Rainhorse nodded, “I was going to kill HRT and kidnap Apollo and force him to tell me where she is.”
“I thought you were done being an assassin?”
“I am . . . or I was,” he replied. “I have not accepted a contract since I met you. I will never kill again for money. This is different . . . it is close to home. Tony Apollo buys and sells women, little girls and little boys from the res. He barters them to the highest bidder like cattle. He and Rattling Thunder get them hooked on drugs and then turns them into sex slaves, strippers or prostitutes. He is killing off a whole tribe. I have to help.”
Lindsay’s face flushed as she realized the impact of her sudden appearance, “And I just ruined your whole plan. Oh my god, Jackson, I’m so . . . so sorry.”
“You did not know,” he said. “You could not have known. Your heart was in the right place. It was unfortunate timing, that is all.”
“Still, I just screwed this up so bad,” Lindsay said, beginning to cry.
“You did not screw it up,” the Cheyenne fired back. “This is not your fault. The plan was already busted. I had no idea there would be so many bodyguards and didn’t count on the woman being with them.”
“Still, I blew your cover,” Lindsay insisted. “Lona will be sold.”
“I will not let that happen,” Rainhorse insisted. “I am going to find her and bring her home. I am going to end Apollo’s sex and drug trade on the res.”
“How are you going to do that, now?”
“I do not know.”
“How did Neha even know how to reach you?” Lindsay asked. “You’re not exactly on Facebook or Instagram.”
“True, but Neha knows Ellie Limberhand, and she knew Ellie can always reach me.”
Lindsay waved her palm over her head, “And who’s Ellie Limberhand?”
“Remember when we first met, I told you about a woman who was going to establish my new identity?”
“Yes,” Lindsay said. “I assumed she was your girlfriend.”
“No,” he replied. “I grew up with her. She is a doctor’s assistant on the res.”
“A doctor’s assistant who establishes new identities—how does that work?”
Ellie has dedicated her life to helping people on the res,” Rainhorse said. “That is why she became a doctor’s assistant. On the res, there are many occasions that an Indian who is on the lam from the authorities needs off the books medical attention.”
“She’s the one who found out you were shot and patched you up two years ago when you were bringing me home and we ran into Barnabas’s hoodlums,” Lindsay realized.
“That is correct. When I realized you and I were in deep trouble, I called her. After I got shot up, and your step-father came and got you, I texted Ellie. She traced my phone. Your step-father and the Brotherhood Protectors chased Barnabas’s men away. Ellie got to me just before the authorities arrived. I was almost dead. It is a miracle I am not.”
“I still don’t understand how she got into the business of establishing new identities.”
“Ellie became very frustrated with patching people up only to see them captured, shot or killed by the tribal police later. She used her resources to develop foolproof ways of establishing new identities.”
“What resources?” Lindsay asked.
“She is rich,” Rainhorse said. “Not rich like your mother, but rich enough. Her father owned the casino in Wolf Point. He passed away ten years ago. Ellie sold the casino for a tidy sum.”
“Where does she live?” Lindsay asked.
“In Wolf Point,” Rainhorse replied. “It is the biggest city on the res. It is where she can do the most good.”
“Do you think she can help Ska with her drug problem?”
“I have asked her for too many favors as it is, Lindsay. She has many people she is already helping.”
“Jackson, you know as well as I do, that this Apollo character knows Ska has a serious addiction. He’s counting on her to surface for more drugs so he can find her. If she doesn’t surface, he’s going to check the hospitals for her. Ellie may be her only hope.”
“I do not know if that is a good idea,” Rainhorse said.
“Please, think about it,” Lindsay pleaded.
“Is your mother going to show up here with her husband?” Rainhorse asked. “What is his name?”
“Sam Steele. No, my mother thinks I am going back to school early, so there is no one looking for me,” she said. “I didn’t want you to worry about it.”
“About that,” Rainhorse said. “When we get to Neha’s place, we will monitor the activity and see if the tribal police figure out who you are and come looking for you. If they do not identify you by name, I am sending you home.”
“I can help you, here,” she insisted. “All the same I understand why you want to send me home. Let’s agree to discuss the matter like adults when the time comes.”
Rainhorse rolled his eyes and sighed, deciding to not engage in another argument.
Ska began to stir, “Where are we?” she asked.
“We’re going to a place that’s safe,” Lindsay said.
“I have a headache,” Ska said. “I’m so tired. I feel weak.”
“Those are meth withdrawal symptoms,” Rainhorse said. “There is a gas station up ahead, and I need to fill up. I’ll get her some ibuprofen and acetaminophen.”
“Get her something to eat too, please,” Lindsay said. “She’s so thin. She can’t take pain killers on an empty stomach. Oh . . . and I need a toothbrush, toothpaste and breath mints.”
“You’re going to brush your teeth in the car?” he asked.
“No. All my clothes and toiletries are in my rental car back in Plentywood,” she said. “The only thing I have in my purse is a brush and my makeup kit.”
Rainhorse nodded as he pulled into the gas station. He donned his raffia straw cowboy hat and walked into the mini-mart. An elderly Lakota stood man behind the counter; he was perhaps seventy or so. He was watching television, barely giving Rainhorse a cursory glance as he came in and began walking down the aisles. He picked up a bottle of generic ibuprofen and acetaminophen, then found a toothbrush and toothpaste and Tic Tacs. He then went to the snack aisle. As he was looking through the pretzels, chips and cookies, he heard an announcer’s voice come over the television. He looked at the screen over top of the candy aisle. It was an Indian television station. The commentator was a beautiful Sioux woman.
“This is a news alert. Four men are dead tonight; two white men from Plentywood and two Sioux from the reservation. Tribal Police are looking for a tall, strongly-built Cheyenne male, between forty-five and fifty-five years old, with a scar across his nose and cheek. He is being sought in connection with a quadruple homicide at the Roadside Truckstop Diner just off State Road 251 in the Northeast section of the Reservation. He may be traveling with a young, teenaged Caucasian female, said to be medium height, thin with brown hair, between sixteen and eighteen years old. The suspects were last seen driving north on Highway 251 in a silver Toyota Camry. He is armed and considered very dangerous. If you see anyone fitting these descriptions, please call the Ft. Peck Tribal Police Department immediately. For more on this late-breaking story, we take you directly to the scene of the crime—Johnny Yellow Leaf, reporting.”
The camera switched to a picture of the outside of the diner. Rainhorse saw a myriad of emergency vehicles parked with lights flashing. The camera panned to a well-dressed, young Dakota, holding a microphone, “I am standing in front of the Roadside Truckstop Diner now, where less than two hours ago a shootout occurred, leaving four men dead. Witnesses say that a large, Cheyenne man barged in from the rear entrance and began firing a pistol. Dead tonight are two white males and two Lakota males. All of the men who were killed were said to have been armed themselves and returning fire. Only one of the deceased men has been identified thus far— a Sioux named Frank Standing Bear. Standing Bear was a known associate of Hank Rattling Thunder, a local man who has bee
n long suspected to have ties to organized crime. Rattling Thunder’s presence has caused some witnesses to speculate that this may have been a drug deal gone wrong.”
“Do you have any information on the young white girl, said to have left with the Cheyenne murder suspect?” the commentator asked, breaking in from the studio.
“Yes, with me now is one of the diner employees, a busboy named Eli Grass.”
He turned to a young Lakota, who looked shaken and nervous.
“Eli,” the reporter continued, “tell us what you saw.”
“Are we on TV?” the young man asked, wearing a broad, but simple grin on his face.
“Yes, we are live,” came the answer.
He looked into the camera and gave a thumbs-up sign, “Cool.”
“What did you see?”
“Oh . . . I was bussing dishes when this white girl and her dad came into the restaurant,” he said. “I knew there would be trouble when I saw her, because, you know, we don’t see many white girls in the diner, especially when Apollo is there with HRT.”
“Excuse me,” the reporter broke in, “Did you just say Tony Apollo and Hank Rattling Thunder were both in the restaurant?”
“Yes,” Eli confirmed.
“Idiot!” yelled the elderly Lakota at the counter watching the television. “That boy is as good as dead, now. What the hell is he thinking naming them on television?”
Rainhorse took his pain killers and snacks to the counter, where the old cashier stood watching the television. Rainhorse stood silently, also watching the screen.
“But the girl came in with someone else,” the reporter asked Eli for validation, “not the murder suspect.”
“That’s right,” Eli confirmed. “Like I said, the girl came in with an old white guy, which I think had to be her dad. HRT and Apollo saw them and walked right over to them. I didn’t hear what was being said, but after a moment HRT started yelling.”
“Where was the murder suspect at this time?” the reporter asked.
“He wasn’t in the diner, yet,” Eli said. “He barged in from the rear entrance right after with his pistol in his hand. He was probably waiting for them outside—you know, to ambush them when they came out. He was a big son-of-a-bitch, I can tell you that. I took off for the back right then and there. I hid in the bathroom. A few minutes later I heard gunshots—they just kept coming. After the gunfire stopped I walked back out front. That’s when I saw four men dead on the floor.”
“And did you see the suspect?”
“Yeah, briefly, like I said—he was big.”
“Did you see the scar on his face?”
“Yeah, it came across his nose and his cheek.”
“Was it a fresh scar?”
“No, it was old . . . faded, like he got it in a fight or something a long time ago. I sure wouldn’t have wanted to be the guy that gave it to him, I can tell you that.”
“Did you see the actual shooting?”
Eli shook his head, “No, by the time I got back out front, the girl, the old man and the Cheyenne had left. I did see the Cheyenne driving north in a silver Toyota. The girl was in the car with him.”
“Did he take the girl forcibly or did she go willingly?”
Eli shrugged.
“What about the older white man?” the reporter asked.
“He took off ahead of them, also going north in a different car.”
The elderly man at the counter screamed again, “Stupid young people! He’s as good as dead, and all for fifteen minutes of attention on television.”
He turned as Rainhorse placed the painkillers, toothbrush, toothpaste, and snacks on the counter. The man’s name badge read, Mako. He looked at the items on the counter. He froze when he caught sight of Rainhorse’s face.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” Mako said, cautiously, not taking his eyes off the big Cheyenne.
Rainhorse lowered his eyes, avoiding eye contact, allowing the brim of his hat to hide his face.
“In fact, you don’t look like Lakota, Dakota or Sioux,” Mako continued. He stole a look at the television and looked back.
“Maybe . . . Cheyenne?” he asked.
Rainhorse looked up, finally, but said nothing. Mako looked at him carefully, “That is some battle scar you have on your face.”
“I’d like forty-dollars’ worth of regular gas, along with these items,” the big man said, somberly.
Mako looked out toward the truck, “That truck looks like it should have been put out to pasture years ago.”
“It is very old,” Rainhorse agreed.
Mako stole another quick glance at the television, then began slowly scanning the items, “You know what I think?” he said.
Rainhorse shook his head. He saw that there was a twelve-gauge shotgun leaning against a post behind the counter, well within Mako’s reach. The old Lakota saw Rainhorse staring at his shotgun. He looked at it also, then turned back.
“I think the Tribal Police are looking for their suspect in the wrong place, that’s what I think,” Mako continued.
“You think so?” Rainhorse replied.
“Uh-huh. Do you know why I think that?”
Rainhorse did not move his head but rolled his eyes up to meet Mako’s. He then shook his head slowly, no.
“Because any man skilled enough to bust in on Apollo and HRT, take out all four of their bodyguards, and get away clean, is a hell of a lot smarter than any of those yahoo’s looking for him, that’s for sure.”
Rainhorse nodded and shrugged slightly, a silent acknowledgement to what Mako had said.
“Yep, this Cheyenne they are looking for is a smart one,” Mako continued. “I’d bet dollars to doughnuts that he knew they’d see him heading north and cut back, heading south instead. Maybe he even stopped long enough to . . . I don’t know, steal a car. This Cheyenne, he is too smart to steal a nice car, you know. He wouldn’t want to stand out. No, he’d steal a real piece of shit—something to blend in.”
“That’s an interesting theory,” Rainhorse replied.
“You know what else?” Mako continued.
“It sounds like you will tell me whether I want to know, or not.”
“I’m not buying that story of a drug deal gone bad, either,” Mako said.
Rainhorse slowly let out a breath. Mako knew who he was—he just wasn’t sure what the old-timer intended to do about it. So far, he made no move to retrieve the shotgun. He hoped the old man wasn’t foolish enough to go for it.
“I think Apollo and HRT were there trying to kidnap that white girl, pure and simple. That Cheyenne broke in and stopped it. That’s what I think happened. White girls command a hefty price, you know.”
“Is that right?” Rainhorse asked. He casually pulled back his coat to allow himself access to his pistol, in the event he needed it.
“They sure do,” Mako said. “Double or triple the price of Indian girls from what I hear.”
“I would not know,” Rainhorse replied.
Mako nodded, continuing to scan the items, ever-so-slowly, “I think some white idiot brought his daughter into the diner where Apollo and HRT were. When they tried to steal her, that Cheyenne took it downright personal. Why, I don’t know but that’s what I think. How about you? What do you think?”
“I had not given the matter thought,” Rainhorse lied.
Mako looked at Rainhorse and smiled, “You know what else? I’ll bet you there will be a hefty reward for information leading to that guy’s capture. What do you think?”
Rainhorse shifted uncomfortably, “Could be.”
“I wonder how much—ten thousand? Twenty?”
Rainhorse said nothing. His body tensed as he prepared to spring into action at the first sign of the old man reaching for his shotgun.
“Know what else I think?” Mako said.
Rainhorse shook his head again.
Mako paused and stared into Rainhorse’s eyes. The elderly man’s face took on a dark, serious e
xpression. The big Cheyenne did not break eye contact, but subtly reached behind him and touched the butt of his pistol. Both men continued to look at each other for several seconds in silence.
Finally, Mako formed a tiny smile, relaxing and folding his arms.
“I think it’s a damn shame that the big Cheyenne didn’t kill Apollo and HRT, that’s what I think. Those two are responsible for most of what is wrong with this reservation. It would be a good riddance, if you ask me.”
Rainhorse relaxed slightly.
“Think so?” he said.
“I do. You don’t know this, but my granddaughter was kidnapped . . . two years ago now. She was only fourteen when it happened. That damn Rattling Thunder took her, I know it. I can’t prove it, but I know it. I have a son and a grandson both hooked on meth, too—courtesy of HRT and Apollo. If that big Cheyenne were to kill HRT and Apollo, I’d want to shake his hand.”
“Is that right?” Rainhorse said.
“Damn straight. People around here have given up on the idea that the law will help them,” Mako replied.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I guess what I’m saying is, if someone were to, say, finish the job they started, people on the res would rally behind such a person.”
“You think so?” Rainhorse asked.
Mako nodded, “I’d even go so far as to say there’d be many people around here who’d protect a man like that, you know, hide him out, keep him safe. Such a man could come to me first and I’d see to it.”
“That is good to know.”
Mako finished scanning the items, “With the gas, that’ll be fifty-three dollars.”
Rainhorse pulled three twenties from his wallet, “Did anyone ever find your granddaughter?”
Mako opened the register and slipped the twenties, into it, “No—she’s lost forever.”
“Don’t give up hope,” Rainhorse said.
He handed Rainhorse seven dollars in change.
“You know, Mako, I would appreciate it if you would forget that you ever saw me here tonight,” the Cheyenne said.
Mako looked Rainhorse in the eye and paused. After a few seconds, he shrugged and said, “Saw who in here tonight?”
Brotherhood Protectors: RAINHORSE (Kindle Worlds) Page 8
