Stabenow, Dana - Shugak 11 - The Singing Of The Dead
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walk, would you? Thanks." The driver got out and the door closed.
"I can't believe you have a driver," she said. "Pretty uptown for the
Park. Aren't you afraid someone will see?"
"I hear you went to work for her. For Gordaoff."
"Gordaoff." Not "Anne" or "Anne Gordaoff," just
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"Gordaoff." Pete had known Anne since she was in diapers, but there was
no pretense at courtesy here. Anne was Peter's opponent in a close race
for a seat that by now Kate guessed he regarded as personal property.
Using Anne's last name was Pete's way of repressing or even eliminating
any personal relationship they might have had over the years. "He's
behind," Kate remembered Billy Mike saying of Peter that morning, not
once but twice, as if that was the answer to everything.
Maybe it was. Kate hoped like hell it was not. This was the problem in
working crime in a place like Alaska, where there was only one person
per square mile, with most of them related one way or another, and most
of the rest related to her. "I'm getting paid by the Niniltna Native
Association, strictly speaking," she said equably, "but yeah, I'm
working for Anne's campaign."
"Doing what?"
She thought it over, and decided he'd find out soon enough on his own.
"She's been getting some hate mail. Threatening letters, like that. Her
campaign manager got worried."
"Darlene Shelikof."
"Darlene, yeah."
There was a brief silence. "You want something to drink?" Peter opened a
cooler and knew her well enough not to offer liquor. "Diet 7-UP, am I
right?"
"I'm off that," she said. "I'd take a bottle of water if you had some."
He did, and poured a tiny bottle of Jim Beam over a thick mug full of
ice. He sat back, sipping, watching her. She drank her water and watched
back. His mug had his campaign slogan on it, heiman is your man in
Juneau, gold letters on a blue background, just like Alaska's flag. The
gold flashed in the late afternoon sun.
Minutes ticked by the way they do, one second at a time. Finally Pete
laughed again and slapped his knee. "I should
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never try to outstare you or outstubborn you, Kate. I know better."
Or try to intimidate me, she thought.
Still laughing, he said, "You want to come work for me?"
"I've got a job."
"I'll double whatever Billy Mike's offering. You'll need the money, now
you've got a kid to support."
She drank water, more to give herself time to think than because she was
thirsty. "You getting threatening mail, too, Pete?"
"I don't want you on her side against me," he said.
This time she laughed, the sound coming up rough and rusty past the scar
on her throat. "Why, Pete, I believe you just gave me a compliment."
"I don't want you on her side against me," he repeated. ?I'm not," she
said. "I'm working security. I'm not involved in the campaign, or in the
campaign decision- making process in any way. I'm watching for bad guys.
That's it."
"Oh, hell," he said, sighing. "I've never known you to back out of a
commitment once you've made it, anyway. But I thought I'd give it the
old college try." He gave her a hearty kiss on the cheek and a rough hug
and followed her and Mutt out of the Ford. The driver kept the SUV
between them and him.
They strolled across the parking lot, Pete's arm around Kate's
shoulders, Mutt padding at Kate's other side, and the first person they
saw was Darlene Shelikof.
Kate gave her a cool nod and swept by without speaking. "Darlene," Pete
said, stopping to put his hand out. "Good to see you again."
"Hello, Peter," Darlene said, eyes darting between him and Kate.
"How's your folks? Your dad still fishing over to the flats?"
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Kate moved toward the door and, thankfully, out of earshot.
The Lodge was one of those Ahtna institutions that increased the town's
can-do commercial legend, the brainchild of a local welder who had gone
to work on the Pipeline and had seen the opportunity inherent in its
completion and the wholesale selloff of the remaining supplies and
equipment. Artie Whittaker bid for six of the fifty-six man Atco
trailers in which Alyeska had housed its temporary work force in twelve
camps from Prudhoe Bay to Valdez, finessed transportation costs by
taking delivery of them in Ahtna, turned one into a kitchen, one into a
restaurant and bar, added some bathrooms to give some of the rooms in
the other four trailers private baths, added Arctic walkways to join
them together, and opened for business. He was full from the first day,
helped by a good cook, a first-class bartender, and that his only
competition was a few bed-and-breakfasts in private homes and a run-down
motel that catered to philanderers from Valdez up for an illicit weekend
a deux, or a trois as the case might be. "There are things you just
don't want to know about your neighbors," Artie had told Kate once,
giving his head a gloomy shake. Considering that her line of work all
too frequently put her in the category of Peeping Tom, she agreed with
him wholeheartedly. It made a bond between them, and she was looking
forward to seeing him again.
But Artie wasn't at the registration counter this afternoon. A dark,
slender man with long hair swept back in an artful style and a single
diamond stud in his left earlobe smiled at her. "How may I help you?"
"Where's Artie?" she said.
"Artie's in Kona."
"You're kidding."
"Nope. He's retired," he said cheerfully. "I bought him out last October."
"Did you," Kate said. "What's your name?"
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He drew himself up and declaimed, "My name is Luiz Antonio Orozco y
Elizondo, prepare to die." He grinned. "But you can call me Tony."
"Thank god," Kate said.
Tony laughed. "And you are?"
"Kate Shugak. I should have a reservation." At this point Mutt made her
presence known by rearing up to place both enormous paws on the edge of
the counter. "Any objection to dogs in the rooms?"
On her hind legs Mutt looked Tony straight in the eye. "If I had, I'd
rethink them," he said.
Mutt's tail gave a preliminary approving wag. Kate's four-footed
character-defect detector. Except in the case of Jim Chopin, she was
infallible. Kate decided Artie had sold well.
The last time Kate had overnighted at the Ahtna Lodge reservations had
been entered in an oversized red daily diary, in Artie's famously
illegible handwriting, and the keys had hung from a board mounted within
reach of the counter. A guest was expected to pick a key, write down
their name and room number in the diary, and pay whenever they saw Artie
next.
Now there was a computer, which spit out a slip of paper. "Ah, you're
part of the Gordaoff campaign," Tony said. "You're all in the same
wing." That was the first time Kate had heard the Atco trailers that
made up the Ahtna Lodge referred to as "wings." The keys were in little
open- ended boxes against the opposite wall. Tony handed one over.
"No."
Kate looked down at the slip of paper. "Do you know how long I'm
supposed to stay here?"
One mobile eyebrow went up, but Tony said, "There should be a departure
date on your receipt."
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Before Kate could find it, she heard a voice call out her name. It
didn't sound friendly. "Kate!"
Kate winced inwardly, and turned. "Darlene. Hi. I just got in."
"I saw," Darlene said. "I'd like to talk to you for a moment." She saw
Tony watching and added with a wide, insincere smile, "Please."
"I wanted to take a shower," Kate said, not really hedging. Bathing on
the homestead involved a round, galvanized steel tub. A series of long,
hot showers in hotel rooms was an added bonus to signing on with the
Gordaoff campaign.
"This will only take a minute," Darlene said. She put out a hand to take
Kate's arm, encountered Kate's look, and thought better of it.
Kate shouldered her duffel and followed Darlene to a corner.
"Why did you walk in with Peter Heiman?" Darlene said in a low voice.
"He drove up at the same time I did," Kate said.
"What did he want?"
"He's an old family friend." For the hell of it Kate added, "He wanted
to offer me a job."
Darlene stepped forward, glaring. "What do you mean, he offered you a job!"
Kate put a hand on Darlene's chest and pushed her back a step. "The only
way we're going to make it through the next two months is if you don't
crowd me, Darlene."
Darlene took a deep breath and let it out. "What do you mean," she said,
spacing out the words, "Peter Heiman offered you a job?"
"I think it comes under the heading of, better to have the camel on the
inside of the tent pissing out than on the outside pissing in," Kate
said. "Don't worry. I declined his very generous offer." She watched
Darlene's face with interest, wondering if the other woman was going to
suffer a massive heart attack right before her eyes. She hoped not.
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Her better nature might force her to give Darlene CPR.
Darlene, with a powerful effort, brought herself back under control. "We
want Anne to be safe," she said, spacing out the words with care. "Jim
Chopin says that people who write letters generally stick to writing
letters. Okay, fine. But Anne's the front-runner in this race, and that
draws attention, especially when you're the front-runner against a
two-time incumbent who is wired into the Republican majority and has
money coming into his campaign from Outside to keep him in office.
Especially when you're a Native woman running against a white man.
Especially when you're younger and he's older."
Kate waited. Mutt, standing next to her, yawned so wide her jaw cracked.
"You should know I've hired a researcher," Darlene said. "She's looking
into Heiman's background."
"Research for attack ads?" Kate said.
Darlene's lips tightened. "Depends on what he throws at us first."
Kate thought Darlene's comment through to its logical conclusion, and
didn't like where she arrived. "You think Pete Heiman might be behind
these letters?"
"Why not?" Darlene said, adding, the world in two words, "He's behind."
Kate's eyes narrowed. "The only bent thing I know about Pete Heiman is
his extreme bad taste in women. I don't recall him ever stooping to hate
mail, or anything remotely that tacky." Something any law enforcement
professional looked for in a suspect, a history of bad behavior. If you
stole a trike when you were four, that was history, and in Alaska, no
matter how reassuring the judge was from the bench about your record
being expunged because you were a juvenile, that record never went away.
So far as Kate knew, Pete Heiman had no record, other than that of being
a good son, a successful businessman, a lousy
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husband, and your ordinary, everyday common or garden variety
sold-to-the-highest-bidder Republican legislator. At least Pete didn't
get visions from God to guide him through the legislative session. At
least Pete didn't introduce a law to legalize billboards in the state.
At least Pete knew enough about life in the Bush to get behind rural
subsistence, and enough about Alaska Natives to be willing at least to
discuss the issue of sovereignty.
"He's behind," Darlene repeated.
I'll earn my keep, Darlene, Kate thought, but some of it's going toward
not letting you throw mud all over one of Abel's best drinking buddies.
"So I read the mail, I watch the crowds, I follow up on anyone that
looks iffy," she said out loud.
"You protect the candidate," Darlene said.
"I can do that," Kate said. "But let me repeat what I said before. Don't
crowd me, Darlene."
They stared at each other until a voice broke in.
"Darlene?'
They looked around and saw Anne Gordaoff's husband, Doug, whom Kate had
met briefly in Niniltna as Billy Mike was forcing her out of her own
retirement. He was of middle height, with a youthful face belied by a
thick thatch of gray hair and a quick, charming smile. Too quick and too
charming, Kate had thought then, and saw nothing now to change her mind.
"She wants you," he told Darlene. "And the researcher, I can never
remember her name, she called and wants you to call her back." He
flashed the smile at Kate. "Kate."
"Doug," Kate said, and hoisted her duffel again. "I was just checking in."
"There's quite a crowd of people at the gym," Darlene said brusquely.
"Get there as soon as possible." She turned and walked away with Doug.
"Certainly," Kate said to her retreating back, and be
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thought herself once more of the very large check folded inside her
jacket pocket, ready to be deposited in the Ahtna branch of the Last
Frontier Bank at 10:01 A.M. the following morning.
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The Ahtna High School gymnasium, as befit a town that was the hub of its
region, was large, with a floor divided into six basketball courts,
bleachers that extended from both sides, and a stage that took up most
of the third wall. The metal trusses had been painted alternately in the
blue and white of the Ahtna Avalanche, the home team, although their
color was nearly obscured by the forest of banners hanging from them
like so many rectangular bats. Regional championships in basketball,
wrestling, and volleyball; state championships in basketball and
volleyball, and three retired jerseys were among the trophies, and the
smell of popcorn indicated that the freshman pep club had seized upon
the evening's event to make a couple of bucks.
The bleachers, Kate saw in some surprise, were crowded, as were the
metal folding chairs lined up on the court below. People spilled into
the aisles and stood three deep against the rear wall. Someone had
propped open one of the fire exits so those inclined could nip out for a
smoke and not have to come all the way around through the front door to