His partner leans against the hood of my truck, watching us. A few passersby look over out of curiosity, but nobody’s stopping to witness the impending police brutality. At least not yet.
“What are you doing here, Hoskie?” he drawls. “I thought I made it clear you weren’t welcome in Tse Bonito.”
“Just visiting a friend. Like I said, on my way out of town.”
He eyes the heap of stuff packed in the back of the truck. Motions to his partner. “Check the back.”
“Oh, come on!” I protest.
He snaps his fingers, inches from my face. “Close your mouth or I’ll take you in on a disorderly.”
I want to curse the petty little shit, but I keep my mouth shut. He’d love nothing more than an excuse to drag me to jail and hold me for a few days. I’d be stupid to give him a reason, so I mime zipping my lips shut. But I can’t quite keep the challenge out of my eyes.
Longarm’s hand flicks out and taps my shoulder, hard. It’s the same one the monster tried to take a bite out of, and it hurts enough to make me flinch. Longarm grins and narrows his eyes, like he’s found a weakness worth exploiting. Moves closer to me, pushing into my space. Forcing the unsaid threat.
My body stills, and I feel it. Feel K’aahanáanii rising to the surface. On cue, my senses sharpen and I see it. The quickest way to kill the Law Dogs.
It would go like this. A punch to the throat, and as he gasps and instinctively reaches for his neck, I unholster his pistol. Turn into his body, using him for cover as I raise the gun to take out his partner, whose reaction time is slow enough that he won’t even see the bullet coming for his forehead. Tap, tap and then the pistol’s at Longarm’s temple and I tap him, too. Four seconds, tops, and they’re both dead. The thought makes me smile.
Longarm must see something in my face, some light in my eyes that tells him he’s on thinner ice than he bargained for. There’s a moment where I can see the sweat break out on his upper lip, where I can watch in slow motion as he licks it away, suddenly hesitant.
And then his partner’s calling, “Holy shit, there’s a human head back here!”
Longarm stares at me, eyes wide. And then he grins, any fear evaporating in a surge of righteousness, and he takes two steps back from me, double-quick. “Come again?”
“A head!”
Eyes on me as he shuffles over to peer into the bag his partner’s holding open. Takes a moment, before he turns to me, his swagger back in place. “You better start talking, Hoskie.”
“It’s not human.”
“Bullshit,” he scoffs.
Longarm knows what I do for a living. Why he’s feeling the need to pretend like he doesn’t is beyond me. But he does, and now, with that head as evidence of my supposed wrongdoing, he’s right back up in my face. His breath is unpleasant, eggy and hot.
“Who’d you kill this time, huh? Some poor guy who had the bad judgment to try to buy you a drink? Hell, maybe that’s what happened to that hero partner of yours. He tried to score with you one night, so you cut his head off and now you carry it around in a bag.”
Score? Who says that? “I hunt monsters.” I keep my voice level. “I keep people safe when your Law Dogs can’t be bothered.”
He sneers, but I can tell I struck a nerve. “You keep feeding yourself that line, Hoskie, and maybe one day you’ll convince yourself it’s true. Everyone knows there’s something wrong with you. That you’re some kind of freak.” He leans in close, his whisper intimate. “Maybe you shouldn’t be hunting monsters. Maybe someone should be hunting you. Sooner you admit that to yourself, the sooner I can put you down and save someone else the trouble.”
I know better than to let him provoke me, but K’aahanáanii’s provoked, and my hand strays slowly, casually, toward my knife. I feel myself smile and I whisper back, my breath a lover’s caress against his ear.
“Why not today, Chris? Why not try today?”
I can hear his heart thudding in his chest. Smell the sour scent of his fear. Savor the feel of me, the predator, and him, the prey. I close my eyes and breathe it in, heady and thrilling.
A loud cough to my right. Enough to break the tension. Longarm blinks. Lets go the breath he was holding and moves away from me and my promise of violence.
Irritated, I turn my neck to find Kai watching us. His mouth is set in a friendly grin, but his eyes are wary, careful, like he’s approaching a wild animal. And I’m not sure if that look is for me or Longarm.
“Time to go, Maggie,” he says. “Got to get to Crownpoint.”
I exhale K’aahanáanii, suddenly back in my own skin, in my own head. That was close. And stupid. I could have done something that would have landed me on the wrong side of the law, monsterslayer or not.
“Who the hell are you?” Longarm sneers. “You Hoskie’s new girlfriend?”
Kai frowns, confused.
“Longarm thinks you’re pretty,” I explain.
The light dawns on Kai’s face over the Law Dog’s attempt at an insult. To someone like Longarm, nothing could be worse than being called a girl. But Kai doesn’t seem to mind. He grins and offers Longarm his hand. “My name is—”
“Step back!” Longarm draws his gun. Points it at Kai. And just like that, things go from worse to totally fucked.
A moment of chaos, where time seems to slow and speed up simultaneously.
My hand is on my Böker.
I hear Longarm’s partner, still standing in the bed of my truck, scramble to release his firearm.
And it looks like I’m not getting out of Tse Bonito today without someone trying to kill me after all.
“I didn’t—” Kai starts.
“I said hands up and step back!” Longarm shouts. He looks a little crazy now, eyes too wide.
With exaggerated slowness, Kai puts his hands in the air and takes a big step back toward the hogan and away from Longarm.
“You’re making a mis—” I start, but Longarm cuts me off with a sharp turn, pointing the gun at me now.
“One of you assholes better start talking about that dead body in your truck, quick. Or I’m hauling you all down to the jail, where I’ll be happy to beat the both of you like a piñata until the truth falls out of your mouth like goddamn candy.”
The man does have a way with words, I can’t fault him that. But the head is now a full-on body. And I know that there is no way we are getting out of this without someone getting hurt.
Kai answers him first. “If you could put your gun away, officer, we could talk. I would be happy to explain.” I look over, and Kai flashes me a thousand-watt smile. Actually gives me a wink.
Longarm keeps the gun up. But he doesn’t make a move to cut Kai off like I thought he would. He’s listening.
“Longarm, wasn’t it?” Kai says. “Are you the Longarm? You’re quite famous in the Burque.”
“What are you talking about?” Longarm asks, voice suspicious.
“ ‘Long Arm of the Law.’ The ‘Law and Order of Dinétah.’ The cacique of the Familia Urioste speaks highly of you.”
Longarm blinks a few times, surprised, but clearly flattered. “The Familia Urioste?”
I doubt Longarm even knows who the Familia Urioste is. Hell, I don’t know who the Familia Urioste is, but it sounds impressive the way Kai says it. Important. Longarm puffs up a little, chest forward like a prairie chicken.
Kai nods, voice smooth as hot lard, as if he and Longarm are at a dinner party and there’s not a gun pointed at his face. “My father works for the cacique back in the Burque. His name is Juan Cruz. I’ve heard stories about you.”
I have no idea what Kai is talking about, and Tah never said anything about having some important in-law in the Burque, but the knowledge seems to relax Longarm. No, it’s Kai who seems to have a calming presence on the Law Dog. He gives Tah’s grandson a long appraising look, and Kai stands there, his face guileless. Tie on. Shoes shiny. All charm. And what do you know, the Law Dog puts his gun away. I don’t turn to look,
but I can feel his partner relax too.
Kai lowers his hands and keeps talking. “It’s really something that we met. I’ll be sure to mention it to the folks back home.”
He sticks his hand out, palm open.
Longarm grunts. I can see the wheels in his limited brain turning, wondering how connected Kai might be outside Dinétah, and what that might mean for him. The Wall might keep us safe inside, but that doesn’t mean there are no benefits to contacts on the other side. Sugar. Coffee. Fancy sunglasses.
At last the Law Dog gives an abrupt nod, holsters his gun, and reaches forward to shake Kai’s hand.
Sonofabitch.
“Get the hell out of my town, Hoskie,” he mutters as he backs up to let Kai pass. “Both of you. I see you again and you’re going to jail.”
Good enough for me.
His partner hops out of the back of the truck. “What about the head?”
Longarm waves him away, mutters something I can’t quite hear.
Kai murmurs a thank-you and I waste no time. I open the driver’s door and climb in. Punch the key in the ignition. Kai slips in on the passenger’s side as the engine roars to life. I slam the truck into gear and pull out.
The street’s packed with foot traffic, but I force my truck through the crowd, making generous use of my horn to move people. The pitted dirt road jostles us around in the cab. Kai keeps one hand braced against the roof until I make it back to the highway. As soon as I have room, I gun the truck. I hold my breath until Tse Bonito fades from the rearview.
Kai’s watching me, his eyes narrowed in thought.
“What?” I snap. I’m still jittery, amped from the monster hunt, the confrontation with Longarm, everything. My fingers curl around the steering wheel, and I force myself to loosen my grip. I’m jumpy and angry, but none of that is Kai’s fault. He hauled my ass out of the fire back there and I owe him for that. And he did it without anyone getting arrested or shot or stabbed. That’s no small thing, so the least I can do is rein in the attitude and try to make nice.
“That was something,” I say, and glance over. He’s staring at me. Expectant. Looking like he’s not going to make this easy. I try again.
“I guess it was a good thing that your father’s a cacique or whatever. That really helped us out. With Longarm.” There. A peace offering.
But he’s turned away from me already, looking out the window. Watching as the white mesa walls turn to red ones and sparse chamisa-filled landscape rushes by. “My father doesn’t know the Urioste cacique,” he says absently. “My father’s a college professor. Or at least he was before the Big Water.”
I frown, trying to remember what he said earlier to Longarm. “I thought you said he worked for the Familia Urioste.”
“He does. Digging ditches or whatever day labor they have him doing. Not much call for college profs these days.”
“He’s not Juan Cruz, friend of some famous somebody?”
“There is a Juan Cruz who works for the cacique, but he’s not my father. My last name’s Arviso.”
“Arviso? Then . . . were you lying?”
He looks over, smiles briefly. “Of course. That Law Dog didn’t want to hear the truth. He wanted a good story, so I gave him one. I mean, seriously. ‘The Law and Order of Dinétah’? Do you think anyone has ever said something that dumb? I made that up.”
I don’t know whether to be impressed at the size of his balls, or pissed at the risk he took.
“Juan does have a son, though,” Kai continues. “Nice guy. Alvaro Cruz. We’ve partied together, hit up those fancy Urioste galas in the mountains. Ate their caviar and drank their champagne.” He grins, momentarily lost in memory. Then he slaps my shoulder, the same one the monster chewed on. I flinch, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “It’s okay to say ‘Thank you,’ ” he continues. “It was my pleasure to help out. I mean, that guy seemed like a real dick. I thought you could use a hand, before you stuck a knife in him, anyway.”
I grunt, and he laughs. It’s a nice laugh, clear and genuine, but I still can’t get over his lie.
“By the way,” he says as he pulls his aviators out of his shirt pocket and slips them on, “you got that whiskey in the back of your truck, right? You mind if we stop here in a minute? I could really use a drink.”
Chapter 8
A few miles past Fort Defiance, I slam on the brakes.
There, not ten feet in front of us, a coyote crosses the road. He pauses and turns his head toward us. Brown muzzle shot through with gray, long spindly legs. He stares at us, yellow eyes bright, before he trots on into the scrub and disappears down an arroyo.
“That’s not good,” I say.
“What’s not good?” Kai asks.
“Coyote crosses your path. It’s bad luck, for sure. Sometimes it means something worse.”
Kai nods thoughtfully, like he’s considering my words. Maybe he doesn’t believe me, city boy that he is. Thinks it’s superstition despite his medicine training. But then he says, “Should we turn around? Go back and find another way around?”
I glance out the window at the sun. It’s no joke, crossing a coyote. But I don’t see that we have much of a choice. “No. We’ll lose too much time if we turn around now. But . . .” I pull the truck over to the side of the road. Kill the engine. “Now’s as good a time as any to have that whiskey.”
Kai watches as I climb out and come around to the tailgate. I sling it down and hop in the bed. I find the whiskey jug packed between some old blankets and pull it free. Standing up in the back of the bed, I unscrew the cap and then raise the jug in salute. I hold the whiskey to my lips and take a swig. The amber liquor burns down my throat. I hold the jug out to Kai.
He’s gotten out of the truck and is standing with his forearms folded across the wall of the bed, eyes on me. The afternoon sun plays in the soft spikes of his hair, creating licks of blue flames around his face, making the silver stripes on his tie flash. He gives me a long stare, like he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking, and then he reaches out to take the jug. He hefts it and takes a long slow swallow. And then another.
“You party a lot?” I ask.
He lowers the jug and cocks his head to the side, raises a hand to shield his face from the sun. “You’re not going to lecture me about the dangers of alcohol for Indians, are you? Tell me I’m some kind of outdated stereotype?”
“Just thought champagne was more your style.”
He blinks and gives a little chuckle. “You were listening to me?”
“Sure I was. Even if you were full of shit.”
He laughs as I hop off the truck and slam the tailgate closed. I come around and take the jug from him. “Never had the stuff myself. Not a big call for champagne on the rez. I was fifteen when the Big Water happened. I think I’d sneaked a sip of Coors by then. That’s the champagne of beers, so that’s got to count for something, right?” I grin at my own joke. Flip the gas tank open, fit in the sieve I’m holding, and pour the whiskey in. We watch as the bottle slowly empties and my gas tank fills.
He sighs dramatically.
“You’ll get over it.”
“Doubtful.” He rubs at his mouth, as if trying to remember the taste on his lips. “So your truck runs on moonshine.”
“Runs on whatever fuel I can manage.”
“I thought Dinétah had plenty of fossil fuel.”
“That’s the rumor. But the Tribal Council controls the gasoline, and it sells better in places like New Denver and the EMK, and other places that were decimated by the Energy Wars. Worth more there than around here. So they ship it out to people who are willing to pay.”
“What’s the EMK?”
“Exalted Mormon Kingdom. You never heard of it? It’s pretty much everything west of New Denver, and most of what’s left of Arizona that’s not Dinétah. I hear it’s something to see.”
“The EMK?”
“Well, that, but I meant Lake Powell, where the refineries are. Just two hundred mil
es west near the western edge of the Wall. They say the refineries run day and night and tribal officials live like kings. You would think that after the Energy Wars maybe they’d do something different, you know? Spread it around to the people. Build a damn solar panel.”
“Greed is universal,” Kai says. His face is thoughtful, his eyes a little distant. “In the Burque we have water barons that are like that. They control everything. Deep wells and waterworks like you’ve never seen. Catchments and evaporators up in the mountains. Water making them wealthy like Renaissance princes.” He pushes his aviators up off his face, squints into the sun. “Seems anywhere there’s a natural resource, there’s someone willing to hoard it for themselves to make more money than they can spend.”
I think of the Protectors, the people who fought the multinationals in the Energy Wars and lost. Until Earth herself stepped in and drowned them all regardless of personal politics.
“Water is life,” I say.
“And you can’t drink oil,” he replies, the old Protector slogan we all learned as kids. But something in his voice sounds off, and for a second his face clouds over and his eyes flash bright and almost metallic. It’s startling, and it tweaks my monster instincts. But before I can process why, he slaps the side of my truck, making me jump. “I’m surprised this truck can still run at all. How old is this thing?”
I shake off the strangeness, file it away to ask him about later. “Do not knock my truck or you can walk right now. She’s a classic.” And she is. A 1972 Chevy 4x4 pickup truck, cherry red and chromed out like the beauty queen she is. I’ve brought her back from the dead more than once, and she’s never let me down. I pat the tailgate affectionately and set the empty jug in the back.
“Kind of a relic, isn’t it?” he asks.
“She’s Detroit steel. She’ll outlast any car made in the last fifty years. All a bunch of fiberglass and plastic.”
Trail of Lightning (The Sixth World Book 1) Page 5