He nodded.
“Good,” Rainhorse continued. “Now tell me, is Tony Apollo inside?”
He nodded, yes.
“Is he alone?”
He shook his head, no.
“How many men are with him?”
“Four,” he said softly.
“Are they armed?”
He nodded.
“Automatic weapons?”
He shook his head, no, “Pistols and shotguns only.”
“Is he leaving anytime soon? Any appointments?”
He shook his head, no.
“Is Hank Rattling Thunder with him, now?”
No, again.
“Do you have a walkie-talkie—some way to communicate with them, inside?”
He nodded.
“Get it for me . . . slowly. Do not do anything stupid.”
The cowboy reached into his coat slowly and pulled a walkie-talkie from it.
“Ok, here is what we are going to do,” Rainhorse said. “What is your name?
“Dusty,” he said.
Rainhorse knew the name. Vern Gill had told him Dusty was a regular at the Blue Buffalo.
“Are you married, Dusty? Got kids?”
He nodded, “Two.”
“Boy and girl?” Rainhorse asked.
“Two girls,” he said.
“Well, Dusty, this is your lucky day. I know it doesn’t seem like it, sitting there with a broken nose and all, but it really is. See, I need your help. And if you help me, I will let you live—this I promise. You will be able to take your wife and girls on a long vacation after this. Sound good?”
He nodded, “What do I have to do?”
“All you have to do is use this little walkie-talkie to call inside and convince Apollo’s bodyguards that four FBI agents just pulled into the front parking lot,” Rainhorse said. “Can you do that for me, Dusty?”
“You’ll kill them,” he said. “I don’t want to be responsible for that.”
“I will kill them, regardless, Dusty. If you do not help me, I will just figure another way to do it but it will cause me inconvenience. I will not like that. If you help me I will let you live and your daughters get to grow up with a daddy. If you do not help me, I have to do it the hard way, and the hard way means you are dead, too. You can see the logic in my argument, can you not?”
He thought for a minute and nodded, “Why did you say my wife and kids could go on vacation with me?” he wondered.
“Because after you help me, your life will not be worth a plug nickel in this town,” Rainhorse said. “You are going to want to collect your wife and kids and get out as soon as possible. Now, enough talk. Make the call. I want to hear an Oscar-worthy performance. Do not disappoint me.”
Dusty nodded, pulling the walkie-talkie up to his mouth. Rainhorse pulled a silencer from his pocket and screwed it onto the barrel of his firearm.
“Angus! It’s Dusty,” the cowboy cried out. “Tell the boss that four FBI agents just pulled into the body shop. He needs to get out of there, now!”
Rainhorse jerked the walkie-talkie out of Dusty’s hand and turned it off, “Bravo he said. That was a great performance. Are you in community theater, by chance?”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
He pointed his gun at the man’s forehead. Dusty raised his arms in the air, waving his hands wildly, “Hey, you said you would let me live.”
“And I will,” Rainhorse replied, “but I never said you would not come away with a huge headache, though. You tell your wife, Merry Christmas from me.”
He hit Dusty on top of the head with a hammer blow, slamming the butt of the pistol onto the cowboy’s skull. Dusty slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Rainhorse spun around and took aim at the door of the mobile home. He waited: three seconds . . . four . . . five . . . The door burst open and three of the men came running out, holding their guns, pointing them in the direction of the body shop. Rainhorse thought about taking them down but waited until the fourth man and Apollo emerged.
Apollo came out with his fourth bodyguard, using the man as a human shield.
“Get the limo and back it up to me,” demanded Apollo, as he took his position in the center of the circle his men had formed.”
One of the men took off for the car—it was the first man out of the door. That’s the one Rainhorse shot first.
The second man out the of the door heard the muted pop of the silencer and pointed his gun in Rainhorse’s general direction. The big Cheyenne dropped him with a second shot.
The two remaining men began firing blindly in the general direction of Rainhorse’s gunfire, but the former Ranger had changed position. No bullet came close.
Rainhorse fired twice more. Two more men fell, leaving only Tony Apollo standing.
“Drop your gun and put your hands in the air, Apollo,” Rainhorse demanded, still hidden.
“Who’s there?” Apollo yelled. His face and wispy brown hair were covered in sweat. His tan suit was wrinkled and ill-fitting. Part of his brown shirt-tail was hanging out of his pants.
“Never mind who I am,” Rainhorse yelled, “just drop the gun, or are you not convinced I can hit what I aim at?”
“Screw you,” Apollo wailed. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Rainhorse squeezed off another shot. It nicked Apollo’s left earlobe.
Apollo grabbed his ear and howled in pain, “Son-of-a-bitch! Shit! You shot me in the ear, you bastard.”
“The next one goes in your knee cap,” he promised. “It will hurt much more.”
“I made a call,” Apollo barked. “Reinforcements are on their way. You’re a dead man walking.”
“I will give you three seconds to drop your weapon, or we will see who the dead man is,” Rainhorse replied. “One . . . two . . .”
“Ok, ok!” Apollo screamed, dropping the weapon and raising his hands.
“Stay right there,” Rainhorse said, walking toward Apollo. He instantly recognized the former Ranger approaching him.
“You!” he screamed. “I’m going to . . .”
Rainhorse slammed Apollo in the jaw with the elbow of his shooting hand. The force of the blow sent the warlord reeling backwards. He cried out in pain and fell squarely on his butt.
“Shut up!” Rainhorse demanded. “Stay down. Roll over on your stomach.”
Apollo grabbed his jaw where he’d been hit. Blood from his ear was trickling down his neck. His mouth gaped open and his eyes were as wide as saucers, “Kiss my ass. Do you have any idea who I am? I own this town!”
“If you don’t roll over on your stomach, you’ll be a dead owner,” Rainhorse replied. “Put your hands behind your back. Do it—now!”
Rainhorse cocked his weapon, loudly. Apollo gasped and rolled over on his stomach. Rainhorse pulled three cable fasteners from his pocket and used them to cinch Apollo’s hands behind his back. He tied one fastener on each wrist and used the third to cinch the wrist fasteners together. Apollo grimaced in pain at the force Rainhorse was using.
Once Apollo’s hands were tethered, he fished his cell phone out of his coat. He opened the ‘call sent’ folder, looked at the call log, and chuckled.
“I knew you were lying,” the big Cheyenne said. “You didn’t have time to call anyone, but just in case someone heard us back here, you and I are going for a ride. With all those power tools going on in the body shop, I doubt anyone took notice of the gunfire . . . but, just in case. We will take your car, since it is here, and I like Lincolns. Get up.”
“You’re going to regret this,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know,” Rainhorse mocked. “You are going to kill me . . . yada, yada. I have heard it all before—not impressed. Just shut up and get in the car.”
Rainhorse grabbed Apollo by the back of the collar and forced him to his feet and into the passenger seat of the 2002 Lincoln Continental.
“There,” Rainhorse said. “All comfy?”
“Actually, s
itting here in a car with my hands tied behind my back is really uncomfortable,” Apollo said.
“Oh, so it hurts?” Rainhorse asked.
“Yes,” came the reply.
“Well, since your level of comfort is not my primary concern, tough shit,” Rainhorse said, slamming the door and circling the car, sliding into the driver seat.
He started the car and pulled out onto the road.
“Where is Lona Littlebird?” he asked.
“Oh, so that’s what this is about?” Apollo said, sneering. “I should have realized. It’s always about a girl. At least you picked a hot one.”
Rainhorse took a left on a road leading out of Plentywood.
“Do not play games with me,” he said. “I am not in the mood. Tell me where she is.”
“Tell me who you are . . . Chief,” Apollo mocked. “Who is this girl to you, anyway?”
“We will be out of town in less than two minutes,” Rainhorse said. “When I find someplace out of the way, I am going to park this car. If you do not tell me what I want to know, it is going to get really uncomfortable for you.”
“It’s not about the girl, is it?” Apollo jeered, ignoring the threats. “It’s the mother, isn’t it? Neha, is it? You’re about her age. I’ve seen her. Yep, she’s a honey, too. I’d like to tap into that myself. I just may do that, soon, too.”
Rainhorse gripped the steering wheel with his left hand and clenched his right hand to punch Apollo in the face. The Cheyenne’s large fist crushed one of his sinuses.
“Yeow!” Apollo yelped. “Dammit! Son-of-a-bitch! What is your fist made of—concrete? You’re gonna regret that.”
Rainhorse pulled the car over to the side of the road, sliding the transmission into park. He turned toward Apollo, “Say something else about Neha again, and we will see who regrets what.”
Apollo chuckled and spit blood onto the floorboard, “You crack me up, Indian man, whatever your name is. The things we do for love, huh?”
“Where is Lona? Have you hurt her?”
“Hurt her?” Apollo repeated incredulously. “Hell no. She is bringing me top dollar. With her looks, she’ll bring in more than most white girls. You’re too late.”
“Why is that?” Rainhorse demanded to know. “What have you done with . . .”
Before Rainhorse could finish his sentence, a Ford pickup slammed into the driver’s side door of the car, t-boning the Lincoln. Rainhorse bore the full brunt of the impact as the door caved in, slamming door frame metal against his head, left shoulder, arm and side.
The big Cheyenne grimaced in pain, struggling to maintain consciousness. He looked at Apollo, who was leering at him. “Thought you could outsmart me, didn’t you, asshole? You checked my cell phone, but not the phones of my guys.”
Rainhorse blinked, feeling his consciousness begin to fade. Apollo laughed, “One of my bodyguards called in for backup, asshole. Where’s all that tough talk now?”
Rainhorse’s head was spinning. He glared at Apollo.
“Nothing to say, huh? I thought not. You’re screwed, big guy.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
______________________
Lindsay spotted the young girls in the soda shop. She and Neha walked into the shop, allowing the girls to see both of them. The plan was for Neha to be seen walking in with Lindsay, so the girls would realize that she was with Lona’s mother.
The twins were with two boys about Lona’s age. Chumani and Chapa had been smiling. When they saw Neha the smiles disappeared from their faces and in their place formed expressions of guilt. It was the guilt of young girls who were enjoying themselves at a soda shop mere days after their best friend had been kidnapped.
Neha ordered drinks for herself and Lindsay and made eye contact with Chumani and Chapa. She then pointed them out. Lindsey looked their way and smiled. She began walking toward them with Neha. From the expressions on their faces, Lindsay knew her approach was making them feel awkward.
The twins did not look as Lindsay imagined. Chumani and Chapa were rather short, thin and plain. The truth be told, they looked even younger than they were.
“Hello, Chumani and Chapa,” Neha said. “I wanted to introduce you to Lona’s cousin. This is Rani. Rani is going to be staying with me for a while . . . you know . . . to help out.”
Chumani and Chapa looked at each other in awkward silence. It was actually one of the boys who spoke first, “We’re really sorry to hear about Lona. Ms. Littlebird. Have you heard anything, yet?”
“No,” Neha replied. “Rani flew in from Wyoming to help me. This is a very difficult time for me, as you can imagine.”
“I can imagine,” Chumani said. “Hi, Rani. Welcome to Wolf Point.”
“Thank you,” Lindsay said. “Aunt Neha said you were friends of Lona’s?”
“Yes. My sister and I were her best friends.”
“We’re gonna go play some video games,” said the boy who spoke to Lindsay first. “Care to join us?”
“No, thank you,” Lindsay said. “I need to leave in a few minutes. I was hoping to hang out with Chumani and Chapa for a minute since Lona told me so much about them.”
“Suit yourself. Nice meeting you,” the boy said. He and the other boy left Lindsay with Chapa and Chumani.
“Rani, if it’s ok with you, I’m going to walk into the mall and pick up a few things,” Neha said.
“That’s fine, Aunt Neha,” Lindsay said. “I’ll just chat with Chumani and Chapa for a bit.”
Neha smiled and left.
“Lona told you about us?” Chapa asked. “Good things I hope.”
“Oh yes, of course,” Lindsay said. “She told me many stories, you know, girl talk. I especially like the one where Chapa got revenge on Billy Lone Wolf for cheating on Lona with that white girl from Billings.”
“She told you about that?” Chapa said. A smile involuntarily formed on her face.
Lindsay chuckled, “Stealing his jock strap out of his gym bag, then putting cayenne pepper into it and getting it back without him knowing—that was brilliant.”
Chumani snickered, “Billy is a starting guard on our basketball team. He started complaining to the coach about itching . . . down there . . . in the middle of the first quarter. They had to take him out. He spent the rest of the game soaking in the whirlpool.”
“Oh my god,” Lindsay laughed, “that’s hysterical.”
“I can’t believe she told you about that,” Chapa said, laughing. “It was supposed to be a secret.”
Lindsay spent the next fifteen minutes talking with Chapa and Chumani. She kept the conversation light, choosing to talk about school, boys, things to do in Wolf Point. She skillfully wove in little juicy bits of gossip that Lona had shared with her mother and had been shared with her from Neha on the ride to the mall.
It seemed to be working. The twins seemed at ease with Lindsay almost immediately. When Chumani mentioned Lona again as part of one of her stories, Lindsay decided to us it as an opportunity, “So, just out of curiosity, since I’m going to be in town for a while, I need a little distraction, you know? What is there to do for fun around here? Do you guys ever . . . I don’t know . . . drink a few beers?”
Both girls seemed to freeze in place at the mention of beer, “Lona never drank beer,” Chumani said. “We didn’t know her cousin did.”
“Oh, I know Lona never drank,” Lindsay said. It had been Neha who told her that Lona had mentioned smelling beer on the breath of the twins on rare occasion. “I don’t drink much, just a little now and then. With Lona being kidnapped, it’s been such a stressful time.”
“What makes you think we can help you get beer?” Chumani asked, somewhat suspiciously.
Lindsay looked around, as if checking to see if anyone was listening, “Lona told me that she thought your uncle . . . an Uncle Takoda, may have gotten you some beer from time to time. She also said that sometimes your Uncle Takoda sells weed to the kids in school.”
“No, that’s uncle’s
friend, Hank Rattling Thunder,” Chapa said.
“Rattling Thunder is creepy and scary,” Chumani said. “You don’t want any part of him.”
“And we don’t get our beer from Uncle Takoda,” Chapa said. “Lona was wrong.”
“Chapa!” Chumani snapped. “You know we aren’t supposed to talk about Uncle Takoda or his friends.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Chapa replied.
“I’m sorry I asked,” Lindsay offered. “I was just hoping to meet some friends while I was here that were, you know . . . cool with a beer every now and then.”
Chumani looked around the room to see if anyone was listening in. Satisfied, she turned to Chapa.
“Maybe we could invite Rani over on Saturday night when we see Rose,” Chumani said.
“No, not a good time,” Chapa replied. “Rattling Thunder will be there.”
“He’s going to be at your house?” Lindsay repeated.
“Yes,” Chapa said. “Uncle Takoda plays poker with Rattling Thunder at our house one Saturday night each month—and that’s this Saturday.”
“Poker game?” Lindsay asked.
“Yes, it’s a high stakes game for some of the rich Sioux and Lakota on the res,” Chumani said. “They hold the game at our house, but HRT and his daughter, Rose, are the actual hosts.”
“His daughter plays, too?”
Chapa nodded, “She is in charge of HRT’s gambling business. Rose Rattling Thunder is often the best player at the game.”
“She is with him a lot, then.” Lindsay asked, “HRT and Rose?”
“They are inseparable,” Chapa said. “It’s a shame, too, because Rose is quite nice when she is not around him.”
“How do you know that?” Lindsay asked.
“The players take a break in the game when it’s time to chip up,” Chumani said. “While the dealer is organizing the chips, the men smoke cigars on the front porch. Rose always meets us out back. We have a little hiding place back there. She brings us cigarettes and beer.”
Chapa giggled, “It’s our little secret. We drink a beer, smoke and listen to a little music. We have a little girl talk, too. It’s only for an hour until the game starts again. But it’s fun.”
Brotherhood Protectors: RAINHORSE (Kindle Worlds) Page 12
