She smiled and slipped off her coat, allowing it to fall to the floor. “You’re on, Old Bear.”
“I’ll give you a couple of warm-ups.”
I leaned back to watch and, spreading my arms, rested my shoulders on the next seat level.
Inez threw the ball back to the Bear. “Don’t need ’em.”
Evidently the hook had gone out with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, because after Henry’s graceful arc that hit nothing but net, Inez tossed a brick.
The Cheyenne Nation pivoted with a reverse layup and deposited the ball in the hoop. Again. He caught the ball and tossed it to her. “T. Reverse, left-handed.”
Inez misjudged and bounced the ball off of the underside of the rim, almost crowning herself.
He went to the three-point line again, this time to the far end of the baseline, and sunk another. “A.”
Inez took a deep breath and followed suit, and this time the ball rebounded off the rim.
He continued in his around-the-world venture and paused at the top of the key, raised his arms and, with his thick wrist, flicked the ball and swished another one. “L.”
“Jesus.” I whispered the word before I knew it.
She moved to the same spot, but you could see her enthusiasm was flagging. She shot again, and this time she made it. “Take that, Old Bear.”
Henry gripped the ball and dribbled for a moment, possibly having pity on the kid, but it wasn’t in him and he moved another thirty degrees along the perimeter, took a deep step into two-point territory, and drained another. “Back to A.”
Inez moved to the spot and shot, but this time it jumped off the backboard over to me. I picked up the ball and stood, giving the Bear a good chest-to-chest pass.
Henry moved to the top of the key again and drained it. “L.”
She slumped and slowly moved out to the spot to give the shot a try. “One step?”
“I’ll give you two,” he said, unsmiling.
It was the Cheyenne Nation’s form of charity.
The young woman heaved the ball up to where it bounced off the rim twice and then kicked back off the backboard. He retrieved the ball and casually sunk another hook shot. “K.”
He strolled over to her, slipped his arm around her shoulders, and brought her over to the bleachers, even going so far as to kiss the top of her head. “I guess we cannot call you Inez Two Two anymore.”
She laughed in spite of herself and stooped to pick up her coat. After a moment she turned to look up at me, and I smiled.
“There was a fire lookout tower that he took me to down near Black’s Pond. It was locked up, but he broke the clasp off and we spent the night there one time. Diamond Butte Lookout, I think.”
Henry tucked the ball under his arm. “Anywhere else?”
“Not really; he was always looking for a place where we could, you know…” She turned to me and then back to him. “When he could.”
Henry asked. “Meaning?”
She glanced down and shrugged. “He had problems, down there.”
I threw her a line. “Inez, do you know a man by the name of Artie Small Song?”
Her eyes widened just a bit. “I don’t want anything to do with that guy; he’s crazy.”
“Do he and Clarence know each other?”
“I guess. They had a run-in one time.”
“In all honesty, we’re looking for both Clarence and Artie. Do you have any idea where Artie would be?”
The answer was hard and fast. “No.”
“Is there any chance they would be together?”
“No.”
“You make it sound like they don’t like each other.”
She looked at me, incredulous. “They don’t; when I saw the two of them together they were screaming at each other and threatening to do things, kill each other and shit.”
“And when was that?”
“About a month ago.” She was silent for a while and then took a deep breath. “Can I go now?”
“Sure.”
She took her hat and started for the door.
“Hey, Inez?” She stopped when she heard Henry’s voice but didn’t turn. “Be good, because I will be watching.”
She nodded solemnly, but she didn’t say anything as she opened the door and escaped.
Henry looked after her. “Rarely do you see the promise of a man in a boy, but you almost always see the threat of a woman in a girl-and sometimes the threat is not hollow.”
“She’s young.”
“Not that young.”
I tipped my hat back down. “Well, that was an interesting departure from the good-cop/bad-cop-the good-cowboy/bad-Indian.”
He sighed. “Her family has a history of playing hand games. I knew I could count on her sportsmanship, if not her honor.”
He easily evaded me when I attempted to slap the ball from under his arm.
“You never did have the guts to play in the paint, Henry.”
He laughed.
The agent in charge was standing by Rezdawg when we got outside, along with two other agents, one still in the Crown Vic and the other examining Henry’s truck, probably wondering if it ran.
“So, do I have to go talk to Inez Two Two, or have you done my work for me?”
I walked over and stopped, laying an arm on the bed of the truck. “I didn’t know you guys worked on Sundays.”
He slipped off his sunglasses, and we both looked around at the gorgeous day. “Neither rain, nor snow…”
“That’s the postal service.” I thought about it and quoted. “Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these courageous couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.”
“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever heard the whole thing.”
I nodded. “They stole it from Herodotus, about 500 B.C. during the Greek/Persian war-he said it about the Persian mounted postal couriers.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Are you sure you’re a sheriff?”
I ignored the remark and joined him, tipping my hat back and absorbing the warmth of the sun. “Hey, you don’t happen to have a copy of the phone recordings between Artie and Clarence on you, do you?”
He gave a small laugh. “Those recordings are FBI property.”
“You don’t have a copy?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“How ’bout we trade you what Inez said for a copy of the recording.”
He lounged against the scaly surface of Henry’s truck. “Not a good enough trade. I can always just go inside and question the girl myself.”
“You might not get anything; she’s tough.” I gestured toward the Bear. “And you don’t have an Indian scout.”
Henry spun the basketball in his hands and glanced up at the outside hoop about thirty feet away. “I will play you for it.”
The agent in charge’s head came down, and he smiled at the Cheyenne Nation. “As much as I’d like to, I don’t have time.”
“Three letters.”
Cliff Cly studied my friend for a moment, and then a broad grin spread across his face. He ceremoniously pushed away from the truck and then carefully took off his jacket, folded it, and placed it on the side of the bed and began loosening his tie. “I should probably warn you that I played JV ball at Rutgers.”
Henry looked impressed. “Wow.”
Rolling up the sleeves on his dress shirt, the FBI AIC paused. “Do I get to pick the three letters?”
The Bear dribbled the ball once, and then held it, his dark eyes studying the federal agent. “Funny, I was thinking A-I-M.”
10
“Rutgers must have been really shitty that year.”
He smiled to himself as we bumped along in Rezdawg, whose top speed today was, evidently, fifty-two miles an hour.