by Aimée Thurlo
They rode east through the town of Shiprock, then south and west to an area filled with low hills and pines.
Rick followed Larry’s pickup down a long, narrow, graveled road.
“What’s bothering you?” Kim asked, no doubt picking up on his mood.
“I don’t remember any oil wells this far off the highway. That’s not to say there weren’t any, because drilling has picked up in the past few years. Still, we should be watchful.”
The road quickly deteriorated to nothing more than a few ruts across the desert. Ahead of them, the men in the pickup were bouncing around but refused to slow down. “It doesn’t look like the oil companies ever did any drilling around here, or we would have seen some capped wells,” Rick said. “I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”
Just as he finished speaking, the truck ahead came to a stop. There was a wide arroyo ahead, blocking their way.
“Maybe they took a wrong turn,” Kim suggested. “It’s been a few years.”
“Let’s see what they have to say,” Rick answered, climbing out of the SUV. Kim followed.
“Guys, sorry, I think I’m lost,” Larry said, stepping out of the pickup. “This arroyo shouldn’t be here.”
“It happens,” Rick said, shrugging. “Want to give it another try?”
Just then Victor came around the truck. He’d put on mirrored sunglasses and now had a pistol in his hand. “Bring out your weapon slowly, with your left hand, and drop it on the ground.”
Rick, knowing he’d never be able to draw his pistol in time, did as he was asked. Silently, he noted that Larry didn’t appear to have a handgun, though there was a long hunting knife in a sheath clipped on his belt.
“Now step back ten feet,” Victor ordered, waving the barrel of his pistol back and forth.
Larry came forward, picked up Rick’s weapon and stuck it into his waistband.
“Those sunglasses. You were the one who pushed the kitchen wall of the Brickhouse down on us,” Kim said to Victor.
“Finally put that together, did you? You two are really hard to kill. I cut the gas line, blocked the exits, and you and the others still managed to get out without even a blister before the place went up in flames. Then I buried you under a ton of bricks and you tunneled your way out like prairie dogs,” he said. “This is your third strike. Nothing personal, though. Larry and I are just the hired help. We never even met your old man.”
“You plan on killing us, I get that. So why don’t you tell us who’s behind this?” Kim asked.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Victor answered. “Word got around at a cockfight up near Bloomfield that some local had enemies he wanted put down. I needed the money, so I stepped up and called the number. The voice was altered, but I said I’d do the job. An envelope was left for me at a drop site and inside was half the payment, photos and instructions. The party popper under the SUV was something special we added to the mix just to mess with you. Bet you jumped when it went off.”
Rick ignored the comment. “So my foster father never came this way. It was all a con?” he asked, slowly moving away from Kim and edging closer to Victor. If he could take Victor’s gun away from him, Kim could fend off Larry before he pulled his weapon. He’d seen her hand-to-hand skills.
“Once I heard the company security guy asking for help over the radio net, we made up stuff to draw you in.”
“If anything happens to us, he’ll know it was you,” Kim pointed out.
Larry laughed. “Hey, all we have to say is you never showed up. And when nobody finds your bodies...”
Victor motioned with his pistol. “Enough talk. Walk over to the truck, slowly, hands away from your body. Don’t try anything that’ll get you killed before your time.”
Larry reached the truck first and, bringing out two shovels from the bed, tossed them on the ground. “Pick them up and start digging.” He pointed to the arroyo. “Find a soft spot if you want. The hole’s got to be at least four feet deep and let’s say six long.”
“You want us to dig our own graves?” Kim demanded, sounding more outraged than scared. “Forget it! Dig them yourselves.” She tossed the shovel down into the arroyo, then stepped back.
“Go get it—now!” Victor swung his handgun around, waving it at Kim.
Wielding the shovel like a bat, Rick connected with the pistol. Victor screamed in pain and the weapon went flying.
Larry looked down to grab Rick’s pistol, which he’d tucked in his waistband, but Kim was already on the move. She dived at the man, who looked up in surprise, tried to dodge, then dropped the gun. Kim grabbed for it in midair, but missed and ended up knocking it into the arroyo.
Rick swung at Victor with the shovel again, but the guy blocked it with his arm, howling with pain. The handle broke and the shovel slipped from Rick’s grip.
Victor reached down to his boot, no doubt for a backup pistol, but Rick, seeing the opening, attacked. With his left hand, Rick pinned Victor’s neck, swinging him around toward Larry and using the man as a shield.
Rick reached down for Victor’s small handgun, slipping off the safety with his thumb as he yanked it from the ankle holster and raised it toward the man.
Larry had managed to grab Kim, and now had the tip of his hunting knife next to her neck. “So what’ll it be, Indian? Can you kill me before I cut her throat?” To make his point, he pressed the point of the blade into her neck until a drop of blood appeared.
Kim tried to lean away from the knife. “Take the shot!”
He should have done it. He was an excellent marksman. Yet the risk to Kim made it impossible for him to shoot. “I’m not letting your pal loose, or allowing you to walk away, either, Larry. Think hard, because you have one chance to live. If anything happens to her, you’re next.”
Kim suddenly went limp, collapsing out of Larry’s grasp. As Larry tried to grab her, Rick squeezed the trigger. Larry fell to his knees, then onto his back, a bullet hole in the center of his forehead.
Victor elbowed Rick in the gut, twisting around and reaching desperately for the pistol. As the weapon fell to the ground, Rick knocked Victor back with a stiff arm to the chest.
Rick turned for a brief second, trying to catch sight of the pistol, and then realized Victor had picked up Larry’s knife.
This was one fight Rick had hoped to avoid. He wanted to take this guy in alive.
Victor slashed at him with the big blade, but Rick feinted left and dodged right, keeping his arms up to block any jab or sweeping motion.
Out of the corner of his eye, Rick saw Kim pick up the pistol. Before she could fire, Victor rushed Rick, jabbing the blade toward his gut.
Rick sidestepped, slipping outside the motion, and grabbed Victor’s extended knife hand at the wrist and twisted. The man screamed in pain as bones cracked.
Rick kicked the man in the gut, then pushed him to the ground, overpowering him with a choke hold that quickly rendered Victor unconscious.
Rick rolled Victor so he was facedown and put his knee on the man’s back. He looked over at Kim, who was now aiming the pistol at Victor.
“Find something to tie this guy up,” he said, never easing his hold.
She looked into the back of the pickup and brought him a jumper cable. “No rope, but this should do.”
After Victor was secured, Rick stood and quickly looked her over. “Are you okay?” Seeing the spot of blood on her neck, his gut tightened.
“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch,” she said, dabbing at the puncture wound with her hand. “It’s already stopped bleeding.”
Rick called Bidtah next and quickly filled him in, giving him directions and GPS coordinates. As soon as he ended the call, he looked back at her. “We’re going to wait here for the tribal cops. Do you need to sit?”
She pulled down the pi
ckup’s tailgate and took a seat. “For a moment or two I thought that was it for both of us. Why didn’t you take the shot?”
“I didn’t have a clear line of fire,” he said.
“Yet you were able to hit the exact spot you were aiming at while he was moving. When he had the knife at my throat, he was basically still, a much easier shot,” she said.
“I couldn’t risk hurting you,” he said, grasping her shoulders and looking squarely at her. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She shook her head. “Talk to me. Help me understand you,” she said, her voice unsteady for the first time.
“I care for you, Kim, more than I should. I’ll do whatever I can to protect you, but you should run away from me. Go as far and as fast as you can. The man you see before you—that’s only half the picture.”
Before she could respond, they heard sirens coming up the road from the highway. He moved away from her. “That’ll be Detective Bidtah and the Crime Scene Unit. They’ll have a lot of questions, so get ready.”
* * *
BIDTAH AND RICK stood aside, watching the Navajo M.E. and the other crime scene specialists work with the body.
“This is one of the cleanest shootings I’ve ever seen. One head shot, small caliber, instantly fatal. That’s some marksmanship,” Bidtah said.
“A necessary skill in my last occupation,” Rick answered.
“We’ve got the deceased’s address and we’ll check out his place. I’ll let you know what we find. We’ll also be questioning Victor Pete at length. Preston will be present when we do,” Bidtah added.
“Good.”
Bidtah looked over at Kim, who joined them after having her small puncture wound photographed for the record. It had already stopped bleeding.
“If you’re through with us here, I can take her to Copper Canyon and clean off her wound,” Rick said.
“Go. I know where to find you,” Bidtah answered.
As they walked back to the SUV, Rick caught a flicker of light coming from just beyond the highway. He hurried with her to the vehicle.
“What’s going on?” she asked as they got under way.
“Someone’s watching from that stand of cottonwoods we passed on the way in,” Rick said. “It might just be a curious passerby who saw the tribal police and decided to take photos to post on the internet.”
“Or not. You going to tell Bidtah?”
“Yeah, but I also intend to check things out for myself.” He slowed, brought out his cell phone and called Bidtah.
Several seconds later Rick ended the call and looked over at Kim. “He’s sending one of his officers.” He brought out his pistol and placed it on the seat between them. “You up to this again, so soon?”
“You bet. Let’s go.”
He smiled. He loved her spirit.
Chapter Sixteen
They drove past the grove of trees and parked out of sight around a curve in the road. On foot, they advanced quietly, circling around from the opposite side of the stand of cottonwoods. Rick finally stopped about fifty yards from where he’d seen the flicker of light. Using the binoculars he’d pulled from the glove compartment, he searched the low, marshy area carefully. “No one’s there now, but I’d like to take a look around anyway.”
They walked up a small wash that drained the marshy spot—Rick was alert every step of the way—but there was very little ground cover. Soon he caught a flicker of motion to his left.
“Officer Sells,” the man said, immediately identifying himself and stepping out from where he’d been crouching beside a juniper. “I swept the area coming in from the west at the other end of this wash. Subject’s gone. Wanna take a look?”
Rick followed Sells to the location and saw a small medicine bag lying on the ground. It was made of the skins of horned toads. “That’s a witch bag,” he explained to Kim. “It’s the opposite of a medicine bag.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “The flicker of light, whether it came from a mirror, rifle scope or binoculars, was no accident. Someone wanted us to find this. It’s a way of saying they’re not through yet.”
Officer Sells radioed Bidtah, explaining that they’d found no shoe or boot prints, just faint moccasin impressions.
“Someone sure hates you,” Sells told Rick after ending the transmission.
“Yeah, but they don’t know me very well. If anything, this just makes me more determined to find them.”
Sells nodded, then began the walk back to the crime scene.
* * *
ONCE INSIDE THE SUV, Rick gazed at her for a long moment. “If you’re in this for the duration, so be it, Kim, but you’ll need to carry the right weapons.”
“I qualified with several infantry weapons in the army, including handguns,” she said.
“Not those kinds of weapons.”
“You’re referring to traditional Navajo protection, like fetishes and medicine bags, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Yes. It’ll show respect for our culture and traditions, which means people on the Rez will be more likely to trust you. It’ll be late by the time we get there, but Pablo Ortiz lives at the rear of his store. He’ll welcome us even if it’s after hours for him.”
“Mr. Ortiz of Southwest Treasures?”
He smiled as they drove east toward Hartley. “You know him?”
“Only by name.”
They pulled into the rear parking lot of Southwest Treasures instead of parking at the curb.
As Rick got down from the SUV, Pablo Ortiz, a short, rotund Zuni tribesman with gray hair and a wide smile, came out to greet them.
“Welcome, Rick! You picked a great time to visit. After hours is always best. No interruptions.”
After Rick introduced Kim to Pablo, they went inside and Pablo led them up the stairs into a tiny kitchen.
“My friend needs a jish and a special fetish. She’s helping me on a case,” Rick said.
“Then come with me into my work area.” He took them into the small living room. At the center of the room beneath a bright overhead light was a sofa, a leather recliner and a metal tray with various grinding and polishing tools.
Following her line of sight, Ortiz smiled. “My special pieces are finished there, but the initial work requires a more secure surface.” He pointed to a bigger wood table on the north side of the room. Above it was a shelf containing handsaws, mallets, chisels and stone rasps and files of all sizes.
“I have three finished fetishes. I don’t know who they’ll go to yet, but the spirit inside the stone will know its owner.”
Kim walked over to the larger table. “Is it okay for me to take a closer look?”
“Go ahead,” Ortiz said.
“We were looking for a—” Rick started but grew silent when Ortiz held up his hand.
The first fetish was a small bear made of jet. The second was a beautiful blue-turquoise lizard. The third was a horse made of alabaster, with a turquoise heart line etched from its mouth to its heart. Feathers adored its back.
“This one is gorgeous,” she said.
Ortiz smiled at Rick, then glanced back at her. “Horse chooses you, as you’ve chosen it,” he said.
“What do the feathers stand for?” she asked.
“They are an offering to the spirit of the fetish and increase its power. Feathers, blue ones in particular, are powerful medicine.”
Ortiz looked at her for a moment. “What led you to choose Horse?”
She told him about Hosteen Silver’s note, adding, “This one reminded me of fearlessness and freedom.” She looked at the small figure in her palm.
Ortiz smiled. “Good. The match is complete.”
“Thank you, uncle,” Rick said. “We’ll also need a jish, one with protective qualities.”
&n
bsp; His uncle walked across the room and picked up a small leather bag from a collection of five. “This has pollen, a crystal and a sprig from a powerful good luck plant. It’s perfect for Horse and you,” he said, handing it to Kim.
She carefully placed the small fetish in her pouch and, following Ortiz’s directions, sprinkled it with pollen. Then after asking permission, she added the flint arrowhead to its contents.
Rick paid the customary amount and Pablo Ortiz thanked him. “Be careful, both of you. Something tells me you’ve yet to face your worst enemy.”
“Thank you for the warning, uncle. We’ll remember,” he said.
As they left, heading back to the Rez, Kim felt different somehow. “Thank you for this,” she said, her hand on the small pouch now attached to her belt. “It was pretty amazing how your foster father mentioned Horse, and the right one was here waiting for me.”
“Pablo’s got an instinct for things of this nature. I was the hardest to read of all my brothers. Even Hosteen Silver was unsure which fetish would be right for me, so he brought me here. We stayed for several hours, shared a meal and just talked. Pablo wanted to know what my plans for the future were.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen, but even back then I knew what I wanted. I told him I needed to lead a life with a clear purpose. One where I’d be challenged and each day was different from the last. My goal, even back then, was to join a federal agency and do undercover work.”
“So you became someone else for a while and brought some bad people to justice. Yet the act of surviving isn’t the same as living life, either.”
He looked at her for a moment and then focused his eyes on the highway. The SUV’s headlight beams were quickly swallowed up by the yawning black void ahead. The only other lights were stars in the dry desert sky.
“Rick, no warrior wears his armament all the time.”
She wanted to reach him, to connect. She understood why he’d closed himself off, yet she knew he’d never find happiness until he learned how to lower his guard and let people in.
Silence ensued but she didn’t press him. Looking around into the darkness surrounding the SUV made her feel claustrophobic. “I’ve lost track of where we are and where we’re going,” she said at last.
