Get Lost

by Robert D Kidera

  Onion met me at the door of the Community Center. “How you doin’ Brain?”

  “A bundle of joy. Listen…” I took him by the arm and led him to a dark corner where no one could hear us. “Did I see you wipe Jepson’s Beretta clean?”

  “You sure did,” he said with obvious pride.

  “Nuts.”

  “What do you mean?” He looked like I’d hurt his feelings.

  “How do I explain the absence of my prints on Jepson’s gun? Naranjo knows I brought it with me to the top of the mesa.”

  “Let me think.” Onion made a fist and bit down hard on it. “Okay. Our story has to be that Jepson—”

  I shook him off. “No. My story has to be that Jepson—who I shot in self-defense—killed Wallace before anyone else got to the mesa.” I thought about that and shook my head. “Nah, I don’t think—”

  “That works,” Onion said. “Sure…Jepson’s dead, right?”

  “No. He’s alive.”

  “Shit. Then he’ll deny it.”

  “Of course he will. But it’s his word against mine. The law has him on so many other charges, I’ll take that chance.”

  “Got it!” Onion’s face lit up. He reached into his coat pockets and brought out a pair of gloves and held them out to me. “Here. You wore these when you climbed that rock wall. And when you left Jepson’s gun by Wallace’s body.”

  “New York move, Onion.” I took the gloves and put them in my jacket pocket for Naranjo to find. “So, our story goes like this: Jepson and Wallace have a falling out. Jepson shoots Wallace and leaves him atop the mesa before the women arrive. Jepson returns to his Range Rover and he spots me. He shoots. I drop him in self-defense and disarm him. I call out for Nai’ya and she responds from up above me. I climb the wall and find her and Angelina next to Wallace’s body. I drop Jepson’s gun and keep my own pocketed. That’s when you and Naranjo arrive.”

  Onion rubbed his chin and looked anxiously toward the door. “That could fly. But why does Jepson shoot Wallace?”

  “Over my bank check—half a million negotiable dollars. Plenty of motive for murder.”

  “How do you prove they even knew about the check? Naranjo might think you brought it with you and—”

  “Stop.” I held up my hand to reassure him. “Archuleta will confirm that Wallace picked up the check at the post office in Albuquerque. That Mahatma tried to poison me. Sam’s in possession of the note she sent me.”

  Nai’ya rose from her cot and smiled when I re-entered the conference room. We rushed to each other and embraced. I brushed the tears from her cheeks and kissed her.

  “Think I’ll go out for a while,” Onion called after us. He turned and disappeared through the main door.

  Nai’ya and I didn’t say a word. It was enough just to feel her in my arms. I hoped she felt the same.

  At last, she pulled back and studied my face. Her hand fluttered against my cheek. I held my breath and awaited her next words.

  “You’ve smelled better, Gabe.”

  This was true. I sniffed a couple of times before we broke down in barely stifled laughter and embraced again.

  “Where’s the washroom in this place?”

  “Go out the door you came in and turn left. End of the hallway. I’ll set up a cot for you next to mine.” She pointed toward a table in the corner of the large, dimly lit room. “There’s snack food left over there, if you’re hungry. Sandwiches, chips, bottled water.”

  I looked over her right shoulder toward the cots where Angelina and Matty lay.

  Nai’ya put a finger to my lips, and whispered, “Let them sleep. Better we talk in the morning, don’t you think?”

  After planting a kiss on Nai’ya’s forehead, I soft-shoed my way out of the room and spent ten ineffective minutes in the bathroom trying to humanize myself. Without razor or comb, there was only so much I could do. Anti-bacterial soap made for a tolerable deodorant and shampoo. It failed miserably as mouthwash. Still, the hot water did revive me. I used my undershirt as a washrag and tossed it in the trash on my way back to the dim light and quiet of the conference room.

  Nai’ya had my cot set up touching hers. Angelina and Matty remained asleep in the corner of the room.

  I fluffed the thin pillow and spread out both of the blankets. Then I leaned over and kissed Nai’ya good night. She beamed at me and stroked my cheek again before she closed her eyes. It was seventeen minutes to four.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  I needed a few good hours of sleep, but didn’t get them. My body collapsed, but my mind marched on, non-stop. Without a drink to restore order, all my inner voices were talking at once.

  Around seven o’clock, the morning sun broke through half-drawn shades on the large window behind me. The room seemed bigger in this light, but felt colder than when I’d arrived. Our hosts had pushed a circular wooden table aside to make room for our sleeping area. The half sandwich and three bags of chips on the table held no appeal. I leaned back against my pillow and studied the patterns on the off-white fiberglass ceiling tiles.

  Matty awoke first. He sat up and rubbed his six-year-old eyes. He bounced off his cot in a flash and headed toward the food table. He didn’t notice me until he brushed against the foot of my bed. He stopped and stared at me, then looked back to his mother.

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “Are you my grandpa? They told me my grandpa was coming.”

  “That’s right, Matty. I’m your grandfather.” I ached my way off the cot and extended my right hand. “My name is Gabe. It’s short for Gabriel.”

  He looked at my hand and spoke matter-of-factly. “Can I call you Grandpa? That’s what other kids do.”

  “Just don’t call me late for dinner, okay?” My lousy joke confused him. I tried again. “Sure, you can call me Grandpa. Can I call you Matty?”

  “Everybody does.”

  I pointed to the conference table across the room. “Let’s go over there and talk so we don’t wake up your mom and Nai’ya.”

  “You mean Nana?”

  “I guess I do.” I shuffled across the thin carpet and plopped onto a gray fabric covered chair.

  Matty made a detour to the food table on his way. “Here.” He handed me a bag of chips and placed two other bags in front of him on the table.

  “Thanks, just what I wanted.” I looked at the bag and then put it aside. “I didn’t know I even had a grandson until a couple of weeks ago.”

  He ripped open one of his bags and stuffed a fistful of chips into his mouth.

  “Tell me about yourself.” I watched him grab a second handful. “What do you like to do?”

  He spoke through his food. “I like baseball. I want to be a baseball player when I grow up.” His cheeks were so filled with chips by now, it looked like he had a major league-sized chaw of tobacco.

  “Me, too. Since I was a kid.”

  “Did they have baseball back then?”

  I laughed. “It was just getting started. So who’s your favorite player?”

  He answered without hesitation. “Jacoby Ellsbury.”

  “Ellsbury’s a good player.”

  “He’s Navajo. Visited his grandma on the rez when he was little.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Yeah. He likes Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”

  “Really?” I had no idea where this was going, but he had my attention. “Where’d you learn that?”

  “On TV.”

  “Matty, come here!” Angelina called from her cot. Without a word, he grabbed both bags of chips and walked across the room. By now, Angelina and Nai’ya were both sitting up.

  Angelina stood, put her hand behind Matty’s head and guided him to Nai’ya’s cot. “Stay here with Nana.”

  I inched up from my chair and she froze. I held still, except for a slight nod of my head. “It’s okay, Angelina. Don’t be afraid. I’m so happy to meet you after all these years.”

  She advanced a step at a time and stopped a few feet
away. “Hello,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  I extended my hand. As she took it, I pointed toward the table with my head. “Let’s talk.”

  My gaze never left her. She perched rigid in the chair next to mine. So much of Nai’ya in her face and bearing. She was her mother’s five-two or three, slim, and with the same long, dark hair. But her face spoke of sadness. She seemed older than her twenty-six years.

  “Will you be staying?” she said.

  It wasn’t the question I’d expected. “Yes. Of course. I live here in New Mexico now.”

  “Good. Matty already lost his father. I don’t want him dragged through those emotions again.”

  “I’ll do everything I can for him. And you.”

  “It may take time before Matty warms up to you. Since his father went missing, he’s been more withdrawn around adults. I think it all confuses him.”

  “Nai’ya told me about your husband. I’m very sorry.” I searched her face for something of my own. Nothing. Perhaps it would be in her smile.

  “Matty was only two and a half when John disappeared in Afghanistan. He asks about his dad all the time. We pray for him every night.”

  I wanted her to understand. “I can imagine how it must feel. My wife died eighteen months ago.”

  She let out a gasp and looked away. “I had no idea.”

  “We were married twenty-three years.”

  “My mother never told me.”

  I shook my head. “She didn’t know, not until recently.” Strange, that my daughter and I would come together over our mutual sense of loss.

  “Do you have other children?” Her head was down. She lifted her eyes.

  “You’re my one and only. You and Matty and Nai’ya are all the family I have.”

  Angelina sat back in her chair. She started to speak and then stopped, as if reconsidering what she was about to say. Her eyes searched my face in earnest. Maybe she wanted a look inside.

  Her hand rested on the tabletop. I dared to place mine on hers. “Please, give me a chance. I may not be what you expected. I may never be what you hoped for.” I cleared a slight catch in my throat and looked away for a moment. I took a deep breath and it shuddered out of my chest. “I’d rather look ahead to what could be, instead of back at what we missed. Can we try that? And maybe fill in all the blanks as we go along?”

  “Why didn’t Mom tell me about you?” Her eyes moistened. She gripped my hand tighter.

  “Your mother has a fierce love for you, Angelina. She did what she thought best. What her elders urged her to do.”

  “But it wasn’t fair to me.” Tears rolled over her cheekbones.

  “She never told me either,” I said. “At first I was hurt and angry too. But I love your mother. Now we’re together. I’d like the chance to love you and Matty.”

  She sniffled and blinked, unable to clear her tears.

  I held on to her hand. “Let’s go back to your mom and Matty. Would that be okay?”

  She nodded. We made our way across the room hand-in-hand.

  The next few hours were awkward, painful and beautiful. Nai’ya, Angelina, and I spoke of many things and asked some long-held questions. We took the first steps on a healing journey we all seemed to know would take time.

  Angelina and I did most of the talking and asked most of the questions. We had so much to learn about each other and our respective lives.

  Matty became animated when I spoke of my past as an amateur boxer. But he deflated a bit when told I’d never done mixed martial arts. He asked a few questions about my time in the army. Maybe this tied me to his father somehow.

  Nai’ya mostly held my hand.

  Around nine o’clock, an elderly woman in tribal dress arrived with coffee and donuts and a small cider for Matty. Two hours later, Onion finally showed. I left my family for the moment to meet him at the door.

  “Where the hell have you been?” I asked.

  “I drove to Santa Fe. Figured you needed time with your family. Had breakfast with a friend and then drove back.”

  I looked at him the way an old friend looks at an old friend. “So did you give her back her eyelash?”

  Onion laughed. “Never could fool you.”

  A gnomish figure nearly engulfed by an oversized briefcase entered the building at eleven-thirty. Erskine Pelfrey III looked as woebegone as when I’d last seem him, but his new suit was a step in the right direction. Too bad it didn’t fit any better than his old one.

  Onion and I greeted him. “Erskine,” I said, “let me take your hat.” I hadn’t seen a boater in decades.

  The three of us trooped over to the conference table for necessary and intense conversation. We went over what Onion and I had discussed a few hours before, just to get things straight. My account of the previous night’s arrest of Mahatma back in Albuquerque brought them both up to speed on that as well.

  “You have had a lot on your plate, Professor.”

  “Yeah, and I don’t want to switch to jail food, which is why you’re here.”

  Pelfrey sprung the lock on his gigantic briefcase the way a killer cocks his gun. The move looked more comical than dramatic.

  I leaned forward and put a hand on his forearm. “Sheriff Naranjo may try to hold me on suspicion in the shooting death of Jacob Wallace. I assure you I did nothing illegal. Listen closely to his questions and stop him anytime he overreaches. And stop me if he gets me too riled up and I start to say something stupid.”

  “I shall do my best. Is there a men’s room nearby?”

  “Through that door and turn left. End of the hallway.” When my lawyer disappeared, I turned to Onion. “I’m still worried Naranjo will want to know why my prints aren’t on Jepson’s gun. Let’s hope your gloves do the trick.”

  He gave me a confident nod. “Don’t say anything about them. Give the sheriff a chance to jump to his own conclusion.”

  I looked across the room to Nai’ya, gave her a reassuring wave and a thumbs-up. When Pelfrey returned, I told them both to go out to my car. I wanted some time with my family.

  Nai’ya had her brave face on, but couldn’t hide the concern in her eyes. I struck an upbeat pose.

  “We’ll be back as soon as the sheriff finishes his questions. Then we’ll all go home.” I looked down at Matty. “You like barbecue?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Well then, you’re going to have the best in town tonight!” I tossed a wink to Angelina. “Nai’ya, maybe you can call C.J. and tell him to expect us?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  I joined Onion and Pelfrey for the short ride across the Pueblo to Naranjo’s office. Halfway there, I looked over at Onion in the passenger’s seat with one final request. “When Naranjo starts putting together the sequence of last night’s events, would you mind taking over and giving him your ‘professional opinion’ on it all? Clutter his mind.”

  Onion smiled. “I know just what to do.”

  Pelfrey piped up from the back seat. “And I shall be listening closely.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Officer Sanchez told us to cool our heels in the lobby of the sheriff’s office. We cooled our heels. We cooled everything else, too—the heat in the building wasn’t working. Ten frigid minutes to soak up all the ambience inherent in pale green cinder block.

  We had to step aside at one point. A pair of uniformed officers dragged in a disheveled teenager who yelled and cursed alternately in Spanish, Tewa, and English. A third officer pulled a muzzled, snarling Doberman after them across the lobby and down a connecting hallway. A fluorescent light fixture flickered overhead. Shouts drifted in from the hallway in counterpoint to the boy’s screams.

  The door to a side room off the lobby opened and Sheriff Naranjo leaned out. “Come in, gentlemen.”

  We took our places at a six by four rectangular table. I sat in the middle on one side with Onion to my right and Pelfrey to my left. Naranjo filled the other side all by himself. Sanchez stood by the door. Both cops
had their coats on. Naranjo’s breath was visible in the air, like a bull ready to charge.

  “Sorry about the cold,” he said. “Baseboard panel isn’t working. We put a call in.”

  I took Onion’s gloves out of my coat pocket, slipped them on, and rubbed my hands together. “Any chance of coffee?”

  Naranjo shook his head. “The outlets aren’t working either.” The overhead light flickered again.

  “Let’s get this over with as quickly as possible.” I pointed to my lawyer. “This is my attorney, Erskine Pelfrey III, from Albuquerque. You already know Mr. Gagnon, my detective friend from New York City.”

  “We’ve met.” The sheriff placed a blue file folder on the desk and opened it.

  Before he could begin, Pelfrey spoke up. “Sheriff, with the unreliable state of electricity here, it seems problematic for my client to give you a tape recorded statement. Perhaps you could give us a list of questions to respond to in writing.”

  “I’ll run this show my own way.” Naranjo looked at Pelfrey the way a man looks at something before he scrapes it off the bottom of his shoe. He took out a recorder and placed it on the table. The overhead light flickered yet again and blacked out. Naranjo stood and lumbered to the window blinds and opened them all the way. Then he sat down and focused on me.

  “McKenna, I’ll hear what you have to say. Afterward, if I think we need a recording, we’ll relocate and you can make a recorded statement. For now, we have to stay here. We sent out the guns and blood samples last night for faster testing in Albuquerque. I’m expecting the results soon.”

  “That’s reasonable,” I said. “So what do you want to know?”

  “I want you to go back to the beginning. Tell me everything you can about your involvement with Jepson and Wallace. And all other relevant details. I may have a few follow-up questions when you’re done.”

  I breathed an inner sigh of relief. He was letting me control and frame the story.

  Erskine slid his chair up close to mine and placed his right hand on the back of my shoulder. I figured he would nudge or pinch me unnoticed if I said anything that could be used against me.