“No, they gave me a 9mm and I hated it.”
“And you like that .44?”
“Yes.”
I sipped some more of my coffee. “I’ll ask you again when you have back problems here in about ten years.” I tried not to sound like Lucian. “It makes you stand funny; you’re compensating for the weight of that thing.”
“You’re just saying that because I’m a woman.”
I shook my head, gesturing at my six-and-a-half-foot frame. “You don’t see me carrying one, do you?”
She patted the revolver. “I like the weight.”
“No, you don’t, or you wouldn’t have to use a two-handed stance every time you pull it. I can guarantee that there will be times in your law-enforcement career when you will have more things to do with that other hand than aim.” I sighed. “You’re not up against body-armor-equipped assailants.”
She countered with a little heat in her voice. “Drugs, adrenaline—those are all factors.”
“Maybe, but nowhere near as large a factor as just plain missing, which is what you’re going to do with Dirty Harry there.” I gestured toward the pot with my empty mug, but she shook her head in a full snit, so I only recaffeinated myself. “I’m going to give you a little piece of information that most people don’t know; 50 percent of police shot in the country on an annual basis shoot themselves. I’m not talking about suicide, but about officers who accidentally fire into their off-hand while drawing or into the strong-side leg while reholstering. Another 30 percent are shot by other cops, and 10 percent after that get shot by people who take their weapons away from them.” I lifted the mug to my lips. “And that’s the uniformed, trained portion—don’t get me started on the common populace.”
I was coming on strong and figured she’d had about enough, but she only stood there with a hand on her revolver like I might try and take it away. After a while she crossed her arms and changed the subject again. “I heard you talking about an important piece of information we’re in possession of that the FBI doesn’t know about?”
I continued sipping my coffee. “While Clarence was in custody last night, somebody tried to kill me.”
She stepped in close with a little more urgency in her voice. “What?”
“You don’t know anybody who drives a maroon ’70 Chevy half-ton with Cherry Bomb mufflers, do you?”
“What happened?”
“Somebody tried to run me over on 212 as I did the walk of shame to Lonnie’s last night.”
She thought about it. “Maybe it was just some pissed-off Indian who saw a cowboy walking along the side of the road.”
“There seemed to be a lot more intention in the act.”
“You get a plate?”
“No, there wasn’t one. Besides, I was trying to get away before being turned into a hood ornament.” She looked up at me, and I repeated. “Maroon ’70 Chevy half-ton, Cherry Bomb mufflers.”
I watched as she retreated to the parking lot, her Yukon, and the two-way radio, in that order, and then thought about all the people who were probably angry with me right now. There was a phone at the nurse’s station, and I figured Chief Long’s mother wouldn’t mind if I made a few phone calls.
I punched in the number for my office and waited.
“Absaroka County Sheriff’s Office.”
“Well, as it happens, this is the Absaroka County sheriff.”
She fumbled with the receiver, the fancy one with the little neck cradle she used for extenuating circumstances; I probably led the league in extenuating circumstances. “Boy, mister, are you in trouble.”
I sighed and whispered my daughter’s name so that she might not hear me close to two thousand miles away. “Cady?”
“Oh, yes, and I wouldn’t want to be you about now.” There was a rustling of papers, and she spoke to someone else about getting Saizarbitoria, the Basque percentage of my staff, to do a little paper serving. “I don’t have time for you, but your undersheriff is on the other line; would you like me to patch her through?”
“Sure.”
The next voice was full of Philadelphia-ese—where “good luck with that” translated as “go fuck yourself.”
“Have you been abducted by the Indians?”
I smiled at Victoria Moretti’s tone. “Kind of. I’m in the process of giving sheriff lessons.”
“What?”
“It’s a long story; there’s been some drama up here on the Rez.”
“There’s always drama with you; you’re like a traveling troupe.” She sighed. “So, are we in the first, second, or third act?”
I thought about it. “Hard to tell; Henry and I saw a woman fall off a cliff up here, and we’re in the process of finding out who might’ve done it.”
“Isaac Newton?”
“She was carrying a child—boy, about six months.” There was no flippant repartee for that. “The boy is in the hospital and appears to be all right, but I’ve got a new chief of tribal police up here who is getting crowded by the bureau.”
You could almost hear her teeth grind.
“How’s Omaha?”
“It’s still in Nebraska.”
Ruby must have finished dispatching and got on the line again. “You know you’ve got an entire list of people who are trying to get hold of you, Walter?”
“I figured.”
“Lana Baroja called about the cake design, Rosalie Little Thunder from Rapid City called about the dress, the management for Jalan Crossland called and wants to know if there will be electricity at the site of the reception…”
I made a sound in the back of my throat. “I don’t know the answers to any of those questions.”
“Who does?”
“How about Cady?”
Vic chuckled. “I gotta go.”
There was a click as Ruby continued. “Cady’s called eight times in the last two days. Would you like me to call her for you and patch you in?”
I was quick to respond to that. “No.”
“I thought not.” She was trying to hold her temper. “Walter, we have a growing situation on our hands and you’re not helping.”
“What about Henry—have you talked to him? I thought he was the wedding planner.”
Her voice became even more forceful. “He is organizing the tribal portion of the wedding; the rest is up to you. Speaking of, how is the tribal portion of the preparations going?”
I thought about how little progress I’d been making for Cady’s wedding; I glanced at the receiver and thought about where I could go and hide when Hazel Long returned and smiled at me. “Ruby, excuse me for a minute.” I held the phone on my shoulder. “Hazel, could you loan me a pen and paper?”
She nodded and placed both on the upper counter between us.
“Thanks.”
I noticed that Chief Long had returned from the parking lot and joined Clarence as they stood a little away from each other in the doorway across the hall, Lolo’s eyes giving me an exasperated high sign.
I continued to hold the phone against myself as if I were attempting to smother it and looked down at what seemed to be the only friendly eyes in the hospital. “Hey Hazel, can I ask you a really big favor?” She smiled, and I could’ve kissed her. “I’ve got an angry dispatcher by the name of Ruby on the other end of this line who has an entire list of angry people who want to yell at me. Is there any way I could get you to write that list down?”
She held out her capable hands, and I deposited my life’s problems into them. As I turned around, I almost bumped into Lolo, who had walked over with Last Bull. “What’s up?”
“I’m going to take Clarence home and then make a run to Rabbit Town over on the other side of the Rez, and I think you’d better come along.”
I glanced back toward the room they had come from. “Is Dog in with Adrian?”
“Yeah.” She gestured toward her mother, who was still scribbling away. “Mom put food and water and even a bed in there, but he hasn’t touched any of it. Do
you want to look in on the two of them before we go?”
I cracked the door open and could see Dog’s large head rise up from the other side of the bed. I whispered, “Just because you’re on guard doesn’t mean you have to go without food and water, you know?” He wagged once and then settled in again as I studied the sleeping child, who seemed to be resting comfortably. The little body was so small, and I thought about what Henry had said one time about the world being hard on little things. Adrian Plain Feather had overcome some pretty spectacular odds so far, and who knew, maybe he’d be all right.
I closed the door and crossed back to the group, joining Chief Long as she studied me. “You don’t really think that dog understands what you’re saying, do you?”
“Yes, I do.”
The automatic doors swooshed aside, and we were suddenly confronted with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, complete with a smiling Cliff Cly and a phalanx of two other federal agents. The AIC straightened the folder under his arm. “How’s the kid?”
I shrugged. “Still not talking.”
“I hate using the rubber hose on infants, but you gotta get results.” He folded his arms. “Am I mistaken or are you not only out of your jurisdiction but in the wrong state?”
“You are not mistaken. I’m in Montana because Cady’s getting married up here next week and I’m making arrangements.”
He looked genuinely surprised, but with Cly you never knew. “This the daughter I talked to on the phone at the bar in Absalom?”
“Yep.”
He levitated his eyebrows, a look which expressed a loss of options. “Damn, I was hoping to meet her before she got hitched.”
I leaned into him, the brim of my hat about two inches from his forehead. “I would not let you anywhere near my daughter—even on a bet.”
He smiled a becoming smile and stuck a hand out to Last Bull. “Really sorry about your loss, Clarence.” He glanced back at me for a second. “You’re in good hands, and I’m sure we’ll find who did this.”
He then pulled a thick manila envelope from under his arm and held it out to me. “Full ME’s report; I thought you might need it.” He watched as I shifted my eyes to Chief Long and pivoted his arm as if he’d meant to hand it to her all along. “There you go, Chief. I would’ve put it on your desk back at the office, but I didn’t want to clutter things up.”
After we’d dropped Clarence off, she drove up the hill from Lame Deer on 212 at a regular speed for once. “Do you want to explain to me what just happened?”
I was studying the file on my lap. “I would say that the federal government just ceded jurisdiction on this case to the tribal police.”
“Obviously they don’t think he did it.”
“I’d guess not.”
She settled back in the seat and upped the air-conditioning. “How did you know about Inez Two Two?”
“Her mother told me.”
“Who?”
“Her mother, the waitress at the casino you slapped the dish away from last night.”
“Oh.”
“See, if you’re nice to people they tell you things.”
We drove along in silence for a while.
“Is fooling around with thirteen-year-olds indicative of Clarence’s character?”
She thought about it. “I guess.”
I read the white placards on the fence posts that warned passing motorists to not shoot the prairie dogs because the Department of Wildlife and Parks was conducting an experiment.
“He… I knew him before he enlisted—real ladies’ man. They say he was in a mortar shell raid that did some damage to his private parts. I don’t know if that’s what happened to him over there, but whatever it was, it messed him up. Anyway, he came back and he and Audrey hit a rough patch and he meets this kid, Inez, down at the White Buffalo.”
She placed an elbow on the driver’s-side doorsill and ran her fingers into the thick mane of her hair. I was struck by her monochromatic beauty—the jet-black hair, the jasper-colored eyes, and the sunset-colored skin.
“So pretty soon they’re an item, but Audrey, who is pregnant at the time, mind you…”
“I guess Clarence wasn’t messed up too badly.”
“Yeah, well, she gets wind of this little tryst and catches Inez at the IGA and about beats the shit out of her.”
“This Audrey was pretty tough.”
“Yeah.” The hand disengaged with the hair. “Was.”
“Maybe we should go talk to Inez Two Two.”
She nodded. “Maybe. Look, I really don’t like Clarence, and I’ve never liked the way he treated Audrey, but I don’t think he pushed her and Ado off a cliff.”
I continued to watch the scenery pass.
“Why did you ask about Audrey’s work?”
I shrugged. “Home and the office—those are usually the places of conflict; people spend most of their lives at one place or the other. What kind of position did she have at Human Services?”
“Secretary, receptionist, or something—I mean, she was the first face you saw when you came in the door—well, along with Herbert His Good Horse and Loraine Two Two.” She put her finger in her mouth.
“Something?”
“Oh, I was just thinking about the sign they have on the wall beside her desk about how if you use strong language or raise your voice you will be physically ejected from the building.”
That was interesting. “What, exactly, does Human Services do that they have to worry enough about abusive behavior to post a sign like that?”
“They’re in charge of the federal support checks, and when the money runs out toward the end of the month, the natives get restless.”
“So Audrey could have enemies through work.”
“Indirectly, I suppose.” She passed a slow-moving truck hauling a trailer with about five tons of small-bale hay. “I mean, it wasn’t like she was the one who wrote the checks or anything—she just handed them out.”
I nodded and repeated her words back to her. “But she was the first face you saw when you came through the door.”
She rolled her eyes. “All right, when we get through in Rabbit Town we’ll head back to Lame Deer and have a talk with Herbert.”
“The disc jockey?”
“The bit he does for KRZZ is a second income. His Honorable Herbert His Good Horse is Audrey’s boss; nothing goes on at tribal HQ without his knowing about it.”
I raised a fist. “Stay calm, have courage—”
She smirked. “And wait for signs.”
The trees were all stunted on the highlands of the Cheyenne Reservation. After the Baby Dean fire swept across the ridges and carried sixty thousand acres of Ponderosa pine with it, the remains were sold at salvage, including the three trailer-loads of logs Henry Standing Bear brought down to my place that had built my house.
Her voice interrupted my wandering thoughts. “What I’m trying to figure out is why he didn’t respond when you and the Bear yelled?”
I found it interesting that she’d just mentioned Henry in such a personal way but decided not to remark. “He says he was drunk, woke up, and they were gone. There are more than a couple of scenarios—maybe he was passed out and didn’t hear us, another is that they did as he suspected and left.”
“How do you explain both she and Adrian falling off the cliff then?”
“They came back after Clarence drove home, or somebody brought them back.”
She shook her head. “Did you see any other tracks?”
“No, but just because I didn’t see them doesn’t mean they weren’t there.”
She didn’t answer.
I leaned back in the seat, determined to enjoy the ride. “Do you mind telling me who we’re going to see?”
“Fella by the name of Small Song.”
“Artie Small Song?”
She nodded. “Yeah, you know him?”
“Unfortunately.”
“He’s got the only ’71 red GMC registered on the Rez. Close
st thing I could find to your Chevy.” She studied me. “How do you know him?” She watched as I pulled the Colt from my back, dropping the clip and reinserting it back in the grip. “You’re not going to shoot yourself, are you?”
I had to smile. “If it’s the only way out of this chickenshit outfit.” I holstered the Colt. “Are we going to the mother’s place or the dental hygienist he’s been shacking up with?”
She flicked some jasper shards at me. “And might I ask how it is that you are so intimate with Artie Small Song’s personal life?”
“We liked him for the Little Bird case.”
She concentrated on the road, for which I was thankful. “The only address I’ve got is the mother out on Otter Creek Road. Did you read his file?”
“I didn’t have time; why?”
I twisted my wife’s engagement ring on my little finger. “He’s what my undersheriff, Vic, would call a bad motor scooter.”
Lolo glanced at my finger. “Priors?”
I let go of the ring and draped my hand out the window. “Beaucoup, and he has a tendency to be well-armed—really, really well-armed.”
She smiled as she accelerated, slapping a hand on her overloaded holster. “Maybe you’ll be glad I’ve got this .44 after all.”
I looked out at the burnt husks of dead trees, like black veins in the crystal-blue sky. “I doubt it.”
5
I’d been to Artie’s mother’s house before—it was up one of the fingerling canyons that ran down to Otter Creek—and it reminded me a little of the departed Geo Stewart’s junkyard back in Durant. The rusted vehicles trailed all the way down to the main road toward the more populated areas of the unincorporated Rabbit Town. I don’t know why Rabbit Town is called Rabbit Town other than there might’ve been rabbits there at one time, but I hadn’t seen any so far today.
As the Crow Flies Page 8
