Henry leaned back and sipped his wine and stared at the elderly couple who suddenly took less interest in our conversation. The Cheyenne Nation returned the glass of red to the surface of the table and, after a moment, spoke. “Den was a prison guard?”
“Yep.”
“He seemed defensive.”
Cady looked uncertain. “This is the crazy one?”
“His brother, but obviously a certain amount of eccentricity runs in the family.” I looked at my neglected beer on the table and continued to lose my taste for it. “However, Den is very protective of James.”
Henry nodded. “Yes, but why would Den, or for that matter James, kill Ho Thi, kill Maynard, and attempt to kill Tuyen? ”
They were all silent, and this was when my job sucked.
Cady sipped her wine and smiled; always the optimist, she was trying to find the upside to my predicament. “So that means that Virgil White Buffalo is innocent.”
“Yep.” I watched the tiny bubbles rising in my glass, avoided all their eyes, but especially Henry’s.
“So, you’re sleeping at the jail again? ”
I pulled the Suburban up to Vic’s single-wide and slipped the decrepit thing into park. “It’s my turn.”
“You relieving Frymire? ”
“Yep. Then Frymire is supposed to relieve Saizarbitoria at the hospital, because Double Tough didn’t look good.” Henry had disappeared in the Thunderbird, giving Cady and Michael a lift out to my place, so I had given Vic a ride home. I watched as she pulled a leg onto the bench seat, exposing a little thigh well above her boots.
“What are you going to do about Virgil, Walt?”
“I don’t know, maybe call Human Services or try and get hold of somebody in charge of the social programs up on the Rez.” She unsnapped her seat belt, turned, and carefully placed the black leather boots that were embroidered with blue roses in my lap. I thumbed the stitching. "Pleurosis....”
"What?”
“Blue roses; it’s what Tennessee Williams used to call his sister’s pleurosis.”
She shook her head, sighed, and considered me. “You are so fucking weird.” She crossed her ankles and made herself comfortable. “You have to let him go.”
I thought about the big Indian and placed a hand above the boots on her well-shaped calf, marveling at the smoothness of her skin. “Yep.”
She stretched and pushed her heels further into my lap. She curled an arm and propped up her head. The slight breeze from the open window stirred her hair. “What are you going to do about Tuyen? ”
I stroked her calf, my hand pausing at the back of her knee as she drew it up, parting the short skirt further. “I figure I’ll keep him under house arrest until I get some validation from California.”
“The Dunnigans? ”
“Well, considering the circumstances, I really don’t have any choice but to bring them in for a formal questioning.”
She smiled one of her more carnivoristic smiles, the one that displayed the oversize canine tooth to its best advantage. “And what are you going to do about me?”
I tipped my hat back, sighed, and looked at the analog clock—it was practically the only thing on the dash that worked. “I have to be at the jail in ten minutes.”
Her golden eyes were enormous, and I tried to focus on them as her skirt slipped even higher. “Your loss.”
Boy howdy.
“I’d ask for a rain check, but it doesn’t seem to want to rain around here lately.”
My handsome deputy shook her head and shifted her body. Like a dervish, she swung her boots down and kneeled on the seat, enjoying her height advantage as she turned, tilted my head back with both hands, and captured my mouth with her own. It was a bandit kiss, hard and fast—designed to leave the victim with a lingering feeling of what could have just been.
She straightened her lipstick with her third finger, slid out, closed the truck door, and turned, strutting away without bothering to pull her skirt down. She called over her shoulder. “You’re telling me.”
I felt like I’d been hit and run.
Virgil White Buffalo was the only one awake by the time I got to the jail. After snatching a few Post-its off my door facing, I discovered Frymire with Tuyen’s computer still in his lap, and snoring again. It was possibly the reason the big Indian wasn’t sleeping. He still didn’t talk much, but I’d begun making a habit of speaking to him whenever possible, hoping that I could get him in practice. “Hey, Virgil.”
He didn’t say anything but nodded toward my deputy.
I carefully lifted the computer from Chuck’s lap and nudged the young man, and he looked up at me. I put the computer back in the case that was open on the counter and read Ruby’s latest missives.
“I guess I dozed off again, huh?”
“Yep, but if Virgil here won’t hold up his end of the conversation and you don’t play chess, it’s to be expected. Anything new? ”
“I was playing around with the computer, but the security systems are tough.”
“You know about those things? ”
“Yeah, I’ve got a degree in computer science.”
“You do?” I thought about it. “I don’t remember seeing that on your application.”
“I didn’t think it mattered—we don’t have any computers in Powder Junction.” He had a point.
I held one of the Post-its in my hand and read the designation. “ACSS-BPS.” I looked up at him. “What the hell is BPS?" ”
“I have no idea.”
I read the yellow square in my hand. “WiFi? ”
“Wireless connections for computers; most people use it for laptops. Haven’t you seen the signs on the motels out by the highway?”
The next note was about some stolen drilling equipment east of town. “Yep.”
He yawned. “It means you can run your computer without hooking to a landline; just open it up and it acquires a signal.”
I thought about it. “But what does WiFi actually stand for? ”
“Wi is for wireless, and . . .” He paused. “I’m not sure what the Fi stands for.”
I stuffed the Post-its in my shirt pocket. "Semper...” I wasn’t so sure he got it and watched him yawn again.
He caught me glancing at him, and he gestured toward Tuyen’s computer. “You want me to take that thing and see what I can come up with?”
It was personal property, but if everything checked out with the Vietnamese man’s story, I’d just be hauling it over to the hospital for him anyway. “Sure; maybe it’ll help you to stay awake.”
I sent him off with his homework and sat in the chair opposite Virgil. I slid the upside-down trash can with the chessboard between us. Virgil White Buffalo, Bad War Honors, Crazy Dog Clan, studied me.
“I’m afraid I’m not going to be much of a challenge in comparison to Lucian.”
His voice was still rough but carried like a bass viola, vibrating the air between us. He turned the board, and I ignored the symbolism as he gave me white and the first move. “Maybe you’re better than you think.”
I froze my finger on a pawn. “I doubt it.”
“You must be worthy. Short-pants told me the Old Ones speak with you.” I looked up, and his eyes stayed on mine as we listened to the old Seth Thomas on the wall tick. He gestured through the bars and toward the game. I brought the pawn out to G4 and he countered with another to B5. There was a pause, and I listened to him breathe along with the ticking of the clock. “The Old Ones have never spoken to me.”
Tan Son Nhut, Vietnam: 1968
“He’s dead.” I looked at Hoang’s eyes and watched as they stared indifferently, his mouth slack in silence and the bubbles no longer struggling through the blood that saturated his chest. I held his head up and supported it against me.
Baranski laid an arm over Mendoza’s seat and threw a look back. “What?”
The sunrise oranged the sky, and I desperately tried to contain my anger. “You can slow down now, he’s dead.”