As the Crow Flies

by Craig Johnson

  He didn’t say anything but stepped forward and disappeared into the shingled structure, his voice echoing in the emptiness. “I heard this thing was built by the WPA, but I think that might be bullshit.”

  We listened as the resonance of his footfalls circled the inside, the FBI men watching. I pushed off the SUV, followed Cliff’s path, and found him standing in the center, looking up at the blue sky, which was approaching the zenith of afternoon heat.

  Lolo followed, and we watched Cly slip off his navy blazer—he continued to look through the openings where the shingles and roof underlayment had let go. “Why would the WPA build something like this? I mean a dam, a trail, a retaining wall I can understand—but a giant wood teepee? That doesn’t make much sense.”

  I tipped my hat back and wiped the sweat from my forehead. “What’s going on, Cliff?”

  He walked to the side of the building and put a hand on a support as thick as a telephone pole; the one he had chosen was cracked and would someday give way, taking the southern portion of the structure with it. “To be honest…”

  Long interrupted. “That’d be nice.”

  He smiled the matinee-idol smile he’d probably been using since junior varsity. “I don’t know.”

  “Bullshit.” Lolo took a step toward him, her face suddenly lit by the cascading beams of sunshine blasting through the openings like head lights. “Bullshit.”

  He sighed. “Honest Injun.” He looked at me and then licked his lips like he was looking for the words. “Look, the tape was forwarded from a source in the BIA.” He gestured toward the CD still in the player in Lolo’s vehicle. “They seemed really fired up about it. Now, I don’t know how they got it, or who they might’ve gotten it from…”

  “Bullshit.” Chief Long wasn’t buying it. “It’s just too convenient, Agent—just too convenient.”

  He shook his head. “I thought the same thing, but the BIA guys are the goods; on the up and up, really.”

  She folded her arms. “Well, that leaves you.”

  “Chief?”

  The two of them turned to look at the field agent standing in the doorway to my right.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Chief Cly, but I got you a Coke.”

  The AIC walked over and took the can, then dismissed the lesser agent with a curt nod. Cly turned to look at us, the soda dangling in his hand. “So let me get this straight, Chief Long—you’re accusing me of all this?”

  “Who would you accuse?”

  He glanced at me and then back to her. “Look, I know I’ve got a somewhat checkered past, but do you really think I would do something like this?”

  She didn’t say anything, and I had just started to when he spoke.

  “Ouch.” He started to open the can but then didn’t; instead he just stared at the pull tab. “That hurts, Chief.”

  He continued on through the battered screen door, carefully closing it for comic effect. Then he stuck a forefinger and pinkie in the sides of his mouth and blew out a whistle that loosened a few more shingles.

  A chorus of doors opened in the Fed vehicles out front. “All right, people, listen up. As is the plight of the white man in Indian country, our wagons have been surrounded and we are going to give up our prisoners.”

  Lolo glanced at me and then back to him. “What does…?”

  “You want one; you get ’em all.” The agents were smiling as they opened the rear doors and began unlocking the prisoners. It was all great fun.

  I shook my head at him. “C’mon, Cly.”

  He ignored me, tucked the can of Coke under his arm, and clapped his hands. “Let’s go, we’ve got lunch at Walkers Grill in Billings—the federal government is buying.”

  There were mild cheers as they walked Kelly Joe and Nattie in their traveling chains toward the chief’s Yukon. They needed to make a little more effort into getting Artie Small Song from the Expedition, since he’d been heavily drugged.

  “Thorazine.”

  Kelly Joe was the first to poke his head back out the door and ask. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  Cly shrugged. “You’ve been remanded from our responsibility, Mr. Burns. I guess they’re going to take you back to Lame Deer.” He turned to look at Lolo. “Are you taking them back to Lame Deer?”

  She looked at him, defiant till the end. “Yes.”

  He made a big show of slapping his forehead. “Oh, wait, I forgot. With the amount of controlled substances these two had on them the charges were upped and they have to be transported to a federal facility and the closest one would be Hardin.”

  I stepped in close and looked down at Cly as they tried to get the limp and drooling Artie Small Song into the passenger side of the Yukon, Nattie having taken up more than her third of the bench seat. Finally, and with great enjoyment, the agents decided to just dump Artie in the rear cargo space.

  Kelly Joe’s voice sounded from inside. “Hey, can I get some of what you gave him?”

  “Cliff…” He wouldn’t meet my eyes and watched as his men closed the hatch on the drugged Artie. “This isn’t right; we brought this to you.”

  He pointed a finger at me. “You know, Sheriff, I thought we had an understanding. I know you’re pretty much a by-the-book guy and I’m not, but we’re both on the same side and we get results.” He started to say something else, then thought better of it, and started off again. He slid in the gravel, and his voice struck the hard, sun-baked ground. “I owe you my life, but I don’t owe you my reputation.” He handed the can to Lolo Long as he passed. “Here, Babe, have a Coke and a smile.”

  15

  Lolo Long chugged her Coke and looked out the driver’s-side window at me standing there in the Law Enforcement Center’s parking lot, a place where I was making a habit of saying good-bye to beautiful women.

  She pulled the pop can from her lips. “I figure I should enjoy it—it may be the last thing the federal government gives me.” She considered the can. “Along with whatever communicable diseases Cly might have.”

  Kelly Joe and Nattie were still in the back, comfortably dozing in the Yukon’s air-conditioning. “Two hours round-trip?”

  “I can do it faster.”

  “Please don’t.” She laughed, and I placed my forearms on the sill and twirled the ring that was still on my little finger. “That’ll put you back here this evening; come have dinner with us.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. I’ve got too much to think about, and besides, I’ve got to go find a killer.”

  I started to open my mouth, but she spoke quickly. “I know you didn’t want any part of this from the beginning, but you helped me, and then I thought you were feeding me to the Feds when they came up with the tape, but you didn’t. I really appreciate that and, whether you know it or not, I’ve learned a lot from you in the last week.” She tightened her grip around my forearm where I’d rolled up my sleeves.

  “I wasn’t much help; as a matter of fact, I think I made the situation worse.”

  She shook her head. “No, you didn’t.” She averted her eyes to the windshield and the glare of the late-afternoon sun, her words taking on a note of finality. “You’re probably right about me not being fit for this job, and I probably won’t be able to keep it, but it was nice to get a taste of what it can be like.” Her breath wavered in her throat. “I want to thank you for that.”

  I thought about how this was not how it was supposed to end, with her providing cab service for the Feds and me walking away. In a perfect cinematic world we would’ve captured the bad guys in spectacular fashion with explosions, car chases, and a parting kiss. She would’ve been played by Ava Gardner, and I would’ve been played by Robert Taylor.

  I looked at her. “I was wrong.”

  She looked back at me, and I could feel her eyes on the side of my face.

  “You’re going to make a great cop if you stick to it.” I turned back and tried not to let the sickle-shaped scar draw my attention like a tide. “Don’t let them run you off your pat
ch; you can do a lot of good here.”

  Her eyes stayed level, and there was no irony in her response. “Thanks.” She patted my arm. “I’ll see you around, Sheriff.” She pulled the gear lever down. “Who knows, I might need a job.”

  I watched as the GMC whipped from the parking lot and headed out for the territories west. I was thinking about a lot of things and felt that strange feeling—like a thought that needed scratching, the one I couldn’t reach—but the final thought before I started to wrestle with the starter on my nemesis was that I was hungry. The next thought was that I didn’t have anybody to have delayed lunch with when it dawned on me that I did.

  He was still waiting by the hospital bed when I came to get him, but his charge was fast asleep in the crib. His tail thumped the floor, and his mouth lolled open with an inviting smile.

  Lolo’s mother stood by me with a clipboard under her arm as we watched Adrian move once, place a tiny hand by his head, and relax again.

  I spoke softly, like I was in church. “He’s a quiet kid; the only time I ever heard him cry was when somebody threw him off a cliff.”

  She looked at me for a moment, possibly unused to cop humor, and then nodded. “I think he’s cried three times since he’s been here. At feeding time or changing his diapers, you come in and he’s just looking around like he’s taking in the place. Audrey used to bring him to work with her, and nobody complained because he was such a good little guy.” She walked over to the crib and arranged the blanket, her hand lingering on the child. “I was out putting some things in my car and saw Lolo pulling out hell bent for leather, not that she drives any other way.”

  “She’s headed for Hardin but said she’d be back later this evening. I think the federal agencies are going to pull the plug on our homicide investigation.”

  Hazel looked sad and answered in a low voice, our conversation taking on a conspiratorial quality. “That’s not going to make Lo happy; she’s really enjoyed working with you, and I don’t think she’s enjoyed much of anything else since she’s gotten back.”

  “What’s the story on her husband—Kyle is it? And her son?”

  “Danny. Oh, I go see them up in Billings every other weekend.”

  I studied her. “And Lolo doesn’t?”

  “No. I’m not sure what to make of it, but I’m hoping that over time she’ll work whatever it is out.” The baby clutched Hazel’s finger. “I’ve gotten to the age where I try and let people solve their own problems.”

  “What age is that, anyway?” My eyes returned to the orphan, and I was overwhelmed by the odds against the little guy. “Do you have any idea where Adrian’s going to go?”

  She sighed. “Not really. There’s Audrey’s sister, but… Herbert His Good Horse is the godfather, and he’s been so sweet in coming in and checking on him, but I don’t see him as the adoptive father type. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll see if I can get him.”

  My eyes came up from the baby to her face.

  She caught my gaze. “I’m pretty good at raising children, even with Lo’s present problems, just in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “I have.”

  “Anyway, you better get out of here. Don’t you have a wedding to plan?”

  “Oh, the wedding juggernaut appears to be staggering forth on its own weight and took off toward Billings for supplies and the groom. My daughter arrived and took charge. I was released on my own recognizance.” I laughed gently. “I’ve been finding myself in that position a lot lately.”

  She gently pulled her finger away from Adrian and joined me at the foot of the crib. “It must be hard with your wife gone.”

  “Yep, it is. All I can think about is how much Cady looks like Martha and all the things that Martha would’ve wanted to tell her. Hell, I can’t remember to tell her all the things I want to tell her. Every time I look at her and realize what’s happening, I just choke up.”

  Hazel gripped my arm and put on a voice tinged with brio. “Get a grip on yourself, man. It’s only a wedding.” She pulled a slip of paper from the clipboard under her arm. “I gave Lo a list of the individuals who were prescribed all or most of the medications that were listed on the medical bracelet you found, but I found a few more.”

  I looked at the piece of paper, and there were more than forty names on the list. “Brother.” I scanned down the lines, my eye catching on Lonnie Little Bird. “Lonnie?”

  “He went through a bad period when he lost his legs.”

  I continued reading—Running Wolf, Lone Bear, American Horse, Bear Comes Out, Big Hawk, Bobtail Horse, Buffalo Horn, Red Fox, Crazy Mule, Eagle Feathers, Elk Shoulder, Fire Crow, Little Coyote, Magpie, Old Mouse… but nothing from the menagerie struck me. I folded the piece of paper and placed it in my breast pocket. “Well, it was worth a try.”

  She pulled me toward the door. Smiling, I gestured toward the brute. “You mind if I take my dog to a late lunch?”

  She went back to watching the baby. “Not at all, just have him back here by tonight; I sleep easier knowing he’s in here with the little guy.”

  I patted my leg, and the monster rose from the floor rear-end first, stretching and yawning with a terrifying show of teeth. “C’mon, I’ll buy you a cheeseburger.”

  He wagged, which I took as a yes.

  When we got outside to Rezdawg, Dog sat on the concrete parking lot and looked at me. “I know, but it’s all we’ve got.” I opened the door, but he continued to look at me. “C’mon.” With a look of resignation, he made the leap to the shower curtain–covered seat, the very picture of fallen dignity. I closed the door and went around and climbed in the driver’s side. “Don’t worry; I’ll get our truck back. I promise.”

  I hit the starter and, predictably, nothing happened.

  The GEN and OIL lights glowed feebly back at me, and I looked at Dog in apology. “As much as you hate this truck, I hate it more.”

  I climbed out, unhooked the rubber straps behind the grille, pinched my finger into a blood blister with the hood latch, and finally got the thing open long enough for it to close onto the back of my head. I pushed it up again, with more effort and a little anger this time, reset my hat, and stood outside its jaws long enough to make sure the hood would stay up.

  Relatively sure I wasn’t going to get snapped again, I wiggled the corroded positive clamp on what had to be the original AUTOLITE STA-FUL battery and thought I’d be happy if the damn thing just STA-CHARGED. The greenish-white buildup on the lug fell away just enough for the worn bare part of the cable to turn and rub against the inner fender and shoot sparks around the engine bay, my hand held in an electrified death grip.

  I yanked away and stood there holding my fingers and restrained myself from kicking the grille guard, sure if I did that it would release the parking brake and the three-quarter-ton would roll over me. Then I remembered it didn’t have a parking brake and went ahead and kicked it.

  When we pulled up to the Charging Horse Casino, which I had decided was as good for late lunch as anywhere, there was no shade in the parking lot, so, even if I wanted to leave Dog, which I didn’t, I couldn’t. He followed me up the concrete ramp to the door where an aged Cheyenne with an impressive ponytail and a black silk jacket with a security badge stopped us with an extended hand.

  He looked at me for a moment but then let his hand fall. “Hello, Walt.”

  “Mr. Black Horse.”

  The older man, who had been my sponsor at the peyote meeting that seemed like years ago, dropped a hand down to Dog’s level so that the beast could sniff at it and then lay a lick on him that covered the width of Albert’s knuckles. “I’m afraid there are no dogs allowed in the casino.”

  “How about service dogs?”

  Albert looked down at the behemoth.

  “He outgrew his vest.”

  Albert smiled and scratched behind a red, brown, and black ear. “How about I let you take him into the Bingo Hall? There’s nobody in there, and I can get Loraine to serve you at the back comm
issary window.”

  “Sounds like a deal.”

  He ushered us through the discordant music of the one-armed bandits and deposited us at the counter in the cavernous room in the rear. The place was as big as a gymnasium, complete with a scoreboard the size of a ballpark’s, and what must’ve been a hundred event tables with folding chairs.

  After a moment the gate rolled up, and Loraine Two Two smiled at me and even at Dog. “I see you took the precaution of eating almost alone this time?”

  I laughed and looked down at the furry face. “Oh, he’ll get his share. As a matter of fact, I was thinking that I’d order him up his own. They’ve been feeding him dry food over at the health center, and I figured he was about due a hamburger.”

  She looked concerned. “Was he hurt?”

  “Nope, he’s been standing guard over Adrian Last Bull.”

  Her eyes melted. “I’ll see that he gets a double helping.”

  Albert Black Horse came around the corner and took a stool on the other side of Dog, then reached out and rubbed the beast’s head. “The afternoon guy is here, so I thought I’d come back, rest my dogs, and eat my late lunch with you, if you don’t mind?”

  “Speaking for the both of us, we are delighted to have your company.” Turning back to Mrs. Two Two, I ordered up a double cheeseburger for me, a couple of patties for Dog, and anything Albert wanted, along with some iced teas.

  “I’ll take one of those Mexican salads. Watching my heart.”

  Loraine smiled and disappeared into the kitchen, and I stared at him. “You were the previous tribal chief of police?”

  “I was, in the sixties and seventies, then was appointed interim for a short period up until a few months ago.”

  I nodded. “You were pretty good buddies with my old boss Lucian?”

  “I was. How is he doing?”

  “Busy as a one-legged man at an ass-kicking convention.”

  He extended his hand in a more formal manner this time, and I shook it. “I’ve known about you for years, Sheriff. You made a big impression on my people with your efforts in the Little Bird case.”