“My grandfather.”
“Small world.” Manny read her questioning look. “I used to work for him when he was police chief.”
“And you are?”
“Manny Tanno.”
She sucked in a quick breath. “Grandfather always talks about you. He was always proud that you left here and made good.”
“How is Chief Horn?”
“He retired years ago.” She dropped her eyes. “He fell in love with White Clay.”
Unc always warned Manny to avoid White Clay. “Some of your young buddies will find their way down there,” he told Manny on the day he got his driver’s license. “Just as their parents did and their parents before them. But don’t you fall for that. Nothing good will ever come out of drinking.”
White Clay sat just across the Nebraska border within walking distance of Pine Ridge Village and, since the sale of alcohol was illegal on the reservation, most Indians went there for liquor. The store owners bragged that Pine Ridge made millions for them. A recent mutual aid agreement between the tribe and Nebraska allowed Oglala Sioux Tribal Police to cross the state line, but short of making alcohol legal on the reservation, nothing would change.
Given all the years Chief Horn had worked as a lawman and seen the effects of alcohol on Lakota lives, Manny couldn’t understand how the chief could succumb to the lure of the bottle.
“He went the way so many of our people do.” Shannon swallowed hard, and her eyes watered. She dried them with the back of her hand. Nothing Manny said could help. It was that same desperation that had shone in the eyes of Oglala men and women when he had lived here; resignation sapped their will. He damned Ben Niles again for ordering him back here.
He changed the subject and asked for Chief Spotted Horse.
“Chief Spotted Horse had an accident. Lieutenant Looks Twice is in charge while the chief is on sick leave. He’s expecting you.”
“Lumpy made lieutenant?”
“Pardon?”
He shook his head.
She buzzed him through the door, and he followed her through the outer office. She glanced sideways at Manny and wrinkled her nose. Some of the younger agents said his cologne smelled like old feet. But he liked it.
Officers in black Oglala Sioux Tribal uniforms looked up from computers, but Manny was certain no one recognized him. At five-foot-eight he cast an unimposing shadow, and his paunch and thinning hair with its distinct widow’s peak poking through was typical here. Only his khakis and the cuff links on his ivory shirt set him apart. Of course no one had seen him on CNN last year investigating that double homicide at Standing Rock, or on FOX when he solved that infanticide in Crow Creek. It had been so long since he had been back to Pine Ridge, even his renown didn’t betray him. It was his plainness that dropped people’s guard. His plainness allowed them to trust him even when they shouldn’t, and people often trusted him with that small piece of information that would convict them.
He spent ten active years in Violent Crime in Chicago before Ben Niles wooed him out of the field and into an academy teaching slot. Manny was slow to admit it, but he might just enjoy being back in the field until the next academy class began. He just wished it was someplace besides Pine Ridge.
Shannon motioned to the lieutenant’s office.
“Lieutenant Looks Twice must have stepped out. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“Thanks.”
By the time she returned, Manny had settled into a large, padded velvet Elvis chair. The King, guitar in hand, hips gyrating, smiled at him from the chair’s cushion. It was almost a shame to sit on him, but Manny did, and the chair swallowed him in its comfort. He smiled. This was the first time he had ever sat upon a velvet Elvis, and he tilted his head back as Shannon walked away.
He resisted the urge to prop his feet on the desktop, even though his feet couldn’t be any more insulting to the desk than age had been. Lumpy had been a tribal policeman for twenty-five years, working himself up to the rank of lieutenant. His desk should have represented his accomplishments, should have projected a symbol of his success. At any other agency even a rookie would have been ashamed to have that piece of trash belittling him every day.
It was only Lumpy’s desk. But Manny felt sadness for him.
A cheap-motel-room Charles Russell print hung on one wall, next to a spiderwebbed photo of a young Leon Looks Twice. He wore his finest Western duds: a shirt with pearl buttons and a Stetson placed at the obligatory rakish angle. Manny strained to recall him as a young officer. Lumpy had always taken a liking to stars of the Western screen—John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart, Ben Johnson—and had fancied himself looking like those old greats. A real Hopalong Lumpy.
On the opposite wall hung a picture of him that Manny remembered best. Lumpy stood in a sharply pressed Oglala Sioux Tribal Police uniform with arms crossed. His eyes projected the look of a bully who scratched a line in the sand and dared anyone to cross it. Those eyes seemed to follow Manny as he checked out the rest of the office.
Behind Manny, two pictures framed in gold leaf were perched on a Catholic Bible on a shelf. He got out of the chair to look at Desirée Chasing Hawk in her white lace wedding dress. Lumpy hugged her, looking too short and too fat in his tux. Manny heard they got married after he left for Quantico. Manny and Lumpy had courted Desirée all through high school. But Lumpy had always impressed girls with his flamboyant clothes and extravagant gifts, and he had wooed and won her.
In another gilded frame, Desirée straddled a bicycle. A short skirt caressed shapely legs, and a low blouse revealed what Manny never had. She smiled into the camera, and his heart raced for a moment, old feelings returning.
“That was taken the summer before Desirée left me.”
Lumpy blocked the doorway. He stood with his hands on pudgy hips, black hair slicked back. “She stayed beautiful until the day she ran off with that siding salesman from Wisconsin.”
“What happened?”
“She always had the roving eye. You know, it’s supposed to be the man that sleeps around. She was on the make before our first anniversary. I wish to hell you’d have walked down the aisle with her instead of me.”
“And some siding salesman lured her away?”
Lumpy smiled. “He owned seventeen siding companies in the West and Midwest. Worth millions. He promised her a future in acting.”
“She ever act?”
“Just in his company commercials.”
“Well, she must be happy with him and his millions.”
Lumpy’s grin faded. “It didn’t last. She and her prenup moved back after a couple of years. Took back her own name just to spite me.”
“Ever see her?”
The grin returned. “Once in a while.”
Manny looked at Desirée with regret, turned to Lumpy, and offered his hand. Manny wasn’t a tall man, but he felt six feet next to Lumpy. “Been quite a while, Lumpy.”
“It’s ‘Lieutenant Looks Twice’ now.”
“I’ll remember that.” His little-man attitude snatched Manny back twenty-five years. He was fresh out of the army, working as a tribal cop with a roly-poly, beside-himself rookie the others called “Lumpy” for the lumps of fat sticking out from under his duty belt. Now, he looked twice as lumpy. Manny wanted to laugh out loud. Lump Lump. “So you’re in charge while the chief’s on sick leave.”
Lumpy grinned. “Chief Spotted Horse got thrown from his spotted horse and broke his leg.”
“You don’t sound too broke up over it.”
Lumpy shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m the chief-in-training while he’s out. That’s why I got the call this morning that you were coming here to assume the Red Cloud investigation.” Lumpy ran his hand through his thick hair. “We already began an investigation, and Pat Pourier’s already processed the crime scene. Contrary to your boss’s opinion, we’re no rubes here. But I got ordered to remand the investigation to the FBI. I figure it would take something high-profile like Jason Red Cloud’s murder to
pry the legendary Special Agent Manny Tanno from his cushy academy job.”
Manny wanted to tell Lumpy that he had little say in the matter. With two years until retirement, Manny couldn’t refuse any request of the agent in charge. Manny had not wanted this investigation, didn’t want to come back to Pine Ridge, but Ben Niles insisted.
“Besides, the press will expect Manny Tanno to investigate it. Demand it.”
“I’m not going.”
“Sure you are.”
“Piss on you.”
“I got faith in you. You’ve solved every homicide you’ve ever worked in the bureau. The media’s screaming for a suspect, and you’ll have this wrapped up by the time the next academy class starts two weeks from now.” Niles smirked. “Besides, Jason Red Cloud’s a household name.”
Manny agreed, but he wouldn’t admit it to Niles. The papers called Jason Red Cloud the “Donald Trump of the West,” with holdings and developments from Denver to Minneapolis, Sun Valley to Salt Lake. Jason had been a hometown celebrity, an Oglala who made good, and Niles insisted this was one Pine Ridge homicide that had to be solved.
Two weeks wasn’t much time to conduct an investigation on hostile ground. Lakota or no, the Oglala Sioux were distrustful of federal authorities. The government’s subjugation of them went back to the repressive policies of the mid- to late-1800s, when the government’s word was freely given and just as freely broken, when treaties were flamed the moment they were signed, and when the great Sioux Nation was reduced to land one-sixth the size of the agreed-upon acreage.
“Maybe I asked for this assignment because I missed you so much, Lumpy.” Lumpy’s face flushed, and he balled his fist up beside his leg. “But now you say it’s ‘Lieutenant Looks Twice.’ I’ll remember that.”
The years of rivalry as kids, the tension between them as tribal cops, returned in this one moment. Lumpy glared at Manny, and Manny took the bait, playing a juvenile game of stare down. Finally Lumpy blinked and bellowed to the dispatcher, “Where the hell’s Willie?”
In the parking lot a car door slammed, and an officer burst through the door. He ran into the room just as Lumpy stared at Manny again, demanding a rematch. The young policeman walked directly to Manny and held out his hand.
“This is Willie With Horn.”
“William,” Willie corrected.
Lumpy ignored him. “Willie here’s your, shall we say, liaison officer while you’re here on Pine Ridge. He’ll be assisting in your investigation. Feel free to use his vast expertise. His innumerable contacts.” He winked at Manny. “I handpicked him myself.”
Manny ignored Lumpy as he eyed the young tribal officer towering over him. Willie was uncommonly heavy in the chest and shoulders and hadn’t yet developed the paunch that identified him as a Lakota. He would be right at home handling any bar fight or family dispute, but he was young. Manny had expected to work with a veteran, since Niles wanted the case wrapped up in two weeks. Manny could have asked for someone else, but William threw off good vibes, and Manny often relied on his intuition.
“Fine. Officer With Horn will do just fine.”
Lumpy’s smile faded. He walked around the desk, sat, and propped his feet up. His ostrich boots, so big that they hung over the desk, made him look like a caricature. He strained his short arms to reach into his top desk drawer and tossed a folder on the desktop. “Crime scene photos, Hotshot. You might take a look-see before Willie shows you to the scene.”
Manny handed Willie the folder. “All the same to you, I’ll wait until I view the scene. Maybe make some observations of my own. If that’s OK with you.”
Lumpy shrugged. “Suit yourself. Just a suggestion. And by the way, you need anything here that Willie can’t get you, you come see me. With the chief laid up, I’m the go-to man around here.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“And here.” Lumpy pulled a key ring from his pocket and tossed it onto the desk. “This is for the apartment the tribe’s letting you use while you’re here. Willie will show you where it is in the housing.”
“That’s thoughtful of you.”
“It’s the least I can do. I picked the apartment myself.” Lumpy grinned. “You might find it quite enjoyable while you’re here.”
Manny thanked him and turned to Willie. “I’d like to view the scene while it’s still light out.”
“Sure thing, Agent Tanno. Your ride or mine?”
Lumpy tilted his head back and laughed. “If you’re smart, you’ll do the driving. Agent Tanno here was never the best driver in the world.”
He’d tell William about his accidents some other time. “Your car will do fine. And it’s ‘Manny.’”
Willie grinned. “Sure thing, Manny.” As they walked through the front office, everyone stopped typing and watched him leave the station. Indeed, by now the masses were all aware that the “Living Legend” of Pine Ridge had come back home. At least for one last case.
CHAPTER 2
Willie started east out of Pine Ridge on Highway 18. “He doesn’t like you very much.”
“Lumpy?”
“Lieutenant Looks Twice.”
“No, he doesn’t, William.”
“I’d like the lieutenant to call me by my Christian name, but he doesn’t. I always thought it sounded more dignified. But you can call me ‘Willie.’ ”
“OK then, Willie, but don’t let that man back there take anything from you. And no, Lumpy doesn’t like me. It goes way back.”
“From when you lived here before?”
Manny nodded. “We wrestled the same weight class when we were kids.” Public Pine Ridge High versus Catholic Red Cloud School was a matchup people anticipated. “Each time we met Red Cloud, I had to wrestle the only boy in my weight class: Leon Looks Twice. I beat him on the mat every time. He’s held on to that grudge all these years.”
And they competed for the hottest girl on the reservation, Desirée Chasing Hawk. Manny had even gone out for cross-country his freshman year, confident that Lumpy would never be in good enough shape to be a runner and get close to Desirée. The girls’ and boys’ cross-country teams traveled together, something that Lumpy resented.
Manny also wanted to tell Willie how he had gone out of his way to torment Officer Looks Twice when they were both rookie cops. From the time Manny poured putrid coyote lure into the heat vents of Lumpy’s squad car, to the time he sent a gay porn subscription to Lumpy at the station house, he had made Lumpy’s life miserable. Even though Lumpy couldn’t prove it, he’d known it was Manny, and he had never forgotten it.
Highway 18 was newly paved and smooth, the traffic nonexistent, yet Willie fidgeted in his seat. He said nothing as he was avoiding looking at Manny, wanting to say something. “You know I was assigned to help you just ’cause I’m the rookie, don’t you?” he blurted out. “The same reason they give me this old beater to drive.”
Manny smiled. “Don’t worry. You’ll do just fine.”
“Jeeza. I got no experience. I’ve never done an investigation. The lieutenant threw you a bone with me, and a not-too-juicy bone either. I got nothing to offer you.”
“You want to help me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then that’s more than I had when I walked into Lumpy’s office this morning. I got me a sidekick.”
“Like Gabby Hayes.”
“Or Hoot Gibson.”
They drove past summer hay, baled and waiting pick up from feed buyers in a five-state region. In most places of the country, the hay would have been a sign of prosperity for Indians, but here non-Indians farmed the bulk of the reservation. Indian reorganization of the last century had stripped most Lakota of land ownership. Most families’ paltry section of land was divided and subdivided through the decades until the average Indian on Pine Ridge owned one-one-hundredth of a section of the land his ancestors were deeded originally.
“You know, not everything you see belongs to Whites. Some belongs to Oglala. That’s one of the reas
ons I decided to stay here.”
“You ever want to leave? See what’s over the next hill?”
“Once,” Willie answered. “Once I wanted to be an FBI agent. So I went to college in Vermillion right out of high school. Belted out my criminal justice requirements. I even filled out a federal application. But whenever I’d come back during break, I’d always hear dead elders calling me, like they wanted me to stick around. You ever get that feeling, that some lost soul was tugging at your arm, forcing you to return?”
“Not really,” Manny lied.
“Well, I’d get those feelings, like something digging at me, something was holding me tight and wouldn’t let me go.”
Since crossing onto the reservation yesterday, something had tugged at Manny, too. He couldn’t identify it, and the gnawing persisted.
“So now I’m enrolled at the Oglala Lakota College. Someday I’ll be an investigator with the tribe.”
“So you don’t intend leaving the reservation like I did? Accept a cushy federal position with the bureau? Maybe the Marshals. There’s not many Indians in federal law enforcement. You could name your ticket.”
Willie blushed, and Manny lightly touched his arm. “Don’t feel bad, I’ve heard it all before. Uncle Tomahawk. Apple Indian—Red on the outside and White on the inside. I’ve been called everything from a stinking bureaucrat to an out-and-out traitor to the Red race.”
“I didn’t mean . . .”
“Of course you didn’t,” Manny answered, and changed the subject. “How long have you been on the force?”
“Be a year next month.” A grin lit Willie’s face. Manny had Willie’s enthusiasm for law enforcement—once. “With the college credits I already have, and some online work, I’ll have my bachelor’s within a year. Even though I’m the newbie, college will help when an investigator slot opens up.”
As long as Lumpy isn’t the one deciding.
There wasn’t a campus on Pine Ridge back then, in Manny’s college days as a tribal cop, and he had to drive to classes at Black Hills State in Spearfish twice a week. Lumpy had ridiculed him, taunted him, told him good cops didn’t need college. Even though Lumpy still had no education, his intelligence, combined with his ruthlessness and ability to play reservation politics, had allowed him to float to the top. Like a turd in a toilet.
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