I waved my fork at her. “In a minute,” I said.

So that’s that, I told myself while I finished my pie. You have what you came for. It’s time to go home.

A few minutes later the old man pointed his half-eaten cheeseburger at the map. “Do you have it all figured out yet?” he asked.

I shrugged.

“Let me show you what I have,” Jimmy said.

He knelt on the cushions below the plywood and explained it to me. According to the GPS trackers, trucks A and B both left the terminal in Krueger at about the same time, 10:00 A.M. They went to a spot marked in blue near Lake Vermilion, where they stayed for about thirty minutes each. Truck A went east and north across the Arrowhead region, stopping a half-dozen times along the way—never lingering for more than fifteen minutes—until it arrived in Grand Portage in the corner of the state where Minnesota, Canada, and Lake Superior met. It made frequent stops after that in Grand Marais, Lutsen, Tofte, and Silver Bay as it followed the lake south; each stop was also marked in blue, most of them corresponding to Jimmy’s red circles. It turned northwest again, making several stops in Ely before returning to Lake Vermilion. It rested there for half an hour before driving south to the Krueger terminal, arriving at 7:21 P.M.

Meanwhile, Truck B went northwest from Lake Vermilion, driving nonstop to Baudette, a city near the center of Minnesota located on the U.S. side of the Rainy River. It then worked its way to International Falls, Littlefork, Big Falls, Effie, Cook, and Tower before returning to Lake Vermilion and finally Krueger at 7:27 P.M.

Truck C, on the other hand, did not leave the terminal until 1:00 P.M. It also went first to Lake Vermilion before backtracking south, stopping in Aurora, Biwabik, McKinley, Mountain Iron, and Virginia—there were plenty of stops in Virginia. It returned to Lake Vermilion, waited nearly forty-five minutes, and drove all the way to Duluth. It did not return to the Krueger terminal until almost three hours after the other trucks.

While Jimmy was able to identify every stop—there were bank branches, department stores, grocery stores, you name it—he could not identify the location near Lake Vermilion.

“That’s the Fortune Bay Casino,” Roy said.

“No,” Jimmy said. He tapped a spot on the map several miles away. “The casino is over here on the west side of Pike Bay, and none of the Mesabi Security trucks drive there. We’re over here on the east side of the bay.”

“Then what is it?” Skarda asked.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t have an address. There’s a road leading to it here off Highway 1, but this is where the maps, the satellite pictures, stop. I can’t get up the road.”

I stood in front of the map, staring at the blue dot Jimmy had drawn there. I actually felt a thrill of excitement ripple through my body as I thought of it.

“What do you think?” Roy asked.

I handed him my empty plate and fork. “I have to get dressed. You kids play quietly while I’m away.”

The old man made a production out of popping open a beer can using only his middle finger.

“I saw that,” I said.

I retreated into the bathroom, where I took my time making myself presentable, all the while thinking, now’s the time—jump in the Jeep Cherokee and get the hell out before you cause any more damage. I tapped the left pocket of my jeans where the cell phone was and the right pocket where I carried the car key.

While I was dressing, I heard a commotion from the cabin, voices raised in greeting, yet did not understand what was said. When I emerged from the bathroom, I found Claire de Lune eating a cheeseburger in the kitchen while chatting with Jill and Josie. Liz was sitting on the sofa with Skarda in the living room—they were holding hands and talking quietly. Roy and the old man were behaving like long-lost army buddies, and Jimmy was sitting on the second sofa and tossing an infant in the air and catching him in the way that I found alarming, although both he and the child seemed to be having a wonderful time. It was just one big happy family sharing a pleasant Sunday afternoon together. Watching them, listening to them, it occurred to me how absurd it all was—ridiculous, simple-minded, self-aggrandizing, and brain-dead stupid. We lost our jobs, so let’s rob an armored car. If that doesn’t work, we can rob a bank. Then what, I wondered. Live happily ever after?

Time to say good-bye, my inner voice said.

“What’s wrong with this picture?” I said aloud. I liked the sound of the words so much that I repeated them, this time tossing in a few expletives. That silenced the room.

“Are you people crazy?” I shouted for good measure.

“What is it?” Skarda asked.

“What is it? You brought your ex-wife to the hideout where you’re planning to commit a federal crime.”

“She’s not my ex-wife—”

“You”—I was talking to Jimmy now—“you bring a child, you bring a woman who’s connected to the local punk?”