Death Etched in Stone

by C. M. Wendelboe

  “Salmon,” Manny said, and wrapped his scarf around his neck. “You know, the one thing I didn’t see on that tape,” he said as he buttoned his coat, “was that fight you got into with that other woman. You know, the fight that’s closed your eye and bruised your cheek.”

  She looked away. “It must be on that part of the recoding that’s missing.”

  “Sure,” Manny said. “That’s gotta be it.”

  Chapter 15

  Once outside, Manny turned his back to the wind as he flipped his cell phone open. “Any luck finding Tony Charging Bear?”

  There was a long silence at the other end before Willie came on again. “I had to wait until the lieutenant was out of the room. I tried finding Tony.” Silence again. “I went to his farm. Nada. And as much trouble as he’s been in with Wind River and Rapid City, there’s not a single contact here on the rez.” Rustling of papers on the other end of the line. “Give me his description.”

  “He’s about my age. Taller: five-ten, five-eleven. A bit thinner than his brother Neville, but looks like him—”

  “I’ve never seen him either.”

  “He’s got long hair. He wears it in a braid sometimes, according to Bobo.”

  “Have you connected Tony to the stolen car?” Willie asked.

  “Bobo said Tony left the bar shortly before it was stolen. And Tony has no car of his own, but he can use Neville’s whenever he wants.”

  “Jesa, “Willie said, “His farm’s only a mile from Oglala Lake. Maybe he did take Bobo’s POS car. And it’s pretty coincidental it crapped out at the lake.”

  “If Tony didn’t take Bobo’s car, he might have gotten a ride with whoever did. We need to talk with him.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Willie whispered. “The lieutenant’s got me tied up doing boring drug interviews. It’ll be a pleasure to slip away for a while. If I can.”

  “Don’t get caught.”

  “You know it,” Willie said. “If the lieutenant finds out I’m helping you when I got tribal cases backed up, he’ll have me on animal control.”

  “Woof! Woof!” Manny closed his phone and walked past the barber shop. He ran his hand over what hair he had, frizzed up the sides, shaggy in back, too shabby if he was going to be Willie’s best man. He went inside.

  “Have a seat,” an old man in a stained white lab coat called from a desk in the back of the room. His ill-fitting teeth chattered together. “Might have a little wait.” He sat facing the door, an open Hustler partially hiding his face.

  Manny sat, the only patron in the shop, waiting for his trim. He picked up a Rapid City Journal and noted the date was three weeks ago. He dropped it, and picked up another paper, this one a month old. He dropped it on the table by the chair along with a National Geographic missing the front page. Old pervert probably tore off the cover featuring naked aborigines, by the way he’s absorbed with the Hustler.

  After a ten-minute wait, the barber tossed the magazine on the desk top and stood. He flipped magnifying lenses down over his regular glasses and limped around the desk. Even at this distance, Manny thought he heard the old man’s joints pop. He caught Manny eyeing the Hustler. “People say they buy magazines like that for the articles,” he said. “But I actually do. This month’s Asshole of the Month is Senator—Say, you ain’t from the state board? Come around doing an inspection?”

  “I’m just here for a light trim.”

  The old man sighed. “If you insist. Sit up here before someone else takes your place.”

  Manny sat in a padded porcelain barber chair, an antique that the man could have sold and retired on. “You’re new around here,” he said as he grabbed clippers from a drawer. He pumped a foot pedal and the chair rose several inches. “You’re just a mite cleaner than most of the rummies that come in expecting a free trim.”

  “Thanks for the compliment. I think.”

  The barber stepped back, holding the clippers at arm’s length, getting just the right distance to focus. Manny felt like he should bolt when the first pass along the back of his neck pulled hair. “Oh, crap.”

  “ ‘Crap’ what?”

  The old man stepped around to the side and squinted. “Don’t worry. It can be fixed.”

  “What can be fixed?”

  He patted Manny on the shoulder. “Don’t worry.”

  He dropped the clippers in the drawer and grabbed another.

  “Are you open here every day?” Manny asked.

  “Sure. So if you want to come back for a trim next week, I’ll most likely be open. Hell, I live out back. You could say I’m open twenty-four hours. A twenty-four-hour barber shop.” The old man laughed, and another pull of Manny’s hair. “Oh, crap.”

  “Another ‘crap’?”

  “Don’t worry. I can fix it.”

  Manny turned in the seat. “You weren’t up and around two nights ago when Bobo Groves next door had his car stolen?”

  “What car?”

  “A multi-colored Cavalier.”

  The old man frowned, and Manny made sure he was out of clipper range. “I see they brought the hunk of scrap metal back.”

  “The Pine Ridge tribal police returned it to Bobo after it was recovered. You know anything about it?”

  “The best thing someone could do is fill it with dirt and make a big terrarium out of it. Same for that place Bobo Groves calls a bar. I call it a den of iniquity.”

  “Problems?”

  “Not for me. I rarely get any of Bobo’s customers. It’s just that I detest having strippers on my block.”

  He caught Manny eyeing the Hustler again. “That magazine’s different, I just—”

  “Read the articles.”

  The old man nodded and assaulted Manny’s head again. Two more passes and he stepped back to assess the damage. “Looks pretty good.”

  Manny checked himself in the mirror as best he could. The front didn’t look so bad, but he couldn’t see the back good enough. Manny paid the five dollars and tipped two.

  The old man laughed, and Manny waited for an explanation while he put his coat on. “Not only are you the second customer today—almost a record—you’re the second one that tipped me. Now that is a record. It’s the first time Charging Bear’s ever tipped me.”

  Manny was midway into putting his coat on when he turned to the barber. “You say Charging Bear?”

  The old man nodded. “All he ever wants is a little trim ’long the sides. This time, he had his braids cut off.”

  “What time was that?”

  The old barber looked at the water-stained ceiling for the answer. “About an hour ago.”

  “About the time the old white-haired guy was finishing off his breakfast at McDonald’s,” Manny said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing.” Manny walked out the door and headed straight for the D&D. Tony Charging Bear must have been inside the bar when Manny was there, perhaps crashing in the back room like Bobo said Tony did now and again. But Bobo had said nothing about it.

  At the D&D, Manny stopped just short of the door and stepped aside as two men, dollar bills sticking out of their shirt pockets, brushed past him and went inside. He started going in but closed the door before he did. Bobo told me he hadn’t seen Tony since the night his car was stolen. So, he lied: Why? Manny walked to his car. Bobo wouldn’t know that Manny knew he’d lied about Tony, and Manny thought it better to keep it that way. For now.

  Chapter 16

  Manny parked beside a ranch truck outside the CBH Cooperative building. The wind caught remnants of yesterday’s feeding, wisps of straw drifting across the air and settling on his government Malibu. Manny brushed straw out of his hair, and paused to look at a Collie dog lying in the truck’s bed awaiting his master’s return. Manny reached out to pet the dog when the owner emerged from the co-op.r />
  “Maybe you oughtn’t do that, buddy.”

  Come on, Manny thought, We Lakota have a way with animals, and jerked back just as the critter lunged at his outthrust hand. The dog’s teeth caught Manny’s glove and drug it off his hand. The dog dropped it at his feet and sat snarling up at Manny, daring him to retrieve it.

  “I ought to let Josie keep your damned glove.” The farmer reached over the bed of the truck. He grabbed the glove between Josie’s feet, and tossed it to Manny. He thought he heard the farmer mumble “damned Indians” under his breath just before he slammed the door and sped out of the parking lot.

  Manny asked the clerk inside where Able Ought to worked, and she pointed him through the door that read Co-Op Employees Only and into the shop area. “He’ll be the cheery one under a Farmall tractor. He’ll have a greasy Hubbard Feeds cap on.”

  Manny passed an Allis-Chalmers diesel and a Massey, to the only Farmall in the shop. “Are you Able Ought?” Manny asked the set of legs sticking out from under the transmission.

  “Who the hell wants to know?” the mechanic asked.

  Manny squatted down and looked eye-to-Hubbard Feeds hat. “FBI. I got some questions I need to ask you.”

  The man grabbed onto the frame of the tractor and slid out from under on a creeper. He sat on the edge and wiped his hand on an oily shop rag that was at least as dirty as his hands. He extended his hand and smiled as Manny shook it, the grime oozing between his fingers. “Now what the hell do the feds want with me?”

  “Tell me about the fight at the D&D three nights ago.”

  Able laughed and he winced in pain. He took off his oily ball cap and turned so Manny could see the top of his head. A large bump and nasty black bruise showed through his wispy brown hair. “It wasn’t much of a fight.”

  “So the surveillance showed. It also shows you grabbed Tony Charging Bear by the hair before Bobo whacked you with his tire billy. Did you report Bobo?”

  Able looked quickly around the maintenance area. “And lose my job?” he whispered. “The owner’s a strict Lutheran. He gets wind I was in a titty bar—even if it was just to have it out with Tony—and I’m out on my ear.”

  Manny leaned back against the tractor and caught himself, but not before dirt and oil stained his jacket. “Why now?” he brushed dirt away. “I understand Tony kicked you off the Pine Ridge farm after his father died? Why have it out with him six years later?”

  Able wiped grease off his cheek with a shop rag. “It wasn’t the first time I caught up with him. I’ve been pissed ever since he gave me the boot. That farm was run right when I leased it from Red Cloud Development—”

  “Red Cloud? Here in Rapid?”

  Able fished inside his jacket and came away with a pack of filterless Camels. Great. My brand, no less, Manny thought. “Kenton Charging Bear was perfectly happy working his family farm on Pine Ridge when he met Winona at a Wind River rodeo. That quick, he was married and moved over there to her ranch by Fort Washakie. He hired Red Cloud Development to manage the Pine Ridge property. Red Cloud went through a dozen managers before me. The farm made money when I worked it.”

  “Why did Tony evict you?”

  Able stood and stretched. “When the old man died, Tony thought he could do better.”

  “So he gave you the boot, and you’ve hated him ever since?” Manny asked.

  Able paced in front of the tractor. He stopped and kicked one of the lug tires. “You know, Farmall made this old H in 1942. One of the farmers north of Wall uses it every day. It needs some fixing now and again, but it was made to be used. Every day.” He snubbed the butt under his boot. “Like me. I wasn’t made to be cooped up in here,” he waved around the shop area. “I was made to be outside. Working the land. Every day. This wasn’t the first time I caught up with Tony.”

  “Then why confront him now?” Manny asked.

  “It was just the first time in a while that I was tanked up and thought I’d finish it once and for all. Bobo changed that when he clubbed me.”

  Able inhaled deeply and Manny turned away from the sweet odor of the smoke.

  “But FBI agents don’t investigate bar fights.”

  “I used to,” Manny answered. “But that was a lifetime ago when I worked for the tribe. Now I investigate crimes on the rez. Like recovering stolen cars. Someone stole Bobo’s Cavalier and dumped it on Pine Ridge.”

  “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “The night you were tossed out of the D&D was the night someone stole the car.”

  “Damned fool leave the keys in it?” Able asked.

  “Bobo says the ignition lock’s broke. He says anyone with some mechanical ability could have started it.” Manny nodded to the tractor. “Looks like you might have some mechanical ability.”

  “And just what the hell would I have done with this car of Bobo’s?”

  “Drive it to the rez. Look for Tony and finish the fight you started in the bar.” Manny flipped pages in his notebook as if someone had told him that is what Able had done. “Maybe you drove Bobo’s car to the farm looking for Tony, and the car made it as far as the lake. Just a mile from Tony’s farm.”

  “Then how the hell did I get home?” Able sat back on the creeper and grabbed a socket wrench from a metal tray beside the tractor tire. “If there’s nothing else, Agent, I got work to do.”

  *****

  Clara set the casserole on the table and stood by her chair eyeing Manny. “Well?”

  “‘Well’ what?”

  “You know what. We don’t wear hats indoors.” She crossed her arms and waited.

  Manny kept his back away from her as he dropped his hat on the chair and sat.

  Clara placed silverware on the table when she stopped. And groaned. “My God, what happened to your hair?”

  Manny tried covering his whack job with his hand. “I got a trim job at a barber shop.”

  “Trim with what, hedge clippers?”

  He explained how he had happened to wander into the old man’s one-chair shop after his visit to the Death & Destruction, and how he had asked for just a trim. “Just a little around the ears, is how I put it.”

  “I just hope you don’t go back to him for a shave.” She sat in her chair and scooted it close to the table. “You’re likely to come away with an extra throat.”

  *****

  Clara took the supper dishes into the kitchen and returned with pie and coffee. Manny eyed her suspiciously. “Relax. It’s sugar free. Won’t spike your blood sugar one bit.”

  “In that case . . . ” He allowed the first bite of lemon filling to linger on the taste buds in his mouth before swallowing. He closed his eyes and willed himself to slow the passage of the pie down his throat before taking another bite.

  “Passable?”

  Manny could only nod.

  “Something’s bothering you,” Clara said.

  Manny shrugged.

  “What is it? You’ve been quiet all night.”

  “It’s Chief Horn,” Manny answered. “I think he’s going senile.”

  “After all, he is eighty.”

  He sipped the strong coffee and studied the bottom of the cup. “But he’s always been sharp. He started going off on this tangent about me checking tribal rolls to see if Johnny Apple was enrolled. If he’s Arapaho, Chief Horn knows he won’t be listed.”

  “Didn’t you say his dog just died?”

  Manny nodded. “He had to put Mable down three weeks ago.”

  “Grief can make some folks do odd things. You ought to know that, being in your business.”

  “But he didn’t even want another dog.”

  Clara laid her hand on Manny’s arm. “Give him time to get over Mable. Give him time to grieve.”

  Manny ate the last of his pie and reached for more coffee. “I ran into an old client
of yours today,” he changed subjects. “Able Ought.”

  Clara dabbled at her own pie, her fork poised above the plate as if waiting for the lemon filling to move so she could pounce. “Technically Kenton Charging Bear, and later the Charging Bear estate, was my client. But what business did you have with Able Ought?”

  Manny explained that he was trying to connect the person who stole Bobo’s car with Johnny Apple floating in Oglala Lake.

  “Able worked his tail off all the years he leased the Charging Bear ranch,” Clara began, her pie still sitting in front of her. “Red Cloud Development went through a score of previous lessees, losing money every time. That was before I worked there.” She refilled her cup. “I was working for Red Cloud . . . oh, about fifteen years, when Able came along. He had a good track record managing a farm up around Flandreau, so we signed him on.”

  “Why didn’t Kenton work the farm himself?”

  “Love.”

  “What kind of explanation is that?”

  Clara looked at candles above the fireplace mantle and that dangerous, dreamy look Manny had come to recognize overcame her. “The only kind needed.” She put her fork down and turned in her chair. “When I worked for Red Cloud, Kenton would drop in to the office now and then to sign papers. That’s how I learned that Kenton had met Winona at a rodeo on Wind River when they were little more than teens, and he basically never came back to the family farm on Pine Ridge. When Kenton died, his sons Tony and Neville came into the office and terminated the contract. And that was the last Red Cloud Development had anything to do with Able Ought. Too bad, too. The moccasin telegraph tells me Tony’s about to lose the place.”

  “Able mentioned that Tony was no rancher.”

  “That, and he spends more time in jail than out. You can’t run a successful operation like that.”

  She gathered their dessert plates and headed for the kitchen when she stopped. “Have you been to the bridal boutique yet? Willie’s wedding is two weeks away.”

  Manny shook his head. “I’ve been pretty busy.”