Brotherhood Protectors: RAINHORSE (Kindle Worlds)
Page 11
“No, no, please,” Neha insisted. “You look beautiful in them. It’s just that seeing you dressed in her clothes . . . it reminded me so much of . . . I’m so sorry. I just miss Lona so much.”
“I understand,” Lindsay said, moving to Neha. She hugged her. Neha took a moment to compose herself. She smiled at Lindsay and touched her cheeks with both hands.
“How about you, Jackson?” Lindsay said. “You don’t look very happy to see me in these clothes.”
“I like it,” he said.
“You don’t look like you like it.”
Rainhorse looked at her straight-faced, “This is how I look when I am happy.”
“I was just telling Rainy that I’ve been up for a while, listening to the police band chatter and checking the radio and television for news,” Neha said. “It’s very early but the police are still spinning their wheels at this point. No one has been able to identify the mystery white girl who was at the diner. The media are debating whether the white girl was abducted by the murder suspect or was part of some plan to kill Apollo and HRT.”
“That is good news for us,” Rainhorse said.
“What’s the plan?” Lindsay asked.
Rainhorse took a sip of his coffee, “When I first met Vern Gill, he told me about the regular Thursday meeting at the diner between Apollo and Hank Rattling Thunder. He also told me that Apollo has an office in Plentywood in a double-wide trailer behind an auto-body shop. I am going to stake out the trailer and see if I can capture Apollo.”
“Won’t he be on high alert after yesterday?” Lindsay asked.
“It is possible,” Rainhorse said. “However, I think it is more likely that he believes I am on the run. He and HRT very likely have an organized search effort to find me. I doubt very much that he thinks I will attack him at his home base. Perhaps I can reclaim my element of surprise.”
“That’s so dangerous, Jackson,” Lindsay argued.
“I agree,” Neha said. “The police already think you are off the reservation. You don’t want to be seen in Plentywood.”
“There will be some risk, no doubt,” Rainhorse admitted, “but I have few other options. With every day that passes, our chances of finding Lona get smaller and smaller. Right now, Apollo has no idea who I am or what I was after yesterday but make no mistake—he is not a stupid man. If he catches on that I am trying to disrupt his sex trade, Lona will disappear forever and very quickly.”
“I can help you,” Lindsay said.
“I can’t chance it,” Rainhorse responded.
“You said you wanted to help,” Neha said. “We have a job for you that will help us.”
Lindsay looked at her suspiciously, “A job? What is it?”
Neha sipped her coffee and sat the cup on the table, “Rainy tells me that Ska told him about a man named Joey Takoda, as someone who is a known associate of Hank Rattling Thunder.”
“That’s right,” Lindsay replied.
“I know of this man, too,” Neha said.
“You do?”
She nodded, “He is the uncle of two Sioux teenagers, twins—friends of Lona.”
“Are you sure?” Lindsay asked.
“Positive,” Neha answered. “I’ve heard Lona talking about him in the past. She described him as ‘creepy.’ He apparently shows up at odd times around the twins when they have a get together with other girls from school. Lona said he frequently buys them pizza and soft drinks but is a bit too . . . familiar . . . with their friends.”
“It’s very possible that Takoda may be one of the ones who identifies and targets the girls for Rattling Thunder to kidnap for Apollo,” Rainhorse noted. “He may be the link to Lona’s kidnapping.”
“He does sound creepy,” Lindsay said. “Who are these twins?”
“Their names are Chumani and Chapa,” Neha said. “They go to school with Lona. I have their pictures on Lona’s phone. The police found Lona’s phone in a trash can the day she was kidnapped. They gave it back to me after they studied its contents.”
“How can I help?” Lindsay asked.
“Today is Friday. On Fridays, after school, Lona used to meet Chumani and Chapa at the soda shop at Wolf Point mall.”
“This was near the spot where she was kidnapped?”
Neha nodded, “That’s right. I want you to pose as Lona’s cousin, Rani, from Wyoming. The twins know about Lona’s cousin but they’ve never met her.”
“I don’t get it,” Lindsay said. “Other than the clothes, I don’t look Sioux.”
“If you’re willing to let me dye and straighten your hair and apply some makeup, I can fix that,” Neha said. “It won’t be perfect, but it will be enough to pass for half. Half white, half Indian girls and boys are very common here. I don’t think it will be a problem.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“You are eighteen,” Neha said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you could pass for younger. Rani is sixteen, same as Lona and the twins. If you approached them at the mall and introduced yourself to the twins as her cousin, they might open up to you about Takoda. We might be able to find him.”
“Have you ever asked the twins about him yourself?” Lindsay asked.
“I have,” she said. “When Lona told me about the dirty old man that sometimes shows up at their get togethers, I asked the twins about him. They clammed up, as if they were afraid. I never once associated him with Lona's disappearance, though—not until Ska mentioned Takoda was a friend of HRT. I just thought he was one of the hundreds of dirty old men running around the res. Now that I know he’s an associate of Rattling Thunder, it all fits. Joey Takoda was involved in Lona’s abduction—I’m sure of it.”
“So, you think the girls might open up to me about Takoda?” Lindsay asked.
“I think it's possible. Lona has come home with many stories that the twins shared with her—they love to gossip.”
“Lindsay,” Rainhorse interjected, “we need to find Rattling Thunder’s location. If I can find Joey Takoda, he might lead me to HRT. Do you think you can do this?”
“But the twins don’t know me,” Lindsay objected.
“Lindsay, you are personable and friendly,” Neha said. “You can win them over—I know it.”
“Would I be going alone?” she asked.
“No,” Neha said. “I will go with you after school lets out today. I’ll hang back and keep an eye on you from a distance while you approach them. Don’t worry, you won’t be alone. You’ll have two very good friends watching over you.”
“Who’s the second?” Lindsay asked.
“What?” Neha asked.
“The second friend. You said there’d be you and another friend. Who’s the second?”
Neha turned behind her and opened a drawer, pulling a revolver from it. She sat it on the table, “Lindsay, I’d like you to meet my very good friend, Mr. Sam Colt.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
______________________
Lindsay could not help herself. She kept checking herself out in the small mirror she pulled from her purse. She had colored her hair in the past but never jet black. She had never liked the goth look she'd seen other girls wearing at school. She had always gone for a wavy, curlier, look. The flat iron had softened her curls and made her hair poker straight. The new hairstyle, accompanied by Neha’s darker makeup job, did give her a pronounced Native American look. She rather enjoyed it, actually.
“How is Ska doing?” Lindsay asked Ellie, before they left.
“She’s resting now,” Ellie said. “I called in a friend to stay with her. I’ll stay here until she gets here. Alonie is a private nurse who has assisted with helping meth users in the past.”
“Are you leaving?” Neha asked.
Ellie nodded, “I have patients to see today. I’ll check in from time to time and come back this evening. I gave Ska a little cocktail of bupropion and modafinil. I’m hoping it will allow her to sleep and relieve some of the cravings.”
“What
do you mean, ‘hoping to?’” Lindsay asked.
“Meaning there is no FDA-approved medications for meth withdrawal,” Ellie said. “The medications I gave her have shown some effectiveness in helping addicts ween off meth cravings, but some of it is going to come down to toughing it out as the drugs naturally come out of her system.”
“Oh dear,” Lindsay said. “Does it hurt?”
“It will be uncomfortable, no doubt,” Ellie said. “All initial indications are that she was a regular user but did not use heavy doses. That will help. If the bupropion doesn’t work when we get back, I’ll start her on paroxetine. It’s stronger and might help. Don’t worry, meth use is very common on the res. Alonie has helped me more than a few times with users. She is capable, and she will call me if there’s a problem.”
“Thank you for everything,” Lindsay said.
“It’s what I do, dear,” she responded.
Lindsay got into Neha’s truck, an ancient Chevy that looked only modestly better than the truck Rainhorse had stolen, but the engine fired right up.
“We have a forty-five-minute drive,” Neha said. “Why don’t you tell me more about your friend . . . Jackson.”
“He made me promise to keep my mouth shut,” Lindsay said.
Neha glared at Lindsay, “I’m entrusting my daughter’s life with a man I thought I knew. Last night I discovered he was an assassin. It was a little unsettling. I’d think you’d understand why I want to know more.”
“Ok, I’ll talk,” she said, “But only because I think you have the wrong idea.”
“Tell me about this kidnapping,” Neha asked.
“Well, to begin with, Jackson worked for a cold-blooded murderer, a real character named Barnabas Quince . . .”
“You’re not making me feel better,” Neha said.
“Jackson was a paid assassin, true,” Lindsay said, “But he only killed drug warlords, other murderers, pimps and sex-traders.”
“But he kidnapped you,” Neha noted.
“Yes, but only because they forced him to. He was told at first, they would not hurt me. They were going to exchange me for money,” Lindsay said. “He told me from the beginning that he hated kidnapping me. He protected me even from the onset. While they were holding me in a safe house, his pervert of a partner kept trying to put his hands on me. Jackson never let it happen.”
“So, why’d he change his mind, I mean, about the kidnapping?” Neha asked.
“Because later he found out that Barnabas Quince intended to kill me all along. He only told Jackson otherwise to keep him cooperating. When he found out that I was to be killed, he refused to go through with it.”
“What did he do?”
“Jackson stood up to Barnabas even under the threat of death. He killed his partner, and then got me the hell out of there.”
“What’s all this about stealing cars and knocking over a pharmacy?”
“Oh, good point, I guess I left out some of the middle. I tend to do that,” Lindsay said. “Barnabas sent his goons out looking for us. They were right on our heels much of the time. We had to steal cars to throw them off our trail. Then, one of Barnabas’s men shot Jackson. We couldn’t go to a hospital, so we had to steal some antibiotics from a pharmacy. Near the end, when Barnabas caught up to us, Jackson put his own body in front of mine and took several bullets meant for me. That was just before my stepdad and the Brotherhood Protectors showed up and took me to safety. I thought Jackson was dead for the longest time, but I never gave up hope. He saved my life multiple times.”
“And that’s when Ellie found him and nursed him back to health?” Neha asked.
“That’s right,” Lindsay said, “but I didn’t know it at the time. Everyone thought he was dead.”
“But not you?”
“They never found his body, so I never gave up hope.”
“It sounds like you two really bonded,” Neha said.
“Oh, we did,” Lindsay agreed. “We talked a lot. I got to know him as a person. I fell in love with him, I won’t lie.”
Neha raised her eyebrows, “You . . . fell . . . in love?”
Lindsay’s face reddened, “It’s not what you think. I didn’t love him in a physical sense. He never was inappropriate with me—not once. He’s not that way. It was a love I can’t describe . . . somewhere between brother and father, only, in some ways, deeper. I have a connection with him I’ll never let go of—ever.”
Neha sighed, “It sounds like you trust him, too.”
She nodded, “With my life, with everything I have, including my heart.” Tears began to form in her eyes. “He gave up everything for me. If he had gone through with the kidnapping as planned, he could have made a fortune. He could be in Costa Rica at this very moment, living in a mansion, driving around in a Ferrari with beautiful women peeling his grapes and painting his toes. Instead, he gave up everything and is now being hunted by both Barnabas and the FBI. He knows no peace. He has to look over his shoulder every day. It was all a sacrifice he made for me. I can’t change that and I can’t forget it. All I can do is try to make his life better. I won’t stop until I do.”
Neha fell silent, deep in thought.
“I’m sorry if I changed your image of Rainy,” Lindsay said.
“Actually, it makes things very clear. Thank you for sharing all this. Your story makes him sound very much like the Rainhorse I knew and loved.”
“Do you still love him?” Lindsay asked.
“The answer to that question is a complex one—perhaps left for another time. I think we should spend some time telling you about Lona and her relationship with the twins and with some of her other friends,” Neha said. “It could come in handy if the twins start asking you questions. The fact that you are wearing Lona’s clothes will help. The twins have seen her wear that outfit several times.”
Neha spent the next twenty minutes telling Lindsay what she knew about Chapa and Chumani, including juicy tidbits of gossip and the fact that both of them drank beer and smoked cigarettes.
“It all sounds good,” Lindsay said. “I think I have everything I need to convince the twins that Lona trusted me enough to share secrets with me. What else do we need to do before we get there?”
Neha thought for a moment, “Change the settings on your phone to block your outgoing caller ID. If you are able to exchange numbers with Chapa and Chumani, you don’t want their display to read ‘Lindsay Vanderbilt’ if you call.”
“Good idea. I’ll do it now. How do you think Jackson is doing?” she asked, looking at her watch.
“He should be close to Plentywood by now,” Neha said. “Don’t worry. Rainy knows what he is doing.”
*****
Eighty miles away, Rainhorse pulled into the parking lot of the Plentywood Auto Body shop in the ancient pickup truck he’d stolen the day before. He Googled the shop and found out the business opened in 1971 under the sole proprietorship of one Mr. Lonnie Smith, now aged seventy-two. He and his son, Lonnie Jr., continued to run the business.
The shop had four garage bays in an old white washed building that had seen better days, and those days dated back to when Nixon was president. There were cars in each bay and more cars sat in the congested lot waiting their turn. Business was good, it appeared. He pulled his hair back and twisted it up on top of his head, securing his raffia cowboy hat in place. He had not worn the hat into the diner the day before, so hiding his hair under a cowboy hat would change his appearance to anyone who might have seen him.
Satisfied that no one would notice the prehistoric truck he arrived in, Rainhorse parked the vehicle, turned off the ignition and began walking around the side of the building toward the back. He tried to walk nonchalantly, but no sooner than he caught sight of Apollo’s double-wide trailer he heard the loud sound of a cocking shotgun—a guard!
“Who the hell are you?” the gun-toter asked. He was a skinny man in his early twenties, wearing a large Stetson hat, cowboy boots and an enormous belt buckle.
The man eyed him suspiciously, “Lonnie sent you back here?”
He continued to point the shot gun at Rainhorse’s face but moved in closer. Closer was good. Closer, Rainhorse thought . . . just a little bit more.
“Well, no,” he replied. “Actually, I called in a little while ago about having him do some repair work on my rear bumper. It is all rusted out. He told me their appointments were filled, but to pull on around back and he would take a look.”
The cowboy took another step forward, “Lonnie ain’t never sent nobody back here before, not without tellin’ us,” he said.
Rainhorse smiled, “All you have to do is call him and he will . . .”
The big Cheyenne halted midsentence, and with the quickness of a mountain lion, grabbed the shotgun by the barrel and yanked it out of the cowboy’s hands.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “How’d you do tha . . .”
Before the cowboy could finish his sentence Rainhorse used the butt of the shotgun and slammed it into the younger man’s face. He heard bone crunching and was sure he’d broken the cowboy’s nose. He fell to his knees. Rainhorse dropped the shotgun and pulled a knife. He circled around the back of the cowboy, grabbed the youngster by the hair and slipped the knife under his neck.
“Shhh,” Rainhorse admonished. “No noise, understand?”
The cowboy nodded, blood still gushing out of his nostrils. Rainhorse dragged the cowboy behind a tree by the hair. The tree provided good cover and had good visibility to the double-wide’s front door.
Rainhorse looked in all directions. Satisfied no one saw or heard him, he turned back to the cowboy and spoke in a low voice, “Would you like to live through this day?” he asked.
The cowboy looked up at him, wide-eyed in fear, blood flowing freely from his nose. He nodded, yes.
“Good,” Rainhorse said. “Listen, I do not have time to screw around. I am going to give you one chance, and only one chance to tell me the truth. Before you speak, you should know that I was trained in the military to detect lies. If you lie to me, I will know it, and I will end our conversation rather abruptly and permanently. Understand?”