by Joseph Flynn
Both of them were tall. One was old, the other middle-aged. John put the gear shifter into park, and he and Maj got out of the truck.
“You Tall Wolf?” the middle-aged guy asked.
Maj thought she saw something of a resemblance between the man and John.
“I am.”
“My name is Arnoldo Black Knife. You know who I am?”
John had never seen the man before but had no trouble recalling the name. Marlene had told him this was his rival for power within the tribe. “My cousin.”
“Right. You and me, we need to talk.”
“Okay.” John turned to the old man. “Are you Alan White River?”
Maj thought the old man bore an even stronger resemblance to John.
Jeez, she hoped all Native Americans weren’t starting to look alike to her.
“I am. I stole the train you seek.”
All by himself, John was sure the old man would claim.
Unless Cousin Arnoldo cared to share the blame.
“Before you place me under arrest, I have something to give you,” White River said. He put a hand under his denim jacket, and Maj, quick as a cat, had her semi-auto pointed at him.
John forestalled any untimely gunfire with an upraised hand.
White River didn’t move, until he smiled at Maj.
“My wife would have liked you,” he said. “May I?”
“Go ahead, but take it slow,” John told him.
The old man brought out a leather-bound book. He extended it to John.
“Edward Danner’s journal?” John asked.
White River nodded.
“Did you read it?” John asked.
“Every word. Mr. Danner is a bigger crook than I am.”
John took the journal, tried to judge the heft of it in his hand.
Was it heavy enough to hold a bomb? Had he come this far only to get blown to pieces?
While still pondering that thought, Arnoldo told him, “We better get you, the lady with the gun and your truck out of the middle of the road. Might cause an accident.”
Chapter 48
Northern New Mexico
Maria Black Knife handed Bodaway an antique revolver. She’d just taken it from the bottom of a trunk in her bedroom. Accepting the gun, Bodaway felt the weight of it, marveled at the length of it. Damn thing was near an artillery piece.
“This belonged to my husband Cesar’s great grandfather. He took it from a blue devil horse warrior he killed.”
“U.S. Cavalry?” Bodaway asked.
“Yes, one of their chiefs not just a brave.”
“How did he kill the man?”
“Dug a hole on a path the blue devils used, filled it with soft mud, covered the mud with grasses and leaves.”
“He made the man’s horse stumble,” Bodaway.
“The animal broke its leg and the blue devil fell to the ground. Mangas crushed his skull with a war club. Took his weapons.”
She showed him a cavalry sword, too.
Bodaway turned his attention back to the gun and looked at the rounds in the chambers.
“This ammunition, it’s not from the nineteenth century.”
Maria shook her head. “My late husband Cesar bought it.”
It still looked plenty old to Bodaway. Might have been in the weapon fifty years or more.
Maria had told Bodaway that her husband had died of natural causes but the younger Cesar, her son, had lost his life in a car accident. The mountain road beneath his vehicle had washed away in a rain storm. She’d pointed out the mountain on which her son had died. Said the road had never been repaired. Her tone had implied she’d seen to that.
Maria’s intention was the whole mountain would remain a memorial to her child.
Bodaway found the old woman’s ruthlessness and egotism amusing.
“Did Mangas ever use this gun to kill a man?” he asked.
Maria shook her head. “Only the horse that broke its leg. He apologized to its spirit, butchered the animal and brought as much meat as he could carry back to the village to eat.”
Practical, Bodaway thought. Mangas probably preferred to use his hands to kill his enemies. The gun was more of a totem than anything else.
“Do you know if this gun shoots straight?” Bodaway asked.
“Why would it not?” Maria asked.
Lack of maintenance, Bodaway thought. Decay of the ammunition in it. Manufacturing defects that would make it unsuitable for anything except showing mercy to a crippled horse.
Bodaway decided not to give a lecture.
Humoring Maria, he said, “It probably does.”
Still, he asked, “Do you have a kit to clean this weapon?”
Maria shook her head.
“Did your son buy any more ammunition for the weapon so I can test fire it?”
“No, just those. Is that not enough to kill John Tall Wolf?”
The rounds were .44 caliber. “Sure. One shot in the right place would do it.”
“Then shoot straight,” Maria said in a voice of command.
“Uh-huh,” Bodaway replied.
He wondered if he should take just one test shot at her.
But she was too close to miss, and he didn’t want to gun her down in her own home.
“One other thing,” Bodaway said, “I don’t think we should leave Arnoldo behind to talk. He knows what we’re planning. If he ever were to find himself in trouble, he could say to the police, ‘Hey, let me tell you what Grandma and this Bodaway guy did.’ There’s no statute of limitations on murder, and killing a BIA agent will put federal pressure on the whole rez.”
“I will take care of Arnoldo,” Maria said. “He has always been a disappointment.”
No great loss, Bodaway interpreted.
He might have to watch out for the old witch himself, once he got the job done for her.
So he started to make plans. For his getaway.
Chapter 49
San Francisco
“We’re leaving a loose end here, Abra,” Byron DeWitt said.
The executive jet detailed to him, a Gulfstream G550, had just rolled up to the gate in the general aviation terminal of San Francisco International Airport.
Special Agent Abra Benjamin looked at her boss and former lover. “What kind of loose end?”
“Well, back when Edward Danner and Brian Kirby were kids they competed in a model train competition, right?”
“That’s what I confirmed for you, Mr. Deputy Director,” Benjamin said, not wanting him to forget where credit was due.
“And you also found out Kirby bribed the contest’s judge to give him an undeserved win,” DeWitt said, acknowledging Benjamin’s good work.
“Only because John Tall Wolf has a better mind for spotting sneaks than either of us.”
Much as she hated to give credit to others, Benjamin had found a measure of honesty actually worked to her benefit. Made her seem less ruthlessly ambitious. She longed, though, for the day when such artifice was no longer required.
“That was a heckuva call on his part,” DeWitt agreed.
He liked Tall Wolf. Would have hired him in a minute. Groomed him to take over his slot. Doing that would put Abra’s nose severely out of joint, but tough noogies. DeWitt had found, much to his surprise, that he’d enjoyed dancing with Jean Morrissey — and it didn’t take a genius to see that the vice president was going to need a husband before she ran for the presidency.
DeWitt flattered himself that he was going to be her choice. The VP had had a good time, too, dancing with him.
They’d have to see how compatible they were in other planes of interpersonal relationship, of course. But his guess was that would work out just fine as well. The only problem was he’d about had it with federal law enforcement. He wanted to go back to California full time. Teach at UCSB, if the school would have him.
Would the future Madam President be willing to have a commuter marriage? Might she even prefer one? And how would the politic
al optics of that situation work out?
So he might either follow in Jim McGill’s footsteps or leave government involvement behind entirely. Meaning he wouldn’t have to worry about Abra Benjamin’s ire whatever he did.
“In fact,” DeWitt said, “Tall Wolf inspired me to take a look a Brian Kirby.”
“What do you mean?” Benjamin asked.
“Well, think about it. Kirby’s been mighty cagey so far. Refusing to take possession of Danner’s stolen journal. Advising Merritt Kinney to do ‘the right thing.’ But Kirby and Danner are playing trains again, this time on a multi-billion dollar scale. For all we know, being cheated out of first place in the model train contest is what inspired Danner to take criminal actions this time.”
“He might say as much in his journal,” Benjamin said.
“Right. So what kind of schnooks would we have to be to think Kirby, with all that money on the line, isn’t cheating again?”
“He is cheating, he has to be.” Benjamin kicked herself for not thinking of that first.
“You know what the best way for Kirby to cheat Danner again would be, don’t you?”
There were times when Benjamin knew she was a half-step behind DeWitt, but she was good at playing catch up. She smiled at DeWitt and nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“And the answer is?” DeWitt asked.
“Kirby would need to find out, using his own private investigators, who Danner had bribed and then corrupt those people’s superiors with even bigger bribes. So even if Danner’s stooges tried to steer things his way, Kirby’s better placed crooks could overrule them.”
“Yeah, that’s the way I see it,” DeWitt said. “Kirby’s corruption of public officials is the loose end. It also explains why he could so easily turn down reading Danner’s journal. He’d already found out what he needed to know by other means. So why don’t you tidy things up, Abra? Find out who Kirby bribed.”
“You’re leaving that to me?” Implicitly asking if she could claim credit for bagging a billionaire.
“Sure.”
“What are you going to do?”
DeWitt said, “Make a quick trip to Washington. Brief the vice president on where things stand. Turn around and jet back to New Mexico. Be ready if John Tall Wolf needs some help.”
Chapter 50
Northern New Mexico
“Our grandmother is gonna try and kill you,” Arnoldo Black Knife told John.
John and Maj had pulled off the road into a clearing in the forest; Alan White River and Arnoldo had followed. The four of them clustered around the huge Ford pickup. Maj’s dirt bike had been off-loaded, but John’s remained in the truck.
“For failing to acknowledge our relationship?” John asked.
“For being a threat to her. There’s big money coming and she’s sure you’re gonna make a try for it. She’s been scared of you ever since she wasn’t able to rope you back onto the rez where she could have put her thumb on you when you were a kid.”
Arnoldo’s summation sounded like one born of experience to John.
But he raised a point John wanted to have answered.
“I always thought my biological mother wanted me back.”
“She did, but the old lady planted that seed. She told me so. She used Bly, your mom, to carry her water, you know. That way, if things went wrong, and they did, Bly’d get the blame not her. Grandma didn’t want Grandpa to get on her for creating another mess.”
“The first mess being me,” John said.
“Yeah, you being born and not getting eaten by Coyote.”
So his family on the rez knew about that, too. John could only shake his head.
He said, “I take it our grandmother isn’t the kind to do her own dirty work.”
Arnoldo shook his head. He looked at White River.
“Sorry to tell you,” he said to the old man, “that young guy, the one you came here with, he had it in mind himself to kill my cousin.”
“Bodaway?” White River asked.
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“What grudge does he have against me?” John asked.
“He thinks you’re gonna mess up this guy’s plans.” Arnoldo hooked a thumb at White River.
Maj had been content to observe and listen, but now she asked, “Did he say how he planned to kill a federal officer?”
Arnoldo shook his head. “Didn’t hear that.”
White River asked Arnoldo, “Why aren’t you part of their plan?”
Arnoldo shook his head and laughed without humor.
“Grandma would never trust me with something like that. And I thought my cousin here, he never did anything to hurt me. Why should I want to see him die?”
None of the three who heard Arnoldo’s words doubted his sincerity.
His truthfulness was only buttressed when he added to John, “Besides that, I wanted to ask, you think you might help me find a job off the rez? I think when you got away young, you were the lucky one.”
After being spared from Coyote, yeah, John thought.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.
Maj told John, “What we’d better do is call in the FBI. If there’s an active plan to assassinate you, we can’t take any chances.”
Arnoldo shook his head. “That’s not gonna happen. Any tourist on the rez is gonna get sent home real soon. Guys with rifles’ll be posted on all the roads. No outsiders let in. Only people who look like us get in.”
With a wave of his hand, Arnoldo indicated himself, John and White River.
“You’re gonna have to leave, lady.”
Maj gave him a look, went to the truck and took out her M-4.
She looked at Arnoldo and asked, “Wanna bet?”
John told his cousin, “She has native blood.”
Arnoldo looked at Maj and said, “Her?”
“Pequot,” John said.
Arnoldo returned a blank look.
White River was the one to tell him, “An eastern tribe.”
“Really? Never heard of them. But so what? What d’you have, lady? One ounce native blood?”
“She has enough for me to vouch for her,” White River said.
That made Arnoldo think twice. He knew White River had masterminded the train theft. The old man was the reason native people from all over the country were pouring into the rez. Arnoldo shrugged.
“Okay. Have it your way.”
His implication was clear: Don’t blame him if things went wrong.
“Is there room on your machine for two?” White River asked Maj.
The old man was nearly as tall as John, but he had to be fifty pounds lighter.
“Not really,” Maj said, “but that hasn’t stopped me. You think you can hold on tight?”
He nodded. Maj slung her M-4 over her back, donned her helmet and the two of them mounted Maj’s dirt bike.
“Care to tell me where you’re going?” John asked Maj.
“To find this Bodaway guy. Have a long talk with him.”
White River nodded. He had exactly the same idea.
John looked at the old man, trying to decide if he could be trusted.
“Anything bad happens to my Pequot friend, I’ll do more than talk,” John said.
The old man nodded. Maj gave John a wink. Then they took off.
“You want to go meet Grandma?” Arnoldo asked John.
“Later. First I want to see Marlene Flower Moon. Do you know where she is?”
Arnoldo nodded. “Best suite in our new casino’s hotel.”
Chapter 51
Northern New Mexico
The accommodations weren’t called the presidential suite. That would have been too culturally dissonant. Marlene was ensconced in The Sky Lodge. Same idea: a penthouse with all the creature comforts anyone who wasn’t an emperor could want.
John looked around when Marlene let him in and asked her, “You putting the tab for this place on your expense account?”
She closed the door, strolled past John a
nd brought him a bottle of Arrowhead sparkling water from a nearby bar. One hundred percent spring water, the label said. John saw the seal on the cap was intact, and trickster though Coyote was, he doubted Marlene had her own bottling plant.
They sat next to each other in a pair of arm chairs with a view of mountains in the distance and a gleaming lake below.
“I spent some time in the movie business, as you know,” Marlene told John. “I made a bit of money and I can afford to indulge myself now and then, if I choose.”
“You made a lot of money is my bet, and you’re still going to expense this place.”
Marlene smiled at John, showed him her long, pointed incisors and shook her head.
“I don’t have to do that. My suite is being comped.”
“Of course. I should have known.”
“So is this rez, the place you tried so hard to avoid, what you thought it would be?” Marlene asked.
“The scenery is terrific. The view from up here is great. What I’d like to know, though, is how the schools are. What’s the unemployment rate? How many people have substance abuse issues? Gambling problems?”
Marlene asked, “Are you an anthropologist like your mother or just a part-time social worker?”
John cracked the top on his bottle of water, paying close attention to the amount of force required and the sound of separation. Both elements seemed legit. He took a sip, ready to spit it out if need be, but all he tasted was clean water.
“What I am is an investigator,” he said, “and I’ve already learned my grandmother means to kill me.”
Marlene looked surprised, but understanding came quickly.
“Arnoldo told you, betrayed the woman who raised him.”
“Not with any great warmth or affection apparently. He’d like me to help him find a job off the rez, away from Grandma. Maybe she has a contract out on him, too.”
Marlene laughed. “If not now, as soon as she learns of his treachery.”
John took another look around the suite. “How big a share of this place does Maria Black Knife control?”
“The tribe has a two-thirds ownership position; the hotel chain that built it has the rest.”
“Impressive. A two to one stake for the locals over the city slickers. Granny must be a tough old bird. Smart, too. She saw an advantage in having the gathering of native people from around the country for the Super Chief haunting here as well. What’s she got in mind? Giving Vegas a run for its money as a convention destination? Ski resorts are next?”