A Matter of Malice
Page 26
“And four, I brought the sheriff with me.” Thumps walked to the mezzanine balcony and looked over the edge. “Did you hear all that?”
“We did,” shouted Duke. “Ask Mr. Banks to wait for us. We’ll be right up.”
“Did you find the jacket?”
“We did,” said the sheriff. “And you’re right. Grease and blood look a lot alike.”
Calder pulled the trigger on the revolver again and again until the cylinder had made a complete circuit.
“Replica bullets.” Calder was smiling again. “Fucking replica bullets.”
“Real bullets are dangerous,” said Pearl. “Someone could get hurt.”
Calder sat down in the chair, his arms at his sides. “Well, hell,” he said. “At least we got our show.”
“Yes,” said Pearl. “We have our show.”
“So,” said Calder, brightening a little, “who are you going to get to play me?”
Forty-Four
Al was waiting for him when he got to the restaurant the next morning.
“I told you it was the blond hunk.”
Wutty Young Beaver, Russell Plunkett, and Jimmy Monroe were in their usual places at the front, hunkered down at the counter.
“Hear you almost got killed,” said Russell. “Lucky the bullets weren’t real.”
“Entertainment,” said Wutty. “Nothing’s real in entertainment.”
“I said it was Mr. Fancy Face,” said Al, “and I was right.”
“Hear you’re looking for a new ride,” said Jimmy. “You interested in a low-mileage SUV?”
“You talking about your GMC?” Wutty shook his head. “You should be paying someone to take it off your hands.”
“The Acadia’s a classic.”
“Yeah,” said Russell. “Classic crap.”
“Sort of like your job with the TV show?” said Jimmy.
Wutty blew on his coffee. “Bunch of lesbians.”
Thumps made his way to his favourite stool and settled in. He had finally gotten a good night’s sleep, but little else had changed. His car was still wrecked. His cat was still gone. Claire was still in Browning or wherever she had gone to try to find motherhood for a second time. He had helped to solve three cases, but he couldn’t seem to find any pleasure in that.
Not his circus. Not his monkeys.
“Jesus,” said Duke, as he slid onto the next stool. “You look like shit.”
The sheriff wasn’t the last person he wanted to see. And he certainly wasn’t the first.
“What do you want?”
“Cranky, too,” said Duke.
“Thought you were interrogating Banks.”
“Hell,” said Hockney. “I can’t get the guy to shut up.”
“So, he’s told you everything.”
“You were right,” said Duke. “It was Berlin who told him that they were going to get him kicked off the program. Berlin wanted the part. Him and Nash. Calder went up to Nash’s room to try to talk some sense into her. She was drunk and abusive. Berlin was passed out on the couch. Calder grabs Berlin’s new cool toy and shoots Nash.”
“Twice.”
“You were right. Berlin would have been too drunk to make those shots. He probably never even woke up.”
“Around seven-thirty?”
“Give or take,” said Duke. “Calder panicked, grabbed a cab for the airport, hoping he could catch a flight out of Dodge before anyone found the bodies.”
“And got lucky.”
“Flight was delayed an hour and a half,” said the sheriff. “So Calder actually caught the flight he had originally booked. Made it look as though he was in the air when Nash and Berlin were killed.”
“And Maslow?”
“Like he said. Maslow was a bulldog. He followed her out to Belly Butte and killed her there. Hoped that the similarity with Trudy would keep us busy.”
“So what happens now?”
“We are sending Mr. Banks back to Las Vegas.”
“Vegas?” said Thumps. “He killed Maslow here.”
“He did,” said Duke, “but the mayor doesn’t think that a high-profile murder trial will help her Howdy program.”
“Calder going to fight extradition?”
“Oh my, no,” said Hockney. “He doesn’t want to be tried here. Too small a stage. I think he’s looking forward to the climactic courtroom scene.”
“You here to buy me breakfast?”
“What?” said Duke. “Because you helped break the case?”
“Three cases.”
Duke shook his head. “Nope. Stopped by to pick up my badge. Your tenure as a deputy is over.”
Thumps leaned back on the stool and stretched. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’d like to hold on to it for a bit.”
Duke nodded. “Unfinished business?”
Al brought breakfast and the coffee pot at the same time. “On me,” she said. “Seeing as how you’re a hero and all.”
“What about me?” said Duke.
“Howdy,” said Al.
THE ROLL-UP DOORS at Blackfoot Autohaus were down and locked, but there was a light on in the office. Stas was at his desk, working his way through a stack of paper.
“Yes, please.” The big Russian bolted out of his chair and threw his arms around Thumps. “You must have tea. You must interrupt before I shoot myself.”
Thumps could feel the air leave his body.
“End of month,” said Stas, breaking the bear hug and waving a paw at the desk. “Money comes in. Money goes out. I work on money more than I work on cars. Bills, taxes, forms for the governments, who knows how many. Little government, big government. What is ‘code type 7’?”
Thumps tried to look sympathetic.
“Or ‘Check box 32b’ when there is no box 32b?” Stas returned to his chair and sat down with a thud. “I am mechanic. Good mechanic.” He sighed. “Not advokat. You understand?”
“I brought your truck back.”
“Yes,” said Stas. “Bad news. Good news. Which is first?”
This was the moment, Thumps realized, that he had been dreading. “Bad news.”
Stas poured hot water into a cup and dropped in a tea bag. “Okay. Yes. Bad news is always better first.”
“The Volvo?”
Stas shook his head sadly. “You must say goodbye.”
“No way to fix it?”
“Frame is bent. Drive shaft is broken. Engine block is not so good either. Car is dead.”
Thumps sagged in the chair. He tried the tea. It didn’t help. “The good news?”
“Ah,” said Stas. “Yes. Good news. Lady is sympathetic.”
“Lady?”
“Yes,” said Stas. “Scary lady. One with gun? No smiling. No happy to see you. She friend?”
“Not exactly.”
“Anyway, she comes here.” Stas smiled. “Gives me this.” Stas held up a set of keys. “Honda Element is yours.”
“Mine?”
“Yes.” Stas popped out of his chair. “Scary lady says to give you car. Pink slip, keys, full tank of gas. Also this.”
Stas handed him a thick folder.
“She says you will want this. She says to say goodbye and good luck.”
Thumps recognized Maslow’s handwriting. On the label, she had written, “Obsidian Murders.”
“So,” said Stas. “Goodbye. Good luck.”
Forty-Five
Thumps stood on his porch and watched the night give way to the dawn. Nothing dramatic, a slow brightening at the edges, a brittle chill just out of reach. Winter was on the way. Snow had been predicted for the weekend. And for all of the following week.
It had been three days since Calder Banks had been arrested. Thumps had stopped by the sheriff’s office.
“So he gave you a complete confession?”
“More like a script for a full-length movie,” Duke had told Thumps. “Starring himself.”
“Macy get the grease out of your jacket?”
“You r
eally want to go there? Now she’s talking vegetarian.”
“Hear it’s healthy.”
“You know what tofu is made of? You ever taste quinoa?”
Claire had come home a day early. Thumps had been in the kitchen, standing in front of an open refrigerator, looking for breakfast, when the phone rang.
“I’m back,” Claire had said.
“Great.”
“But I’m not staying.”
Thumps hadn’t been able to think of what the next question should be, so he waited.
“I’m going to New Zealand.”
“New Zealand?”
“With Angie.”
“Black Weasel?”
“She’s going to Auckland for a conference on Indigenous child care. I’m going with her.”
Thumps had heard the tension in Claire’s voice.
“Browning didn’t go as planned. There’s an aunt on the Blood reserve in Alberta who is going for custody of the girls.”
“Family.”
“Exactly. The aunt didn’t want them at first, but now she does.”
Thumps had said that he was sorry, that these situations were hard on everyone.
“No,” Claire had said. “It’s probably for the best. I’ve forgotten how to be a mother. I’ve forgotten just how hard it is to raise a child.”
“How long?”
“New Zealand?” Claire’s voice had tightened. “A month. The conference is most of a week. After that, Angie and I are going to rent a small camper and tour the South Island.”
“A month.”
“Angie’s parents are going to look after the kids. Angie’s mother is thrilled to have them. Stas and Cooley and Moses are off on their fall hunting trip, so it’s a win all around.”
“What about the Forester?”
“Changed my mind,” Claire had said. “Freddy understood. I told him I’d put in a good word with council the next time the band looked at their lease agreements.”
“So you’re off.”
“I’m off.” There had been a long pause. Thumps had heard Claire take each breath. “You okay with that?”
“You’ll have a great time in New Zealand.”
“Maybe we can talk when I get back.”
Thumps had slowly closed the refrigerator door. “Sounds like a plan.”
“I hear you got a new car.”
“Honda Element.”
“I’ll send you a postcard.”
“Be great.”
“Maybe I’ll send you two.”
THUMPS HAD BEEN wrong about Nina Maslow. She had researched the Obsidian Murders. The file Sydney Pearl had given him hadn’t been complete, but it had been impressive. Crime-scene photos, forensics, victim information. Thumps had no idea how she had acquired the materials. Much of it had been familiar. Thumps had seen most of it before. Of more interest had been the notes Maslow had made, questions she had scribbled in the margins with arrows and circles that tried to connect disparate pieces of information into a coherent idea.
Pearl had been right. Maslow had a knack for seeing patterns and for coming at a problem from odd and unexpected angles.
He had taken Maslow’s research to the Aegean.
“My computer,” the little Greek had said. “Again?”
“The Obsidian Murders.” Thumps had held up the file by way of explanation.
“I get it,” Archie had said. “Claire’s going to New Zealand, and you’re at loose ends.”
“Something like that.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Stay home. Wait for winter.”
Archie shook his head. “It’s a bad idea.”
“What?”
“Going back. It’s a bad idea.”
Thumps had put the file on Archie’s desk. “I could use your help.”
Archie had picked up the file and looked at the list Thumps had paper-clipped to the front of the folder. “This is it?”
“Yes.”
The little Greek had stared at him over the top of his glasses. No gesture of encouragement, no censure, just the silence of sadness. “So, when do you leave?”
“In the morning.”
Archie had kept his face impassive. “It’s a bad idea.”
SO NOW IT was morning, and Thumps stood on his porch and watched the sun break the horizon. Maybe the snow wouldn’t come straight away. It might hold off for another week, maybe two. It could even turn warm one last time, a fond farewell, bon voyage, see you in the spring.
Thumps slung the messenger bag over his shoulder and picked up the suitcase. He looked up and down the street in case Freeway had had enough of small children and was looking for sanctuary.
Then he climbed into the Honda, put the promise of dawn at his back, and began the long drive to the coast.
About the Author
THOMAS KING is an award-winning novelist, short story writer, scriptwriter, and photographer of Cherokee and Greek descent. His many critically acclaimed, bestselling books include Medicine River; Green Grass, Running Water; Truth and Bright Water; A Short History of Indians in Canada; The Back of the Turtle (winner of the Governor General’s Literary Award for Fiction); and The Inconvenient Indian (winner of the RBC Taylor Prize). A Member of the Order of Canada and the recipient of an award from the National Aboriginal Achievement Foundation, Thomas King lives in Guelph. A Matter of Malice is the fourth novel in his DreadfulWater series.
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Also by Thomas King
FICTION
Medicine River
Green Grass, Running Water
One Good Story, That One
Truth and Bright Water
A Short History of Indians in Canada
The Back of the Turtle
DREADFULWATER MYSTERIES
DreadfulWater
The Red Power Murders
Cold Skies
A Matter of Malice
The Obsidian Murders (to be published in 2020)
NON-FICTION
The Truth About Stories: A Native Narrative
The Inconvenient Indian: A Curious Account of Native People in North America
CHILDREN’S ILLUSTRATED BOOKS
A Coyote Columbus Story, illustrated by William Kent Monkman
Coyote Sings to the Moon, illustrated by Johnny Wales
Coyote’s New Suit, illustrated by Johnny Wales
A Coyote Solstice Tale, illustrated by Gary Clement
Coyote Tales, illustrated by Byron Eggenschwiler
Copyright
A Matter of Malice
Copyright © 2019 by Dead Dog Café Productions Inc.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
COVER IMAGE: DANITA DELIMONT / GETTY
FIRST EDITION
EPub Edition January 2019 EPub ISBN: 978-1-4434-5518-3
Version 12072018
Print ISBN: 978-1-4434-5707-1 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4434-5517-6 (trade paperback)
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