“What about the Crow? Can I sit with them?”
The CO stared at him. “If they let you.” He shook his head. “Good luck. Hope you last the night.”
After making up his cot, Lucius sat and stared at his new abode. He’d seen a lot of things in his one hundred and thirty-five years, but this beat all. The city of Billings had built a courthouse and jail just two years before Beautiful cursed him. He was pretty sure that hoosegow didn’t hold more than a dozen men. Where had all these outlaws come from? Most of them looked young, and almost all of them wore tattoos. What did they mean?
A head popped over the wall. The kid couldn’t have been more than eighteen. His skinny, pasty-colored face was covered with oozing sores, and his eyes bulged. “You want some personal services?”
“What in the Sam Hill are you talking about, kid?”
The youngster looked confused. “My name’s not Kid. It’s Ryan.”
“Well, Ryan, what do you want?”
“Your soup, maybe your roll? The big guys steal my food. I’m hungry. I’ll work for food.”
Lucius inspected the cubicle. “Don’t need a handyman.”
The kid slid around the wall. “If not a hand, what about a mouth? Or—”
The penny dropped and Lucius jumped to his feet. “Get outta here before I thrash you.”
The kid slunk away.
He lay back on his cot and stared at the ceiling. Sagging tiles with coffee-colored stains he guessed were from a leaking roof bowed down, threatening to fall.
“Lights out.” Spotted with small glowing lights, the room fell into darkness.
Lucius bunched his blankets up and crawled under the cot. He might be a tenderfoot, but he wasn’t a fool. After about an hour, shuffling drew near. How many. Two, three? He held his breath. Muffled pounding on the cot and muttered curse words. A ripping sound. Time to stand up for himself.
Roaring like a bear, Lucius sat up and threw the cot aside. The dim light revealed a blanket covered form. A kick to the groin toppled that one. Someone jumped on his back and put a sharp tip to his throat. He tossed that one like a rag doll and took pleasure at the sound of a bone cracking on the hard walls. Just as the third one came at him, the lights blazed on, and the room filled with deputies and corrections officers.
“Back to your bunks,” crackled a voice from on high. “Stand down.”
Panting, Lucius stood in his cubicle, gratified at the sight of two thugs at his feet, one still grabbing his crotch and moaning. The other’s forehead sported a nice gash and poured blood down the side of his face onto the floor. Both Asian men wore black panther tattoos and tear drops under their eyes.
A corrections officer examined the bleeder and called for assistance. “We need to get this one to the dispensary. He’s gonna need stitches.”
The officer who originally escorted Lucius to his bunk stood with his fists on his hips. “Didn’t I tell you to lay low?”
“Yes, you did and I thank you for that good advice.” Lucius winked. “I do believe you saved my skin. I hid under the cot, just like you said.”
The CO shook his head. “With any luck, that gang will leave you alone now.”
“You gonna put me in solitary?”
“If I had a cell, I would. As it stands even those are full, so I have no place to put you.” He shook his head. “Over half these idiots are in here on alcohol or drug charges. If we could get the heroin addicts and meth heads out of here, we’d reduce the population by twenty percent.”
“Used to be,” Lucius offered, “the Sheriff would toss them in the drunk tank, let them out after they slept it off.”
The CO stared at him. “Drunk tank? You talk like you’re from another century.”
Lucius nodded. “That would be correct. I told that guy up front my birth-date. Had to repeat it three times. November tenth, eighteen-seventy. I suspect he didn’t believe me.”
“Oh, great.” He keyed his radio. “Control, would you please let the jail commander know we need a shrink for our latest guest. He thinks he’s over a hundred years old.”
Laughter erupted from the black box. “Ten-four. I’ll let him know.”
He gave Lucius a penetrating stare. “Try to stay out of trouble, okay? We lost a guy last year. Publicity was a nightmare. We keep telling the commissioners we need more space and more help. They don’t listen.” He walked away shaking his head. “Eighteen-seventy.”
Lucius sank down on his sagging cot and put his back against the wall. He’d see them coming if they tried again. Minutes, then hours passed by. Not much different from his time at Hotel LaBelle, he thought. Less interesting scenery than the river. Through slits of windows at the top of the wall, he watched the sky changing from midnight black to pre-dawn gray. Despite his best intentions, his eyes drooped. He shook himself awake, only to drowse again a few moments later. Someone slid onto the bunk next to him and touched his leg. He was wide awake again.
“For Heaven’s sake, Ryan, I told you no.” He turned to push the pesky kid off the cot and came nose to nose with the love of his life.
“Mourning Dove?”
Chapter Eleven
After a night of tossing and turning on a lumpy mattress at a low budget motel followed by a complimentary breakfast of tepid coffee and powdered eggs, Bert’s early morning call came as a welcome relief. “Thanks for picking me up.” She climbed into Bert’s specialized van. “Emma sent me a video of Franny playing with her dogs. She won’t want to come home with me.”
Bert smiled. “I told you. Dog Whisperer.”
Tallulah glanced out the window at downtown Billings. She’d read the magazine in the room promoting the town and learned a bit, including the fact that every night was two for one ladies night at the Grub Pub. Despite the battlefield, and the presence of Montana State University, this was neither a vacation nor a college town. The place had a population of slightly over one hundred thousand, where people lived, worked, and raised families. Art galleries perched alongside restaurants, and splashes of colorful modern paintings nestled between turn of the century red brick buildings. They passed a large bank, the combo police department and courthouse, and pulled into a public parking lot. Which reminded her that she needed to get her rental back.
“I hope my car is still out at the hotel—and that they’ll let me have it.”
“You haven’t been charged with any crimes, so I’ll raise a ruckus if they try to keep you from picking it up.” Bert flicked a switch that opened the side door, transferred into his wheelchair, and hit a button which lowered the lift. “The Sheriff’s meeting us in his office. He’ll get us set up in a room to look at the mug shots online.”
“Any chance we could get a cup of coffee along the way?” Tallulah climbed out of the van. “The light brown water at the motel didn’t measure up to my caffeine standards, and I’m pretty sure my mattress was a bag of rocks.”
“Hal’s secretary will keep it coming.” He pressed the key fob, and the van sealed itself up with a chirp. “I used to date her in high school. She knows exactly how I take my coffee.”
“Is there anyone in Billings that you and Emma don’t know?”
He laughed. “The tourists.”
The automatic door whooshed open, and Bert greeted every person they passed from the janitor to the deputies. The Sheriff’s secretary, a heavyset brunette with big brown eyes and a bit too much makeup, batted her lashes at Bert. “Hey there handsome, you in for the fair?”
“You betcha. And a little legal business. Hal around?”
“Right here,” a voice boomed from behind. “You taking roll call?”
Dressed in a black uniform, a tall, lean man with gray hair and a mustache slapped Bert on the back, and then gripped Tallulah’s hand. “You must be my witness.”
“Tallulah Thompson. Yes, I saw the men who attacked Will Wellington.” Her heart sped up, and her mouth went dry. “Have you seen my friend, Lucius Stewart? Is he okay? Can I visit him?” After his hundred yea
r solitary confinement at the hotel, she worried he hadn’t fared well in crowded captivity.
Hal motioned them into his office. Awards, citations, and plaques attesting to his bravery, honor, and civic works covered every inch of the walls. He pointed to a seat.
“Delilah, coffee for my guests, please.”
“I’m on it, Boss.” She walked in the room with a tray and condiments.
Tallulah took a cup with shaking hands. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“It’s not that stuff you get down the street from the fancy place, but it’ll get your heart jump started.”
She took a deep gulp and sighed. “So, about my friend?”
“He’s fine, made it through the night without getting killed, which is saying something.” Hal shook his head. “Your buddy made the mistake of smart mouthing an Asian gang-banger.”
Her heart leaped into her throat. Her worst fears had come true. Lucius was a kind, gentle man. He had no experience when it came to thugs. “Is he okay?”
“Him? He’s fine. Fortunately for him, he’s in good shape. He put one guy in the hospital and another will be walking funny for a while.” He sipped his coffee and gave her a hard stare. “Does he have a history of mental illness?”
“Why do you ask?” Her pulse raced, and her mind went right to her grandmother’s tales of psychiatric hospitals and zombie-shuffle-inducing drugs. “He seemed perfectly lucid to me.”
“He told the booking clerk he was born in eighteen-seventy, and that he was the owner of the Hotel LaBelle.”
She gulped her coffee and stared at the chipped wooden desk.
Bert jumped into the silence. “Oh, he’s a kidder. You know the original owner of the Hotel LaBelle had the same name. He was pulling someone’s leg.”
Hal shook his head. “The owner, Will Wellington, is in the ICU holding on by a thread. It’s a miracle he didn’t die from smoke inhalation, not to mention his injuries.”
“Let me tell you about those injuries—and the men who did it to him.” Tallulah recounted seeing the black SUV with the Nevada license plate come and go, then Will’s condition when she found him, as well as the pill bottle from Vegas with the other name on it. “He was a mass of bruises and cuts. Said they slammed his hand in a drawer.”
“Why didn’t you call us?” Hal frowned. “That’s what we’re here for.”
“I wanted to.” She put the empty paper cup down, wishing Delilah would wander in with another. “Will told me it would make more trouble for him. Said he couldn’t pay the vig and some mobster from Vegas sent them out to, uh, encourage him.”
“Hard to get blood from a turnip,” Bert said. “That guy—his name isn’t really Wellington, by the way—owes money to everyone, including my sister.”
Hal grimaced. “Jeez, you really don’t want to piss her off.”
“Exactly.” Bert slapped his thigh. “So, what do you think?”
“You seem like a credible witness.” He nodded. “What was Wellington’s other name?”
“Thomas Wilson, from Las Vegas,” Tallulah said.
“I’ll run it through the FBI database, see if anything pops up. Meantime, Delilah will take you down the hall to review the mug shots. One of our deputies will assist you.”
“Not Otterlegs, I hope,” Bert said.
“I do believe Deputy Otterlegs is out looking for a guy who failed to appear in court.” Hal rolled his eyes. “God only knows when he’ll be back.”
A female deputy with red hair pulled up in a bun met them in the hall. “Come with me, please.” She showed them how to search the records, local, county, state, and federal, then left them alone. “Need anything, just holler for Wanda. I’ll be next door.”
“I wish we could search on tattoos. I’m pretty sure I’d recognize the patterns.”
“I’m sure that’s a different database.” Bert rolled over, closed the door, and dimmed the lights. “I’d like to try something, if you don’t mind. It could speed things up.”
“Sure, anything to help.”
“I want you to do a remote viewing.”
“Here? Right now?” She wasn’t sure she could do it without some added power. “Don’t I need Beautiful’s medicine stick?”
“Did you have it when you experienced all those other visions?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Close your eyes, take a deep breath, lean back in the chair, and think about the men from that day. Can you see them?”
Tallulah settled back in the chair, allowed her head to drop back, and closed her eyes. Franny, per usual, was taking her sweet time, checking every blade of grass and each flower. A car roared up and doors slammed. The two enormous thugs emerged into view.
“Yes, they’re wearing muscle shirts that are too tight, as if they’ll tear them off in a wrestling match.” She took a deeper breath. “One is taller than the other. He holds his back stiff and straight, reminds me of a military bearing. His neck, so tan, looks like leather.” She tilted her head for a better view of his hands. “His index finger and the thumb on his left hand—they’re gone.” A flash caught her memory’s eye. “He’s wearing a diamond earring. Left ear.”
“Terrific, you’re doing well. They get in their car…”
“A cloud of dust and gravel kicks up.” Suddenly, she floated in the air over the car, tracking its progress. “They drove to the highway and headed south.” The plains and mountains blurred, and she found herself over the vehicle, which drove on a busy street. The night was dark, but the flashing lights and billboards made it as bright as day. The thugs climbed out of the SUV and tossed the keys to a valet standing in front of a podium emblazoned with the name of a hotel. “Ohmigod.” She sat bolt upright. “They’re in Vegas. At the Glynn.”
“Excellent work!” Bert grinned. “Let’s take a look at the Nevada mug shots and see if we can find our friends.”
An hour later, she shouted, “That’s them. The same tattoos. A globe with an eagle over it. Semper Fi. There’s that military background. The Smith brothers.”
“Guess they don’t make cough drops.” Bert stared at the screen. “John and Michael. What did they do?”
“Assault.”
“Well, at least they’re consistent.” Bert opened the door and yelled, “Wanda!”
****
Inmates chattered in a cacophony of sound that drowned out his astonished exclamations. The morning sunlight slanted across his dead lover’s regal features.
“Darlin’ Dovie, I’ve missed you so much.” Lucius reached out to caress her cheek, but his hand passed through her face. A pang of disappointment pierced his heart. The woman he once longed to marry sat next to him but in a different world.
Mourning Dove curled her arms together and rocked them.
“The baby.” Tears sprang to his eyes, and his throat clogged. “I know. You lost the child.”
She shook her head so hard, her braids whipped around. She signed two fingers walking on her hand, then raised one palm high.
“The baby grew up?” His voice quivered. “Our child lived?”
She smiled, nodded, put her hands over her heart, and disappeared.
“I’m a father!” He jumped up and shouted to anyone who would listen. “I’m a daddy!”
Laughter, hoots, epithets, and jeers greeted him. Bubbling with joy, he plopped down on the cot, closed his eyes, and wrapped his arms around himself.
The floor shuddered with heavy footsteps, and he felt the presence of giants. He opened his eyes. Two bronze-skinned, long-haired men with tree trunks for legs stood in front of him.
“You Lucius Stewart?” the larger of the two titans asked.
Reluctant to open his mouth for fear of squeaking out his assent, he nodded.
The other one reached down and pulled him up by the elbow. “I’m Jimmy; this is Tommy.”
“Stick with us. In here, we’re your clan.”
Had they heard him talking to Mourning Dove? Did he dare to dream th
ey might be related?
The bigger one nodded. “Bert Blackfeather is your friend; we’ve got your back.”
Who’s Bert Blackfeather? Had to be related to Beautiful, but how?
He glanced around the room. The big, tough Asian guy and his gang were busy looking at the floor, the walls, their shoes, everywhere but at Lucius. A wave of relief mixed with uncontrollable mirth rolled through him. These giants weren’t his great-great-grandchildren. They were his new gang.
Two hours later, after a breakfast of stale bagels and tepid dishwater they called coffee, a deputy shouted his name over the hubbub.
“Lucius Stewart. Front and center.”
Accompanied by his new best friends who cleared the path ahead of him, Lucius made his way to the deputy.
“Time for your arraignment. The video system is down, so we’re taking you into the courtroom.” He held up cuffs and shackles. “Your jewelry.”
Jimmy nodded and extended his hands, indicating how Lucius should cooperate. “Don’t worry, man. As long as they don’t make you run, you’ll be fine.”
“Thank you, Jimmy. Tommy. See you back here?”
Tommy nodded. “Bert’s a good lawyer. He’s not in town often, so count your blessings he’s here to help you.”
After a short, uneventful ride in a van with nine other jailbirds, all of whom needed a bath, a deputy gripped his elbow and shuffle walked Lucius out of the van, into an elevator, and up to the second-floor courtroom. Two rows of prisoners sat along one wall, like naughty parishioners waiting for the minister to start preaching. The bailiff cried, “All rise, court is in session, the Honorable Judge Joseph Williams presiding.”
A balding man with wire-rimmed glasses and long black robes appeared behind the judge’s bench. “Be seated.” His gaze passed over the room, and he shook his head. “I see we have an unusually large crop of cases today, over a hundred on my docket. You’re keeping our law enforcement officers busy. Must have been a good weekend.”
A titter of laughter rolled through the courtroom.
“Today, after we get through the juveniles—and I see there are only three—I’ve decided to start with the fellow with the worst charges. That means you drunk, disorderly, failures to appear, and other assorted lesser charges are going to have to kick back and wait your turn.”
The Haunting of Hotel LaBelle Page 11