by G. M. Ford
He stretched and then said, “I don’t sleep worth a damn. Figured I’d just come along with the boys.”
Keith and I had bunked in the nearest barn. Upstairs in the hayloft, just like in the old movies. Being city guys, our first instinct had been to bed down somewhere inside the house, but neither of us had gotten past the kitchen. Something about that old house, with its ancient porcelain plumbing and scratched crystal doorknobs—it was like you could feel them looking at you, Olley and Sarah Jane. Olley having his eggs and coffee at the table. Sarah Jane humming while she washed up the pan. We both felt it right away. The place was so saturated with their lives that nobody but them belonged in there. Just standing in the kitchen felt like some kind of sacrilege. Keith and I hadn’t needed to talk about it. We just hoisted our bags from the old linoleum floor and stiff-legged it back outside, where we belonged.
Seemed like I’d been asleep all of ten minutes when my cell phone began to beep. I gargled out some sort of greeting, then listened as a voice told me they’d be out front in fifteen minutes. I sat up and then immediately wished I hadn’t.
Took me several tries to stretch some of the ache out of my joints. Not only was my arm sore, but I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d slept on anything but a first-rate mattress. Mr. Sleep-on-Everybody’s-Floor of yesteryear had definitely gone soft with age.
I’d rolled up my sleeping bag and Tin Manned my way downstairs toward the Blazer. It had rained overnight, but the clouds had slid east, under cover of darkness, leaving the morning crisp and freshly clean from the shower, which was more than anyone could reasonably say about me.
If timing was, indeed, everything, then we got off to a good start. I was still unwinding the chain when Herbert pulled up with his trailer and my ranch hands. I walked the gate open and left it that way. I gave them a big head start, so I wouldn’t have to eat dust all the way back to the house.
By the time I pulled into the yard, they had the ATVs unloaded and were gassing them up from an overhead metal fuel tank between the barns. Herbert was taking it all in from his perch on the rear of the empty trailer.
“Cody and Winslow gonna check on the animals, while the other two . . . Robert and . . . what’s-his-name there . . . while they load up some feed and haul it up to the Evanston pasture where most of the stock was . . . last time anybody looked.”
“Everything I know about ranching would fit on the back of a stamp,” I said.
“At least you know it,” he said. “Half the folks running spreads around here don’t know heifers from Hefeweizen.”
I laughed and sat down next to him. I could see now that the Hardvigsens’ backyard used to be an orchard of some sort. Lines of squat, knotty trees, grown out and tangled at the tops, poked above the high, untended grass. Dotted among the trees and weeds were what looked like every car Olley and Sarah Jane had ever owned. Six or seven rusting remnants of simpler times.
We watched in silence as the four young Indians gassed up the ATVs and roared off in a cloud of fossil fuel fumes.
Try saying that three times fast.
Herbert looked around. “Somebody knew what they was doing could at least break even with this place,” he announced. “Get it down to about a hundred head. Have beef for personal use, some to sell for cash. Contract out the ranch work. It could be done. Long as you had a little money comin in every month. Something to cover emergencies.”
“Yesterday, I signed both of them up for Social Security,” I said.
He took off his hat. Stared down into it. “Sarah Jane know that?” he asked.
“Nope,” I said. I anticipated his next question. “I’ve got both of their powers of attorney. As far as I’m concerned, they’ve earned the damn money.”
“Any idea how much they might get?”
“Fred Simmons seemed to think they were good for maybe fifteen hundred apiece. Something in that range.”
“More than enough to keep this ol place running, if they scale back some.”
“This is over,” I said, “they can decide whether or not they want to cash the checks, but at least we got the ball rollin.”
“Probably a good idea,” Herbert allowed.
About ten minutes later, Keith came blinking and scratching out of the barn.
“What are we gonna eat?” he wanted to know.
“Hadn’t thought about it,” I admitted. “I suppose at some point in the day we better go shopping.”
“Ya’ll checked the fridge?” Herbert asked.
“It’s too weird in there,” Keith said.
“Like they’re still home,” I said.
Herbert nodded. “That’s how come I don’t go in there,” he said.
“Sooner or later I’m gonna have to clean myself up,” I said.
Nobody disagreed.
Herbert pointed at the far barn. “There’s a bunkhouse in that one,” he said. “Got a kitchen, buncha johns, and showers and every damn thing.”
I was still processing the fact that I’d slept on a cold floor when I could have slept in a bed when the throb of an approaching car engine shanghaied everyone’s attention.
“You expecting company?” Herbert asked.
“Sorta,” I said, pushing myself off the back of the truck.
I hustled over to the rear of the Blazer, and had just stuffed the Glock into the waistband of my jeans and covered it with my shirt, when what to my wondering eyes should appear but a black stretch limo, sporting windows tinted dark enough for arc welding.
“Hundred and fifty years,” Herbert said. “First time anything looked like that ever sat in this here yard. I guarantee it.”
Tyler Bain was the first one out of the car. He closed the front passenger door with great care and walked slowly toward the rear of the limo.
Dexter came out next. Bouncing out onto the gravel like an anvil on steroids, he walked to the front of the car, flexed his thick upper body, and then stood at parade rest. In my peripheral vision, I saw Keith trying to look casual as he slipped his right hand behind his back. Apparently, he’d decided to take my advice regarding the Smith & Wesson.
Bain opened the limo’s back door, as if he was about to loose the kraken or something. A freeze-tag moment passed before Roland Moon unfolded himself out onto the drive, patted his suit into place, and looked around.
“Herbert,” he said with a cursory nod in the Indian’s direction.
“Roland,” Herbert replied.
Moon hitched up his trousers and started in my direction. He had an exaggerated swagger that suggested the earth beneath his boots belonged to him and him alone.
“You know,” he began, “I think maybe it was Albert Einstein who said that while genius has its limits, stupidity knows no bounds.”
“I believe I’ve heard that,” I said.
He leaned down and put his big hound-dog face right in mine.
“He must have been thinking of you when he said that.”
“I’m just helping a friend get her ranch up and running,” I said.
“You’re diggin yourself a grave is what you’re doin, boy.”
Dexter was sidling my way. Trying to keep it nonchalant till he got within arm’s reach. Far as I was concerned, though, having my bones broken was not on today’s agenda. I reached under my shirt and put my hand on the butt of the Glock, pulled it gently from my waistband, and let it hang down by my side.
Dexter got the message and froze. The black eyes that locked on me were hard as rivets, and just about as appealing. For a second, I thought he might be going to rush me, so I thumbed the safety to the off position, and spread my feet for balance.
“I were you,” I told Dexter, “I’d stay right where I was.”
He spread his arms out from his sides. “I ain’t got no gun,” he said. “You can’t be shootin a man without no gun.”
I thought about explaining the double negative to him, but decided against it.
“I’ll take my chances with the law,” I said. “
I’m betting you got a felony record. The kind of record that says I can probably blow you away and walk.”
Keith took the hint and abandoned the hiding-the-gun-behind-his-back thing. He pulled the Smith & Wesson out, where everybody could see it.
Over by the car, Tyler Bain pushed himself off the limo and unbuttoned his suit jacket. Keith shifted his feet into the combat position, but left the revolver dangling at his side. He looked Bain right in the eye. “Real careful” was all he said.
Bain looked to Moon for further instructions.
“Easy . . . easy,” Herbert chanted, as he slid down from the trailer and got himself in position to bob and weave, should it prove necessary.
I kept one eye locked on Dexter and turned the other to Roland Moon.
“Are you threatening me, Mr. Moon?” I asked.
Moon showed me enough dental work for a baby grand.
“Threatening you?” He barked out a short, insincere laugh. “Far from it, Mr. Waterman. I came out here to offer you a business proposition.”
“Offer away,” I said.
“My people have seen the paperwork you signed with Sarah Jane. They tell me that between the down payment on your option, the delinquent tax bill you paid, and the cash that went to Sarah Jane, you’ve got just over two hundred thousand invested.”
“That sounds about right,” I said.
“Well . . . what say I double your money for you?” He said it in the kind of singsong tone of voice you’d use when offering a pain-in-the-ass toddler a lollipop.
“In return for what?” I asked.
“You sign that option of yours over to The Keeler Group.”
“No can do,” I said.
“Sure you can,” he scoffed. “You’ve got full power of attorney for the both of them.” He waved a big hand in the air. “You make two hundred grand without lifting a finger. Can’t hardly get a better investment than that.”
Dexter took two slide-steps in my direction. I lifted the Glock, put my finger inside the trigger guard, and pointed it directly at his face. I could feel the adrenaline buzzing in my cheeks and, suddenly, my arm didn’t hurt at all. I kept the front sight rock steady on Dexter’s forehead.
“You move this way another foot, and I’ll kill you where you stand,” I said.
The air in the yard was suddenly thick with testosterone and the promise of blood. Nobody moved. Wide-eyed mouth-breathing became the order of the day.
“Easy, fellas,” I heard Herbert say.
Dexter took me at my word and eased back toward the front bumper of the limo. Over to my right, primal fear had spurred Keith to action. He’d dropped to one knee and was aiming the Smith & Wesson at Tyler Bain with two hands.
Moon dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper. “That’s a generous offer I made you, Mr. Waterman. I’d suggest you take it.”
I slipped my finger from the trigger and then dropped my arm to my side.
“I’ll have to pass, I’m afraid,” I said.
“Afraid is what you oughta be, boy,” he said.
“I’ll try to remember that,” I promised.
“You ain’t nothing but the ne’er-do-well son of a thief,” he said. “A ‘never was’ who ‘won’t never be,’ ” he sneered. “Guy used to pretend he was a private eye so he could peep in people’s windows. You’re nothing, Waterman. A bug on the windshield. Nothing more. You get in the way of progress . . . I’ll squash you like a dog turd.”
He’d have made a good actor. I watched as his face morphed from menacing to incredulous, in the blink of an eye. “You can’t possibly think we’re going to let you waltz in here, take advantage of a grieving old lady, and put a stop to what so many of us have put so much time, energy, and money into making a reality.”
I tried to keep a poker face and not to let on that his description of Sarah Jane as “grieving” had caught my attention. Unless Olley had passed away overnight, it meant Moon knew that Gordy was dead, and since only Rebecca, Sarah Jane, Keith, and I knew that, it definitely gave me pause to wonder how he’d come by that little piece of information.
“Been nice talking to you, Mr. Moon,” I said.
He was silent for a moment, then broke into a big bad wolf smile.
“It’s what?” he mused. “Thursday? Tell you what, Mr. Waterman. I’ll give you the weekend to change your mind. Time Monday comes around . . . who knows . . . maybe you’ll have come to your senses. Presuming, of course, you’ve got any.”
“See ya,” I said to his back as he strode back to the limo and disappeared inside. Ten seconds later, the big car did a languid K turn and rolled out of sight.
Keith’s breath came rushing out of his lungs like an air brake.
“Damn, Sam,” he said. “I gotta stop hangin with you, Leo,” he wheezed. “You got a damn death wish. You’re gonna get us killed.”
“Not till Monday,” I said with a grin.
Herbert Lean Elk laughed out loud. “I liked that part too,” he chortled. “Means Roland’s sure as hell gonna make his move on you over the weekend,” Herbert said. “Over here on the Washington side, where his kid can be the first law on the scene.”
I flipped the Glock’s safety into the ON position with my thumb and stuck it back into the waistband of my pants.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” I said.
Keith sat up straight as we rolled across the Main Street Bridge into downtown Lewiston. “Drop me at the cafe, will ya?” he said.
“I’m only gonna be here for as long as it takes to do a little shopping. I don’t want to leave Herbert and the boys out there by themselves for too long.”
“I know. I just want to grab some food and say hi.”
When we’d left The Flying H, right after noon, I’d noticed that he’d thrown his bag into the backseat.
“You can stay in town, if you want.”
“No,” he said immediately. “We gotta see this thing through.”
“Like you said, Keith . . . we more or less know what we came over here to find out. You’ve held up your end. I’ve got no complaints there. Maybe it’s time for you to move on with your life.”
“It’s not over,” he said. “When it’s over, I’ll figure out what I want to do next.”
I threw a glance toward his bag on the backseat. He noticed.
“Just keeping my options open,” he said.
They’d put a cot in Olley’s room. I guess they’d figured out that stubborn old woman was going nowhere without her man, so they might as well do whatever they could to make her comfortable. They were both asleep, so I ducked out and walked down to the nurses’ station. The doctor I’d seen the other night was waving a chart and chatting with a couple of nurses as I approached. She looked up.
“You’re Mrs. Hardvigsen’s friend,” she said.
“They’re both asleep,” I said. “How’s he doing?”
“Same,” she said. “Probably going to need quite a bit of physical therapy before we can send him home . . . but other than that, and the fact that he’s eighty-three . . .” She shrugged as if to say What can you do?
“Tell her I stopped by,” I said.
“I’ll do that,” she promised and went back to her chart.
So . . . I’d been right about Roland Moon. Somehow, he knew that Gordon Hardvigsen was dead. Must have found out King County had the body when his half-wit son Rockland the deputy got Rebecca’s pictures over the police wire. He ran right over and told his daddy, who immediately arranged to hijack Gordy’s remains.
The operant question, of course, was why. Why not just let Gordy disappear into an unmarked grave? Nameless, faceless, and gone forever. No matter how hard I tried, there was something that just wouldn’t compute about somebody bothering to steal an unidentified John Doe. It just didn’t make any sense to me.
I was still marinating the matter when I pulled into the Safeway parking lot five minutes later. Took me the better part of half an hour to throw together enough groceries to las
t us a few days. Sandwich stuff, mainly. Lotsa meat and bread and cheese, all stuffed into a blue Igloo cooler big enough for the food, four bags and two blocks of ice, and a full case of Diet Coke. Way I saw it, by the time the last of the block ice melted, this thing was likely to be over, one way or another.
By six P.M. The Flying H was officially up and running. The hands had moved the bulk of the herd into a fresh pasture. Said it would last em at least a week. They cleared up a couple of water problems and fixed some holes in the fences. The one called Winslow took Keith around and showed him how the water system worked. How to get it going when it clogged up.
Herbert and I were sitting on the back steps as the Boys loaded their ATVs back onto the truck. “What do I owe them?” I asked.
“Hundred bucks apiece,” he said.
I peeled four bills from my roll and handed them to Herbert.
He thanked me and looked away.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“Kids could probably put in one more day. There’s a few more things need to be done around the place.”
“But?”
He shook his head. “But I got a problem, Leo.”
“What’s that?”
“Word about this thing you got going with Roland Moon has made its way to the Tribal Council.”
“Figured it would,” I said.
“Council’s got its panties all in a wad over it. Called me half a dozen times this morning.”
“You figured that would happen.”
“Don’t want our boys over here as long as somebody might get hurt.”
I said I understood.
“Everything being equal, and Sarah Jane scales the operation back a bit, the Boys ought to be able to keep it running, comin over just a couple days a week. But . . . this thing with Moon . . . that’s gotta be settled.”
“I understand.”
“Too many of our boys leave the res one day and don’t nobody ever see them again.” He looked up at the sky. “It’s like they just disappear into the clouds.”
