As the crow flies wl-8

by Craig Johnson

  I raised my hands but found my mouth opening of its own accord. “You…”

  “Do not.”

  I glanced down at the captive, a not insubstantial lump on the floor. “You couldn’t have knocked him out a little closer to the truck?”

  The only one on duty at Tribal Police Headquarters was the taciturn, unpaid-in-weeks patrolman Charles Last Bull. “How’s it going, Chuck?”

  He stared at us and glanced at Artie’s dead weight hanging between the Cheyenne Nation and me.

  “You mind if we come in?”

  We struggled in the door-I backed my way past the front counter, the bulletproof glass, and continued on toward the closed door that entered the hallway. Charles caught up with us and produced a ring of keys that he used to allow us access to the holding cells. “I thought you were off for the night, Charles.”

  He said nothing and, swinging the door wide, unlocked the same cell where his brother had been held, whereupon we deposited Artie Small Song on the steel bunk anchored to the concrete wall. “Thanks.”

  We paused there for a moment as Henry produced the knife again and freed the prisoner’s hands from the impromptu packing tape handcuffs, even taking the extra time to pull out the blanket at his feet and cover him up.

  I glanced at Charles, who closed the door and returned the keys to his belt.

  Henry stepped over to the small fridge in the commissary, stooped, and took a tray of ice cubes from the freezer compartment.

  I patted Charles on his shoulder, which felt like a fifty-five-gallon drum filled with concrete. “Where’s the chief?”

  He stared at me for a full ten seconds but couldn’t find a way not to respond to my direct question. “Sleep.”

  Henry placed the tray on the counter and took a plastic bag from the shelf, filled it with some ice, and came back to the bars where we stood. The Bear gestured toward the door. “Open.”

  Charles regarded him through sloped eyelids. “This the man who killed my half-brother?”

  The Bear said nothing but just stood there holding the bag of ice.

  Charles’s eyes returned to the breathing lump on the bunk and placed a hand on his sidearm. “The hell with him.”

  The expression on the Cheyenne Nation’s face never changed, but he leaned a little forward so as to make eye contact with Charles.

  I spoke again, if for no other reason than to keep Henry from decapitating Lolo Long’s only staff. “You know, Chuck, he’s already knocked one guy unconscious tonight.”

  I snatched the keys from the patrolman’s belt and unlocked the door in one quick move, tossing the ring back to him before he could react badly; the Bear entered and placed the bag of ice under Artie’s head. Charles had advanced and was now standing in the doorway as Henry started out. They stood there like that for a moment, chest to chest, and I was reminded of the bulls that had sometimes locked horns in the pastures on my father’s ranch.

  Slowly, the Cheyenne Nation raised a hand and spread his fingers over Charles’s chest, pushing him until the man was forced to step back in an attempt to catch his balance.

  I closed the cell and gestured toward Charles to lock it back up.

  He did, as Henry and I moved into the hallway. “I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to leave an unconscious Artie Small Song here with Charles Last Bull.”

  He nodded his head. “I will stay.”

  “No, I can sleep anywhere. You go on ahead home, and I’ll crash here.”

  Charles joined us in the hallway, and I made the pronouncement. “I’m waiting in here till Chief Long checks in.”

  The patrolman shrugged and turned between us, facing Henry and looking into his face. Henry followed him toward the door but shot me a look with a dramatically raised eyebrow. “I will see you in the morning.”

  “I hope so.”

  I made a makeshift bed with a lineup of chairs and a few more blankets from the closet in the hallway. About halfway through the process, Charles came in and studied me as I attempted to get comfortable. “You don’t have any extra pillows, do you?”

  He continued to stare.

  “Down would be nice-I’m not allergic.”

  He stood there for a moment more and then left.

  Fighting a yawn, I mumbled mostly to myself, “Could you flip off the lights?”

  The disgruntled patrolman did but left the one on in the hallway as I collapsed onto my front-row bed. I’d folded another blanket up for a pillow, scrunched it a little, and tilted my hat up to where I could keep an eye on Artie, who had begun snoring like a water buffalo. Henry must’ve done a job on him, seeing as how to knock somebody out you had to come within an ace of killing them. Whenever I thought of such things, I always remembered the dent in Lucian’s head where his in-laws had tried to beat some sense into him; as far as I could tell, it hadn’t worked-didn’t think it would work in this case, either.

  I thought about my transportation needs and figured I could get someone to drive my truck from the airport in Billings so I wouldn’t have to rely on Rezdawg, which was like relying on the wind. Lolo Long probably wouldn’t like the idea of an Absaroka County Sheriff’s vehicle driving around the Rez, but since I’d helped out with the investigation she might be a little more forgiving.

  I yawned so deeply that I thought my jaw was going to dislocate and then pulled the grey blanket up to my chin. Maybe I was overtired, but I was having a hard time falling asleep; first I blamed it on the indelicate rhythm of Artie’s snoring and then on the peyote, even though I knew that neither was what was plaguing me.

  My mind kept racing through the events of the last few days, and how tidily things had worked out; perhaps too tidily. I thought about the conversation with Artie and how he had seemed genuinely surprised by Clarence Last Bull’s murder. Was it possible that Artie had killed Audrey but not Clarence? But the man’s vehement denial of the contract murder had been convincing, especially at the price of just over a thousand bucks. So in essence, I was lying here for good reason-to protect a man who I didn’t think perpetrated either act.

  That was about the size of it.

  Maybe Clarence had killed his wife, but he certainly hadn’t killed himself.

  Then there was the tape. Why would the man attempt to hire Artie for the job and then turn around and do it himself? With all the bravado that Artie had shown in the phone conversation, it certainly seemed as if he had been ready to perform the deed. Maybe, and then again, maybe it’s one thing to agree to do such a thing but another to look into the eyes of a young woman holding her child and push them off a cliff.

  I thought about Clarence, and the response he’d had to Audrey’s death and the attempt on his son, and how I didn’t think he was guilty, either.

  So everybody was innocent?

  Some detective.

  The pivotal point of evidence was the wiretapped conversation between Clarence and Artie, which had been an odd one. Clarence’s voice had seemed normal enough, but Artie’s heightened responses struck me as weird. Maybe he was drunk; maybe he was upset about the twelve hundred dollars.

  And the woman in the background; who was she? What was she saying? I’d heard a word or two that I’d maybe understood-dome, dose? Maybe there was more going on between Clarence and Artie than we knew about.

  I dozed off for a while and then repositioned my head-I thought I might’ve heard some noise from out in the lobby, but it was hard to tell over Artie’s snoring. I’d just settled back into my folded blanket when I heard the door at the end of the hallway open and the dangling wind-chime noise of Charles’s ring of keys.

  I saw his shadow and spoke to him as I removed my hat from my face. “You find that feather pillow?”

  The light switch was flipped on, and I have to admit that while I wasn’t surprised to find Charles looking down at me, I was surprised to see Artie’s nephew, Nate, with a small revolver jammed into the policeman’s neck. He nudged the patrolman forward. “Open the door.”

  I starte
d to sit up but kept one hand underneath the blanket at the small of my back. “Nate, what are you doing?”

  “Shut up, man.” He pushed Last Bull toward the holding cell.

  I unsnapped the safety strap on my Colt and drew it from the holster as I sat the rest of the way up, still keeping it concealed. Bleary as I was, I gave him a good look to make sure he wasn’t drunk or otherwise impaired. He wasn’t, but he looked excited and pretty scared at the same time. I tried to sound as lifeless and bored as possible, which wasn’t so much of a reach. “Nate, have you lost your mind?”

  “Shut up!” He pushed Charles’s shoulder. “Unlock it.”

  Charles looked at me.

  I blinked my eyes. “Do you know what time it is?”

  Nate pushed the patrolman again. “I said unlock it.”

  I didn’t say anything more and watched as Charles flicked up the right key and turned it in the lock, swinging the cell door wide. Nate pushed the patrolman inside and held the revolver on him. Charles backed against the bars with his hands raised, the key ring still in his fingers.

  “Nate, what are you gonna do? Take your uncle and run off into the wild? Every law enforcement agency on the high plains will be looking for you.”

  “Shut up!”

  I yawned and wondered if I was ever going to get any sleep. “Does your grandmother know that you’re here?”

  He redirected the pistol at me; the hammer was not pulled back. “I told you to shut up, man!” His attention went to his uncle on the bunk, and I noticed he’d stuffed Charles’s sidearm in the back of his jeans. “C’mon, Artie, I’m bustin’ you out.”

  The elder Small Song did not move but continued snoring loud enough to rattle the only window on the far wall.

  “C’mon, Artie!” He waited a moment and then reached out a hand to jostle the big man’s shoulder; still no response. He looked at the ice pack Henry had placed at the nape of Artie’s neck. “What did you guys do to him?”

  I stood and now held the. 45 behind my hat. “He’s asleep-like everybody else except for you.”

  He gestured with the pistol. “Come on in here; you guys are going to help me carry him out.”

  I shrugged and shook my head at the youth, pretty sure that none of us were in imminent danger. I casually slipped my hat onto my head and made a show of stuffing my sidearm back into its holster. Quickly, I took a step forward, snatched the keys from Charles’s raised hand, slammed the door shut, and locked the cell. I tossed the key ring into the hallway where it struck with a jangle and slid to the far end of the tile floor.

  Nate looked at me and raised the pistol higher. “What’d you just do?”

  “I just locked you in the cell.” I sat on one of the chairs and looked at him as Artie continued to snore.

  He looked a little uncertain as to how to proceed from this point. “Fuck!” After a moment, his arm wavered and then redirected itself at Charles, who still stood against the bars with his arms raised. “I’ll shoot him!”

  “Go ahead, I don’t care for him that much anyway.” Charles turned his head and looked at me with his eyes a little rounded.

  Nate swung the revolver back at my face. “I’ll shoot you!”

  I casually palmed the Colt from the small of my back and rested it on my knee. “You do, and I’ll shoot you back.”

  He literally stamped a tennis shoe. “Fuck!”

  I readjusted my bed, yawned again, and made a big show of stretching. “Here’s the deal; you give me both guns, I unlock you, you go home, and we all get a good night’s sleep.” I holstered the Colt and stood. “How about it?”

  “Fuck!”

  “I need a different answer.”

  He glanced at his snoring uncle, at Charles, and then back to me. “How do I know I can trust you, man?”

  I distended my cheeks with a hearty exhale. “You’re kidding, right?” I stuck a hand through the bars and motioned for him to hand me the drawn gun.

  He didn’t move at first but then his grip relaxed on the revolver and it swung down, dangling from his index finger.

  I studied it in hopes that it wasn’t the same caliber as the one that had killed Clarence. It was, but I could tell it hadn’t been fired in a long time. I gestured toward the semiautomatic in the waistband of his jeans. “That one, too.”

  He handed them to me, and I stood there looking like I had just come from Bed, Bath and Pistols. “I’m going to go get the keys, and then I’ll unlock you and you can get out of here-I’d be quick about it, because I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that Charles here is going to want to beat the hell out of you.” I glanced at the big patrolman. “I got that right, Chuck?”

  He nodded and grunted.

  I retrieved the keys, came back, and unlocked the door, handed the ring and sidearm back to Charles as a more contrite Nate stood by the bars. When the young man attempted to follow the patrolman, I placed a hand on his chest.

  “Hey, you said that…”

  “After I ask you a few questions.”

  The sullenness returned in a flash. “And what if I don’t want to answer?”

  I gestured toward the big tribal policeman, who was holstering his weapon. “Then I stuff Charles back in here, lock the door again, and go take a walk for about five minutes.” I glanced at the patrolman’s pock-marked face. “That about how long it’ll take, Chuckles?”

  “Two.” The large man had become remarkably more conversational.

  I held up the revolver. “Where’d you get the gun?”

  He grimaced. “Artie’s locker at Gramma’s house.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d know where Artie’s been since night before last?”

  He nodded. “Eating the elk at the house.”

  I stuffed the revolver into my own jeans. “He came back after we left?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He was there the whole time?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Were you there the whole time?”

  “No, I got work up at KRZZ.”

  I thought about it. “How did you get here?”

  He shot a look at his sleeping uncle. “Artie’s truck.”

  “The one you tried to run me over with?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Nate, did you know that you say um every time you lie?”

  “Um…”

  I shook my head and thought about the sleep I was losing. “You’re not the one who tried to run me over. I think that you’re trying to cover for your uncle, but in all honesty I don’t think he was behind the wheel either.” I felt a sudden surge of exhaustion and leaned my head against the bars and closed my eyes. “I’m thinking that whoever stole Artie’s truck at the bar was the one who tried to run me over, and that someone might have a connection to Audrey’s and Clarence’s deaths.”

  His attention, at least, was peaked. “You think?”

  “I think.” I opened my eyes and studied him. “Who else was at the Jimtown Bar that night?”

  He made a face. “Everybody.” He gestured. “He was there.”

  I glanced at the patrolman. “Charles?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who was there, Charles?”

  He snorted. “Everybody.”

  I squeezed the bridge of my nose. “You know, I’m going to lock the both of you back in here in a minute.”

  Nate was the first to break. “Me and a buddy of mine-we were just sitting on the tailgate of the truck, but then a friend of ours came by and said he’d buy us a beer.”

  “Who?”

  “Kelly Joe Burns.”

  That loser again. “Who else?”

  “Herbert His Good Horse came in and grabbed a six-pack to go. We tried to cadge a few off of him, but he wouldn’t give us any.” He thought. “Louise Griffin was there with Inez Two Two.”

  I frowned. “She’s underage.”

  “So?” He paused and then continued. “Besides, her mother-you know, Loraine, the one who works over at Human Services, came and dragged her
out. Boy, was Inez pissed.”

  I gestured toward the snoring man. “Was your uncle there?”

  “No.”

  “Anybody borrow your keys?”

  He smirked. “It’s a Rez-Ride, man. You don’t need keys; it’s got two little wires that stick out from under the dash, but you gotta turn on the headlights first.”

  “How many people would know that?”

  “On the Rez? Everybody; half the cars around here don’t have keys and the other half don’t have forward gears.” He smiled. “I had a Chevy Corsica that I drove in reverse for seven months. You had to hook up the wires on it, too.”

  “Speaking of hooking up, I’ve got another question-does Artie have a girlfriend?”

  “What?”

  I sighed and tapped my shirt pocket where I’d stored the CD. “There is a recording of your uncle talking to Clarence Last Bull on the phone, and there’s a woman in the background with him. If I can find out who that woman is, maybe she can go to bat for your uncle.”

  The young man stared at me, and for the first time he relaxed. “You really don’t think Artie did it, do you?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  He thought. “He was hittin’ on some chick up on the Rocky Boy Reservation, but I think she got engaged or something.”

  “What about the dental hygienist from Billings?”

  “Old news.”

  I stepped back and allowed him egress from the cell. “Oh well, it was a thought.”

  He stood there, looking at me. “How about I listen to the CD?”

  “I don’t have a player.”

  “We can go up to KRZZ or I’ve got one in Artie’s truck.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “You don’t have a starter switch, but you’ve got a CD player?”

  “I work at a radio station.” He transitioned into his on-air voice. “Pumping the wattage into your li’l red cottage.” He smiled, started for the hallway, and tried to get past Charles, who stepped in front of him.

  The big man placed himself between Nate and the wide world. He leaned in. “You ever pull a gun on me again, you better use it.”

  “Okay.” The kid’s response was too quick for Charles’s taste.

  Charles had him up in the air and against the wall faster than I could’ve possibly reacted. He grabbed fistfuls of the young man’s shirt and then slammed him against the concrete block.