“Texas, Mr. Montez. I’ll text you the address shortly.”
The phone disconnected.
Shit, Montez thought as he cradled the phone in his hand. More of this hick bullshit. Days, perhaps. Texas? The whole state probably didn’t even have a good place to get a decent plate of meatballs and spaghetti. And their gravy had to be made from Mexican tomatoes. Probably tastes like a whore’s coose.
“Turn the goddamned car around,” he growled at Eddie. “We’re now going to Texas.”
“Texas?” the kid said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Yippee, kai, eh?”
“Yeah,” Montez said and gave a single grunt of protest.
At least he’d figured out they’d done right by doing away with that finocchio Rodney. Mr. Krieg seemed to be okay with it, too. Just took a single shot to the back of the head with the big .357 Python. Bam! And this time, Montez had done it himself. He’d done it just to prove his theory once and for all.
And he’d been right.
Not a single drop of blood had landed anywhere on him.
- 29 -
SO CLOSE
“UH, OH,” PEARSON said.
Wolf looked up, and when he saw what she had just seen, he instinctively stepped in front of her.
But she would have none of that. “Hey,” she said, “Judo champ, remember?”
He ignored her and instead focused on the jacked-up pickup truck with the big tires and the CRAWFORD BOYS banner at the top of the windshield, glinting in the sun. The bed of the truck was filled with a sizable group of very angry, very large, but familiar-looking Nebraskan natives. Some carried baseball bats, others carried big sticks of two-by-four Douglass Fir. Three of the guys had shotguns. And none of them seemed to be of the welcoming to strangers type.
“Should we run?” Pearson asked. “There might be a few too many of them for me to handle on my own.”
Before Wolf could answer her, the crew from the truck jumped down from the bed and began to assemble near the tailgate. But they did not head in the expected direction. Instead, they took a slightly circuitous route, rounding the raised pickup truck and going straight for Wolf’s Indian Chief motorcycle parked against the curb, directly across the street from where he stood now.
The first guy, face bandaged in white, glared at Wolf and raised a baseball bat in a not so idle threat. The guy pointed into the distance with it then drew back and swung for the fences at the motorcycle. One of the side mirrors took the brunt of the blow and went spinning off across the street and smashed against a storefront window, shattering it.
Then another of the men, this one with a bandaged leg and a limping gait, crashed a length of the heavy framing wood down hard on the Indian Chief’s gas tank.
Wolf had to pause a moment and admire the quality of his machine, because the wooden beam just folded around the tank ineffectively as the beam snapped in two, leaving behind what looked like only a small, rather insignificant dent in the painted metal gas tank.
But that apparently wasn’t enough for the guy, so he kicked hard with his good leg, knocking the motorcycle over and onto its side with a crunch of metal on asphalt. Then the full fury and focused hatred of the cornhusker boys broke loose all at once. Bats and boards and boots crashed down hard on the defenseless motorcycle, pounding and beating it as if they wished to make it pay for all the misery in their wasted lives.
Wolf just crossed his arms over his chest and watched. Pearson also said nothing. Finally, after the group frustration had all but been exhausted, the boys drew back as one, panting and high-fiving each other with their eyes.
Wolf counted eight in total. Three armed with cheap shotguns, keeping the odds very much against him and Pearson, especially now that the boys had all gotten their ire up and their blood coursing through their veins.
“We’d better go,” Pearson said in a hushed tone. “If we—”
Wolf ignored her and stepped forward into the street, toward the group.
“You all feeling better now?” he asked as he closed with them.
One of the guys turned to him, the big one with the bandage on his jaw. He spat, pointed, and said, “It’s your turn now.”
To which Wolf took another step in the group’s general direction, rolling his shoulders and flexing his wrists.
They want a fight…?
Another member of the group, a skinny guy in jeans and flannel, stepped past the others and pushed a baseball cap up with the barrel of his shotgun. Wolf witnessed a mass of curly blonde hair fall out from beneath. He came to a stop.
“Ma’am,” he said to the woman as he readjusted his mind to the new situation.
“You sent my boys to the hospital,” the woman said. “I don’t appreciate that.” She cradled the shotgun in her arms like it was a familiar friend.
“It could have gone a whole lot worse,” Wolf said.
She snorted. “Just who the hell are you?”
Before he could answer, one of the big boys stepped next to her and pointed with a baseball bat. “I say we beat him senseless and leave him for dead.”
“Shut up,” she said, not bothering to spare a look at the man who had spoken. “We are all going to talk like civilized folk now. You can do that…? Right? Mister…?”
“Wolf,” he said, filling in the blank.
“Sure it is,” she countered with an upturned lip. “Had to be something macho like that, didn’t it? You think you are some kind of badass biker? Thinking you can come here and pretend to be all tough and such? We don’t take kindly to that.”
“They started it,” Wolf said a bit childishly.
She grinned a thin line and shook her head. “Not what they told me, you hear? They saying you jumped them all and beat them up. Said you went and threw the first blow.”
“She did most of the damage,” Wolf said, pointing to Pearson with his thumb.
“Is that so?” the woman said, nodding and wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “Is that true, boys?” she asked over her shoulder.
“No, Ma. He’s lying. She tripped up Otto with some fancy Kung-Fu move.”
“Kung-Fu? Really? Is that right?” she stated, then grunted.
Pearson added, “It was Judo, ma’am, not Kung-Fu. Totally different.”
“Whatever,” the woman said. “Regardless, you still hurt my boys. My ex would never stand for that. He’d have wanted to kill you two already.”
“Sorry?” Pearson said with a shrug.
“What about you?” the woman asked, indicating Wolf. “You sorry, too?”
“Not particularly,” he said in a low and level tone.
She smiled. “Look at the big, dangling balls on you now. While good manners will let me forgive your woman friend here for what she’s done to my boys, you, on the other hand, are not showing any contrition for your involvement in this. You sure you don’t want to go and apologize to my boys? Maybe get down on your knees to do so?”
“No,” Wolf stated.
“Mom,” groused one of the boys behind the blonde-haired woman.
She silenced him with a raised hand.
“I think with what my boys did to your fancy machine, they are now even with you. But, I consider myself a good mother. And I know my boys can be a bit shy on the load of hay they’re carrying, but they’re still my boys. And you hurt them.”
Wolf cracked his knuckles, but said nothing.
Pearson stepped in front of him and asked, “What would you consider a fair price to settle this? There is no need for violence.”
The blonde-haired mother of the big Nebraska boys pushed her cap even further up on her head with the barrel of the shotgun and showed a mouth full of yellowing teeth and red gums.
“Not looking for money, missy. So, how about a leg? A broken leg might suffice.”
“But I need him whole,” Pearson said.
“Why?” the woman asked.
“Because we don’t have time for this crap.”
“Why not?”
“We’re chasing down a runaway. A teenage girl.”
“What-do-ya mean…?” The woman took a step toward Pearson.
“A runaway, ma’am. A teenage girl that’s a gone missing. We think she might be in danger. We think that was why the sheriff was killed. You’re a mother. You can understand the danger, right?”
Wolf watched the woman carefully. Pearson was drawing her out, checking her emotional state, watching for reaction, determining if the woman had any involvement with the girl’s disappearance while also playing on her sympathy.
He approved.
“What girl?” the woman asked, not showing any obvious signs that she knew anything at all about the situation.
“I’m an investigator looking for a girl named Rachel Stone. I tracked her here. To this town. Then she just disappeared. This guy showed up and he’s been helping me look for her.”
“Is that so? The girl disappeared in our town? That can’t be,” the woman said. “It ain’t right.”
“No, ma’am, it’s not,” Pearson said.
“Boys?” the woman asked over her shoulder. “You heard anything about this?”
“No, Ma,” came the response from two of the men. She seemed to consider what she had heard for a moment.
“Okay,” she said, relaxing her grip on the shotgun. “This changes things a bit.”
- 30 -
JUST A THING
WOLF AND PEARSON now sat in wheel-back chairs at a long oak table inside a two-story farmhouse located about fifteen minutes outside of Crow Canyon, down a long dusty road, past overgrown fields that didn’t appear as though they had been tended in years, past busted and rusted farm equipment, past an old barn leaning away from the prevailing winds that seemed to blow across the plains.
The woman sitting across the table from them, Maggie Crawford, asked, “Something to drink?”
She poured herself one from a half-filled bottle of Wild Turkey 101. She then shoved the bottle across the table, followed closely behind by two clear, round drinking glasses.
“Just coffee,” Wolf said.
Maggie snorted. “A big Indian-looking guy who don’t drink no whiskey? Now I’ve gone and seen everything. You are part Indian, right son?”
“I think he prefers to be called Native,” Pearson said. She took the bottle and poured herself a two-finger drink and slid the bottle back to Maggie.
“Well, then,” Maggie replied. “I don’t care much what they go calling you. We’re the real natives here. Fourth generation. There’s been a Crawford in Piper County for almost as long as it’s existed. Can’t get much more native than that.”
She was baiting him, so Wolf knew better than to say anything. He was used to such treatment. Saying something about it rarely helped, and often hurt.
“Sorry about your motorcycle,” she said. “It was all a big misunderstanding on our part. My boys are a little protective of the town they grew up in. I hope you can understand that.”
“Who was it that sent them after us?” Pearson asked.
Maggie stared at her for a moment. “Who sent them, you ask?”
“They did not just…stumble onto us. Someone had to send them.”
Wolf eyed Maggie warily. Her boys had blamed a guy named Jonathan earlier and said he had been the one who had sent them.
Maggie licked her lips and frowned. “Henry!” she called out. “Get yer ass over here, boy.”
The large man who had led the group the previous day joined them. He towered over his mother.
“What do they mean by you being sent after them? Is this true?”
“No, Ma.”
“Don’t you lie to me, boy. I know when you ain’t telling me the truth.”
“We got a call.”
“You…what?” Surprised, she swiveled in her chair and then rose to her feet with her hand coming up to smack him across the face. “Goddammit, who called…?”
“I can’t say, Ma.”
“Oh, yes you can.” Her eyes never left his, and her hand never lowered.
Henry massaged his knuckles, glancing at Wolf and Pearson as if his mother’s anger was somehow their fault. “It shouldn’t matter, Ma. These two don’t belong here. An Indian guy from out of town? He don’t matter much. You can’t trust anything he says. And this…this…lying bitch with him—?”
Maggie swung hard, blasting her open hand at Henry’s already injured and bandaged jaw. Fortunately for his sake, she had not made a fist and only slapped him across the face. But it still made a loud crack and he bent forward in pain, then backed away, nursing his jaw.
“Ma,” he groused through the pain.
“You tell me who it was, or so help me God.”
“Okay,” he mumbled, raising his hands in surrender, “it was JT. He called us from the diner. He said these two needed to leave town.”
“Dammit, boy. Why didn’t you tell me this in the first place?”
“Figured it wasn’t for you to decide. We could handle it.” He rubbed his jaw again and straightened. “I’m the man now. I figure I should be in charge.”
“Well, you figured wrong.”
“Ma?”
“Go on. Get out of my sight!”
“But, Ma.”
“Git!”
Henry began to leave. Then Maggie seemed to change her mind. She rose to stop him, spinning him around to face her. “Here is what you are going to do. You will go fetch JT. You will bring him here because he has some explaining to do. And…don’t you dare screw this up or go running off on your own. You come straight back when you are done, hear me?”
Henry nodded submissively.
“Now, go on, git!”
Henry left, feet scuffing across the floor. The front door slammed and all went silent again.
Maggie sat back down in her chair, sipped at her whiskey, and set it on the table. She began to spin the glass in her loose-fingered grip. “Now, I’m really sorry about that motorcycle. My boys did you wrong, mister. I apologize for their behavior, and I promise you that they will somehow find a way to repay you for it, even if it takes them years to do so. We Crawfords always pay our debts.”
“It is just a thing,” Wolf said.
Maggie stared at him for a long few seconds. Then she dipped her head in respect.
“Now, then,” she said, “tell me more about these girls disappearing and how Eugene got all mixed up in this. I’ve known that man most of my life. He was a good man. Didn’t deserve to get shot.”
Pearson folded her hands in front of her. “I was hired to track down a runaway girl. Her trail led me here, to Crow Canyon. And when I got here, I found out the sheriff had another girl in custody. But that one was not the girl I was sent to locate. He was apparently transporting this other one to Lincoln. Or at least that is what we were both told. Now I’m not quite so sure what is going on. I’m hoping that, since you already know this town, any help you could give us would be…much appreciated.”
“Hmmm,” Maggie said, “you thinking Eugene is somehow involved in all this?”
“I don’t know for sure. His deputies were not all that helpful when we asked about it.”
Maggie chuckled once. “I know. That Kristina is a peach, and Margaret is a real piece of work. You know that woman once stalked my boy? Henry. She wouldn’t leave him alone. She’s a slippery one, I can tell you that, and I don’t trust her. Never have. Always thought she was one of them lesbian types. But guess she ain’t. And Kristina, that girl’s from Colorado, and, well, my boys have been trying to chase her down and bed her ever since she got here. They’ve fought like rabid squirrels over her, but she’ll have nothing to do with any of them. So I guess that makes her pretty darn smart.”
“You don’t trust her either though, do you?” Pearson asked, sounding like she had noticed the same thing Wolf had sensed about Maggie Crawford. He just couldn’t trust her. Something was off about her.
Maggie chuckled harder and sipped her whiskey again. “‘Course not. Those wom
en are only there because Eugene had the hots for them both. His wife hated the one with the big tits. Barely tolerated the other.”
Wolf drew a breath and leaned forward to speak.
“Ah, not yet,” Maggie said, putting up a hand. “Before you go saying anything further, you should know something. Eugene was always good to us. He kept my boys in line and out of trouble after their father left us with almost nothing. So I owe him for that. I’m sorry as hell he got himself killed.”
“Do you think he had any involvement with the missing girls?” Pearson asked.
Maggie sipped from her whiskey again. “I can’t say for sure, but I doubt it. He was not the type to do anything bad with underage girls. Now put a few years on ‘em and…”
Maggie’s son Henry joined them at the table again.
“What are you doing back already?” she asked.
He bent low and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and he left again. The clock on the wall behind the table ticked off a few seconds, hand jerking forward with each tick. Wolf ran his hand across the rough wood planks of the antique dining table. He could almost feel the many years of meals and the many members of family all gathered around it, right there in the grain of the wood. He could almost picture that family sitting there and saying grace while eyeing piles of steaming-hot food set before them. It was nothing like the cold loneliness he experienced growing up, eating in a corner chair, or in his bedroom, all alone.
Maggie broke the silence by saying, “Henry’s just told me that a body has been found out on our property. He’s going to check it out and wants me to come along. You should probably go with us as well. Just in case it turns out to be your missing girl.”
- 31 -
TALE OF TWO PHONES
WOLF AND PEARSON joined Maggie Crawford and her boys, and they all drove out to the body that had been found at the southwestern edge of the sprawling property. Pearson’s rented Chevy bounced and protested, but with her driving and avoiding the biggest rocks and clods of dirt, they made it there without too much damage to the car.
“Glad I sprung for the extra insurance,” she said to Wolf, who was riding beside her, holding the handle above the side window in an iron grip.
Wolf Who Walks Alone: A Raymond Wolf Mystery Novel Page 13
