Tall Man in Ray-Bans (A John Tall Wolf Novel)

by Joseph Flynn

  If that wasn’t enough, Jackson had put her name down as someone entitled to get at whatever the box held. She wondered if he ever intended to tell her about what he’d hidden in there. Maybe it was something he’d wanted her to see only after he …

  Well, hell, chances were he was dead.

  The lady who handled the paperwork for getting a box out of the vault was perfectly courteous with Coy. That calmed her down a little more. When it came time to sign her name, to show she’d been given access to the box, she wrote Coy Wilson White.

  Anybody looking at the signature afterward wouldn’t be able to say she was trying to pose as someone else, and she’d be able to say she considered herself Jackson’s wife. She didn’t know if that would mean anything legally, but she thought it might give a lawyer grounds to defend her. Give a sympathetic juror reason to acquit.

  “Will you need a room for privacy?” the bank lady asked after pulling the box out of the vault wall.

  “Yes, please,” Coy said.

  No way was she going to open the thing in front of anyone else.

  The bank lady didn’t bat an eye. No big deal to her. But now that Coy held the box in her hands her heart was hammering again. Not only did she think she might find something shocking, she felt as if she might be opening a coffin. Christ, what if someone had put a part of Jackson in the box?

  It was a crazy thought, but Jackson’s disappearance was nuts, too.

  Now finding this damn box … she was glad it was too small to hold a head.

  “Just press the buzzer and I’ll be right back,” the bank lady said.

  That was when Coy first took notice that she’d followed the woman into a small windowless room, seated herself and put the box down on a counter in front of her.

  “Thank you, I will,” Coy said.

  The woman closed the door behind her. There was a lock button in the doorknob. Coy pushed it. Secure and alone, she still needed a minute of looking at the box before she could open it. Even then, she had to remind herself that she’d always trusted Jackson’s judgement.

  She took a deep breath and lifted the lid.

  The first thing she saw was a glassine sleeve with strips of developed 35 mm film inside. Next to the film was a number ten envelope. Jackson’s name was inscribed on it in a feminine hand. Both the sleeve holding the film and the envelope rested on a bed of cash.

  Coy had imagined that she might find some money but nowhere near what she saw. Banded packs of hundred dollar bills, all of them looking mint fresh, filled the bottom of the box. Stamped on the band of each pack was the figure $10,000. There were ten packs.

  In addition to performing with Red Hawk, she and Jackson had both been working studio musicians. They had made a comfortable living, but not nearly as much as they might have if they hadn’t invested half their time and almost as great a part of their income on the band. No way had they made enough for Jackson to stash a hundred grand. Certainly not without Coy noticing that maybe they hadn’t eaten for the past year.

  She picked up the sleeve holding the film. She recognized the pictures. They had been shot by a photographer friend, poses she and Jackson had struck with the idea one might become the cover art for their first Red Hawk album. Seeing the images now made Coy’s eyes sting. She put the exposures aside.

  She picked up the envelope with Jackson’s name on it, looked at the handwriting. It was definitely the work of a woman. But there was no perfume on the envelope. No lipstick kiss to seal it. It didn’t strike Coy as anyone’s idea of a love letter. As far as she knew, Jackson’s mom was the only other woman in his life. Before Coy opened the envelope, she looked at the door to the room. The lock button in the doorknob was still depressed. The door was squarely in its frame. There was no telltale sound of anyone standing just outside.

  Coy took a nail file out of her carry bag and neatly slit the envelope open. She took out a single sheet of white typing paper. On it, written in the same hand that had inscribed Jackson’s name was …

  Coy’s eyes flew across the message. It was signed Lily White Bird. Jackson’s mom.

  She had confessed to killing her first husband, a tribal police officer.

  Named Daniel Red Hawk.

  Coy stifled a sob, thinking, Oh, Jesus, did you know about this, Jackson?

  Was this how you came up with the band’s name?

  Was this the reason you disappeared?

  Chapter 30

  Boston, Massachusetts — July 17, the present

  John had gotten into Boston late enough the night before that he hadn’t wanted to head straight to the Forger brothers’ house. Knock on someone’s door after reasonable visiting hours, they’d have a good reason for telling you to get lost. He took a room at the Charles Street Inn. The staff there was patriotic enough to give him a government discount and sophisticated enough not to say they didn’t get many guests from the BIA.

  John didn’t know Boston but he knew swank when he saw it the following morning. The North End townhouse where the Forger brothers lived had been rehabbed to a magazine layout gloss. If the place wasn’t a rental, then trust fund assets weren’t the only big money the boys had to their names — though John guessed that if the property was in anyone’s name, it was Annie’s or that of a holding company she controlled.

  He pressed the doorbell, didn’t hear a ring or a chime, but a moment later a young man who stood about six-two opened the door. He had to look up to meet John’s eyes.

  John showed the kid his federal ID.

  “You’re one big Indian,” the kid said. “A red man in Ray-Bans.”

  John laughed. “You like being politically incorrect?”

  “Pretty much. Still, with you, it’s cool.”

  “How’s that?” John asked.

  “Well, just between us Native Americans, I’ve got tribal license. You know, the way African American people can use the n-word.”

  John said, “Learn a new thing every day. May I come in?”

  “Sure. Wait, you’re not here to arrest anyone, are you? Can you arrest people?”

  “I can, but all I’d like to do is talk with you and your brother.”

  “About?”

  “Your father among other things.”

  The kid smiled. Got a little choked up, too.

  “Always happy to talk about Dad. Come on in. I’m Guy Forger.”

  He used the French pronunciation, too.

  Guy stepped aside, allowing John to enter. Sitting on a sofa in the living room was another young man. He put the book he’d been reading on a coffee table. John saw the cover: Down to My Last Dime. Below the title was a photo of a handsome gray-haired African American man.

  John knew of the author and his story. Albert Winston had been a former NBA player, had been kicked out of the league for drug use and at bottom literally had ten cents left to his name. Nonetheless, he managed to turn his life around and start a self-help organization called Last Best Chance.

  Cautionary reading for any young athlete, John thought. Especially one born into the first generation of privilege whose forebears had known nothing but hard times. That kind of self-awareness told John he’d be dealing with more than just a couple of jocks.

  “That’s my brother, Louie,” Guy told John.

  John shook his hand and asked, “Good book?”

  “Makes you think, that’s for sure.”

  “This is Special Agent Tall Wolf, Louie. He’s with the BIA.”

  Louie smiled. “Yeah? Can I see?”

  John showed Louie his ID.

  Guy said, “He can arrest people.”

  “Even white people?” Louie asked. “Boston Brahmins?”

  “White, black, brown, red. Rich or poor. I don’t discriminate,” John said.

  “But not us and not now, right?” Louie asked.

  “Right.”

  Guy said, “Have a seat, Mr. Tall Wolf. You want something to drink?”

  John sat in an arm chair and said, “Spring water is
always good.”

  Guy plopped down on the sofa next to his brother and nudged him.

  “Get the man a Poland Spring, okay?”

  Louie nodded and got to his feet. “You want one, too?”

  “I’m good.”

  Louie nodded and left the room. John sensed the respect he had for his older brother.

  “You’ve stood up for him a time or two, haven’t you?” John asked.

  Guy shrugged. “Whenever it was called for; he does his own heavy lifting now. What kind of questions you got?”

  “Personal ones, I’m afraid. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to ask about your mother first.”

  Guy was thinking about that when Louie returned with an unopened bottle of water. He gave it to John and sat next to his brother.

  “He wants to talk about Mom,” Guy told Louie.

  “That’s okay by me.”

  John was happy to hear that; glad, too, the seal on the water bottle hadn’t been broken. You never knew when people might want to tamper with your drink — maybe slip some THC into it. He twisted off the cap and took a sip.

  Guy hadn’t seconded Louie’s approval yet, so John went another way.

  “You guys are old enough to remember your father, aren’t you?”

  Guy said, “Sure.”

  Louie said, “He’s a little fuzzy to me. I thought we were going to talk about Mom.”

  “If it’s okay with your brother,” John said.

  Guy nodded. “Yeah, I guess. Go ahead.”

  “As far as either of you can remember,” John said, “did your parents get along with each other?”

  “They didn’t fight in front of us, if that’s what you mean,” Guy said.

  Louie shrugged. “They were just there is all I can tell you.”

  “Do you remember if they were affectionate with each other?”

  “You mean huggy-kissy?” Guy thought about that. “Anytime Dad came home from a road trip, we all greeted him at the door. He’d grab Louie and me and pick us up, both of us together.”

  Louie brightened. “Hey, I remember that! Yeah, that was really cool. The way I felt with Dad holding us, it was like he was the strongest man in the world.”

  “He was strong,” Guy said.

  “Did you father hug your mother, too?” John asked.

  Guy told him, “Yeah, he did. He’d put us down and throw an arm around Mom and plant a good one on her.”

  “A kiss?” Louie asked.

  Guy nodded.

  “Don’t remember that,” his brother told him.

  John asked Guy, “Were you able to tell if your mother was as happy to see your father as he was to see all of you?”

  Guy’s face showed suspicion, but he said, “She kissed him back. What else is …” The childhood recollection caught up with what Guy had come to know of women as a young man. “You know, maybe Mom wasn’t quite as happy as …” Further understanding occurred and Guy shook his head. “I don’t think either of them was all that happy. Not as much as either of them was happy about being with Louie and me.”

  A look of sadness filled Louie’s eyes.

  “Maybe Mom liked to be with us when we were little, but how much time has she spent with us in the last ten years?”

  John wasn’t going to ask the two young men if they thought their mother had been having an affair while their father was still alive and playing hockey away from home. Things had reached a point that was delicate enough already. He might not get many more answers.

  He went in another direction.

  “After your father died, did your relationship with your mother change?”

  Guy rolled his eyes. “She moved us to South Dakota. We begged her not to.”

  “That’s what I was just getting at,” Louie said. “We didn’t have to stay in Rapid City long.”

  “Why not?” John asked, surprised.

  Louie told him, “We got sent to boarding school in Pomfret, Connecticut.”

  “Really good school,” Guy said, “and equally good hockey team.”

  Louie said, “Thing was, Mom used to come and visit all the time up ’til Guy reached high school. After that, it was just Christmas and Easter.”

  After that, John felt sure, was when Guy became his brother’s surrogate parent.

  “What about summer vacation?” John asked.

  “Mom came for a week,” Guy told him. “We’d go to Manhattan, buy stuff, see some movies, maybe a play. After that, it was goodbye and we were off to hockey camp.”

  “Otherwise, we just had phone calls,” Louie said.

  There were other personal questions John might have asked but he felt he’d spread enough gloom. He had just one more thing he wanted to know.

  “Does your mother have a house in Canada?”

  Guy nodded. “Yeah, she rents a place in Banff.”

  John took a calculated risk. He called a cell phone number Guy had given him. Annie Forger answered on the first ring. There was no reason she shouldn’t have. He was calling from her sons’ home phone.

  “Guy?” Annie said.

  “No, Ms. Forger, this is John Tall Wolf calling.”

  There was a moment of silence. John thought she might hang up on him. That would be all right. The simple fact that he’d called from the Boston town house sent a message. But Annie Forger stayed on the line.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  Smart woman, John thought. She might as well see if she could learn something to her advantage.

  John said, “There were skeletal remains found in Lake Travis in Austin, Texas this week. They were identified as belonging to your nephew, Jackson White. He might be thought of as Jackson Bear Heart, though, as he was Randy’s son.”

  “That’s terrible,” Annie said.

  “Yes, it is. But you don’t sound too surprised or upset. Lily must have told you what happened.”

  “What’s your point, Mr. Tall Wolf?”

  “My point is, I’m on my way to see you. The FBI will be there shortly, too, assuming Randy Bear Heart is with you and your sister. Don’t think being in Canada will help you. We’ll have the Canadian authorities with us. If you run, I’ll find you.”

  “Lily and I haven’t done anything wrong,” Annie said.

  John ignored the denial. “I advise you to have a lawyer on hand when I arrive.”

  He was the one who ended the call.

  Guy and Louie had listened on an extension. Louie looked like he might say something. Guy put a hand on his arm to silence his brother.

  John let himself out.

  Chapter 31

  Banff, Alberta — July 17, the present

  “You want to go on a picnic?” The idea took Randy Bear Heart by surprise.

  He was still in bed, had opened his eyes only thirty minutes ago. Usually, Lily and Annie gave him an hour to himself after waking. Or one of them would slip under the covers with him for a morning frolic. It had been a while, though, since all three of them had a go at it.

  That was what Lily had just proposed. Outdoors yet.

  Randy didn’t kid himself that he was the young stud he used to be.

  He couldn’t imagine robbing a bank these days.

  Almost found it hard to believe he had ever done so.

  But he still had that old killer smile.

  The question was, would he be able to satisfy two women in quick succession? He glanced out the bedroom window. It was a beautiful morning. Sunny. The mountains stood in knife sharp relief against the bright blue sky. Still, a patch of grass, even with a blanket, was no match for his Serta Perfect Sleeper. Sometimes his back could act up.

  “How about we just open the window?” Randy asked.

  Lily scowled. “Annie’s fixing a picnic basket. I’ll tell her to forget it.”

  Randy held up a hand to stop her. “Outside? Out-damn-side?”

  “You used to like it.”

  Yeah, Randy thought. I liked it anywhere. Only now I like my comfort, too.r />
  That thought made him realize: He was getting old. Swinging his feet off the bed, he said, “My back gets sore, you’ll give me a rub?”

  “We’ll rub any … thing … you … want.”

  Randy smiled, feeling younger by the moment.

  He’d show Lily and Annie what he could do.

  “I’ll shower and be right down,” he said.

  Lily White Bird and Annie Forger took Randy Bear Heart to an alpine glade five miles outside of town. The day had grown even more glorious. The sun was warm but a soft breeze carried a breath of coolness. Yin and yang were in the air. The hikers felt both relaxed and energized. Randy was so eager he took the lead from the parking lot where they’d left their car.

  He huffed and puffed a bit as the trail climbed.

  The two sisters followed, Annie carrying a large wicker basket.

  Three times on the ascent Randy saw a place that would have suited him. “This is it, right? How about here?”

  “Not here,” Lily told him.

  “The far side of the mountain,” Annie said.

  Up beyond where any tourists would go.

  Wouldn’t want to put on a show for the public.

  Randy leered. He’d had each woman more times than he could remember, but what always kept him interested was that each time was a new time. It never got old for him.

  Randy said, “I hope you got all sorts of goodies in that basket. I’m working up a big appetite.”

  Annie smiled. “I brought everything we’ll need.”

  “I’m a happy man,” Randy said. “I’m glad you talked me into this. Climbing to the top of a mountain with my two best Bonnies.”

  Spurred by that happy prospect, Randy picked up the pace. Annie and Lily looked at each other. It was a moment when they might have reconsidered what they were about to do. But they nodded to each other and pushed on.

  When Randy reached a turn in the trail and saw a staggering view of neighboring peaks stretching off the north, he knew he’d reached their destination.