Thunderbird

by Susan Slater

  “I got football practice in two hours.”

  “There’s a present waiting for you.”

  “What is it?” Tommy had wanted a motorcycle knowing it was impossible, but still he’d hoped and now, maybe, all that wishing had paid off.

  “I think you have to see it first. And we’ve got to hurry.”

  So they drove back to the reservation mostly in silence. But his mother would smile now and again over nothing, just grin to herself and drive a little faster. That struck him as odd.

  When they pulled into the yard, he noticed the transport. That is, how could he miss it? The truck blocked the front of his house.

  “We moving?” It was the only thing he could think of to ask.

  “No, silly. That’s the truck that brought your gift.”

  A motorcycle. It was a bike, after all. He jumped out and raced toward a man leaning against the cab. A tall man, scrawny, weather-beaten, old before his time who just watched him run up and didn’t say a word.

  “My Mom says you got something for me.” It was then that he heard the first sounds of something angry—a big something angry that could rock that closed trailer bed just by stamping its feet.

  “What’s that?”

  Finally, a smile. “That’s your present, son. An’ it’s none too happy to be here from the sound of it. Come on, let’s take a look.”

  Tommy trotted after him as the man rounded the back and deftly worked a couple bolts, drawing back huge doors that swung to the sides. Then the man extended a ramp, dragging it backwards into the yard.

  “This’s the part that will take some doing. I’m gonna need your help, son.”

  Tommy stepped closer to peer into the darkness of the cavernous trailer. At the far end was a horse—a big, snorting, less-than-pleased piece of horseflesh that trumpeted and pawed the worn wooden floorboards and sent up clouds of dust from a bedding of oat grass.

  “He ain’t been cut. That makes him a little ornery. Meaner than a snake, I could say.”

  “You’re saying he’s a stallion?” Tommy’s friends had had stock but never a horse like this. It wasn’t a motorcycle but still … He stared back as the horse eyed him then half reared and pawed the air.

  “Anybody ever ride him?”

  “Oh yeah. This here’s your Daddy’s horse. He’s roped off of him some six or seven years.”

  “He doesn’t act old.”

  “Old? He’s coming nine. Eight’s just about the time horseflesh starts developing some brains.”

  “Where’d you pick him up?”

  “Durant, Oklahoma.”

  “This mean my father’s dead?” Tommy realized that he didn’t care. How could you get excited one way or another about someone you’d never seen? Someone who obviously didn’t care enough about you to just say “Hi” every once in awhile. No, he could do without some traveling Indian-cowboy who followed a rope and half dozen calves that shot from a chute for a paycheck that wouldn’t keep a woman and child …

  The man laughed and spit into the dirt beside one double wheel. “Naw. Just had some bad luck. I guess he wanted to leave you his most prized possession before he got tempted to hock it. This here spotted horse needs to go to the next Spottedhorse in line.” The driver thought that was a lot funnier than Tommy did.

  “So, is he going to come pick him up someday?”

  “I don’t think that will happen.”

  “How can you be so sure? He left, didn’t he? Never cared one way or the other whether I lived or died or what happened to my Mom. An’ now he’s giving me his most prized possession. Yeah, like I’m gonna believe that.”

  “I think your Dad’s starting over.”

  Tommy could have smarted off but he didn’t. He didn’t care.

  “Why don’t you just get back in that truck and get out of here? And tell my father I don’t want his presents. He’s missed any chance he ever had to make things right.”

  “Can’t do that, son. This here horse has been traveling sixteen hours. That’s a horse’s limit for standing in a moving trailer. I gotta leave him.”

  Tommy thought about this. He had never been cruel to animals. So maybe the big guy needed to stay. He looked at the horse. The horse stared back. Was he trying to communicate something? If Tommy hated his father, why couldn’t the horse hate him too? He felt the beginnings of a camaraderie. But he also knew that his life had just gotten complicated.

  “What do we do now?” Tommy asked.

  “Well, you take this rope and halter and walk in there and get it on him, then you lead him out this away. And I’ll be getting on down the road.”

  “We don’t have a place for a horse.” Tommy said it loud enough for his mother to hear. But she didn’t say a thing, just leaned against the doorjamb of their house and watched the two of them. She wasn’t backing him up. It was like she wanted this reminder of her past—even though she’d married after Tommy’s dad had taken off. He’d always thought the house full of brothers and sisters attested to a good marriage; well, at least a busy one.

  “I reckon he’ll stay put in that there stock pen ’til you get something better fixed up.”

  He was pointing at a pen to the side of the house that had recently held sheep until his uncle had sold them. It was made out of panels of pipe fence and Tommy guessed it would work but not for long, the horse would need more room.

  “Get going now. He needs a drink and some exercise.” Tommy slung the rope and halter over his shoulder and walked into the truck. The interior was surprisingly cool but smelled of manure and hay and sweaty horse. “What’s his name?” Dumb. He’d forgotten to ask.

  “Harley.”

  Tommy was now eye level with Harley and he just stood there a moment.

  “You’re not a motorcycle; I don’t care what your name is.” Had he wished too hard and this was some cruel joke by the Ancient Ones? “Do you hate my dad too?”

  The horse nickered. In sympathy? He had certainly fastened two liquid brown eyes on Tommy’s every move.

  “Maybe we got a lot in common. You might like it around here.”

  Tommy slipped the halter over a long spotted nose, buckled it by the left ear, snapped the lead under his chin and then untied Harley from the tie-bar that anchored the feed bin. So far, so good. There wasn’t room to turn him so he backed him out. And Harley let him. He clattered down the ramp and bunny-hopped in a half circle checking out his surroundings. Then spying the one clump of green grass, pawed the earth until Tommy walked him to it.

  “You two are going to be friends.” The cowboy leaned against the cab of his truck.

  Tommy wasn’t sure about that but the horse accepted him. And he was a beauty—big for a paint and well muscled. He had a black spot around one ear that also took in his right eye, and a black blanket of a spot that stretched from withers to rump.

  “Your Dad wanted you to have this, too.” The driver opened a compartment on the side and dragged out a saddle. Not just any saddle but one encrusted with silver on black leather. “It was his parade saddle.” There was a matching bridle and reins wrapped around the horn.

  “Why you think he’s doing this?” Tommy examined the saddle. If his dad was that down on his luck, surely this saddle would pay the rent for awhile.

  “Probably just wants to give you something to remember him by.”

  “If you see him, tell him I have lots to not remember him by. An’ I don’t need handouts from some worthless piece of shit who never thought of anyone but himself.”

  “I’ll see he gets the message.”

  Tommy thought a minute and then added, “Tell him Harley got here all right.”

  “Will do. You enjoy that horse now. He’s just getting grown up like you are—the two of you got a lot of years together ahead of you. You do right by him; he’ll do right by you.

  And then the driver climbed up into the cab and started the truck, waved to his mother and then offered Tommy a half-salute before gunning the engine and backing up
the incline next to the drive.

  He’d found out later that the driver had been at his house all morning—had come just after he’d taken off for school. And his mother had taken a sick day to be with him. And he still hadn’t thought to ask her about the man until later. But all she’d say was they’d had coffee and caught up on all the news. Whatever that meant.

  Tommy roused himself. Enough daydreaming. He hated inaction and he felt an urgency—an undefined prodding to do something but he had no idea what. But there was the reoccurring, nagging thought that if he didn’t act soon, there would be no chance of finding Brenda alive. He could go to his boss with the half-baked story about the alien abduction … but hadn’t he promised Ben he’d leave Pansy out of things? But an abduction fit … or Brenda just ran away with someone—weren’t there documented cases of the captured siding with the captors? Some weird mind game reversal?

  He could interview the Cachini family. They lived in the Hawikuh Pueblo. He wasn’t certain of what he’d find out but it was better than remaining idle. He grabbed the car keys from the kitchen table. Besides, he needed to stop by the boarding facility at the edge of town and give Harley his daily treat.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Come in.”

  Hap closed the door to General Stromberg’s office. He didn’t have to ask. This—whatever it was—was under wraps. He couldn’t remember when he’d seen the general so grim-faced. He took a seat in front of the desk and waited. The general shuffled some papers, took off his glasses and rubbed his temples, then sank both palms into his eyes holding a moment. When he looked up, Hap was startled by his haggard, tired-gray pallor. This was a man who hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours.

  “First of all, I want to thank you for that report on the Begay woman. Her being out there that night away from the highway and then disappearing, well, it always bothered me. It just didn’t add up. Finding out she was the fiancé of the pilot put a new slant on all this.”

  The general paused. So far, he hadn’t said anything new, but Hap’s sixth sense said the old boy had a kicker; knew he could sink the eight ball in the side pocket.

  “Guess I need to just come out with it. It’s hard knowing that young pilot who was one of our best, decorated, ten years in—a credit to his people—could be involved in some sort of duplicity.”

  Hap sat up a little straighter. What had they found out?

  “It’s a fluke really that we discovered it. The family was clamoring for the body, refusing any more defiling, religious reasons, I suppose. And certainly, we don’t begrudge them that.” The general fiddled with some papers in front of him. Get on with it, Hap silently urged.

  “The lab guys here were badgering us to run some checks. I can’t excuse why we hadn’t jumped on it—the Native American thing, I guess, trying to be sensitive. About all we had was some dental work and a femur that had been broken in two places when the man was a kid.” The general paused to look at Hap straight on. “But what that proved is that the pilot wasn’t Ronnie Cachini. Or should I say the man we thought was the pilot. And I don’t have to tell you we’ve got a giant can of worms on our hands. We haven’t released any information to the family; we’re stalling on the body but we can’t do that much longer … I’ve scheduled a team to go out this afternoon and talk with the family.”

  Hap sat back, his mind racing. This put a new twist on everything. If they knew, how long would it be before—

  “You’ve ruled out a co-pilot?”

  “Only Ronnie Cachini got into that F-117A at Holloman. There was no second man.”

  “So the second man was someone on the ground. Someone the pilot caught up with later.” It wasn’t a question. Hap was thinking out loud.

  “There appears to have been a nice little crowd out there the other night.”

  “Why?” Hap couldn’t think of anything more to say, but he needed to keep the general talking. He had to know everything that they had found out.

  “Want some educated guesses?” The general moved to a window that looked out over the parking lot. “There was some kind of rendezvous with the Begay woman. She was there to pick up this Cachini, maybe after he met with the man on the ground. We have reason to believe that the man’s of foreign birth—his dental work suggests he was European.” The general seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “What if there was going to be some kind of deal and something went wrong?”

  “A deal?” Perspiration beaded across Hap’s hairline.

  “You know better than I what was in that cockpit. Prototype electronics that we won’t even have ready in much under a year—you think that wouldn’t give someone an advantage? What was on that plane shows the world exactly where we’re headed—tosses our strengths and weaknesses right in the enemies’ lap.” The general turned back. “This could be one of the biggest breaches of security we’ve had for awhile.”

  “You think the man on the ground was there to meet the plane? Along with this Begay woman?”

  “Why not? Makes sense to me. The three of them dismantle the display screen in the cockpit, load it in a vehicle, then Cachini and the woman kill the man and blow up the plane to cover their tracks.”

  “But how did they leave? Her truck was left with the keys in it.”

  “Who’s to say there wasn’t a second car? Something driven in by the dead man but driven out by the pilot and his girlfriend. The old truck wouldn’t have gotten them very far, so they left it as a decoy. They both knew the area, could get in and out easier than any of us. In fact, landing on the reservation was a smart idea, gave them the advantage.”

  “That’s true.” Hap thought of his dealings with Ernie Old Talker which weren’t going smoothly. This would be a hell of a story for the old man to swallow.

  “You must know what they could get for the electronics on the international black market. A couple million, maybe? Enough to make this caper more than well worth it.”

  “Probably.”

  “We’ve brought in Intelligence on this one. Just to be on the safe side. There’s a real chance that we’re talking espionage. At any rate, my guess is that the pilot and this woman are long gone. Still there will be interviews—no stone unturned. You know the drill. I’ll expect you to give them a hand.”

  “Jesus.” Hap slumped back in his chair. What a mess.

  “What will you tell the Cachini family?”

  “Feds are going out this afternoon. We can’t keep this quiet for long. I’d say our evidence is fairly solid. I imagine the Feds will be all over them; the interview won’t be pretty. I don’t know what I’d do if a son of mine turned traitor. These are proud people. That woman’s family, the Begays, won’t be pleased either, but evidence sure points to the daughter being up to her eyeballs in a criminal act.”

  + + +

  Tommy took the highway into Gallup. From there he’d drive the forty miles to the reservation on Route #602. He’d driven past the Hawikuh Tribal Police station at the edge of the reservation before he braked, cut a U and headed into the parking lot. It would be politic to say hello, let everyone know he was on the Rez and would be interviewing the Cachinis.

  The slump-block building felt coolish as he pushed through the door. He could see his old boss on the phone behind a plate glass partition in an office to the right of the reception area. The girl at the front desk was new and doubled as a dispatcher judging from her interaction over a radio. She was busy trying to get two cars to respond to cattle roaming across the highway one mile east of El Malpais.

  “Hey, there’s someone here from alien-land.”

  Manard, his old boss, was trying to be funny, and after a moment’s hesitation, Tommy laughed. There had been a time when his decision to move into Crownpoint had been met with hostility. Leaving the Rez could cause hard feelings. Younger person trying to better himself, take advantage of a chance to succeed in a larger puddle.

  “I take it you’re a non-believer?” Tommy said.

  “I don’t rule out anything. I
cover all my bases. Someone says they see little green men, I’m all for it. Why not?” He grinned widely showing off a gold cap on the left incisor. His uniform looked mussed with sweat creases across the back. Tommy wasn’t sure why but he found it irritating that everyone called them “little green men.” They looked almost human—but wasn’t he starting to sound like a believer?

  “What brings you this way? Not enough to do in the big city?”

  Tommy ignored him. “I’m going to be talking with the Cachini family. I’m trying to figure out how Brenda Begay ties into all this. Ronnie Cachini was her fiancé.”

  “Yeah. I know Brenda. What’s funny is that you’re the second person in the last ten minutes wanting to talk to the Cachini’s. Had a couple Federal Agents through here needing directions to Ronnie’s folk’s place. Wouldn’t admit it but my guess is they’d gotten lost. Said it was real important that they talk with Ronnie’s family.”

  “Federal Agents?”

  “Uh huh. Grim looking sort, all business, everything’s a crime against your country until proven otherwise. I was just on my way out to the Cachini’s. There’s been a little too much Ruby Ridge rhetoric lately. Ronnie’s got a hothead of a younger brother.”

  “Let’s go.” Tommy hadn’t planned on company but if there was a crowd, it might be better.

  The Cachinis lived at the far end of the village in a stone and adobe house attached to three others that sprawled between two dirt streets filled with identical adobe and stone houses. Tommy saw the white government-issue car parked in front and two men standing at the door talking with someone through the screen. Tommy thought of Mormons without bicycles but knew that these men were all business; he could tell from their posture—intent, stiff, ramrod correct.

  Tommy pulled up in a cloud of dust and didn’t wait for his old boss before he walked briskly up the flagstone walk.

  “Thought maybe I could help.”