John Sandford

by Shadow Prey

  Lucas reddened but grinned through the embarrassment. Dick was walking back toward them. “It might be juvenile, but that’s what I want,” he said. “Unless you’re chicken.”

  “You really do a number on a person’s head, don’t you?”

  “Puk-puk-puk,” he said, doing an imitation of a chicken’s cackle.

  “Fuck you, Davenport,” she said.

  “So maybe we just have a pleasant afternoon shooting guns. We don’t have to compete. I mean, if you’ve got cold feet.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Anytime, anyplace.”

  “What an asshole,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What does that mean?” Lucas asked.

  “It means you’re on,” she said.

  Lucas tossed the quarter and won. They shot a round of five shots for familiarization. Neither showed the other the practice target.

  “You ready?” Lucas asked.

  “Ready.”

  Lucas fired first, five shots. He used both hands, his right shooting hand cupped in his left, the left side of his body slightly forward of the right. He kept both eyes open. Lily could tell he was hitting the black, but she couldn’t tell how close he was to the center 10 ring. When Lucas finished, she stepped to the line and took a position identical to the one Lucas had used. She fired her first shot, said, “Shit,” and fired four more.

  “Problem?” Lucas said when she took down the gun after the last shot.

  “First shot was a flier, I think,” she said. The deputy rolled the targets back to the shooting line. Two of Lucas’ five shots had clipped the 10 ring. The third and fourth counted 9, a fifth was in the 8 ring. Forty-six.

  Three shots from Lily’s .45 had obliterated the center of the target, a fourth was in the nine, but the flier was out in the four. Forty-three.

  “Without the flier, I’d of won,” Lily said. She sounded angry with herself.

  “If pigs had wings they could fly,” said Lucas.

  “That’s the worst round I’ve shot in a year.”

  “It’s the less than ideal conditions, shooting targets with a gun you don’t use on the range,” Lucas said. “It gets you range shooters every time.”

  “I’m not a range shooter,” she said, now angry at Lucas. “Let’s get the new targets up, huh?”

  “Jesus, what’d you guys bet? Must be something, huh?” asked the deputy, looking from one of them to the other.

  “Yeah,” said Lily. “A hundred bucks and Davenport’s honor. He loses either way.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.”

  Lucas grinned as he finished reloading. “Bitch, bitch, bitch,” he said, just barely audibly.

  “Keep it up, buster,” she said through her teeth.

  “Sorry. Wasn’t trying to psych you,” he said, trying to psych her. “You shoot first this time.”

  She fired five shots and all five felt good. She smiled at him this time and said, “I just shot a fifty or close to it. Stick that in your nose, asshole.”

  “Temper, temper . . .”

  Lucas fired his five. After the last shot he looked at her and said, “If that doesn’t beat you, I’ll kiss your ass in Saks’ front window.”

  “Side bet?” she asked before the deputy reeled in the targets. “I got fifty bucks that says I win this round. And don’t give me any shit about anything else.”

  “All right,” he said. “Fifty.”

  Dick pulled in the targets and whistled. “I’ll have to count these careful,” he said.

  All ten shots were deep in the black. Dick spread the targets on a workbench and started counting, Lily and Lucas looking over his shoulder.

  “Wait a minute,” Lucas started, when the deputy wrote down an eight.

  “Not a fuckin’ word,” Lily said, pointing her finger at Lucas’ nose.

  The deputy added up the totals, turned to Lucas and said, “You owe the lady fifty bucks. I count it forty-seven to forty-six.”

  “Bullshit. Let me see those . . . .”

  Lucas counted them forty-eight to forty-seven. He took two twenties and a ten out of his wallet and handed them to her.

  “This pisses me off,” he said, his voice tight.

  “I hope being pissed off doesn’t make your hand shake,” she said sweetly.

  “It won’t,” he promised.

  Lucas shot first on the third round. All five shots felt good, and he turned to her and nodded. “If you beat me this time, you deserve it. This time, I got the fifty.”

  “We’ll see,” she said.

  She fired her five and they followed Dick down to the targets. He shook his head. “Jesus. You guys . . .”

  He took five minutes to count, then glanced at Lily. “I think he’s got you, Lily, Lieutenant. Either one point or two . . .”

  “Let me see that . . . .”

  Lily went over the targets, counting, her lips moving as she totaled them up. “I don’t believe it,” she grunted. “I shoot two of the worst rounds of my fuckin’ career and you take me out by a point.”

  Lucas was grinning. “I’ll collect tonight,” he said.

  She peered at him for a second, then said, “Double or nothing. One round, five shots.”

  Lucas thought about it. “I’m happy where I’m at.”

  “Yeah, maybe, but the question is, Are you greedy enough to go for more? And do you have the balls for it?” Lily said.

  “I’m happy,” he repeated.

  “Think how happy you’ll be if you win.”

  Lucas looked at her for a moment, then said, “One shot. Just one. Double or nothing.”

  “You’re on,” she said. “You shoot first.”

  Dick sent down a new target sheet. When he was out of the way, Lucas lined up in a one-handed bull’s-eye-shooter’s stance, brought the P7 up once, lowered it, scratched his forehead, brought the gun up again, let out half a breath and fired.

  “That’s a good one,” he said to her.

  “I thought you shot practical.”

  “Most of the time,” he said. Then he added, innocently, “But I was really better at bull’s-eye.”

  She took her two-handed stance and squeezed off the shot. “A hair to the left.”

  “I win, then.”

  “We ought to look.” They looked. Lucas’ shot wiped out the 10 ring. Lily’s shot counted nine. “God damn it,” she said.

  Outside the precinct station, it was already getting dark. They turned a corner into the parking lot and were alone for a moment.

  “Well,” she said.

  He took in her big dark eyes and the heavy breasts beneath her tweed jacket, looked down at her and shook his head. “Later.”

  “God damn it, Davenport . . .” But Lucas was already popping open the door to the car. They were back at the surveillance post in fifteen minutes, Lily stewing.

  “Anything?” Lucas asked, as they stepped into the surveillance room. The FBI man’s camp stool had disappeared.

  “Quiet as death,” said one of the cops. Del was still asleep. “Who won?”

  “He did,” Lily said grimly. “Two points out of a hundred and fifty.”

  “All right,” said the heavier of the two cops. He held out his hand and the other cop gave him a dollar.

  “A whole fuckin’ dollar?” Lucas said. “I’m impressed.”

  The street was absolutely empty. At times it seemed as though an hour passed between cars. Sloan stopped by, watched an hour and finally said, “Why don’t you get a portable and come down to King’s Place. My wife is gonna meet me there. It’s about two minutes away.”

  “What is it?” Lily asked.

  “Tex-Mex cowboy-lumberjack bar down on Hennepin. They don’t allow fights, they’ve got a band and terrific tacos, three for a dollar,” Sloan said.

  “Food,” said Lily.

  Lily expected Lucas to collect at the car, in the dark, but he walked around her again.

  “Jesus, you’re an asshole sometimes,” she said
.

  “You’re so impatient,” he said. “Why can’t you relax?”

  “I want to pay off and be done.”

  “We got plenty of time,” he said. “We got all night.”

  “In a pig’s eye we got all night,” she said.

  The bar had thirty-pound muskies and deer heads on the wall, a stuffed black bear in the entrance and a wooden cactus in the middle of a room full of picnic tables. A three-piece Mexican rock band banged away in a corner, and pitchers of Schmidt beer went for two dollars.

  Sloan got things rolling by ordering a round of pitchers, which only Lily thought was excessive. The band came on with a south-of-the-border version of “Little Deuce Coupe.”

  “Let’s dance,” Lucas said, pulling Lily away from her tacos and pitcher. “Come on, they’re playing rock ’n’ roll.” Lucas danced with Lily and then with the wife of a local cowboy while the cowboy danced with Lily. Then Lily danced with Sloan, and Lucas with a tall single woman whose beehive hairdo had just begun to topple, while Sloan’s wife danced with the cowboy. Then they did it again. Lily was giggling when she finally got back to the table. Lucas waved at the waitress and pointed at Lily’s pitcher.

  “ ’Nother round, all the way,” Lucas called.

  “You’re trying to get me drunk, Davenport,” Lily said. Her voice was clear, but her eyes were moving too much. “It’ll probably work.”

  Sloan laughed immoderately and started on the second round.

  At midnight, they checked the surveillance room. Nothing. Both of Hood’s roommates were home. The lights were out. At one o’clock, they checked again. Nothing.

  “So what do you want to do?” Lucas asked when King’s closed.

  “I dunno. I guess you better take me back to the hotel. I doubt he’d be driving this late.”

  Lucas pulled the Porsche into the hotel parking lot and hopped out.

  “Time to collect?” Lily asked.

  “Yeah.”

  A half-dozen people were walking through the lot, and more were going in and out.

  “This is not an invitation, so I don’t want you to read anything into it . . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “You can come up for just long enough to collect.”

  They rode up in the elevator without speaking and walked down the hall to her room, Lucas feeling increasingly awkward. Inside, when she closed the door, it was dark. Lucas fumbled for the light switch but she caught his hand and said, “Don’t. Just collect and then you can leave.”

  “All of a sudden, I feel like a fuckin’ idiot,” Lucas said, abashed.

  “Let’s get it over with,” she said, a little drunkenly.

  He found her in the dark, pulled her in and kissed her. She hung in his arms for just a fraction of a moment, then returned the kiss, powerfully, pushing him against the door, her face and pelvis pressed to his, her hands clenching his rib cage. They clung together for a long moment; then she broke her lips away and squeezed him tighter and groaned, “Oh, Jesus.”

  Lucas held her for a moment and then whispered in her ear, “Double or nothing,” and found her lips again and they walked in a tight little circle and Lucas felt the bed hit the back of his knees and he dropped on it, pulling her with him. He expected her to resist, but she did not. She rolled to one side and held him, kissing him again on the lips, then on the edge of the jaw, and Lucas rolled over half on top of her and pulled at her shirt, getting it out of her trousers, slipping his hand inside, fighting the brassiere, finally reaching around her, unsnapping the bra and then catching one of her breasts in his hand . . . .

  “Oh, God,” she said, arching against him. “God, Davenport . . .”

  He found her belt, pulled it open, slipped his hand inside her trousers, under the edge of her underpants, down, to the hot liquid center . . . .

  “Ah, Jesus,” she said, and she rolled away from him, pushing his hand away, off the side of the bed onto the floor.

  “What?” It was pitch black in the room, and Lucas was groggy from the sudden struggle. “Lily . . .”

  “God, Lucas, we can’t . . . . I’m sorry, I don’t mean to tease. Jesus, I’m sorry.”

  “Lily . . .”

  “Lucas, you’re going to make me cry, go away . . . .”

  “Jesus, don’t do that.” Lucas stood up, pushed his shirt back in his pants, discovered he was missing a shoe. He groped in the dark for a second, found the light. Lily was sitting on the floor on the far side of the bed, clutching her shirt around her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. Her eyes were black with remorse. “I just can’t.”

  “That’s okay,” Lucas said, trying to catch his breath. He half laughed. “My fuckin’ shoe is missing . . . .”

  Lily, her face drawn, looked around the edge of the bed and said, “Under the curtain. Behind you.”

  “Okay. Got it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Look, Lily, whatever is right, okay? I mean, I’m going back home to blow my brains out, to relieve the pressure, but don’t worry about it.”

  She smiled a tentative smile. “You’re a nice guy. See you tomorrow.”

  “Sure. If I survive.”

  When he was gone, Lily stripped off her clothes and stood in the shower, letting the water pour down her breasts and then her back. After a few minutes, she began reducing the temperature until finally she stood in what felt like a torrent of ice water.

  Sober, she went to bed. And just before she went to sleep, she remembered that last shot. Had she flinched? Or had she deliberately thrown the shot?

  Lily Rothenburg, faithful wife, went to sleep with lust in her heart.

  CHAPTER

  10

  The knock came a few minutes after ten o’clock. Sam Crow was washing a coffee cup in the kitchen sink. He stopped at the knock and looked up. Aaron Crow was sitting in front of a battered Royal typewriter, pecking at a press release on the Oklahoma killing. Shadow Love was in the bathroom. When the knock came, Aaron went to the door and spoke through it.

  “Who is that?”

  “Billy.”

  Billy. Aaron fumbled at the lock, pulled the door open. Billy Hood stood in the hallway, bowlegged in his cowboy boots, a battered, water-stained Stetson perched on his head. His square face was drawn and pale. He took a step forward and Aaron wrapped his arms around him and picked him up off his feet.

  “God damn, Billy,” he said. He could feel the stone knife dangling beneath Billy’s shirt.

  “I feel bad, man,” Billy said when Aaron released him. “Man, I’ve been fucked up all the way back. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  “Because you’re a spiritual man.”

  “I don’t feel so fuckin’ spiritual. I cut that dude,” Billy said as he walked farther into the room. Aaron glanced once into the hallway and pushed the door shut.

  “A white man,” said Aaron.

  “A man,” Shadow Love said from the bathroom. He stood squarely in the doorway, arms slightly away from his sides, like a gunslinger. His cheeks were hollow. His white eyes hooked up at the corners, like a starving wolf’s. “Don’t make it sound small.”

  “I don’t mean that it’s small,” said Aaron. “I mean that it’s different. Billy killed the enemy in a war.”

  “A man is a man,” Shadow Love insisted. “It’s all the same.”

  “And an Indian man is an Indian man, and that’s different, to be one of the people,” Sam retorted. “One reason Aaron won’t use you is that you don’t understand the difference between war and murder.”

  The two Crows were squared off against their son. Hood broke it.

  “Everybody’s looking for me,” he said. Billy looked scared, like a rabbit that’s been chased until there’s no more room to run. “Me and Leo. Christ, I heard about Leo and the judge. He took him off, man. Have you heard from him?”

  “No. We’re getting worried. They haven’t got him, but we haven’t heard a thing.”

  “Unless they’ve got him b
ut they aren’t saying, so they can squeeze him,” said Shadow Love.

  “I don’t think so. This is too big to hide something like that,” Sam Crow said.

  Billy took off his hat, tossed it on a chair and wiped his hair back with his hand. “We’ve been on the radio every hour. In all the newspapers all the way from New York. Every town I come to.”

  “They don’t know your names,” Sam said.

  “They connected us with Tony Bluebird. They’ll be looking for us here in the Cities.”

  “That won’t help them if they don’t know who you are, Billy,” said Aaron, trying to reassure him. “There are twenty thousand Indians in the Cities. How will they know which one? And we knew they’d connect you to Bluebird; that was the whole point.”

  “They’ll find out who you are,” Shadow Love said. His voice was gravelly, cold. He looked at the Crows. “It’s time for you guys to go to the safe house, get out of this place. If you want to live.”

  “Too early,” said Sam. “When we feel some pressure, we go to the safe house. Not before. If we go in too early and there’s nothing happening, we’ll get careless. We’ll fuck around and somebody will see us.”

  “And they still don’t have any names, nothing that will identify Billy or Leo,” Aaron said again.

  Shadow Love stepped out into the room and put a hand on Billy Hood’s shoulder, ignoring his fathers. “I’ll tell you now: They’ll find your name. And they’ll find Leo’s. Eventually, they’ll get the rest of us. They’ve got some movies from a camera in the building where you killed Andretti, so they’ve got your face. The cops’ll take the pictures and go around and squeeze and squeeze, and somebody will tell them. And there was a witness who saw Leo. They’ll have her looking at mug shots right now.”

  “You’re a big authority?” Aaron asked sarcastically. “You know all the rules?”

  “I know enough,” Shadow Love said. His eyes were white and opaque, like marble chips from a tombstone. “I’ve been on the street since I was seven. I know how the cops work. They pick-pick-pick, talk-talk-talk. They’ll find out.”