by Thomas King
“Filthy,” said Shipman. “I can get the best lawyers in the country.”
“And in the end, we’ll have to let you go.”
“That’s about it.” Shipman held his hands out. “I guess you better call the sheriff.”
“Poor cell service out here.”
“And you gave your car away,” said Shipman. “Too bad you don’t have a horse. You could throw me over the saddle and haul me to jail. Isn’t that the way they used to do it?”
The punch was away before Thumps even realized he threw it. It caught Shipman in the solar plexus. The second blow landed on the side of the man’s neck, near his jaw. Shipman went down in a heap.
Thumps took a step back and cradled his right hand. Not smart. Now the damn thing was going to swell up. He might have even broken some bones.
Shipman sat up in the dirt, trying to catch his breath. “Did that feel good? I’ll bet it did. I imagine you’d like to beat me to death.”
Thumps raised the gun. “I could just shoot you.”
“Not good enough,” said Shipman. “You want me to suffer, don’t you? You want me to repent. To see the error of my ways.”
“Not necessary.”
“But most of all, you want to know why.” Shipman was laughing now, soft and low. “Everyone wants to know why.”
“The why’s not going to change anything.”
“I like it,” said Shipman. “There it is. I like killing people. I like the planning. I like the tension of the moment. I like watching people die. Sue me.”
“Get up.”
“What? So you can knock me down again?”
“I’m sorry about that,” said Thumps. “I lost my temper. It won’t happen again.”
“You waiting for horns to grow out of my head?” Shipman was shouting now. “If you’re going to shoot me, I’d appreciate it if you would just do it and stop boring me with your apologies and your fucking morality!”
Thumps turned his face to the wind. “You like movies?”
“What?”
“Movies.”
Shipman rubbed his neck. “Sure. Who doesn’t like movies?”
“Africa,” said Thumps. “This tribe captures some White guy. They’re going to kill him, but they give him a chance to live. They shoot an arrow and where it lands is his head start. They don’t start chasing him until he reaches the arrow.”
“You’re fucking kidding.” Shipman’s face hardened. “You’re going to shoot some arrow into the air and give me a head start?”
“Don’t have a bow,” said Thumps. “No arrows, either.”
“Droll,” said Shipman. “Very droll.”
“You can’t go south,” said Thumps. “No way to cross the river. Too swift. Too treacherous. Try and you’ll die.”
“Never was much of a swimmer.”
“You could go north, but it’s all prairie. Flat as hell. No place to hide. No towns, no houses. Moses tells me that there’s a grizzly sow on the hunt about two miles from here. She’d love to meet you.”
“And east is Chinook,” said Shipman. “Maybe I’ll go back to Chinook.”
“Your best shot is the mountains to the west. Lots of game trails and lots of places to hide. Other side has a bunch of fancy resorts. Make it that far, and you might just get away.”
“You serious?”
“But about a mile out from here, you’ll come to a place where the side of the coulee collapsed a while back,” Thumps continued. “It’s called the Slump. Much too dangerous to try to cross. You have to go around it. Adds a couple of hours to the first part of the hike. If you don’t make the foothills before first light, the sheriff is sure to catch you.”
Thumps tossed Gorka’s gun to Shipman.
“What’s this for?”
“Lots of things can find you in the dark.”
Shipman checked the cylinder. “It’s empty.”
“How about that.”
“So, that’s my head start? This Slump thing? Once I get there, you’ll start chasing me?”
“No,” said Thumps. “Once I see that you’ve made the Slump, I start walking back to town. Should take me the rest of the night and part of the morning. When I get there, I tell the sheriff what I know, and your face will be on every news show in the country. We know about Clam Beach, and now I know about Missouri and the lollipops. Shouldn’t be too hard to match lipstick and finger pricks with the other killings.”
“You’re going to out me?” Shipman was laughing again. “Christ, but you are a Girl Scout.”
“Run or stay,” said Thumps. “Your choice.”
“I could just double back.” Shipman began sorting through the options. “You head off for town, there’s nothing to keep me from doubling back.”
“To your car?” Thumps waited to see Shipman’s reaction. “The four-wheel drive that’s parked just over the ridge?”
“And I’m guessing you disabled it?”
“Nope.”
“Okay.” Shipman looked into the darkness. “The elephant. He’s out there with that rifle.”
“Moses bought it for him. Bolt-action Remington 700.” Thumps kept his face flat. “He likes to hunt.”
“So, if I try to come back to the house or get to my car, he’ll shoot me. That it?”
“Probably,” said Thumps. “But you never know with Cooley.”
Shipman looked at his shoes. “Not exactly dressed for an extended hike.”
“Not my problem.”
“All this planning.” Shipman held out his hands. “All this planning, and you’re going to let me walk away.”
“Frankly,” said Thumps, “I don’t think you’ll make it. This part of the reservation is hard country, and the trail from here to the mountains is tricky. Late fall, the nights get cold. City boy like you probably won’t make it to first light.”
“How hopelessly romantic,” said Shipman. “It sounds like delicious fun, banging around the mountains in the dark, but I think I’ll just take my chances with the sheriff and the courts.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Thumps let the pistol fall to his side.
“So,” said Shipman, holding out his hands. “Do we do this with cuffs or without.”
“Without,” said Thumps, as he brought the pistol up in one smooth motion and squeezed the trigger.
Forty-Three
Thumps was sitting in the shade of the barn when the sheriff arrived. Hockney parked the cruiser next to the Russian olive.
Duke got out and stretched his legs. “This the baby?”
“Ivory.”
“Haven’t seen a lot of you lately.” Hockney reached into the back seat.
“Vacation,” said Thumps. “Decided to relax a little. Took Claire and Ivory up to Waterton Lake.”
“You been gone at least a week.”
“Six days.”
“Waterton’s in Canada.”
“It is.”
Hockney looked out over the river. “I hear it’s beautiful up there.”
“Archie have his grand opening?”
“Pappous’s,” said Duke. “He brought in a couple of Greek guys who played some weird instruments. Music was okay. Food was better. And he’s mad as hell that you didn’t show up.”
“Claire and I are going to have dinner there tomorrow night.”
Duke bent down to look at the baby. “Sort of looks like you.” He held out a bag. “This is from Macy. Says you need to bring the baby by, so she can spoil her.”
“How’s Leon doing?”
“Keeping track of your place,” said Duke. “Keeping Ora Mae in dancing shoes.”
Ivory had both hands in her mouth, her fingers thick with drool.
“And they found Raymond Oakes. You were right. Shallow grave about fifty yards from where Shipman killed Anna Tripp and her daughter.”
Thumps rocked the baby on his knee.
“Cole identified Gorka’s body. He had a scar on his lower leg. She was pretty broken up.”
Thumps nodded.
“Clever,” said Duke. “Shipman had this pen that you can use for making temporary tattoos. He draws a star on Gorka, slips his ring on the man’s finger, and then bashes his face in, so we can’t recognize him. And because we find a male body with Runa Gerson . . .”
“We assume that it’s Shipman.”
“When in fact, Shipman is our killer.”
“If that’s his name.”
Thumps turned Ivory around. She was starting to respond to him. He’d smile and she’d smile. It was a simple, powerful thing.
“We found where Shipman had been hiding.” Duke took off his hat and wiped the sweatband. “Motel north of Glory.”
Thumps wiped Ivory’s face.
“He rented one of those fancy four-wheel drives,” said Duke. “Seems the thing has GPS.”
“That’s handy.”
“And what do you know? The car was parked no more than five hundred yards from here, down in a little draw. Had a bunch of fast-food wrappers in the back seat, along with a sleeping bag. Oh, and a pair of binoculars on the dash.”
“You think he was watching the house?”
“Nothing much else to watch out here,” said Duke. “And if he was watching the house, you have to wonder why.”
Thumps put Ivory on her stomach and rubbed her back. “You think he was going to try to kill us? Claire, me, the baby?”
“Man was a serial killer,” said the sheriff. “He wasn’t a greeter at Wal-Mart.”
“That’s a little unnerving.”
Duke gave Ivory a big clown smile, and she smiled back. “And then there’s the body.”
“You found Shipman?”
“Didn’t I mention that?”
Ivory started to fuss. Thumps lifted her up and put her on his shoulder. “Almost time for her nap.”
“Actually, Moses and Cooley found him. Looks like he tried to cross the Slump and didn’t make it.”
“He’s dead?”
“Oh, he’s dead, all right.” Duke looked out at the mountains. “Both legs were broken. Didn’t die right away.”
“Slump’s dangerous.”
“It surely is,” said Duke. “But what I don’t understand is why he was there in the first place. If he’s watching the house, and he plans on sneaking in and killing you, what’s he doing way out there?”
“Maybe he got lost in the dark.”
“That must be it,” said Duke. “And then there’s the gun.”
Ivory began making her yammering sounds. Thumps shifted her around so she could see the land and the curve of the horizon.
“Strange thing,” said the sheriff. “Shipman had Gorka’s gun on him. But the damn thing wasn’t loaded.”
“Maybe he shot at something.” Thumps shrugged. “Or maybe he tried to signal for help.”
“No brass in the chambers. If he fired the gun, there would have been brass in the chambers. You wouldn’t know anything about that?”
“I’m just glad it’s over.”
Duke started to his cruiser, and then he turned back. “One of these days,” he said, “we’ll have to have a little talk.”
“Sure.”
“Oh, and I asked Leon if he’d stand in for me when I have that operation. Hope you don’t mind. Figured you had enough to deal with. You know, Claire and the baby and all.”
“Appreciate that, sheriff.”
“But if the idiot gets his nuts in a wringer, maybe you can give him a hand.”
CLAIRE GOT BACK in the late afternoon, the back of her truck filled with groceries. She didn’t bother with the bags. She came straight to where Thumps was sitting and snatched up the baby.
“Did Daddy take good care of you?”
Ivory broke into a giant smile.
“And did you miss Mommy?”
Another smile.
Claire wrinkled her nose. “She’s wet.”
“Is she?”
“Men.” Claire bent over and kissed Thumps on the lips. “You get the groceries. I’ll change the little scientist.”
“Scientist?”
“You think every little girl wants to be a princess?”
It took Thumps six trips to bring everything in. He couldn’t remember when he had ever seen Claire’s refrigerator and cupboards so well stocked.
“You bought broccoli?”
“You go on about it all the time,” Claire shouted from the bedroom. “I thought I’d give it a try.”
IT TOOK CLAIRE another hour to get Ivory to sleep. She came back into the kitchen on tippytoes. “Isn’t this fun,” she whispered.
“But it gets better.”
“No,” said Claire. “It gets different. What’s for supper?”
Supper was chicken thighs with fried potatoes and broccoli.
“It’s okay,” said Claire, “and I suppose it’s healthy, but onion rings have it beat hands down.”
“The sheriff came by.”
“Did he?”
“They found Shipman.”
Claire put her fork down. “You need to know something.”
Thumps waited.
“I was here that night. Up on the ridge.”
“What?”
“Don’t be angry with Moses or Cooley. I insisted. I wanted to see for myself.”
“Claire . . .”
“And don’t be angry with me.” Claire pulled her chair over so she was facing Thumps. “I wanted to see you kill the man who killed Anna Tripp and her daughter. Who killed those two people in town. Who wanted to kill us. I wanted to make sure he was dead.”
Thumps took a deep breath. “I didn’t shoot him.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to.”
“But you didn’t.”
Thumps remembered the moment, pulling the trigger, seeing the look on Shipman’s face as the bullet flew by his ear, the moment when he realized, for the first time, that an arrest was not an option, that Thumps would kill him with the next shot.
“If he hadn’t run off, would you have shot him?”
Thumps pushed his plate to one side. “Was that chocolate cake I saw?”
“It was.”
“So, we have dessert.”
“When Ivory wakes up,” said Claire, “it’s your turn to play baby whisperer.”
IVORY WOKE UP at eight. Thumps fed her while Claire watched an old rerun of Murder, She Wrote. Ivory wanted to stand up. Thumps held her under her arms and she stomped away on his crotch.
“Not sure that’s something you want to encourage.” Claire went to the bedroom and came back with a sheet of paper. “She’s going to get big quick.”
“That what I think it is?”
“The questions you were supposed to answer.”
“Roxanne.”
Claire nodded. “You don’t want to disappoint her.”
“Seriously?”
“Let’s go outside.”
The night air was cool. Claire settled on the old sofa. Thumps threw a blanket over her shoulders and settled in beside her.
“The moon’s up.”
“It is.”
“You can see the mountains from here.”
“You can.”
“And you know what they say about being able to see the mountains.”
Below, in the river valley, the Ironstone glowed under starry skies. Ivory nestled in Thumps’s arms, her eyes wide open.
Claire held the sheet of paper up to the light. “‘How would you describe your relationship?’”
Thumps groaned. “I don’t want to answer those.”
Claire leaned in and touched Thumps with her lips. “Then how about we answer them together?”
About the Author
THOMAS KING is an award-winning novelist, short story writer, scriptwriter, and photographer. His critically acclaimed, bestselling fiction includes Medicine River; Green Grass, Running Water; Truth and Bright Water; A Short History of Indians in Canada; and The Back of the Turtle, which won the 2014 Governor General’s Awar
d. The Inconvenient Indian, a work of non-fiction, won several national prizes, and Richard Wagamese said of Thomas King, “He is our Twain.” Thomas King’s first collection of poetry, 77 Fragments of a Familiar Ruin, was published in the fall of 2019. A Member of the Order of Canada and the recipient of an award from the National Aboriginal Achievement Foundation, Thomas King has taught at the University of Lethbridge and the University of Guelph and was chair of American Indian Studies at the University of Minnesota. Obsidian is the fifth novel in Thomas King’s DreadfulWater series.
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Also by Thomas King
FICTION
Medicine River
Green Grass, Running Water
One Good Story, That One
Truth and Bright Water
A Short History of Indians in Canada
The Back of the Turtle
DREADFULWATER MYSTERIES
DreadfulWater
The Red Power Murders
Cold Skies
A Matter of Malice
NON-FICTION
The Truth About Stories: A Native Narrative
The Inconvenient Indian: A Curious Account of Native People in North America
POETRY
77 Fragments of a Familiar Ruin
CHILDREN’S ILLUSTRATED BOOKS
A Coyote Columbus Story, illustrated by William Kent Monkman
Coyote Sings to the Moon, illustrated by Johnny Wales
Coyote’s New Suit, illustrated by Johnny Wales
A Coyote Solstice Tale, illustrated by Gary Clement
Coyote Tales, illustrated by Byron Eggenschwiler
Copyright
Obsidian
Copyright © 2020 by Dead Dog Café Productions Inc.
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