Gill tried to swing his pistol toward Rattling Thunder. HRT used his good arm to strike Gill across the face with his elbow. Gill fell back with his arms raised. A shot went off, sending a bullet through the ceiling. HRT grabbed the bar owner’s shooting arm and slammed it on the table. Gill dropped the weapon onto the table, his nose now gushing with blood.
Gill tried to fend off HRT while Apollo and Rainhorse struggled. The Cheyenne gained a quick advantage, grabbing Apollo’s neck in a choke hold and squeezed tightly. Apollo’s face began to turn red as he started to choke. Lindsay shrieked and pressed herself at the far edge of the bench seat.
The fourth bodyguard came in through the broken glass.
Apollo managed to pull Rainhorse’s hands away from his throat, "Chester! Get this big son-of-a-bitch off me."
Apollo managed to get one punch in to Rainhorse’s jaw, which slowed him temporarily, but the big Cheyenne still remained positioned on top of the drug warlord in the booth. He saw Chester raising his weapon.
“Don’t shoot him, dumbass,” Apollo screamed at the bodyguard. “You might hit me.” The drug kingpin tried to punch Rainhorse again but the former Ranger blocked his punch and delivered a blow of his own to Apollo’s cheek.
Apollo wailed in pain.
“Jackson, watch out,” Lindsay screamed in warning, but it was too late. The fourth bodyguard had slammed a wooden table chair across Rainhorse’s back, breaking it into a dozen pieces. The big Cheyenne slumped to his knees in front of the booth, then collapsed on his back, his brain swimming near the edge of unconsciousness. Apollo sat up quickly, holding his neck, choking, gasping for air.
HRT tried to reach Gill’s pistol, still laying on the table, but the bar owner recovered well enough to knock it toward Lindsay. The gun fell on her lap. She shrieked again, and shrank away, as if a rabid racoon had landed on her.
HRT elbowed Gill on his temple. The older man’s head fell limply to the table—he was unconscious.
Apollo slid out of the booth and stood on shaky legs. He looked at his bodyguard, “Don’t just stand there like an idiot. Shoot that big Indian, will ya?”
Rainhorse blinked as the bodyguard pulled a pistol from his beltline. He raised his bootheel and slammed it into Chester's knee. He bellowed in pain and dropped to the floor. Rainhorse struggled to sit up, but Apollo kicked him in the face, sending him back to a prone position on the floor. He was still conscious but just barely.
"Dammit, he's a strong bastard," huffed Apollo, coughing and rubbing his neck. "The son-of-a-bitch has a grip like a vise."
"We need to move," HRT said. "Too many witnesses. Someone must have called the tribal police."
“You're right. Let’s get the hell out of here,” Apollo responded. HRT began to move away. Apollo helped his bodyguard to his feet.
“Want me to pop him, boss?” Chester asked, taking aim at Rainhorse on the ground, still trying to shake the cobwebs and retain consciousness.
“No!” he screamed. “I’ve changed my mind. I want answers first. I want to know who he is and why he is here. Bring him with you, and bring the little bitch, too.”
“What about the old guy?” Chester asked.
“Him you can pop,” Apollo said.
Apollo and HRT ran out of the door as the bodyguard raised his weapon and pointed it at Rainhorse’s head.
“I’m going to take pleasure in killing you later,” he said. “Now get on your feet.”
Rainhorse looked down the barrel of the weapon and he heard a loud gun blast. The big Cheyenne winced, though it was not he who had been shot. He saw Chester fall to the floor, blood pouring out of his head.
The former Ranger looked at Lindsay, who was still holding the gun.
“Oh my god,” Lindsay screamed. “I just shot a man. I just killed someone.”
“Lindsay,” Rainhorse called, struggling to sit up. He saw her drop Gill’s pistol and slide out of the booth.
“Jackson, you’re all right, thank goodness,” she said, crying louder. “I almost got you killed.”
Rainhorse sat up. She fell to her knees and hugged him. He placed his hand on the back of her head and pulled her to him, kissing her forehead. He drew in deep breaths as he considered how close he had come to losing her forever. He squeezed her tightly as she wept, rocking back and forth ever so subtly.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she repeated, the tears and cries showing no signs of slowing. “I hired a private investigator to find you . . . I had to come . . .”
“Shhh,” Rainhorse admonished, touching her lips with his forefinger, “I do not care about that right now. We will talk about this later. We have got to get Gill and get out of here. In case it has not sunk in, you and I have both shot men to death. We cannot afford to let the tribal police find us anymore than Apollo can. Help me up.”
Lindsay wiped away tears and helped the big Cheyenne to his feet. He picked up a glass of water from another table and splashed it on Gill’s face. The bar owner jumped up and began blinking. He raised his hand to touch the lump forming on his head where he’d been hit.
“What the hell happened?” Gill asked. “Where’d they go?”
“Never mind that right now,” Rainhorse replied. “Can you drive?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I just need a minute.”
“We do not have a minute,” came the reply. “Apollo and Rattling Thunder know who you are. You need to get home, collect your wife and a few essential belongings and get out. Do you have someplace you can go?”
“Yeah, we have a cabin on the southeast side of Medicine Lake,” Gill said. “It’s about a ninety-minute drive.”
“Does anyone know about this cabin?” Rainhorse asked.
“No, just my wife and my kids. My kids are in Omaha.”
“Good. Go lock your bar down,” Rainhorse said. “Call your wife and have her pack. Tell her whatever you have to tell her, just get out of town tonight. You should be safe. I think they will be focused on finding out who I am in the short run, but make no mistake about it, they will come after you.”
“Roger that,” Gill said.
“My car,” Lindsay chimed in. “My car is still parked at your diner.”
“Give me the keys,” Gill said. “I’ll move it to my cabin until you come back for it.”
“It’s a damn good thing for you I don’t have time to get into this right now, Gill,” Rainhorse said, threateningly. “What the hell were you thinking bringing an eighteen-year-old white girl to a truck stop diner on the res?”
“Ask her,” Gill said.
“Trust me, I will, but later,” he replied. “Give me your cell number. I’ll call you when it’s all clear.”
Gill told him his number.
“We need to move,” Rainhorse said. “Lindsay, you’re with me.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
______________________
“Where were you?” Lindsay huffed. “Vern said you were going to be at the diner by four o’clock.”
“There were too many people at the diner,” he replied. “I drove away to come up with a better plan. The only reason you are not in their hands right now is that I decided to come back and follow Apollo when he left. If it weren’t for that . . .”
“Where are we going?” Lindsay asked when they got into Rainhorse’s rental car.
“Airport,” he replied.
“Thank god,” she said. “Where are we flying to?”
“Not we . . . you!” he said.
“Me? What about you?”
“I have a job to do here,” he said.
“What? Killing that man . . . Apollo?”
“Yes, and his scumbag friend, Hank Rattling Thunder. Between the two of them they are responsible for the drug and sex trade problems of this reservation.”
“I thought you were retired from being an assassin,” she said.
“I am not being paid,” he replied. “This is a . . . personal matter. I am helping a friend.”
“Well, I�
�m not leaving here unless you’re with me,” she said, firmly. “I’ve spent two years tracking you down. I’m not about to . . .”
“Lindsay, you just shot and killed a man,” Rainhorse interrupted. “There are four dead bodies back there. That will not go unnoticed, even on the res. I have to get you out of here . . . now. You have upset me.”
Lindsay looked at his straight-faced expression, “You don’t look angry.”
He turned his head toward her, “This is how I look when I’m pissed.”
Rainhorse’s cell rang. He looked at the display—it was Neha Littlebird. He answered. Her voice came through clearly over the car’s speaker system on Bluetooth.
“It’s Neha. Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
“I am fine,” he answered.
“I’ve been listening to the police scanner,” she said, breathlessly. “The shootings at the diner are all over it—four men dead. The police are on their way. Whoever called it in gave them your description, perfectly. They also gave the description of . . . a young white girl and an older white man? What’s going on?”
“Dammit,” Rainhorse exclaimed. “I was hoping we would have more time.”
“Who is the white girl?” Neha asked.
“I will explain later,” Rainhorse said. “What else are they saying on the scanner?”
“They know you are in a Silver Toyota but don’t know the license plate. Whoever saw you leaving the diner reported that you are heading north,” she replied. “They think you’re headed out of the reservation. They’re blocking the road north leading out of the res.”
“Son-of-a-bitch,” Rainhorse spouted. He slammed on the brake and turned the wheel hard, causing the vehicle to whip around. He made a course correction and headed in the opposite direction, back toward the diner.
“I have to go, Neha,” he said. “They will be looking for this car. I need to ditch it. Afterwards, we are coming to your place.”
“Listen, once you pass the diner again, there is a dirt road about three hundred yards past mile marker thirty. Turn left. That will take you off the path but the police won’t be looking there. The path will hook you around back to the main road in about thirty miles. That should get you past any road blocks they may have set up.”
“Got it,” he said.
“Stay safe. Call me. I’m so worried.”
Rainhorse hung up.
“Who was that?” Lindsay asked.
“A topic for another time,” he replied.
“What are you doing, anyway? We can’t drive past the diner . . . can we?” Lindsay asked.
“Not in this car, no,” he said. “We passed a gas station a couple of minutes ago. It was closed but I saw an old truck parked there. If we can start it, we are going to steal it.”
Rainhorse pulled into the gas station, which was closed and dark. Dusk was just settling in. He pulled the car behind the station, blocking its visibility from the main road. He parked it in a spot where he was certain it would not be seen.
Lindsay looked at the old rusted truck, “Damn, Jackson, I thought you had higher standards than this.”
“Beggars cannot be choosers. Besides, a nice car on the res will draw attention. Let’s go,” he said to Lindsay. He popped the trunk of the rental and retrieved a small bag. He also retrieved a coat hanger.
“You carry a coat hanger with you?” Lindsay asked.
“Your lesson for the day,” he replied. “Car theft 101—the coat hanger. Do not leave home without it.”
The truck he'd noticed was a 1980 C-10 Chevy pickup, bronze-colored with white accents. Rainhorse looked the vehicle over, wondering how long it had been since the truck had been started.
He slipped the coat hanger into the driver side door and unlocked the vehicle. He opened the door, slipped in and unlocked the passenger door so Lindsay could get in. He then stooped down, reaching under the dash for the ignition wiring. Lindsay slid into the passenger seat and opened the glove box. It was empty.
“Dammit,” Rainhorse called out. “These wires are old and brittle. I will be lucky to . . .”
Rainhorse was interrupted by police sirens—two of them. They passed the gas station. Red and blue lights illuminated the building and trees that surrounded them. If they had remained on the road, they would have run right into them.
Rainhorse paused to listen as the sirens faded then went back to his efforts to hot wire the truck.
Lindsay pulled down the sun visor on the passenger seat and keys fell from it onto her lap. She held them up, “Car theft lesson 102,” she said, holding up the keys. “Always check the car for keys, first.”
He looked up, flashing Lindsay a stare of annoyance, then took the keys from her hand. He slid them into the ignition.
“This is the moment of truth,” he said. He drew a breath, depressed the clutch and turned the key. The engine turned but didn’t start. He looked at Lindsay. The momentary satisfaction she was enjoying was replaced by a feeling of impending doom. He depressed the clutch again and this time also the gas pedal. The engine coughed loudly but again didn’t start.
“Jackson, what are we going to do?” Lindsay asked, now beginning to panic.
“Hang in there,” he replied, turning the ignition key again. The old truck’s engine grunted and clanked before finally starting. Rainhorse let out a huge sigh of relief. Lindsay placed her hand over her chest and exhaled.
“Just like old times, huh?” she said. “Ok, we have a truck. Now what?”
“You are going to get down onto the floor board, out of sight,” he said. He opened the bag he had taken from his rental car and pulled out the cowboy hat he wore into the Blue Buffalo. He pulled his hair into a pony tail and twisted it up in top of his head, placing the hat over it.
“I am going to slowly drive by the diner. To the people who see us, I will be just another poor Indian on the res, heading home after a hard day’s work.”
“You don’t think they’ll stop us?” she asked.
“The tribal police are just arriving on the scene,” Rainhorse said. “Their first action will be to secure the diner and assess the situation. That will take a while.”
“Do you think they’ll block the roads in the direction we’re heading?”
He shook his head, “Doubtful. They do not have the man power to block all roads. The crime was committed on reservation land. They will be desperate to keep us from leaving the res, which would trigger the involvement of the Sheridan County Sheriff’s Department. They think we are headed north, out of the res—we are headed south, into the heart of it.”
“Where are we going, by the way?” Lindsay asked.
“We are headed to Wolf Point,” he replied. “It is about an hour away, on the far southwest side of the res.”
“What’s in Wolf Point?”
“Neha.”
“The woman on the phone? Who is she?”
“A question for later,” Rainhorse said. “The diner is just up ahead. I have no rear-view mirror in this vehicle. Check behind us.”
“Oh, shit!” Lindsay exclaimed, looking behind her.
“What?”
“There’s a vehicle behind us—red lights flashing!” she cried out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
______________________
“What’ll we do, Jackson?” Lindsay cried.
“Relax,” Rainhorse replied. “It is an ambulance. They just want to get around us. Now get down in the floorboard.”
Rainhorse pulled the truck off the road to the right, allowing the ambulance to pass. He proceeded slowly past the diner, as any citizen might do who was curious about why police lights were flashing at the diner. Through the window he saw two tribal police officers inside, talking to who appeared to be a diner employee. Neither of the tribal officers he saw gave even a passing glance to the copper Chevy truck as it lumbered slowly by the diner. Once the diner faded into the horizon in his side mirror he told Lindsay she could get up from the floor board.
�
�Ok, we have about an hour’s drive,” Rainhorse said, firmly. “Tell me how you found me and what the hell you are doing here.”
Lindsay’s eyes flared, “Nice attitude. It’s good to see you, too,” she snarled. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”
“Welcome? For what?”
“That guy was going to kill you back there,” she said. “He would have done so if I hadn’t shot him.”
“May I remind you that the whole reason I was in a position to be killed was because of you in the first place. You almost got me shot. And by the way, both of my targets got away scot-free . . . because of your unexpected appearance. You cost me the element of surprise. It was my biggest advantage and now it is gone. They will dig in and surround themselves with security. This has been a huge setback.”
Lindsay sighed in exasperation, “I didn’t have any idea you were in the middle of something. Otherwise I would have never . . .”
“I do not want to hear it,” he interrupted. “There is no excuse for a girl your age to enter a strange tavern by yourself. And then to come to a trucker’s diner on an Indian reservation when you have no idea . . .” He paused, sighing, “I am done talking.”
Lindsay’s face stiffened. She took in a breath and held it. Her eyes began to moisten, “Well . . . excuse me for caring about your dumb Cheyenne ass. I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Suits me,” he snapped. “I will probably live longer as a result.”
“Fine!” she said.
“Fine yourself,” Rainhorse repeated.
“You know . . . I hate you right now,” Lindsay spouted.
Lindsay’s words paralyzed him, as if she had shot a dagger into his heart. She noticed that his normally unflappable expression had softened, saddening. She instantly regretted saying it.
She turned her head, looking out the window silently cursing herself. She wanted to take it back right then and there but she didn’t know what she would say. They rode in silence for close to five minutes.
Brotherhood Protectors: RAINHORSE (Kindle Worlds) Page 6