Sins of Our Fathers (9781571319128)

by Otto, Shawn Lawrence

  After a moment, Mona spoke again. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About feeling bad instead of trying to make the feeling go away. I haven’t had a drink since we talked. I want you to know that’s major progress for me.”

  “I know it is,” he replied, a little taken aback. “Congratulations.”

  “I feel like I’ve known you for a long time.”

  He squeezed her hand and they drove on in silence, the road leaping forward into the headlights, then falling away, frogs and crickets singing in their wake. He remembered a night camping with Julie, when they had hiked to a precipice in the Boundary Waters and lain there looking up. “What if the world is upside down,” she had asked, “and we could fall off into the sky?”

  As he and Mona topped the ridge and came down from the heavens, he saw a car turn on its lights as it emerged from the trailer park lane. It turned and headed away down the road toward the highway.

  It was a dark night for someone to have driven down that hill and forgotten to turn on their lights, he thought. And then he suddenly realized that it must have been someone coming out of his parking area. As the car neared the curve, his headlights picked up a small hint of red on its back bumper. A vague sense of recognition shot through him, and then the other car turned the corner and drove out of sight. That spot of color was in the same place as the NRA bumper sticker on the back of Sam Schmeaker’s car. And the car was dark and sporty, with a slightly elevated back end, just like Sam’s.

  He slowed the truck, turned into Eagle’s barn drive, and came to a stop near the paddock. He could see Pride standing and looking at them, black and white in the throwaway light. Mona rose from his shoulder. He sat there for a moment, thinking, the green dash lights glowing on him. Should he back out and give chase? If that was Schmeaker, Jorgenson was likely behind it, and that meant he was being outflanked somehow. Mona turned to look at him. She wiped a strand of hair out of her face, tucked it behind her right ear.

  “Come up,” she said. Her lips were full and inviting, as if she had just awakened from a nap.

  JW turned the engine off and sat there in the dark, thinking again. What could Schmeaker possibly be doing here?

  “I should check my house,” he said.

  Mona looked at him, trying to understand. “Can I come with?”

  It occurred to him that she thought he was rejecting her. “Sure,” he said.

  They got out and walked to the lean-to. JW hung the keys on the nail by feel, and saw them glint in the starlight as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

  “Come here,” he said. He slipped his hand into hers and they walked together along the faintly visible paddock fence. Pride let out a long low nicker as they passed.

  “It’s okay,” said JW. “It’s just us.”

  They crossed the road, the stars pounding down on them, and walked up the drive to JW’s trailer.

  “How come so few people live up there?” JW pointed over the hill to the rest of the trailers. He wondered if the other car could have been from one of them.

  “The band built better housing over by the community center,” Mona replied.

  He didn’t see any letter or notice outside his trailer, and there was no one lurking in the trees. He climbed the steps and slipped his key into the lock. “You probably want to step back,” he said.

  Mona gave him a strange look, but did as he’d suggested.

  “I thought I recognized that car,” he explained. “But it was probably nothing.”

  She looked around, concerned. He pulled the door open slowly, then stepped in.

  The floor creaked as Mona followed him in. The door had been locked, but he was still suspicious. He turned on the light and looked around quickly for anything that was out of order. But everything looked just as it had when he left. Then his thoughts leaped to the bug receiver.

  “Give me a second, okay?”

  She nodded and he stepped into his bedroom and partially closed the door, leaving just a narrow crack. He sat on the bed in the starlight and drew the clothes hamper between his legs. He plunged his arm into the clothing and felt the plastic box, then the cord. It was still there. He sat in the twilight, staring at the door. He pushed the clothes hamper away and got on the floor. He moved to the bedside table and reached under the mattress. His notepad was gone.

  He tried to think back. This was definitely where he had been hiding it, but it was also true that he had been pretty disoriented the last time he had it out, when he returned from seeing Carol.

  Could he have left it in the truck? Was he being paranoid?

  The bedroom door edged open and Mona stepped in.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry.”

  She sat down and slipped an arm around him, then tentatively kissed his jawline, sending a current down both sides of his chest.

  “Come up to my place. Please.”

  He glanced out the window up toward her house. It was much closer to Eagle’s than his trailer was. If something happened, he would be in a better position up there with her. He nodded.

  She took his hand and opened the door wide. He stood to follow and she led him back through the kitchen and then out under the stars. He flipped off the light and pushed the trailer door shut, and they strolled across the dark, foggy lane, the trees heaving and lurching overhead. The air had grown warmer.

  “Just a sec,” he said. “I just want to make sure I didn’t forget something in the truck.”

  She followed him back to the pickup. He opened the door and checked the seat by the dome light. He looked on the floor and felt in the crack between the seat and the back, but the notepad wasn’t there.

  “What are you looking for?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Just a note I had written to myself. No big deal.” He closed the door. It would have to wait until morning.

  Her fingers felt small as she led him up her flagstone steps. She stepped up onto her front porch, pushed open the front door, and led him inside.

  Despite its pristine outer appearance, the inside of the house was only partly finished, not unlike Eagle’s, but her work areas were lived in. The living room, to the left, was two-by-sixes and bare insulation. Beer bottles, tree stumps, rugs, and a stereo with huge speakers suggested that this was where the party sounds had emanated from.

  Mona saw him looking at it. She leaned back against a foyer wall, lifting her ankles to pull off her tall boots.

  “I know, it’s a pit,” she said.

  “No, no, it’s not that. It’s just, I thought it would all be finished.”

  “I ran out of money,” she said. “And anyway, we Indi’ns do things in stages.”

  He nodded.

  “It’s also more like a rubber room that way,” she said with a smile. With her boots off, she was about two inches shorter. He looked down at her bare feet and she took his hand. “Come with me. You’ll like this better.”

  She led him up a short carpeted hallway and opened the door into a clean bedroom that filled the end of the house nearest Eagle’s. In contrast to the debauchery of the living room, it was serene in here.

  “See? This is more to your taste, right?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not one to judge.”

  “You’re the only guy that’s made it past that door.”

  He looked at her, not sure if she was serious. “Really?” he asked.

  “Stop fucking this up.” She put her arms around his waist, her cheek on his shoulder. “We’re both assholes, but we try. Now let’s stop thinking so much for a little while.”

  He held her as she pressed herself to him. He felt himself growing hard against her, but his eyes were still drawn to the corner windows facing the street.

  He pulled her tighter, his mind racing.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, and then walked into the master bathroom.

  JW turned and looked out the window. Down over the paddock and through the swaying branches, he could
just make out his trailer. What could Schmeaker have been up to? he wondered.

  “Hey.”

  He turned. She was wearing a blue-flowered negligee, and her bare feet melded into the plush carpet as she walked, her breasts moving freely under the silky fabric.

  She hung her arms around his neck, and wove her fingers into his hair at the back of his scalp. “Do any Indi’ns ever call you whitey?” she asked. “Besides me?”

  “Sometimes. Ernie does.”

  “I like it,” she said. She kissed him. Her lips were warm and her breath was piney. “I think you should own it.” She kissed him again. “I’m usually attracted to losers and bad guys. Which one are you?” she asked him, her lips plush against his as she talked. He could feel her breasts on his chest.

  He grunted. “Both. But I’m trying not to be.”

  She put her lips to his neck. “Good,” she said into his ear, “’cause I could use a change.” She bit his lobe and then stepped back slightly into the starlight. She unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off, kissing his shoulder. Then she stood back, opened her silky robe, and let it fall. Her wild-rimmed eyes seemed strangely vulnerable, and she stepped in to hold him, skin on skin.

  She slid a hand into his jeans and he felt himself respond. The jerky unhitching of a button, the freedom of a zipper coming open, the fumbling out of denim. These awkward acts held a sort of immutable grace. The softness and wetness and entwining of limbs seemed natural and preordained.

  When it was over he lay with her hair strewn over him and fell into the wilds of the universe. In his dreams he was a young man again, training horses, with his whole life before him.

  33

  From somewhere in the deep forests he returned. The dreams fell away and the stark clarity of everything he had done washed back over him. He looked at the clock radio next to Mona’s bed. Four thirty in the morning. He turned over and tried to go back to sleep, but closing his eyes cast his mind into a state of hyper-caffeinated brilliance. He thought back to the car and the swatch of red on its back bumper, the angle and elevation of its back end as it disappeared into the night.

  The only thing missing was his notepad. He remembered waving it in Jorgenson’s office. He had told him that it contained the combination to Eagle’s safe, and that the only solution was to plant something incriminating on him. His heart raced. If the car he saw last night was Schmeaker’s, this was the only possible explanation. In which case Eagle was in danger.

  JW considered going down and waking Eagle up. But then he would have to tell Eagle how he came to have his combination, and everything would come out. There would be nothing to stop Eagle from calling the police, nothing to protect what was left of his life. Mona stirred next to him, but didn’t wake.

  Another option occurred to him. He could go check out the safe himself, while everyone was asleep. The thought made his heart race anew. And as he mulled this possible step, it became increasingly clear that if he was going to do it, he would have to act immediately, before the sun was up. He turned over and looked at the clock. Ten to five. He lay back and imagined the police coming, the safe opening, drugs inside, Eagle being arrested.

  He rolled quietly out of bed. Mona turned over and he froze, but she fell back to sleep. He felt around on the floor for his pants, and pulled them on. He couldn’t find the rest of his clothes. He would have to risk it. In and out. Grab whatever was there and hide it, or bring it back here.

  He tiptoed barefoot from the room and down the hall. He could see light coming in through a back door. He made his way to it and out onto a small concrete patio. He gently closed the back door, then crossed the patio and stepped out into the backyard.

  The grass was dry beneath his feet, and the air was cool on his bare chest and arms. He ran to the end of Mona’s house and stopped. He looked around the corner toward Eagle’s house, fifty or sixty feet away. There were no lights. He ran to the back of the house and up to the sliding glass door. It was completely dark inside. He climbed onto the small deck and tiptoed to the door. The handle was unlocked. He hesitated a moment, thinking of how dangerous this gambit was. He could still just go back. Then he slid the door open.

  JW saw the eagle feather on the dining room table. It fluttered in the disturbed air. He stepped inside and could hear Eagle’s heavy breathing. He listened, then tiptoed to the corner of the hall and peered around it. Both bedroom doors stood ajar. Other than Eagle’s breathing, he couldn’t hear a sound. He stepped quietly into full view and nothing happened. He tiptoed down the carpeted hall toward the office door. He could feel the nylon strands under his bare feet, and he remembered to avoid the squeaky spot. He was shaking. They would wake soon. And if some sort of bust were planned, that would happen soon as well.

  In the office, he stepped to the closet door and put a hand on the edge to quiet it. He slowly pulled it open, and then he got down on his knees and recalled the combination. Nine, ninety-one, thirteen. He began slowly turning the safe dial, cupping a hand over it to muffle the clicks, and stopping to listen every several clicks to make sure Eagle or Jacob weren’t shifting in bed. Nothing. He cranked the lever down and the safe door popped open.

  Bundles of cash spilled out onto the carpet. With a lurch of panic he shoved his hands under the cascade, but when it stopped, there was nothing but more heavy breathing down the hall. He let the cash down gently. Bundles of fives, tens, twenties, fifties, hundreds. It suddenly occurred to him that the money could be Eagle’s. Perhaps it was part of the capital to start the new bank, or even an investment from the band.

  He would live with it. He looked around for something to contain the cash. There was a box of Glad trash can liners on the shelf above. He pulled one out, quietly spread the bag open, and started stuffing it with bundles. He listened to Eagle and Jacob’s breathing. He was sweating now, and he felt almost nauseous from his racing heart. He flipped the safe door shut, turned the lever and spun the dial, and pushed the closet door closed.

  JW grabbed the bulging white trash can liner and, tiptoeing on the balls of his feet, carried it to the door. He paused and looked around the corner toward the bedrooms. It seemed as if they were still sleeping, but the breathing had become quieter. Had they heard something? He stepped out into the hall and tiptoed around the corner, where he felt cool air settling in through the open sliding glass door.

  He stepped out and turned to close the door, but as he did so, he heard the toilet flush inside. His hands and arms suddenly cramped and he felt as if he were choking. He slid the door shut under the flushing sound and leaped off the deck. He crouched and steadied himself with one hand in the rubbery grass. He swallowed and tried to breathe. His mouth and throat were dry, and his heart was pounding in his ears. He stayed hunched under the edge of the deck, listening. Finally, after what must have been five minutes, he decided to dare it. Squatting low, he ran through the grass, keeping below the level of the deck. He made the corner of the house and paused. He had to get the bag of cash to his trailer: down the hill, past the paddock, and across the road. He decided to try for the cover of the truck first.

  He hoisted the bag and ran for it, feeling his pulse in his neck. He half-expected Eagle to raise an alarm, or call out to him to stop. But he reached the truck and ducked down behind it without incident. His lungs were heaving, his fingers splayed into the dusty gravel of the barn drive to steady himself, the plastic sack of money on the ground beside him. He was lathered in sweat despite the morning’s coolness. The sky was warming into a pinkish-yellow dawn.

  He swallowed and looked around the front of the truck, gathering himself for the dash to the trailer. But just then a dark blue sedan flew past and came to a stop in front of Eagle’s house. Its disc brakes hissed quietly and tires crunched on the gravel. It was followed by a county cruiser and a tribal police car. Two men in jackets marked FBI got out of the sedan. Bob Grossman and Dan Barden exited the county cruiser, and Fladeboe stepped out of the tribal car. They lifted their door handles and push
ed the doors closed quietly with their other hands. Jesus, JW thought. He had been right.

  He ducked back behind the truck. There was no way he could make it to his trailer now. He looked again and saw Grossman nod at Barden and wave a finger in a circle. Barden nodded his understanding and started heading around the back of the house. The others moved up the walk toward the front door. He heard them knock. Jacob’s confused voice answered with something unintelligible.

  “Can I help you?” Eagle’s voice carried out into the dawn.

  “Mr. Eagle, I’m Deputy Sheriff Grossman with the Bass County Sheriff’s Department, and these gentlemen are Agents Richardson and Olson from the FBI. You know Officer Fladeboe. Sir, is there anyone else in the house?”

  “Just my son,” replied Eagle, his distant voice hoarse with sleep.

  When JW looked again, he saw Fladeboe walking down the hill toward the paddock. Now he would surely be exposed. He glanced behind him. The lean-to was ten feet away. He picked up the bag and lugged it over to the lean-to, noticing in the process that the plastic was stretched thin, the bills almost poking through the membrane. The dusty soles of his feet felt cool on the brown earth of the lean-to. He looked out from among the halters and lead ropes, and saw Fladeboe pass the truck and duck through the rails into the paddock. Puzzled, JW strained his neck and watched Fladeboe bend over, jam his hand into a zippered plastic bag, and pick up a handful of horse manure, closing the bag around it.

  ***

  EAGLE WAITED ON the porch with Jacob and Grossman while the two FBI agents entered the house. He saw Deputy Barden step in from the back sliding glass door in back.

  “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “It’s in the warrant,” Grossman replied. Eagle noticed that he was sweating, and he kept looking out at the trees.

  Eagle looked over the warrant as Fladeboe came up the walk, carrying a sealed plastic bag filled with—of all things—some of Pride’s manure. The two computer-printed pages said the court had found probable cause that he was involved in a burglary of North Lake Bank the evening before, and authorized the officers to search for cash, horse manure, and other evidence of the crime.