As the crow flies wl-8

by Craig Johnson

  Cady’s hand paused on the lever.

  “The man at the grocery store had mistaken the five for a twenty, and when he gave your mother the change, I guess she just nodded her head, stuffed that money down in her pocket as quick as she could, gathered up her things, and went out of that place like a shot.”

  I watched her swallow, and her hand slipped from the handle.

  “For the rest of the weekend, she wouldn’t walk on the same side of the street as that grocery store. I did, and I’d call over to her-Hey, Martha, Mrs. Longmire? How come you won’t come over here and walk with me?”

  There was a tiny sob of a laugh.

  “When I got my first paycheck from the sheriff’s department, she made me drive her up to Miles City so that she could pay that man back at the grocery store.”

  Her face turned toward me, and the tears were flowing freely, and I guess mine were, too.

  “To my knowledge, that was the only illegal act your mother ever committed in her life.”

  We both laughed, and the greatest legal mind of our time launched from her stool and into my chest.

  I held her there, wrapping my arms around her, and felt my hat flip off and fall to the floor as I rested my chin on the top of her red head. “I promised her that someday we’d have some kind of big wedding celebration, but we never got around to it; there was always something else that came up. About six months later the transmission went out in that Plymouth, the plumbing in the apartment froze up and the landlord wouldn’t fix it, so we had to move; then she went and got herself pregnant.”

  Cady pulled her head away and looked up at me. “She did, huh?”

  “Yep, and she had a girl so they could gang up on me.” I pulled her back in and placed my chin back on the top of her head. “This daughter, she cried a lot at first, then she quieted down and didn’t speak until she was two-no practice words, nothing-and began talking in full sentences, paragraphs, and pages; she has yet to stop.” She tried to pull away, but I held her fast. “She kind of grew on me, and now she’s the most important thing in my life, and I’m going to make sure that there will be a wedding here the likes of which she’s never seen, in a little more than a week.”

  She sniffed again and grabbed my shirt. “It’s okay.”

  “Hush.”

  She pulled away, and this time I let her. She clutched her hands in her lap and looked to me to be about ten, but maybe that was the way I would always see her. I was consistently surprised whenever she got off a plane and reentered my life. I always expected her to look like she did whenever she came back from the HF-Bar dude ranch where she would disappear from us each summer, and she would hit our cramped, little rental with the force of a teenage hurricane, generally with a retinue of broken adolescent male hearts in tow.

  I looked into those gray eyes and could see the reflection of myself, a man who had mislaid some of the most prized moments in his daughter’s life. I was ashamed of myself.

  Pulling my handkerchief from my pocket, I handed it to her. “We’ll get everything squared away. It’s not like we haven’t done anything, and we’ll get all the details worked out.”

  She nodded and dabbed at her eyes. “I’ve got Lena with me, and she’s a wonder.”

  “Yep, I know.”

  Her hand went self-consciously to her head and the scar along her hairline where the surgeons in Philadelphia had opened her skull to allow her brain enough room to swell, and I was momentarily reminded of Lolo Long’s scar close to the same location. Cady’s eyes drifted past me and over my shoulder, and I turned to find Lena Moretti standing a respectful distance away.

  Her hands were stuffed in the pockets of her black linen slacks as she pivoted on one heel of a flat-soled shoe. “I’m sorry, but I think your food is getting cold.”

  By the time we topped the hill overlooking Lame Deer, regular conversation had been restored.

  “Oh Daddy, I can’t believe you did that.”

  I gave Henry the eye, but he remained silent. “It wasn’t my choice.”

  “A peyote ceremony?”

  “Well…” I glanced past the Cheyenne Nation’s profile at the inordinate amount of unmarked and marked cars, along with a Mobile Task Force trailer emblazoned with the FBI’s insignia, that were crowded into the small Tribal Police parking lot.

  Henry finally spoke. “Uh oh.”

  We slowed at the stop sign, and the Bear and I looked at each other. Cady leaned up between us and glanced at the hubbub to our left, her natural Philadelphia lawyer tendencies getting the better of her. “What’s happened there?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  She looked at the Bear and then back to me. “Well, shouldn’t we find out?”

  I took a deep breath and gestured for the Cheyenne Nation to advance forward. “Not my job.”

  Henry didn’t move, and someone honked an air horn behind us.

  Cady leaned her face close to mine and pointed toward the clock in the ornate, chrome-slicked dash-it was almost three. “You can be a cop for another eighteen minutes.”

  “It’s okay.”

  The horn behind us blasted again, and the Cheyenne Nation calmly slipped Lola into PARK, removed his lap belt, pulled the door handle, and stepped out.

  I swiveled my head to get a look back, but Cady countered to block my view. “Henry and I can just go ahead over to Ashland and get you women into your motel room.” There were noises coming from behind the car, including the opening and slamming of a door and loud voices. I redirected my attention to Lena, who was now looking out the back window. “And get you settled in.”

  Cady reached up and gripped my chin, redirecting my attention to her-a trick she’d adopted from her mother. “I’d rather you go over and get things settled than have you worry about this case, okay?”

  There was suddenly no noise from the street. “I’m not going to worry about it.”

  Her eyebrows rose to the point where I thought they were going to fall off the back of her head as the Bear reentered the Thunderbird, sat, and reattached his seat belt.

  I looked at him. “Sorry about the trouble.”

  He shrugged. “What trouble?” He gripped the wheel. “I am assuming we are making a stop at the jail to see what’s going on?”

  I shot a look at my daughter, who ricocheted it to the Cheyenne Nation, who, in turn, whipped the wheel to the left and blew across the intersection onto the street beside the full lot. I caught a glimpse of a large man behind us holding his nose in an attempt to stop it from bleeding while leaning against the fender of his eighteen wheeler. No problem-right.

  Henry pulled up behind the Task Force trailer and parked as we opened the doors, and I flipped the seat forward so that the Philadelphia contingency could join us in witnessing the spectacle.

  Federal agents in flak jackets and full tactical gear were flying out of the adjoining buildings, jumping in the assorted cars, trucks, and SUVs, and making swift departures onto 212 and points beyond. Lolo Long and Cliff Cly were engaged in a heated conversation on the ramp of the Tribal Police Headquarters. Cady and Lena appeared to be enjoying the show. Henry and I looked at each other.

  “Hopefully we’ll be right back.”

  Cady waved and pointed at her wristwatch. “Fourteen minutes.”

  I bumped the Bear’s shoulder. “Don’t beat anybody else up, okay?”

  We advanced on the ramp as Agent Cly broke from Long and stepped toward us, stopping when he saw me, extending a hand in admonition. “Don’t even start.”

  “Have we missed something?”

  “Well, hell, yeah.” He looked over both our shoulders. “Nice car. Hey, is that your daughter?”

  “Cliff, what’s going on?”

  He looked exasperated. “Listen, I wanted to let your little friend back there handle her end of the log, but its lumberjack time and we’ve got fugitives, okay?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That moron, Clarence Last Bull, was dealing out of h
is house and had a wire on his phone.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, I know; nobody knew, especially me. I mean, why would you check any of this with the fucking agent in charge, huh?” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and bit one between his teeth; I noticed that the stubble on his face was the exact length I’d seen days ago; he probably had an electric razor set to that length. “I swear to God my title should be Agent-Who-Doesn’t-Know-What-the-Fuck-Is-Going-On.” I could see Chief Long advancing as he lit the Marlboro and took a vicious inhale. “To make a long story short, we’ve got a tape on this asshole from an anonymous informant where Clarence is discussing with Artie Small Song how he wasn’t going to pay him the money he owed him for pushing his wife and kid off the cliff.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yeah. A very heated conversation that ends with an inordinately pissed-off Artie Small Song promising to turn Clarence Last Bull into the Native American equivalent of Jimmy Dean Hickory Smoked Sausage.” He turned. “Did you know about this?!”

  Chief Long had arrived. “No.” She looked doubtful. “No.”

  Henry’s voice cut through the emotion. “Where is Clarence Last Bull?”

  The agent in charge removed the cigarette from his mouth. “That’s a good question, and one we wish we had an answer to.” He turned to the young Cheyenne woman. “Chief Long?”

  “His Jeep is gone, but somebody spotted it in Birney.” She added, before I could ask, “Red Birney.”

  I blew out a breath. “Has anybody seen or heard of the whereabouts of Artie?”

  The chief and the AIC answered in unison. “No.”

  “What about the maroon truck?”

  Lolo shook her head. “Up at KRZZ with the little nephew Nate.”

  The agent shrugged. “Well, that means the last of the Mohicans is perhaps afoot and possibly easier to capture.”

  The Cheyenne Nation pursed his lips. “Or not.”

  Cly glanced at Henry, and you could see that even he couldn’t underestimate the Bear. “I gotta go, but you’re all welcome to join in the great manhunt of eastern Montana.”

  I looked over my shoulder, where Cliff Cly’s eyes kept wandering. “No, we’ve got a wedding to plan.”

  “Is that your wife, Sheriff?”

  I sighed. “No, that is the mother of the groom and of my undersheriff, wife of the Chief of Detectives North, City of Philadelphia, and I’m sure that if you make a pass at her he will attempt to turn you into the FBI equivalent of Jimmy Dean Hickory Smoked Sausage.”

  He spoke as he passed us, going toward a Crown Victoria with a driver in attendance behind the wheel. “Philly’s a tough town.” He waved at Lena and Cady, and they waved back. “Never know till you ask.”

  I turned to look at Lolo Long, who was now conversing with someone by way of the radio attached to her collarbone. “You don’t look happy.”

  She rogered the call and looked up at me. “Someone just punched a trucker out here on the highway.” She fished her keys from her pocket, aimed the remote at the black SUV, and the vehicle chirped and blinked its lights. “Besides, what have I got to be happy about?”

  “The investigative part of the case is over. Now all you have to do is capture the suspects, one of whom is apparently on foot.” I glanced back at the women next to the vintage automobile, where Cady was pointing to her wrist. “Anyway, if I’m betting on who knows the territory best-my money’s on you, Chief.”

  I started backing away with Henry following and she took a step after us. “So, that’s it?”

  I stopped. “Excuse me?”

  She folded her arms and looked just as hard as the baking concrete on which she stood. “That’s it?”

  I stepped back toward her, Henry’s hand on my arm. “There’s nothing else to do, Chief. They got ’em red-handed.”

  “No pun intended.” Henry glanced back at my daughter. “Come on, we need to go, for numerous reasons.”

  Long advanced another step after us. “You were there, you saw how he reacted; neither of us thought Clarence Last Bull did this.” Her head began slowly shaking in disbelief. “You know that.”

  I made a beseeching gesture with my hands as the Bear continued to hold onto me. “It’s the nature of the business, Lolo. Sometimes we’re wrong.”

  “Yeah, right.” Her head turned just a little, her hair moving with her, exposing the sickle-shaped scar. I stood there for a second more, and then watched as Lolo Long turned, walked back to her unit, and slammed the driver’s-side door behind her.

  She threw the car in gear and laid a strip of rubber on the roadside that would’ve made Mickey Thompson proud.

  9

  Standing in the dirt lot of the Western 8 motel in Ashland Henry and I leaned against the rear quarter panel of Lola, close to five hundred pounds of masculinity quaking before a hundred and thirty pounds of femininity. We tried not to look at each other as Cady stared at the less than a dozen units and pronounced them wanting.

  “This sucks.”

  I pushed my hat back, pulled off my Ray-Bans, and glanced around at the rundown convenience store, the abandoned garages across the street, and the general dilapidation surrounding us. “We could maybe get some hanging baskets with flowers.”

  “Daddy.”

  I did what I always did in these types of situations and looked to my Indian if not so much Scout. “Help.”

  He thought hard. “There is the Whitetail Cabin in the Custer Forest, up near the Red Shale Campground.”

  She folded her arms and turned and looked at us. “What kind of services are there?”

  He thought some more. “Porta-Potties.”

  Cady didn’t say anything and began nosing a rock in the lot with the front of her turquoise flip-flop. “Are there any other motels?”

  I glanced at the Bear, and he responded quickly, realizing what dire straits we were in. “Colstrip.”

  I turned and repeated the word to my daughter, as if she couldn’t hear the Cheyenne Nation from only ten feet away. “Colstrip.”

  “How far is that?”

  Unwilling to be the bearer of bad tidings, I looked at Henry.

  He shrugged. “About an hour.”

  Her eyes stayed steady on us. “What kind of motel?”

  “I am not sure.”

  A voice rose from behind us as Lena Moretti arrived from the convenience store with a modified six-pack holder containing juices, sodas, and two bottles of Rainier beer. What a woman. She handed over the cardboard box as she read from the phone in her hand.

  “The Super 8 Colstrip is conveniently located in the center of Colstrip, Montana, is AAA rated. Property features forty rooms, Super Start Breakfast, Wireless High Speed Internet, interior corridors, large vehicle parking, pets welcomed, guest laundry, fishing lake within short walking distance, and Subway restaurant is next door.”

  She slipped the two bottles of beer out and handed them to us. “Drink up, boys. I think you’re going to need it.”

  Henry nodded solemnly as he twisted one open for me so that I wouldn’t argue and then unscrewed the one for him, tapping the necks together. “It’s 4:20 somewhere.”

  Lena’s cell phone rang, and I recognized ‘Donna e Mobile’ from Rigoletto and smiled. She looked at the phone in her hand. “Hmm… not a number I recognize.” She hit a button and held the device to her ear. “Hello?” A moment passed, and she grinned, holding the phone out. “It’s for you.”

  I looked at her, rather puzzled, and held it up to my own ear. “Hello?”

  “Are you still on the fucking Rez?”

  “Um, yep.”

  I listened as my undersheriff repositioned herself somewhere in Omaha. “Do you know how many people are trying to find you?”

  I glanced at Lena and, a little ways away, Cady. “Well, two of them found me.”

  “Good, then you’re their problem now.”

  The phone went dead in my hand. I smiled and handed it back to L
ena as Henry watched me. “Business.”

  After an embarrassing pause, Lena ran a hand through her almost black hair and continued. “There is also the Fort Union Inn with twenty rooms and within walking distance of downtown Colstrip, which I’m sure will be a comfort to the young Philadelphians, and the Lakeview Bed and Breakfast with nine rooms, more than half of which face the lake, which will be good for the Brahmans.”

  Cady took a fruit juice and unscrewed the top as she spoke to Lena. “You have the list?”

  “In my head; we need seventy-three rooms in all.” She immediately dialed the phone in her hands.

  I thought about the chances of getting all the rooms during the height of tourist season but kept the thought to myself.

  “Hi, is this the Super 8, Colstrip?”

  She began walking away as Cady came in closer. “Next is the venue; what’s the hang-up with that?”

  “Arbutis Little Bird, the librarian over at the college.”

  Henry continued. “It would appear that the college is having a language immersion workshop at Crazy Head Springs on the date of your wedding. Lonnie, your father, and I have all tried to talk to her about it, but she is a battle-ax of a woman and is not giving any inches. We explained that we have had the date reserved now for months and that you have your heart set on the place, but nothing.”

  Cady’s eyes sharpened, and she began walking back and forth almost as if she were deliberating in front of a jury, her flip-flops stirring up tiny clouds of dust as she paced. “And this Arbutis works at the library?”