Jackson Lamont sat on the seat of his snowmobile and lit a cigar.
"Shouldn't we be getting on the move," Simon Hirst suggested.
"It is starting to get dark and its starting to snow."
Jackson blew out a cloud of white smoke. "You never did have much of a set of balls on you, did you Simon. Bit of a spineless little fuck you are."
"Look, Jackson, I have apologized a thousand times for my fuck up. What more do you want me to do?"
"I want you to man up, you fucking pansy. I give you one simple little task. One little task and you can't even get that right."
Jackson picked a bottle of Glenfiddich from the snow and opened it.
"One little task."
He took a mouthful and stared at his son in law.
"Okay, okay. I know I fucked up. But these people are not ordinary people. The men and women of Tuckamore Bay are like fucking mercenaries. They are all fucking crazy."
"They are just men and women," Jackson yelled.
"Fucking Newfoundland outport hillbillies. A bunch of illiterate backwoods fucks. All you had to do was go in there, flash around a few dollars and get their fucking signatures on a fucking piece of paper."
"I did my best."
Jackson stood up and walked to Simon.
"You were outsmarted by a bunch of fucking hillbillies."
He passed the bottle of scotch to Simon.
"Have a drink."
"I have had enough."
Jackson leaned in close to Simon.
"If you can't act like a man, the fucking least you can do is drink like a fucking man."
He shoved the bottle in Simon's hands.
"Now drink the fucking scotch."
Simon took a deep drink, as Jackson walked back toward the fire.
"Whatever came into that fucking peabrain of yours, anyway. You go into Tuckamore Bay with a bunch of oversized goons and try to intimidate them."
"You told me to use whatever I had to, to get the job done."
Jackson turned slowly.
"I thought you would use your fucking brain. Use it for some good, instead of simply filling that hollow space in your skull."
He laughed, as he drew hard on his cigar.
"I should have known fucking better. You are a fucking failure, in every way."
"I do the best I can, Jackson. You just set your sights too high."
"You are married to my daughter. I worked all my fucking life to give her the best of everything. All I wanted was for her to meet some decent guy, pop me out a couple grandchildren and when I die, take over my business empire."
Jackson laughed as he, once again, drew heavily on his cigar, turning it in his mouth, as he did.
"And who does she choose. Of all the men in the fucking world, she chose you. A fucking loser, who can't get shit right."
Simon stood up.
"I have done okay. Look how well the businesses were doing, before you sold them all off."
Jackson shook his head.
"They weren't sold off, you dumb fuck. I set up a dummy company and bought them myself. I had to buy back my own fucking companies.
And the only reason they were doing as well as they were is because I made sure that competent people were running them.
Do you honestly feel you had anything to do with the success of those companies.
You're not even man enough to get my daughter pregnant."
Simon took another drink of scotch, spilling some over his chin, in his angered haste.
"Well maybe if you weren't always putting pressure on me, I would have done better.
But no. I had to be always reminded that I was not as good as the almighty Jackson Lamont.
The king of the prairies. Jackson Lamont.
The man who turned fucking cow-shit into an empire worth billions."
Simon shook his head.
"Do you know what it is like, standing in your fat fucking shadow?"
Simon took another drink, his words starting to slur.
"Fucking cold and fucking dark.
And maybe the only reason you don't have a grandchild is because, even in fucking bed, I was compared to the great Jackson Lamont. As sick as that sounds."
Jackson laughed, as he walked to Simon and snatched the bottle from his hand.
"You can't even hold your liquor, like a man.
Sit down, before you fall down."
Simon awkwardly pushed Jackson's back.
"You know what, Jack-off. Fuck you."
Jackson turned around.
"Sit the fuck down," he demanded.
Simon poked Jackson, in the chest, with his finger.
"Make me."
Jackson started laughing.
"Fuck you," Simon yelled, as he took a wild swing at Jackson.
Jackson stepped aside, as Simon stumbled forward, falling face first into the snow.
"Fucking pathetic," Jackson sneered, standing over Simon. He kicked his son in law in the ass.
"Get up, you fucking shit."
Simon got slowly to his knees and brushed the snow from his face.
Jackson took one last drink of scotch and threw the bottle into the forest.
"Get the shit packed up. We best get going."
"I'm sorry Jackson," Simon whispered.
"So am I, Simon," Jackson nodded, not turning.
"I will do better. I will make you proud," he assured his father in law, as he got to his feet, brushing off the rest of the snow.
"I will be the man you and Gail want me to be."
Jackson turned, a slight smile on his face.
"I am sure you will, Simon."
He walked to Simon and put his hand on his shoulder.
"I know I have been hard on you, but I promise, it stops today.
From now on, I will treat you with respect and if you allow me, I will help you be that man."
He offered Simon his hand.
The two men shook hands.
"Thank you, Jackson."
"Now," Jackson sighed.
"Why don't you go on ahead. Pack up your gear and I make sure the fire is out. We don't need this forest burning around us."
"I don't know the way," Simon explained, as he closed his knapsack.
Jackson turned Simon around.
"See the cabin, over there, just to your right."
Simon squinted, but could not see any cabin. But he was not about to disappoint his father in law, again.
"Yea, I see it. How do I get there?"
Jackson patted Simon on the back.
"Go straight across the pond. That's the quickest way."
"Is it safe?"
Jackson laughed, as he took Simon's backpack and secured it to the back of his snowmobile.
"Simon, my son, you could drive a loaded semi across that pond right now. That ice has to be three feet thick."
Simon nodded.
"Okay. I will see you on the other side."
Jackson patted Simon's back.
"Yes you will, my son."
Jackson turned and walked toward the fire.
He did not turn when he heard the sound of Simon's snowmobile start.
He bent down to pick up his knapsack off the snow, as he heard Simon drive off.
He had just strapped the knapsack on the back of his snowmobile, when he heard the crack, of the ice and heard a screeching yell, echoing through the forest.
He walked to the fire and kicked snow onto it, until he was sure the flames were out and the embers smothered.
He walked to the spot where the scotch bottle had landed and he picked it up.
He wanted no signs left behind.
Slowly he walked to the edge of the ice covered pond. He could see the fresh track, that Simon's snowmobile had made.
It stopped abruptly, about a hundred feet from shore, where Jackson could plainly see an open spot in the ice.
"Simon," he yelled.
"Simon?"
His voice echoed through the forest, but there was no answer.
A slight rising of steam, from the cold waters of the pond was all that could be seen.
Jackson stood, watching the open water, as he finished his cigar. He then snuffed it out, on a nearby tree and crumbled what was left, throwing it aside. He walked back to his snowmobile. He put on his goggles, his mitts and started the snowmobile. He took one last look toward the pond.
"Yea, Simon. I will see you on the other side."
Jackson started the snowmobile and turned around, retracing the path he and Simon had taken to the pond. He turned to his right and began following the well marked trail, through the forest, that would take him to his cabin, about a mile away, near another pond, that connected to the one he just left.
The connector stream , between the two ponds, made travel across the pond extremely dangerous, as the ice in the middle of the pond never really froze completely.
A fact that Jackson knew very well.
When he arrived at the cabin, he got settled in, started a fire, in the fireplace, had some dinner, an after dinner drink and then he made a cellphone call to the RCMP office, in High Prairie, reporting that his son in law had gotten lost somehow and not made it to the cabin.
The RCMP said they would do their best to get there, but an incoming storm would probably delay any search party for at least a day.
The area was expecting upwards of 40 centimetres of snow and high winds.
Another fact that Jackson was aware of. He knew the snow would cover all the tracks and any evidence, that he and Simon had been anywhere near the second pond.
The RCMP wondered if Jackson had ample supplies to ride out the storm.
He assured them that he had. And considering the fact that he had been to the cabin a week earlier and completely stocked it, he knew he would be okay, even if the storm lasted a couple weeks.
Jackson told the RCMP that he would try and look for his son in law, in the morning, as his son in law was not accustomed to being in the wilderness.
He had no intention of moving from the cabin.
Jackson ended the call, as the winds and snow were messing up the reception.
He laid the cellphone on the table, by the bottle of scotch and lit another cigar.
He knew Gail would be in Mexico for another week and he had no intentions of even trying to get hold of her. He was more than prepared to sit in the cabin and wait out the storm.
Jackson also knew, very well, that even when the search party checked the surrounding area, it would be very unlikely that they would venture near the second pond. The trail to Jackson's cabin continued on for miles, deeper into the forest, where other hunting cabins were. The trail ended at the banks of Peace River.
That would be where Jackson would send the search party.
Jackson picked up a glass of scotch and walked to a window of the cabin, looking outside. Even though it was dark, he could see the snow swirling around, just outside the window.
He raised the glass.
"Rest in peace, Simon. You fucking bull testicle."
The storm lasted four days, dumping nearly sixty centimetres of snow through the area.
Jackson had to be taken out from his cabin by helicopter, flown in from High Prairie, as the deep snow made transportation by snowmobile, almost impossible.
It would be weeks before any real search could be mounted.