by Joseph Flynn
If Randy was going to cheat, he couldn’t have made a better choice.
All in all, Lily had to consider herself lucky. For ten years, she had the majority rights to the most handsome man she’d ever known. He’d given her a son every bit as beautiful as he was, had taken her off of the rez, and together they’d made themselves financially secure to a degree they couldn’t have imagined as children.
Would have been a wonderful life, if they hadn’t had blood on their hands.
If they hadn’t gotten their start with stolen money.
Lily came to feel she had to do something to make amends.
The best thing she could think to do was make charitable donations.
She made trips out of town to mail anonymous cash home to Mercy Ridge.
She contributed locally to the families of fallen cops.
When Randy told her he wanted to open a new and bigger place, she said go ahead.
She’d lost interest in the old bar, too, and opened Go Native.
Chapter 20
Austin, Texas — July 13, the present
“So who’s dead?” Darton asked John, the two of them sitting at his desk in the homicide unit. “Randy or Jackson?”
John said, “We know Randy was a killer. Your department have any criminal record on Jackson?”
“Not a thing, but every bad guy has to start somewhere.”
“Maybe coming to Mom’s aid?” John said.
“Maybe cleaning up something Mom did. Could be she knocked off the old man when he got to be too big a pain in the ass.”
John replied, “Annie Forger described Lily as a wild girl. Willing to be photographed holding on to a Tommy gun. But if Lily and Jackson are alive, where’d they go?”
Darton said, “My guess is not San Diego. How about Cancun? Charlotte Amalie? Somewhere south of the border or in the Caribbean.”
John sighed. “That’d cover a lot of ground and water.”
“Maybe we could get Coy Wilson to help us. Ask her to listen to small label music CDs from that part of the world. Maybe she’d hear someone using another name performing with Jackson’s sound.”
John smiled. “That’d be a creative approach. Maybe she could do it by checking music-sharing sites on the Internet. But it would raise the poor woman’s hopes for a long-shot hunch, and if it didn’t pay off …”
“Yeah,” Darton said. “So, if it’s Jackson that’s dead, where do you think Randy is?”
“With Lily? Maybe Annie Forger, too, for all we know.” John thought about the problem and after a moment began to nod his head.
“What?” Darton asked.
“We might know where to find some answers.”
“We might?”
“Yeah, let’s head back to Go Native. Have another talk with Barbara Larson.”
Inventory had been completed, the store was open and there were half-a-dozen people looking at the wares, two of whom were speaking with the owner. Barbara saw John and Darton enter the shop. She discreetly held her index finger and thumb an inch apart: Just a minute, guys.
The customers she was with were a well-turned-out couple and might have represented a big sale both John and Darton thought. Messing that up wouldn’t beget an attitude of cooperation, they knew. Darton tapped his wristwatch and drew a circle in the air with his index finger.
Barbara smiled and nodded.
Leaving the store, John asked him, “What was that gesture you made, American sign language?”
Darton laughed. “Heck, no. It was just intuitive. Made up on the spot.”
“Meaning what?”
“What do you think?”
“Back in an hour?” John guessed.
“There you go. Wasn’t hard, was it?”
“Guess not.”
“Hey, I thought you —”
“Don’t say it,” John told him.
Meaning don’t say anything about hand signals being a part of Native American culture. In the interest of law enforcement collegiality, they talked about sports at lunch.
Barbara Larson had the store to herself when John and Darton returned to Go Native. She was doing paperwork on a glass countertop. She smiled when she saw them.
“Thanks for the consideration, gents,” she said.
“Big sale?” John asked.
“That and more,” Barbara replied. “Got myself a consulting job. Going to help deck out a Western-themed restaurant where the idea is authenticity not kitsch.”
“Yeah, but will the food be any good?” Darton asked.
“If the chef knows her job as well I know mine, it will.”
John said, “That’s good, that you know your business so well.”
Some of the sparkle left Barbara’s eyes; she remembered she was talking to cops, and they were looking for Lily. Her demeanor became businesslike.
“How may I help you?”
John asked, “When you bought this shop, did it come with any encumbrances? Did you assume any debt Ms. White Bird had incurred.”
“No, sir,” Barbara said. “My daddy warned me about such things, and I’ve warned my kids. Do not buy things on credit because Mama and Daddy won’t be paying off your bills. This place was run at a profit. That’s why I bought it. Well, that and I was having a lot of fun here.”
“So you took a good look at the store’s books?” Darton asked.
“My husband and I both did, looking over our accountant’s shoulders.”
“There was nothing that bothered you?” John pressed.
Barbara pursed her lips — and knew immediately she’d given herself away.
She said, “There had been a loan taken out against the shop, but it had been repaid in full before Lily and I started talking about my buying the place.”
John asked, “Did you see what the purpose of the loan was?”
Barbara sighed. “That wasn’t in the paperwork, but Lily told me. She took out the loan to keep her husband’s bar open. He got behind on paying his liquor distributor and Lily made things right.”
John said, “Maybe Ms. White Bird sold her business so she wouldn’t have to keep bailing out her husband.”
“I already told you I think he was a cheat. The only thing worse than that is an expensive cheat.”
When asked, Barbara told them the name of the bar Lily’s husband owned.
She said, “It’s called Clyde’s.”
Clyde’s was still in business, under new ownership.
“Why didn’t Randy Bear Heart call the place Warren’s?” Darton asked as they pulled up in front of the bar. John knew what he meant, Warren Beatty, the actor Randy had imitated.
“Clyde’s has more snap,” he said.
Darton grinned and nodded. They went inside. There were two guys at the bar, one pouring, one drinking. It was the quiet time between lunch and happy hour. Darton handled the badge presentation to the bartender.
“Mr. Hopkins here? We called ahead and he said come on in.”
“Boss is in back. Let me give him a buzz and he’ll be right out.”
The bartender pressed a button on his side of the stick. A moment later, a man in a western-cut suit stepped out of back room and saw John and Darton. He gestured to them.
“Come on back, boys. Either of you care for coffee?”
The two cops declined. Jerry Hopkins, the new owner of Clyde’s, told the bartender no interruptions.
Seating his guests before he sat behind a nondescript desk, Hopkins asked, “What can I do for you gentlemen?”
John said, “We’re looking for this man.” He placed the photo of Randy Bear Heart and Lily White Bird in costume on the desk. “That was him when he was young.”
Hopkins studied the picture and nodded.
“That’s John Randall, all right.”
“John?” John asked.
“His given name, but everyone called him Randy.” Looking at the photo again, Hopkins added, “Hardly seems fair. The man I knew looked more mature but not a whole lot older.
Still had the same dark hair, bright eyes and brighter smile. Some folks just don’t seem to age.”
“You recognize the woman in the picture?” Darton asked.
He nodded. “Randy’s wife, Lily. Never met her but Randy had a studio portrait of her in here when I first came to see him about buying the place. She’s a fine looking lady. The two of them must’ve made quite a pair … when things were still good between them.”
John said, “Randy talked about his relationship with his wife?”
“No, he was a gentleman in that regard.”
“What other regard is there?” Darton asked.
“The one where a man likes the company of more than one woman.”
“He bragged about being a ladies’ man?” John asked.
“Not at all, but I do my homework. When I heard about this place being up for sale, I sent some people I trust in to take a quiet look at how it was being run. What they told me, there was a slick fellow who looked to be a … general manager, you might say. All the other employees, tending bar and waiting tables, were attractive young women. The ladies were real professional with the manager but more than a little friendly with Randy.”
“Did you check with the Austin vice squad to see if it had taken any interest in Clyde’s” Darton asked.
“I did just that. The place had a clean bill of health. In fact, it was a regular contributor to the Fallen Officers’ Fund. I’ve kept that tradition going. What I think the deal was, the girls were just girls, looking for the chance to meet a nice young fellow with bright prospects. That and enjoy a romp with the boss every so often.”
John said, “If there was no prostitution, how did the slick general manager pad his paycheck? Or was he just looking for someone to marry, too?”
Hopkins laughed. “Julio? No, he was too busy robbing Randy blind.”
“How’d you know that?” Darton asked.
“I looked at the books, of course. There was a regular pattern of what Randy described to me as cost overruns. Everything from price increases from the liquor distributor to insurance premiums going up, to utility bills being larger than expected, to … well, you name it. Randy knew all there was to know about showing folks a good time, but nothing at all about minding his cash flow.”
John asked, “So how did he keep the place going long enough for you to come along and buy it?”
“He had an angel. Someone with the money to keep the doors open.”
“More than once?” Darton asked.
“Twice a year for two years before I took over.”
John asked, “You get the idea Lily was his angel?”
“Can’t say. All Randy told me was he was selling the place because he was headed for a very comfortable retirement.”
“You’ve got a fella behind the bar now,” Darton said. “You let the old staff go?”
“I let the girls go. Julio was gone before I could bounce him.”
John said, “Gone how?”
“Can’t say about that either, but I did let Randy know Julio was a thief. Maybe Randy sent him on his way with a boot to his backside.”
Hopkins told them Julio’s last name was Melendez.
“Thing was,” he said, “Julio had a Latino name, but you could see he had Indian blood just like Randy did. Could’ve been why Randy trusted him. Those fellas looked like they could have been family, cousins if not brothers.”
Chapter 21
Austin, Texas — July 13, the present
Marlene Flower Moon was back in town and met John for dinner at Carmelo’s, both of them opting for Italian as a change of pace from Southwestern fare. The meal was on the federal government’s dime. Marlene’s merlot was out of pocket. John’s glass of water was courtesy of the restaurant.
“You’ve got Gilbert Melvin doing your legwork,” Marlene said.
“You mean looking for Annie Forger? Yeah.”
“I gave that job to you.”
“I re-gifted it,” John said.
The day John had started work at the BIA he’d tendered his signed resignation to Marlene. All it needed to become effective was to have a date inscribed on it and to be shuffled in the proper bureaucratic direction.
The document was John’s de facto declaration of independence.
He worked his investigations in the ways that made sense to him.
Politics, office or national, be damned.
He had invested the money he had planned to use for his year abroad after college in widows-and-orphans stocks, made regular contributions to add to his holdings and when the money got big enough he swapped everything he had for his first share of Berkshire Hathaway, BRK.A. Warren Buffett had been working hard for him ever since, and now he had two shares.
He also owned a two-bedroom house in Santa Fe, and had enough money in his checking account that he didn’t have to pay any bank fees.
In short, Marlene couldn’t threaten him economically.
He said, “I’ve also got Detective Darton Blake looking for a marriage license and/or divorce decree in the names of John Randall, aka Randy Bear Heart, and Lily White, aka Lily White Bird.”
He told Marlene what he’d learned about the fugitives that day.
She gave him a look, wishing she’d had something to hold over him.
Having nothing, she said, “Those are the facts. What do you make of them?”
John said, “Randy killed three cops back in his bank-robbing days. The ways guys like that think, it’s okay for them to steal from you but not the other way around.”
“So you think —”
“Maybe Randy killed Julio Melendez. Possibly dumped him in Lake Travis. Conceivably saw the possible opportunity to mislead the cops by putting a bit of his jewelry on the body.”
“Or maybe Julio killed Randy,” Marlene said.
“Could be, if Julio had a history of violence. Darton is looking into that, too. Maybe I’ll ask Melvin to take a look at him, as well, in case the FBI or someone else put Julio into witness protection.”
Marlene narrowed her eyes, but offered no rebuke.
“What else do you think?” she asked.
“I’ve been thinking to ask you to find out if Randy Bear Heart had any siblings, maybe a half-brother or even a cousin. That would explain Julio resembling him and why Randy would trust him to handle the money passing through his business.”
“Now, I’m working for you?” Marlene asked.
“We’re all working together, one big happy family.”
She changed directions on him. “You’re not staying at the La Quinta now.”
“No, I’m not.”
She could always find out he’d checked into the Driskill; he saw no reason to make it easy for her.
“You didn’t go to Washington this morning,” he said.
With Marlene, she might have had a change of planes in Dallas and had decided to circle back. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d done that.
“No, I didn’t,” she said. “I’m going tonight.”
“Safe travels,” John said. “You still might look into that family angle, though.”
Marlene called for their check and put the meals on her business card, tucking the copy of the credit slip into her purse. John had never seen the telltale bulge of a gun in any of Marlene’s handbags. He figured her for someone who’d prefer a knife — or teeth — for close-in work.
That was one reason, but not the only one, he’d always turned down invitations to visit her room after business dinners together. Likewise, he always declined the suggestion that he loosen up and drink something with an alcohol content.
Getting to her feet, Marlene asked, “Would you care to tell me where you’ll be going with this investigation.”
John stood and said, “I’ll be leaving town, too.”
He didn’t elaborate. You never wanted to make things easy for Coyote.
Austin, Texas — July 14, the present
John met Darton the next morning at a diner where a lot of
the local cops ate breakfast.
“I’m going to L.A.,” he told Darton, “but if my boss or SAC Melvin ask where I am, you don’t know.”
Darton saluted. “I’ll just say you’re working an angle you want to keep to yourself.”
“That’ll work for Melvin. If Marlene asks, just say the damn Injun snuck off before dawn.”
Darton grinned. “She likes ethnic humor, does she?”
“Can’t get enough. I’ll call in if I find something interesting. Don’t leave any notes around. Marlene’s great at recruiting spies. I wouldn’t be surprised if she already has someone in your office.”
“A cop with divided loyalties, imagine that.”
The two men shook hands and said goodbye.
It was only when he was on his way to the airport that John thought the slyest move Coyote could have made would have been to enlist Darton.
Chapter 22
Los Angeles, California — July 14, the present
John arrived in L.A. in time for lunch and met two Pacific Division traffic detectives at the Cheesecake Factory in Marina Del Rey. It was a beautiful day, sunny and twenty degrees cooler than Texas with a light breeze off the ocean. The three cops decided to dine al fresco.
Toryn Clarke had dark hair, blue eyes and pale skin, looked like she could be the lead in a cop TV show, the seasoned senior officer. Samuel Altschul looked like an academic, but he had the deep tan of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. He was retired.
John knew why Altschul was putting in an appearance.
He asked both detectives, “First time working with a BIA agent?”
Clarke nodded. Altschul said, “Second.”
“Really?” John said. He didn’t get that a lot. “You remember the other guy’s name?”
“Sure. Couldn’t forget it. Marlene —”
“Flower Moon,” John finished.
Sometimes there was no eluding the woman, John thought.
“Yeah, you know Marlene?” Altschul asked.
