The big man placed himself between Nate and the wide world. He leaned in. “You ever pull a gun on me again, you better use it.”
“Okay.” The kid’s response was too quick for Charles’s taste.
Charles had him up in the air and against the wall faster than I could’ve possibly reacted. He grabbed fistfuls of the young man’s shirt and then slammed him against the concrete block.
It took both hands, but I wrenched one thumb away, reverse-wrist-locked the large man all the way down the hallway, and shoved him against the far door with a heavy thump. I held him there until he stopped struggling. “Knock it off.”
He didn’t respond verbally-no surprise there-and tried to throw his body against me.
I applied so much pressure that I was afraid I was going to dislocate his thumb. I repeated the words again and felt his body relax just a bit. I let him go and stepped back.
He turned quickly and squared off with me, his face red from the exertion. “Keep your hands off me.”
I raised mine, just to indicate that I was done for now. “How about we all just keep our hands to ourselves?”
Charles raised a finger and pointed at Nate. “Get him out of my jail.”
Nate and I were sitting in Artie’s truck in the Tribal Police parking lot under the yellowish glow of the arc lights as the young man pulled on the light switch and then held the two wires together, causing the small-block to cough, sputter, and then rumble into a lopsided idle. “You gotta have the engine running to get the player to work.”
I handed him the CD-he took it and slipped it into the slot in the dash. We listened to the whole recording three times. “I’m sorry, but it’s not broken into tracks, so we have to listen to it all.”
“That’s all right.”
He leaned in at the portion of the recording where the woman was speaking in the background and focused on what seemed to be the one discernable word. He swallowed and then hit the EJECT button and handed me the CD.
“Do you recognize the woman’s voice?”
“No.”
“Neither do I, but I probably wouldn’t.” I tipped my hat back and looked into the night, the streetlights of Lame Deer trailing away from 212 into the heart of darkness. “Well, it was worth a try.”
“The word she says…”
“Yep. I still can’t quite make it out; something about ‘dome’ or ‘dose’?”
“Dole, she’s saying dole. It’s a word my grandmother uses.”
I waited a moment. “You think that’s your grandmother?”
“No, but that’s the word the woman is using-dole.”
My limitations loomed audible. “What about the music in the background?”
“The jukebox up at Jimtown is always playing.” He shrugged and slipped the truck into reverse. “I can take us to a place where we can hear everything that’s on there.”
I grabbed the open passenger door and held it. “I can’t go anywhere.”
He looked incredulous. “What, you’re still under arrest?”
I looked past him and into the lighted windows of the Tribal Police Headquarters. “Do I have to remind you who Charles’s half-brother is?”
He cleared his throat and rubbed his neck where the patrolman’s grip still showed red. “Oh, man.” He dipped his head and looked up the hill to the blinking light at the top of the radio tower. “KRZZ’s got production studios that can do anything; slow the track down, pump up different levels.” He looked at the wristwatch on the carabiner attached to his belt loop. “I gotta be up there in two hours anyway-why don’t you meet me there?”
“I thought Herbert His Good Horse did morning drive.”
“He does, but he also gets hung over and I get stuck pulling doubles.” He shrugged. “That was mean. He takes care of his nephew, the one that’s got no legs.”
“I saw a poster of him winning some marathon in Japan.”
“He’s unreal.”
I nodded. “If you’re going to be up there all morning, I’ll head to the radio station once Chief Long comes in and replaces Charles.”
“Cool, man.”
“Well, I’d better get back inside before Charles tries to drown your uncle in the toilet.” I closed the door.
Nate tossed a worried look to the jail as I walked around the truck. “Hey, Nate?” I pulled the small revolver from my belt and tossed it into his lap through the open window. “No more of this Indian outlaw stuff, okay?”
He looked genuinely embarrassed. “Okay.”
Inside, I found Charles reading the newspaper with his feet up on the counter, the black and white monitors showing the holding cell, the duty room, and the parking lot where Nate was turning around and pulling away.
I yawned and placed my elbows on the high counter. “I’m thinking you need to put a few hours into some sensitivity training seminars.”
He was reading the Billings Gazette but looked up at me; predictably, he said nothing.
“Just for the record, I don’t think Artie’s the one who killed your brother, which means that the person that did do it is still out there and needs to be brought to justice. Have you got any ideas of who might’ve held a grudge against Clarence and his family?”
He folded the paper, placed it in his lap, and looked at me. “Everybody has enemies.”
“Including you?”
He cocked his head. “Including me; it goes with the job.”
“Anybody dislike you enough to go after your half-brother?”
He shrugged.
“How about Audrey and Adrian?” I stifled the yawn in my throat. “That’s a lot of dislike.”
He unfolded his paper and rustled it to straighten the pages.
“You know, generally you don’t have to look very far for people who do things like this; it’s usually friends, so-called, or family.”
He continued to study his paper.
“It seems to me that somebody is looking to wipe out your entire family, Charles. And you don’t seem to care.”
The tribal policeman’s voice rumbled over the Billings Gazette. “I care enough that if you leave here for another five minutes, I’ll go into that holding cell and do society a favor.”
I waited a moment and then continued on like a wrecking ball. “You a killer, Charles?”
After a moment he released one side of the paper, lowered his hand to hit the button under the counter so that the door behind me buzzed in a persistent manner. He sat there with that expressionless look on his face and watched me.
I straightened up, took the two steps to the door, and yanked the thing open, his stare following me into the hallway. “Good to know, since we’re looking for one.”
13
I was having this dream where the talking animals were at it again-even Dog was having a go at me. It was only when he asked me the second time if I wanted coffee that I started thinking that things seemed suspicious.
Flapping my eyelids open and shut cleared a little of the bleariness and allowed me to focus. Lolo Long had pulled up another folding chair from the Law Enforcement Center’s endless supply and was holding two cups from the White Buffalo convenience store, a manila folder under her arm again. “I understand we had an attempted jail break last night?”
I peeled the blanket back a little more. “As jail breaks go, it wasn’t much.” I sat up and looked out the small rectangular window at the sky, already worn to a lighter shade of blue. “It’s midmorning?”
“Say… you are a detective.”
I slumped back onto my blanket-pillow. “Shoot me?”
“There is a member of my dwindled staff who would be happy to comply with that request, but in consolation, I bring you coffee and photographs.”
I struggled up and thought my back was going to fragment like not-so-fine china. Groaning, I reached out and took the Styrofoam cup she proffered. Written on the side in a ridiculously perky font were the words FRESH BREWED. I undid the top and looked at the complex, frothy content with what looked like mouse droppings decorating the top. “What is this?”
She leaned forward, taking a look in mine, and then undid her own and traded cups with me. “Sorry. Mocha Chip Frappuccino.”