Cowgirl Thrillers

by Barbara Neville

Meanwhile, Wolf is in the vent.

  Wolf, laying quietly in the ceiling vent, waits patiently for the workday to end. He is calm. Wolf’s family will get Painter back. No ifs. No buts. Will.

  He is at peace in the large galvanized steel duct. Here and now is the perfect place for brain cells to connect, synapses to flash and the world to iron itself out.

  We are here now. Wolf must relax, think, save little brother. Leaping Panther is young and foolish, but time will make him a great warrior. Painter practices his skills with Kit while they guard the sheep and goats. He is strong and confident. It shows in his shooting, hunting, his fine Injin endurance. He is to be a solid force in the family one day.

  But, here on this strange construct called a city, Wolf feels out of balance. Will Painter feel lost also? Everyone, everything is strange. Spud has been here before. Lord Jacob and her Ladyship have a big teepee here. They are the oracles of Pi. Wolf is but a student.

  Wolf hears noise below. Walking feet. Doorknob turning. People, two of them, walk into the small room. He positions an eye over the slats in the vent.

  “Where is he?” one asks, a redheaded man, scanning the room.

  “Must be the wrong room,” says the other. Black hair.

  “No, it says ‘Room 180’ right here on the form,” says Red.

  “Some bonehead wrote it down wrong,” says Blackie. “I’ll go check with George.”

  Blackie leaves and Red takes a seat in one of the chairs.

  “Fucking incompetents,” says Red to the air. He blazes up a joint and inhales contentedly.

  In a bit, Blackie returns. As he comes around the edge of the doorway, he shakes his head at Blackie and says loudly, “This is where he is supposed to be, Superintendent. Maybe we should check across the hall first. As I said, they must have wrote it down wrong. I was just on my way to double check the paperwork.”

  Blackie pulls his head out and closes the door. Wolf can hear talking in the hall, but can’t make out the words.

  Red says, “Shit,” under his breath, then wets his finger and thumb. He crushes the lit end of the joint between them. He pockets the remainder, shaking his hand to cool his burnt fingertips.

  Blackie opens the door again and walks in alone, grimaces at Red and says, “That son of a bitch Soames is here to transport this guy to the deposition. Where the fuck is he?”

  “Shit, I smashed my smoke for that asshole? Burnt my damn fingers in the process.”

  Red glances out. “Here he comes with the paperwork.”

  Soames comes into the room. He sniffs the air.

  “Yeah,” says Red and waves an open hand about. “Can you believe it? One of these dumb-asses lit a spliff right here in the room. Don’t they know it’s illegal to light up in a government building?”

  “They double checked the form. It says room 180. Whoever was supposed to put him in here must be off to lunch. Can’t find him. Go check the other rooms,” says Soames. They head out the door and turn right.

  “No,” says Soames impatiently, “split up, you go left, you go right. It just takes one man to look in each room.”

  Wolf stifles a sneeze. He hears Red and Blackie walking off.

  “Unless you are idiots,” Soames adds, meaningfully, to the air. He starts tapping his fingers nervously on the doorway.

  He comforts himself, saying, “We’re okay. We don’t need that hick bastard. Once we all testify, we’ll be okay. We can brazen it out.”

  Soames looks around the room again, shrugs and walks out. Wolf hears the door closing and then Soame’s footsteps walking down the hallway out of earshot.

  Wolf drops out of the vent. He straightens the coveralls, to which he has added an official looking patch that says ‘Inspector’ and tucks his braided hair carefully up under the cap. He holds the clipboard high against his chest, opens the door and saunters out into the hall.

  Red, who is just coming back along the hall, asks, “You seen a guy wandering around in handcuffs?”

  “No. I have not,” says Wolf, looking up at the ceiling lights and making a notation on his clipboard. After a half hour of checking fixtures along the hallway, nothing new occurs. No one sounds the alarm. Wolf turns into a stairwell and heads for the exit.

  “Big city,” he says to himself. “No one know anyone. Hunh.”

  Once out of the building, he walks the ten blocks to where Lord Jacob has sent the car to pick him up. He gets in and relaxes for the ride back to his Lordship’s estate, and grateful for the incompetence of bureaucracy.

  12 The Plan