Turning a corner, his goal was in sight. Between two sandstone Sentinels, a small Hogan structure snuggled in their shadow, protected from the winds of the open valley. The babbling of a creek created by an artesian well reached his ears. He dragged his tongue over his dry lips where he could feel the grit of sand making him wish even more that he had water. At the edge of the clearing, he stopped and stood waiting, as custom demanded, for the homeowner to invite him in. A few minutes later, a Navajo man stepped out. He studied the uninvited guest for a moment before motioning to him to come forward then he turned and retreated back into his abode.
Adam pushed aside the blanket covering the entrance. “God! I need a drink, Hal, and I don’t mean water. Something stronger, definitely a lot stronger.”
“You saw Eagle.” Harold Willowman moved to the tiny kitchen. He had to stand on tiptoe to reach the can on the shelf over the small propane stove. “I’ll make coffee.”
Adam paced the narrow space like a caged animal, but Willowman was immune to the younger man’s nervous energy. “He treated me like shit. Paranoid, angry…, and…, and he stank like rancid booze. He smelled like he hadn’t bathed in a week! Fuck!”
Willowman nodded, but remained silent. He knew when he accepted the younger man’s request to be his sponsor that Adam was going to be a handful. But the boy, the man half his age, was trying hard to stay sober and clean. He knew Adam needed to vent his frustration and he let him.
“I can’t take this, Hal. I thought when I saw him that we could talk. I thought I could explain why I left. Tell him what happened, but he’s like all of this is my fault. Jesus!” Suddenly, Adam dropped to the floor to sit cross-legged. “Carlos, Eagle’s cousin, told me to divorce him, but I don’t want a divorce. I want Eagle.” Adam buried his face in his hands. “Hell, I can’t even afford a lawyer. How can I get a divorce?”
Willowman handed his sponsee a cup of over brewed coffee. Adam took a sip and grimaced at the bitterness and burnt aroma before setting the cup aside. He watched as Coulter jumped up again and began to pace in the small space. Wise eyes watched him as he calmly sipped his coffee. He leaned back in his broken recliner. The leg rest mechanism hadn’t worked for at least five years. His head turned as he followed Adam with his eyes, waiting for him to grow weary, expelling his nervous energy. Eventually, Adam settled and returned to his place on the floor at the older man’s feet, now silent and ready to listen.
Hal Willowman looked down at him and sighed. Sometimes the young made everything so complicated. He thought. He waited with compassionate eyes. The pain Adam exuded was palpable, now he waited for the younger man to figure out his only real course of action. Finally, he saw Adam’s shoulders sag with resignation.
Adam looked up at his AA sponsor and sighed. “I know, I should go to a meeting, sit there and shut up, right? And I might find the answers I am looking for.” Adam shook his head, “And it’s not all about me. I can’t make a personal amends to Eagle right now. I need to wait until he can listen without all the pain or I’ll end up doing more harm than good by offering it.”
Willowman nodded. He stood, pulling back the rug covering the doorway to his home. He waited until the younger man reluctantly climbed to his feet, then escorted Adam to the path between the rocks before he spoke. “Why were you out here, Adam? This is a long way to drive just to talk with me about what you already knew.”
“Oh,” Adam looked away. “The Rez Police called me in to consult on a murder victim found at the new casino site this morning.”
Hal frowned, “Casino site? I saw lights out there about midnight when I was coming back from the city. I thought it was strange, but I didn’t go out there to check on it.”
“You should contact Lieutenant Carlos Aiello from the Reservation Police and tell them what you saw. It could help.”
Hal shook Adam’s hand. “I will think about what you’ve said, Adam. I have to go to my grandson’s graduation later today. He’s smart. He’s going to be a doctor if the family can find the money to help him.”
For once, the gravity of losing his wealth weighed on Adam. Two years ago, he could’ve paid the young man’s expenses, maybe even his tuition, but the consequences of his actions had taken their toll on him physically and on his pocketbook. He felt helpless to assist the old man who worked with him to keep him sober. “Don’t give up hope, Hal. I might be able to help. I’ll talk to my sister. She might be willing to donate to the cause…, that is, if she’s still speaking to me. I left on some shaky ground with her as well.”
“It is not up to you to help my family. It is mine. I’m going to seek out a loan. Just like you, I take it one day at a time. One step at a time. I am powerless to control anything. All I can do is fill out the paperwork and pray to my higher power. Now, remember to eat, Adam. You’re too thin. I worry about you.” He waved goodbye as the younger man walked away.
Willowman slowly made his way over uneven ground as he returned to his home. He considered whether or not to follow Coulter’s advice. He’d promised himself many years ago to practice rigorous honesty, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to get involved. He hadn’t told Adam the truth. He had gone down the road. He knew the owners of the car and the van with headlights glaring brightly in the night. He had watched from a distance as the two men placed wrapped objects on the ground. Willowman was almost certain no one saw him…, almost, and for now, he wanted to leave it that way.
Chapter Three
“You two idiots. What the hell am I going to do with you?” Nelson Greybill paced the area behind his desk as he tossed a baseball in the air. With every step, he’d throw it up and catch it with his right hand. His left hand held a similar ball, but it’s covering was more pitted and scarred than the first. “I sent my guys out to clean up your little mess, but by the time they got out there the place was swarming with cops.”
Greybill’s silver ponytail draped over his shoulder as he turned. He was tall, but it didn’t matter because the two men he was addressing were on their knees. Matching giants in black suits that strained almost to the breaking point over their bulging muscles, held them down. It was obvious these two could easily snap their captives in half, if Nelson Greybill ordered it. The man motioned to the two behemoths to get the bruised men on their feet.
“No, you couldn’t just take that fucker’s body out into the desert and dump it where no one would find it. You couldn’t let the coyotes and buzzards take his worthless carcass down to bones. No, you had to put him on my land!” The baseball hit the first man in the stomach so hard, he dropped to the floor like he’d been shot. Greybill had been All-American when he pitched for the University of New Mexico. He’d had aspirations to go to the big leagues, but life had a funny way of putting him on a much more profitable path. His pitch still clocked in at 85 miles per hour on a bad day.
David Nixon writhed in pain at his employer’s feet. He coughed and wretched as he curled up, knees to chest. Tears flowed down his face.
“And you!” Greybill focused his anger at the second man. He tossed the baseball from left to right. “You helped him! You, stupid fuck!” The ball came at Jacob Case with exacting precision. Jacob’s eyes widened with disbelief as he fell. “If you weren’t my sisters’ kids, I’d kill you both right now.”
He looked at his security team. “Stand them up.” As the men followed his orders, he grabbed two more balls from the shelf behind his desk. Turning them over in his hands, he remembered the games he’d won with them. 17-6 against Arizona State sat in his left palm. Graceland University Pirates had gone down without a run the year he’d pitched for the New Mexico Lobos, but the memories didn’t stop him from drawing back his right arm and again hitting David Nixon in the gut. The young man cried out as the air rushed from his chest. A second later, Jacob lay on the floor next to him as he lost the burger he’d had for lunch.
“You’re going to fix this. I don’t need the cops snooping around me. I don’t care what you have to do, but you two college b
oys figure it out, and I don’t want to know the plan. All I want to see are results.” Both young men nodded through tears and groans. Nelson Greybill looked at the two men in black. “Get them out of here.” He wrinkled his nose at the foul smell of the vomit on his rug. “And get someone in here to clean this up. I have to go see my lawyer.”
Chapter Four
Carlos had been right. In the enclosed confines of his truck, even he could smell himself. What the hell is wrong with me? Eagle grimaced as he ran the shower to cold. One doctor called it depression and suggested he stop drinking. Like that’s going to happen. Another suggested it was untreated PTSD from his time on the battlefield. Now Adam Coulter was back in his life. For better or worse, he wasn’t going away. Seeing him at the crime scene was a double edged sword. He felt the pull toward him. The desire to be with him and it made him angry with himself. Of course, he’d taken it out on everyone else, especially Adam.
Drying off, he didn’t bother to drape the towel around his waist. No one else lived in his big house. He’d driven his son, Michael, and his boyfriend out of the house a few nights ago. It had been the hardest thing he ever had to do, but house rules were house rules. You cleaned up after yourself. You can’t bring your boyfriend to live here and have sex. Other people shouldn’t have to listen to you. No smoking or drugs in the house, though he expected Adam had broken that rule plenty when they lived together. Curfew 2 am, if late, sleep somewhere else. Even Adam had to follow the rules when he had lived there.
Eagle rubbed his face and decided he needed a shave. Even he could see that he was starting to look like some homeless guy. Lathering his face, he picked up his razor, then paused, looking at the visage in the mirror. He and Michael had argued over Rico, the boyfriend. He didn’t like the guy and when the young man saw him pop a couple of pain pills for his back, he had offered to get him more. The part that condemned him was the fact he’d hesitated before telling Rico no. He had wanted to knock that sly smirk off the little bastard’s face, but instead, he let him walk away. Since then, Rico had looked at him with that same sneer, like he knew something and Eagle was afraid of what that something was.
Eagle shaved and rinsed his face. A little deodorant and he knew he was again presentable to civilized society. He went to his closet, picking out a clean pair of trousers and beige button up shirt. Most of the time he went commando and today wasn’t going to be any different. Brown socks and sturdy work shoes capped off the look. Before he closed the closet door, he squatted down, then reached back into the dark recesses. He felt for the secret panel he’d cut into the back wall several years ago. His fingers told him nothing had been disturbed. His dirty little secret was still safe.
Heading for the front door, he checked his phone. Only one message from Rick Kessler and he could guess what that was about. They’d broken up six months ago after Rick found out that the details of his failures during the Mai Ling serial killer case were made public to his bosses. He’d blamed Adam at first, but when the truth came out, Senator Martin Woodard was the instigator of the investigation into the allegations. Rick had come through, bloodied, but not beaten. He’d accepted a position with the local FBI branch. Ted Borkowski, his partner, had resigned, citing the need to be with his wife who died one month later, and Helen Bradley quit two months after that. Rumor had it, they were dating.
Strapping his holster around his waist, he tucked his service weapon into place. His badge fitted into the indentation on the leather and he was ready. Wallet in his back pocket, he grabbed his phone and keys before heading out the door.
*****
It took 20 minutes to get from home to the station if he drove the speed limit, but that rarely happened. He knew the rest of the day would be spent on paperwork, despite the fact that this morning’s case would belong to the FBI. Captain Shelby called and left a voicemail stating he was to assist the FBI in their inquiries. When he called back to protest, his Captain hadn’t cut him any slack. He was on probation after getting into a bar fight with one of the mayor’s aides. The guy had been a jerk. One of the few who didn’t bother to hide his homophobia. Normally, Eagle would just ignore it, but after a bad day at work and a few drinks his better judgement took a holiday.
As he pulled into his parking spot, he paused and stared out at the grey concrete in front of him. Rick Kessler and Adam Coulter were enough to deal with in one day and there were still three hours to go before he was officially off the clock. Could things really get any worse and if they did, would he survive without killing someone? Getting out of the truck, Eagle stretched. His lower back was killing him. Stress and bouncing around on unpaved roads in a vehicle without decent suspension were taking its toll. He would’ve taken a sick day if he had any left.
Swiping the ID badge on his lanyard allowed him entry into the APD’s inner sanctum. He liked to think of the place as being in a state of perpetual organized chaos. Eagle smiled. Who was he kidding, there was no organization in sight. Co-workers called out his name and waved. He would smile and nod, but today he didn’t feel like stopping to talk. One quick detour through the breakroom got him a relatively hot cup of coffee as he headed for his desk. Eagle stood there and shook his head. If anything, the pile of papers had grown exponentially since he’d left them this morning. Scooting some to the side, he found a place for his cup before settling into his desk chair. Eagle looked at the pile and decided to make some headway by sorting the pages and envelopes into manageable groups.
Forms-to-be-completed in one mound. Interdepartmental envelopes in another. Reports due in another. Lips pursed, he started to work. The forms-to-be-completed pile was the easiest and the smallest. The Interdepartmental envelopes bore various requests from choosing new health insurance to a reminder for him to complete his weapons recertification. That one gave him a bit of a chuckle. Last year, he’d taught the guy running the class. Why didn’t they just have him do it? Lab results, autopsy reports from past cases, forensics reports got paperclipped together.
As he got down to the last of the envelopes, he noticed that one was not from any other department. It was white and unmarked. Eagle frowned. Instead of the usual metal clasp, this one was sealed. Curious, he took a small knife from his desk. Prying the blade between the edges of the seal, he cut it open. Pulling out the contents, his expression hardened. At first, he didn’t know what the photograph in his hands meant, then he recognized the two naked young people having sex. Eagle’s hands began to shake. He flipped the picture over. The words and date on the back confirmed his worst fears. Like father, like son. Who’s Michael’s Daddy? If you testify against Nelson Greybill, the world will know.
Eagle tucked the photo back into the white envelope. He knew protocol was to tell his superiors about the attempted blackmail, but he needed to talk to both of the people in the picture before he turned it in. He knew where to find Adam Coulter, but Michael’s mother would be harder to reach. Last time they’d spoken she was heading to Peru on business. Being in international law sent her on the road frequently. As a final resort, he’d call Michael to get a contact for Margarite. Envelope in hand, he practically ran from the squad room. In his mind, Adam Coulter was a dead man.
Chapter Five
The park leading to Adam Coulter’s office was cool. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the centuries old oaks making the dappled sunlight dance. Adam had traversed this route thousands of times through the years, but at the end of the month the office he had loved for the past 10 years would be history. Just another victim of his heroin and alcohol addictions. He stopped and looked around, trying to take it all in. The breeze, the trees, the people, some of whom he knew. This was just one of the many sacrifices he had been forced to make since completely screwing up his life over a year ago. Adam sighed and shook his head. As he started toward the building, a familiar voice called out, stopping him.
“Adam…, Uncle Adam! Oh, man, you’re back!” Michael Woodard rushed forward wrapping the man he called Uncle since his birth
in a tight bear hug, almost lifting him off his feet. Michael pulled back, face and eyes lit with exuberant joy at seeing him. “Oh, my God, you look….” Michael hesitated taking in his uncle’s appearance, “well, a bit thin, but otherwise, pretty good.” Adam didn’t shy away when Michael touched his face. “The scar gives you character. Not such a pretty boy anymore. Makes you look…, tough and I love the new look with the hair.” The younger man tousled a strand of Adam’s long, dark hair.
“You too, dude.” Adam waved his hand, taking in all the changes in Michael. He smiled, loving the fact that most of the members of Eagle’s family he’d run into were happy to see him. “You look taller.”
“Yeah…, yeah…, Final growth spurt. 6’1” now.” He brushed his almost waist length hair back, “Decided to go Native. Dad hates it, of course, but screw him. I love it.”
A young Hispanic man in his early twenties stepped up beside Michael then casually draped his arm over the young man’s shoulders. He eyed Adam. A lascivious smile creased his lips. “Hello, who is this?”
Michael smiled before quickly kissing the other man. He turned back to Adam. “Uncle Adam, this is Rico, my boyfriend.”
The young man stuck out his free hand and Coulter shook it. “Boyfriend?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right, you weren’t here for the Great Coming Out Fourth of July picnic. There were fireworks in more ways than one.”
Rico took up the tale. “Yeah, you’d think having a gay Dad would make it easy, but Michael’s old man kinda lost it.”
Michael looked down, obviously embarrassed, “It’s okay. He was just a bit drunk. I mean, I said some things…, he said some things. We’re cool now.”
Mountainway Chant Page 3
