“He said it couldn’t be destroyed at this stage. Only delayed.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I still plan to destroy the dam.”
Danny thought Walter was overconfident but he didn’t object further. He was tired of playing the Doubting Thomas role. He craved action. Danny felt like a boxer who’d been sidelined with an injury and was afraid if he didn’t get back in the ring soon he’d lose his edge. They decided it was time to meet with the other guys at the Pit Stop to go over the plan. Once they’d settled in at their usual table with beers all around, Danny led the discussion. Ernie’s reaction was just what Danny had expected. Always the eager beaver, he was on board even before he’d heard the plan’s details. Henry was more measured in his response.
“Who is this guy you met with? What’s his beef with the dam?”
“We can’t tell you that,” said Walter. “You just have to trust us that the man has a legitimate gripe and wants to help us with our cause.”
Danny was relieved that Walter hadn’t mentioned anything about a communist revolution but he could tell by Henry’s sour expression that he didn’t think much of what he had heard. Danny understood exactly how he felt. When Feldman had insisted that they couldn’t tell anyone his name or how he was involved, Danny was as put off as Henry seemed to be now. “That’s not right,” Danny had told Feldman. “If this plan goes haywire, we’ll be the ones to take the heat, not you or your group. We already have the sheriff breathing down our necks as it is.”
“Don’t worry,” Feldman had assured him. “If anything goes wrong, show them this.”
He’d handed Danny an envelope which he said contained their Get Out of Jail Free card. Inside was a handwritten letter on official government stationery explaining that Danny Longstreet, Walter Potts and two of their associates were on a special assignment for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The letter authorized them unlimited access to The Dalles Dam for the specific purpose of preventing sabotage. It further stated that this was a top-secret mission authorized by the Bureau Chief of the FBI headquartered in Portland, Oregon. It was signed and dated by the special agent assigned to oversee the operation.
The letter looked official but it didn’t make sense to Danny. “Wait a minute,” he’d told Feldman. “Why would anyone believe that the FBI would entrust us to prevent sabotage? Everybody knows we’re opposed to construction of the dam and would sabotage the dam ourselves if we could.”
Feldman chuckled. “That’s the beauty of this deal. The agent in charge isn’t a communist but he wants what you want—to disrupt completion of the dam. He’s set this whole operation up and is my inside man at the dam.”
Walter thought that was just about the coolest thing he’d ever heard. “The fox is minding the hen house,” he joked.
“I’m back to square one,” Danny said. “Why? Why would an FBI agent want to sabotage the dam?”
Feldman smiled but it was without warmth. “Revenge, my friend. Revenge.”
His answer hadn’t fully satisfied Danny but he’d accepted the envelope anyway.
“Put the letter somewhere safe and don’t tell anyone about it,” Feldman cautioned. “You can show it to the authorities if you think we’ve betrayed you (which we won’t) or if you get caught at the dam and are arrested (which you won’t). Whatever happens, you will be covered. When this is all over, I expect you to give the letter back to me and we will go our separate ways.”
Danny realized that Henry had just asked him a question but he’d been thinking about Feldman and missed it. “What did you say?”
“I asked if you’re okay with this guy and his plan?”
Walter had been bugging Danny ever since their meeting to make a firm commitment but he’d been putting him off. It still felt like they would be the losers in the end despite the letter that would supposedly exonerate them. Danny glanced at Walter and shrugged. “It’s a risk . . . but one I’m willing to take.”
Danny’s confirmation earned him a broad smile from Walter. “Me, too,” Walter said. “If you and Ernie are with us, then I’ll explain how this is all going to work.” He paused to give them time to decide but Danny knew they’d agree. Once Danny was behind the plan, he knew the others would follow his lead. And they did.
Henry still seemed troubled. “You said when we first got together that we were going to destroy the dam.”
Danny frowned, remembering how he’d let anger overshadow reasonable expectations. Oscar and the other elders had realized the futility of their cause from the outset. “You’re right, Henry. Destroying the dam was what we all wanted. Unfortunately, the truth is we really can’t stop the government from doing whatever the hell they decide to do. But what we can do is severely limit the progress—by several months if we’re successful. So far, we haven’t delayed the project by even one day, let alone months.”
“It’s not ideal,” Walter added, “but a little dynamite can cause one hell of a problem to fix. Our new partner had a starter box of dynamite in his truck for us.”
Ernie hadn’t paid much attention until Walter mentioned the magic word dynamite. “Wow,” he said excitedly, “that’s so cool.”
Henry rolled his eyes. “How are we supposed to get onto the dam? Four Indians carrying sticks of dynamite onto government property might be a tad bit suspicious, don’t you think?”
“Our guy has a man on the inside who is going to get us government passes, an authorized vehicle, hard hats, and everything else we might need,” Walter said. He waved a key in front of them. “This here is a key to a warehouse the guy owns. I’ve already been there to look inside. It has all the dynamite and more that this job will take.”
Ernie shot off his chair like it was spring loaded. “Like crazy, man!” he exclaimed. “When do we start?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Mildred settled onto the bar stool next to Tony. “I thought I might find you here,” she said. “The office is locked and I left my keys at home.”
Annoyed, Tony reached into his pocket and tossed her a loaded key ring. He was used to depending on Mildred, not the other way around and it bugged the hell out of him. “I don’t give a damn what you do, but I don’t plan on working today, maybe even for a couple days.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” She checked out his bruised and cut-up face. “You look like you’ve been in a fight or something.” When he let the comment pass, she patted his shoulder and said, “I’m awfully sorry about Nick. He was a good kid.”
Tony slurped the last of his beer. Signaling Dizzy’s bartender for another round, he asked, “You want one? It’s on me.”
“No, thanks, I’m laying off the sauce for a while. It’s too hard on my ulcer.”
That was the first he’d ever heard anything about an ulcer, but what did he care? A woman her age probably had lots of ailments. Thankfully, she wasn’t a complainer. “Suit yourself,” he shrugged. Tony felt her eyes boring into him. Judging him. Nothing worse than having a reformed drinker around to let you know how depraved you are. “What are you staring at?” he growled.
“Nothing, boss.” She paused while the bartender set Tony’s refill on the counter and then ordered. “I’ll take a cup of coffee, Freddie.”
“You got it Miss Millie. Sugar and cream?”
“No, just black.” She waited until Tony had downed some of his beer and then asked, “You want to tell me about Nick?”
“Not much to tell,” Tony said. “I asked the kid to give old George a ride back to the village and the damn redskin takes it into his head to steal my truck. Shot Nick and then plowed into a tree. My truck is totaled.” Clarice had cooked up a more complicated version, but Tony believed simple was best. Too much detail can trip a fellow up.<
br />
Freddie brought Mildred her coffee. She blew on the hot drink and said, “I don’t get it. Why in the world would you want Nick to take George home?”
“Huh?”
Mildred eyed him over the cup’s rim as she drank. “Never mind,” she said. How did Uncle Sol take the news?”
“I haven’t called him, if that’s what you mean. Let the old coot read about it in the paper like everyone else.”
“You think that’s wise? What about Nick’s parents? Don’t you think they should hear about it from you?”
“I’m two beers past caring,” he said.
Freddie brought another beer and coffee without asking and gestured to a couple of new arrivals at the bar. “Your gang’s all here now.”
“Oh, no,” Tony said, “spare me.” His elusive salesmen, Hoffman and Jensen, were the last people he wanted pestering him with questions about Nick. Mildred was bad enough, but those two clowns would never stop yammering. “We’ll take our drinks to the corner booth, Freddie. And do me a favor, will ya?” he said, throwing a wad of bills onto the counter.
“What’s that, Tony?”
“Don’t let Abbot and Costello run out of beer. I see them anywhere near our table and the party’s over.”
Freddie scooped up the money and grinned. “You got it, man.”
As soon as they were settled in the booth, Mildred pulled a newspaper from the giant bag she called a purse. She unfolded it on top of the table and pointed to the headline: ‘Celilo Indian Arrested for Murder.’ This is the Portland newspaper, Tony. When your family sees this they’re going to wonder why they haven’t heard from you. They’ve already been trying to reach you at the office. I’m guessing they’ll want you to accompany Nick’s body back to Portland for burial.”
Tony hadn’t even thought about a funeral. All he wanted to do was get drunk and forget the whole mess. Why’d Clarice have to kill the kid? All it had done was make Tony’s life miserable. Facing a bunch of grieving relatives would be worse than miserable.
“Do you want me to call Uncle Sol or Nick’s parents for you?” asked Mildred.
“Hell no!” Tony gulped his beer, hoping a buzz would kick in soon. He felt like a one-hundred-pound-weight was strapped on his back and the alcohol hadn’t done a thing to lift it. Just the mention of Uncle Sol was enough to add another ten pounds. “Do you know why that bastard sent Nick to The Dalles? He was Uncle Sol’s little spy. The kid wasn’t here to learn anything about real estate. He was here to get the goods on us.”
“What?”
“You heard me. That little punk ransacked your desk after you split and he found the ledgers—both of them.” He knew he was saying too much, but he was just so damn angry he couldn’t put the brakes on. “We caught him red-handed.”
“We?”
“Me and Clarice. We were heading into the office just as Nick was leaving with the ledgers. He would’ve made a clean getaway if Clarice hadn’t gotten suspicious and asked for the newspaper that he’d used to hide the theft.” He took another swig of beer. “The kid even confessed.”
“That explains a lot,” Mildred said. “I thought your cousin was getting awfully chummy with me.” She chuckled, “I didn’t think it was because of my good looks. But I never dreamed he was spying on us. So, tell me, Tony, what’d you do when he ‘fessed up?”
Tony rubbed his bruised jaw. “What do you think? Pounded him to a pulp.”
Mildred was quiet, as if mentally assessing his injuries against his story. “And then what? You sent him off in your truck with George Featherstone?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Hmm,” she said. “I wonder why he didn’t hightail it straight back to Portland and Uncle Sol instead.”
Now he’d done just what he’d hoped to avoid. Blabbing too much had opened a minefield. He shrugged off the question. “Too dumb to think of it, I guess.” Whether Mildred was satisfied with that explanation or not, didn’t matter. He was through talking.
“Interesting,” she said, downing the last of her coffee and tossing a quarter on the table. “Well, Tony, if there’s anything you want me to do, just let me know. You can reach me at home.”
He watched her fat behind as she jiggled her way across the room, glad to be finally left alone. It didn’t last. As soon as the noon hour approached, Dizzy’s began to get crowded and people kept stopping by his table to express their sympathy—and outrage. Sentiment against the Celilo tribe wasn’t good before the murder and it had only gotten worse now. The killing of a white kid by an Injun had set everyone on edge. Blaming George had been a brilliant idea; Clarice was right when she’d predicted the uproar that would follow. Except for receiving condolences, the focus was off him. Tony hated putting on the Sad Sack act, but at least Freddie had kept the two bozos, Hoffman and Jensen, away from him. Slipping unnoticed out the bar’s rear door, he hopped into the convertible he’d left parked in the alley.
He had no destination in mind as he drove through town. The beer hadn’t gotten him buzzed enough so he stopped at a liquor store and bought a fifth of Jack Daniels. He would’ve gone straight to Monty’s Motel and called Clarice, but she’d made it clear that they should cool their relationship until things settled down. He thought about heading out to the Carlton and hooking up with that sexy new hatcheck gal, but a better idea suddenly popped into his head.
He slowed the Caddy as he turned onto Cherry Blossom Lane. The Matthews’ house was just around the corner. Seeing that sexy little vixen would boost his spirits. She was virgin territory in serious need of exploration and he was more than ready to get started. He glanced in the rearview mirror and smoothed back his hair. He noted with dismay how dark the circles were under his bloodshot eyes. His scruffy unshaven face looked tired, which wasn’t surprising given that he’d been unable to get a decent night’s sleep since his meeting with Feldman at the Carlton. But, man, were those gray hairs in his sideburns? This whole sorry mess was aging him fast. He opened the liquor bottle and took a swig. On second thought, what was he worried about? He may be beaten down a bit, but he still looked good enough to turn a few heads. Ellie’s included.
Tony was confident that Sam Matthews would still be at work this early in the afternoon. Nevertheless, he checked to make sure his truck wasn’t parked in the driveway before bringing the convertible to a stop. Except for the swhish-swhish of lawn sprinklers here and there, the neighborhood was unusually quiet. Tony didn’t care about anyone spotting his car in front of the Matthews’ house. His job had taken him to Hillcrest so many times that the bright red Caddy was a common sight. No one would question why it would be parked anywhere in the neighborhood. He took another drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. As he was searching through the glove compartment for some breath mints, he heard someone call his name. “Yoo-hoo, Mr. Rossi!”
He straightened up and found the red-haired Feldman girl standing next to his car. “What are you doing here?” she asked with a metallic grin. “Slumming?”
“Not until you showed up,” Tony shot back. He unrolled a mint, popped it into his mouth and handed her the pack. “Take it,” he said. “Your attitude could use a little sweetening.”
She grinned again and peeled off one of the mints. Pocketing the rest of the package in her shorts, she said, “I’m really sorry about your cousin. I liked him.” She paused a moment as if expecting a thank you or some other response. “But,” she said, “you never answered my question. Are you looking for Mr. Matthews or . . .” she fluttered her eyelids, “. . . maybe it’s Ellie you’re after.”
“What’s it to you?” She didn’t look much older than twelve, but she was a real wise-ass. It pissed him off and sort of amused him at the same time.
“You haven’t forgotten me, have you?” she asked, fluffing up her curly hair and striking what she must have thought was a sexy, pinup-like pose. “I hate to think I’m forgettable. The name’s Odessa. But you can call me Dessa.”
Tony snorted. That isn’t what he’d call her. “I know who you are, Dessa, but you’re not my type.” He opened the car door and stepped out. “So, why don’t you go find someone else to seduce?”
“I thought you liked them young. I’m the same age as Ellie.”
If she was trying to get his goat, she had succeeded. “Get lost,” he said, giving her a slight push as he passed her. He was almost to the Matthews’ front porch when she called out, “By the way, Ellie’s not home.” Tony turned and stared at the girl. He wasn’t sure if he believed her or not. “Where is she?”
“That’s for me to know and you to not find out.”
Lying little snot nose. He hoofed it straight to the porch and rang the doorbell. He shifted from one foot to the other as he waited. And waited.
“Told ya,” Dessa taunted.
Muttering a few choice curses, he marched back to the car. It took all his will power to ignore the mouthy brat. Her father was too crucial to his plans to deal with her like he wanted. As soon as he’d hopped in the car, he grabbed the Jack Daniels and downed a hefty snort.
Dessa put her hands on her hips like a scolding fishwife and said, “You shouldn’t drink and drive, you know.”
Tony fired up the convertible and pulled away from the curb. Women! Young or old, they’re always telling you what to do. To hell with ’em. Antonio Rossi was going to do whatever he damn well pleased. And when he was through, they’d beg for more.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Celilo's Shadow Page 19
