's what I did, and the bullying ended. College is different. Everyone's supposed to be grown up by then. You're planning to go to college, aren't you, Sebastian?"
"I'm thinking about it," Sebastian replied.
"I'll take you to UMD for a campus visit, maybe next week," Frank offered.
"That would be great," Sebastian replied. Frank had just asked him for a date. Sort of. `Sort of' would do, for now.
"I'll tell you the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me," Frank said. "It was after football practice, and I was standing in the shower when the guy next to me put his hand on my butt. I had my back to him. I didn't provoke it. All the other guys were in the locker room, so we were alone. I let him fondle my butt until he tried to pry a finger into my asshole. As soon as my cock got hard, the guy called out to the others, `See, I told you, Frankie wants me to fuck his ass!' I punched him out and left him crouching on the floor in the showers. After that, they left me alone."
"And did you want him to fuck you?" Sebastian asked.
"Hell, no!" Frank exclaimed, but he was pleased that Sebastian felt comfortable enough with him to ask such a brazen question. He glanced in Sebastian's direction with a sly smile and said, "Well, maybe, he had been a nice guy like you."
The image that Frank put in his mind caused Sebastian's heart to leap for joy. He extended his left arm and placed a hand on Frank's right leg, grasping it tightly.
"Anything is possible, kid," Frank said. "To continue my story, two years ago I met this guy in one of the gay bars down by the harbor. We recognized each other, and he said he was sorry for beating me up in the showers. He offered to make it up to me by fucking my cute butt. Still a smart-ass, but I was surprised to find him in a gay bar. `Thanks, but no thanks', I said."
"I wouldn't have been so hard on him, Frank," Sebastian said. "After all this time, he remembers getting to first base and he still regrets blowing the only chance he had with you. He's too proud to admit it, but I'm sure he's sorry. Besides, you do have a cute butt. You've got to admit he's right about that."
Frank grinned broadly. "What can I say, kid? I'm speechless."
Sebastian squeezed his leg, then let it go.
They were driving past Cook, on the last leg of their journey to Orr. Frank kept his eyes on the road, but said, "You can put your hands on me whenever and wherever you feel like it, Sebastian. I don't have any sympathy for the me-too people, whose puritanical accusations break down trust between friends."
They drove past farms on both sides of Highway 53. "The farms are half Yankee, half Ojibwe," Frank explained. They came to Dame's restaurant. A sign pointed on Nett Lake Road pointed left to the Vince Skute Wildlife Sanctuary, 26 miles. Frank parked the patrol car at Dame's. Sebastian carried his portfolio of `Mr. August's' pictures.
"Coffee and blueberry pie, that's what's good here," Frank said as they sat at a table. "We can get lunch in town later. Orr is just five minutes up the road. But first, I want you to see the bear sanctuary, twenty-six miles up Nett Lake Road."
If they attracted the attention of other patrons in Dame's, it was primarily because of Frank's police uniform, and only secondarily because of Sebastian's colorful fem' manner. Sebastian noticed four Ojibwe elders in a booth, glancing at them. They were elders, but not old. The looked to be early forties. Sebastian walked over to them with the portfolio, and exhibited the sketch of Mr. August'. "I wonder if any of you guys recognize the man in this charcoal sketch," he said.
"Nice picture," one of the elders said. "You did this?"
"I sketched rom a photo, and I'd like to meet the model," Sebastian replied.
"You made this with charcoal?" the second elder asked.
"Yes, charcoal," Sebastian replied. "Go ahead. You can touch it. It's a Xerox copy. I've got the original at home in a frame under glass. You can't touch the real thing because the charcoal will smudge."
"You took a lot of effort to sketch an Ojibwe brave without knowing his name," the third elder observed, skeptically.
"I'd like to know his name, to give the sketch a proper title," Sebastian replied. "And I'd like him to see it. He left his home in Duluth before I had a chance to finish it. I've got a tempura painting of him, too. See!" He exhibited the color reproduction.
"All the way from Duluth!" the fourth elder exclaimed. "Are you sure that this kid isn't in some sort of trouble?" The elders looked at Frank, who waved back at them.
"The only trouble he's in is that he's gone missing," Sebastian said. "I was supposed to give him these copies, but I couldn't find him at home."
"If he's not in trouble with the law, how come you brought the law with you?" the first elder asked.
"That's Frank Zanetti, a detective sergeant in the Duluth police department," Sebastian explained. "If the Ojibwe kid was in trouble, Frank wouldn't have come here in uniform. He's here as a volunteer because the cops couldn't register him as a missing person. Not enough information. Besides, he doesn't have police powers outside the city of Duluth."
"A friend," the second elder said, still skeptical. "What sort of friend?"
"If you really must know, my name is Sebastian Ericson and I'm an artist. The cop's name is Frank Zanetti, and he's my boyfriend."
That caught the elders off guard. "A cop and a charcoal artist. It takes all kinds in Duluth," the third elder said.
"It sure does," Sebastian agreed.
"This is really good work," the fourth elder observed. "Especially the one in color." He got out of the booth and motioned for Sebastian to join them. Then Sebastian was seated between two elders.
The first elder beckoned to Frank, and soon he was seated opposite to Sebastian in the booth, between the third and fourth elders. He called on the waitress to bring more coffee. She brought six fresh cups and a pot full of coffee. The third elder poured coffee all around. The fourth elder said: "This looks like one of Maggie Red Crow's boys."
"You sketched Maggie Red Crow's boy with a certain dignity, not like a Chief Wahoo cartoon and not like a barber-pole Injun," the third elder said.
"I don't do comic images," Sebastian said. "I try to capture the spirit of my subject. Maybe I add a bit of nobility to the portrait, because it's spiritual."
"No elder could have said it better," the first elder said. "I'll show you the way to Maggie Red Crow's farm, in exchange for a ride in your patrol car."
The second elder volunteered to go with them, and so it was agreed.
"We were hoping to visit the bear sanctuary first," Frank said. "I've been there before, but Sebastian hasn't seen it."
"Fine by us," the first elder said.
The elders weren't in a hurry. The wanted to chat with their unusual visitors. And they were forward.
"What does it feel like to have a cop for a boyfriend?" the third elder asked Sebastian.
"Safe," Sebastian said. "Frank is a safety officer."
Everyone laughed, including Frank.
"What does it feel like to have an artist for a boyfriend?" the fourth elder asked Frank.
"Committed," Frank replied. "We haven't known each other very long. We're still getting to know each other. But we're promised to each other."
"Promises are important," the first elder said.
"Young love is important," the second elder said.
Frank wondered how he could get the elders to let them go on their way. Sebastian found a solution: "Come down to Duluth tomorrow for a church picnic. It's at the lighthouse on Sandy Point. You can't miss it. The service starts at 10 AM at the Church of St. John the Beloved near the harbor. The picnic starts just after church. We'll give you a tour of the lighthouse. It's a privately-owned lighthouse, so very few people get to see it."
"And a sauna after hours, if you want to spend the night," Frank added. "We've got plenty of room."
Once again, Sebastian and Frank caught the elders by surprise. Not to be outdone, they promised a demonstration of powwow dances at the picnic.
The bear sanctuary came as a surprise to Sebastian. He had expected to see bears behind a chicken-wire fence. It was the other way around. The bears were free to roam the forest, while visitors watched from a fenced-in platform. The two Ojibwe elders explained the set-up and the history of the sanctuary. It was Orr's main tourist attraction.
"The summer before last, the sanctuary had an exchange student from Oslo, who came to study the habits of black bears," one of the elders remarked.
"Good looker, too," the first elder said. "Blond and blue eyes. The boy, not the bears." The first elder turns out to be Amik Ziibaang, the shaman of the Waabooz (`Rabbit') clan, but that's a story for a later chapter.
Frank and Sebastian stood side by side at the front railing on the platform, observing twenty bears and a half-dozen cubs. The bears came to the sanctuary for daily offerings of food, which was deposited in a shack that was part of an abandoned lumber camp. They seemed to have formed their own peaceful society. They paid little attention to the human spectators. Meanwhile, the elders ignored the bears but stood at a side-rail, observing Frank and Sebastian from a distance.
"Now that we're boyfriend and boyfriend, what are you going to do about it?" Frank asked.
"We needed a cover story," Sebastian replied, defensively.
"You said it first," Frank grinned.
"You said it second," Sebastian retorted.
"Well, if that's our cover story, we'd better make it real, like changing a charcoal sketch into a tempura painting," Frank said.
"Make that an `uncover' story," Sebastian quipped.
"Touché!" Frank exclaimed.
Images of male nudity raced into Sebastian's head. He wondered what Frank would look like naked. He would be physically fit, of course. Trim. All muscle, no fat. Hirsute: enough body-hair to weave a net to harvest wild rice in. A basket full of promises: one jumbo sausage, two eggs purloined from the nest of a bald eagle. Spectacular butt, as was plain to see from the seat of his pants in motion. To be honest about his visualization of parts, Sebastian saved the best for last. His complexion glowed at the possibility that he had talked Frank out of his pants, or himself into them, in the august company of four elders.
Sebastian wrapped an arm around Frank's waist. Frank sidled next to Sebastian. Sebastian slid his hand downward to Frank's butt. Frank put an arm around Sebastian's waist.
"Love birds," the second elder said.
"The younger one has two spirits," the first elder said. "Manitou is with him."
Maggie Red Crow's farm included ninety acres of pasture for fourteen milk-cows, forty acres of flax, a two-acre plot of potatoes, and a large vegetable garden on a slope running down from a two-story Victorian farmhouse. Maggie's younger son, twenty-year-old Peter, ran the farm with the help of two Ojibwe farmhands who lived in a bunkhouse that had its own kitchen. When Frank and Sebastian arrived with two elders, Maggie told them that her older son's name is Simon, and that he had gone to Duluth for a warehouse job in the harbor. She hadn't heard from him for a year.
Sebastian showed her the copies of the charcoal sketch and the painting. "Yes, this is Simon," Maggie said. In the parlor, she opened the lid of a secretary-style desk and took out a bundle of letters from one of the compartments. Each one had a return address.
"Why, that's my address!" Sebastian exclaimed. "But I moved there from the North Shore three weeks ago, so I never met your son, Mrs. Red Crow."
"He might have moved somewhere else on the westside," Frank said. "He might have moved in with a roommate. It's cheaper that way. Many single guys do it. Or he might have found a job in Superior, or Two Harbors. Or Cloquet. The paper factory there was hiring new workers last year at this time."
Frank meant to give the family a reason for hope. Maggie was eager to believe him. Peter Red Crow was skeptical. "I've got something in the barn you should see," he told Frank.
Frank followed Peter to the upper floor of the barn where the bales of hay were stored. He pushed some of the bales aside and uncovered a rusty metal chest. "This is Simon's stuff," he said. Under a pile of old clothes in the chest, he revealed a stash of gay magazines with photos of men having sex.
"Your brother went to Duluth to find himself," Frank said. "I understand. I know something about the gay scene in the Twin Ports. It's part of my job. Maybe we can use Simon's letters to reconstruct his movements."
"There's something you're not telling us," Peter said.
"There is," Frank said. "But it's something you should see, if you can come back to Duluth with us. Maybe you can help us, if you're free to leave the farm for a few days. Or weeks. Don't worry about the expense. I can find a place for you to live for free. Room and board, both free."
Peter Red Crow agreed.
Frank put on a pair of plastic gloves and slid the gay magazines into a clear plastic bag. "Finger prints," he said. He wrapped the plastic bag in an old shirt, so as to conceal the gay images. He stashed them in the trunk of his patrol car.
Back in the farmhouse, Frank helped Maggie and Peter fill out a missing person report'. "Now that Simon is officially missing', we can use the services of the police lab," Frank explained. "And if we find evidence that he went to Superior, we can ask for help from the FBI."
Sebastian chimed in: "You can have the pictures of Simon, Mrs. Red Crow. They're copies. I can bring you two framed copies, if you'd like."
On the return trip to Duluth, Sebastian sat in the back of the patrol car with Peter. He removed a large sketch-book from his portfolio and prepared a line-drawing of Peter seated at an angle in the right side of the car, with his right foot planted on his suitcase such that his right knee was raised high enough to be level with his abdomen. He filled in the line-drawing to make a charcoal sketch, but was dissatisfied with the outcome. "The midsection anatomy isn't right. I screwed up on the angle of your right leg," he told Peter.
"Why are you sketching me naked?" Red Crow asked.
"I do it that way to get a naturalistic figure," Sebastian replied. "I make the figure nude, and add the clothes later. Otherwise it doesn't look like the clothes are being worn by a real person. The first draft is wrong. I have to do a study of your midsection." He started a new line-drawing.
Red Crow looked at the drawing of his body from abdomen to knees. "It's not really my midsection, since you're drawing it naked," he said.
"Of course not, since you're dressed," Sebastian said. "It's like modeling in low resolution, so I add anatomical details, maybe idealized, but in high resolution."
"What if I give you some skin?" Peter asked.
"Not in the patrol car, guys," Frank said. "Keep your pants on, Red Crow."
"Have you ever sketched a nude model?" Red Crow asked Sebastian.
"Never. No one on the North Shore ever even heard of art models, and besides, I don't have enough money to hire a model," Sebastian replied.
"I'll model for you for free, Sebastian," Red Crow said.
For the first time, Sebastian made a friend his own age.