Never-ending-snake

by Thurlo, David

  “Somebody’s still alive. There’s a woman sitting in the shade over there, with a child, I think,” Ella said, wishing she hadn’t worn a dress now. “We’ve got to go over there and make sure.”

  “I’ll make sure,” Blalock replied, reaching down to his left and bringing up a Bureau issue HK MP-5 submachine gun. “Take this and cover me while I walk over for a look-see.”

  “Yeah. You’ve got the vest, not me,” she replied, looking down at her outfit. She was wearing a dusty rose knit top with an ornamented V-neck, and a long crinkle skirt in coordinating dusty rose and sand, with a tiny pattern of Southwest plants and animals in matching hues. The silver concha belt added to what her daughter called “the hot Navajo momma” look. Last time she’d worn it was to an evening program at Dawn’s school. It definitely didn’t shout “cop,” and that had been the idea.

  Taking the weapon and extending the stock came automatically for Ella, who would never become a soccer mom with this set of skills. Her window was already rolled down, so all she had to do was swing it around and aim.

  “Watch for a third party,” he warned, climbing out.

  Blalock walked around to the front of the vehicle, his hand resting on the butt of his pistol. “Ma’am, I’m with the FBI, and help is on the way. Are you injured?” he called out, watching the woman closely as he stepped off the shoulder of the highway.

  “I don’t know. I bumped my head and everything is foggy. My husband said he was going for help, but I lost track of him. And my little girl, I think her arm’s broken.” The woman tried to stand, then slumped back to the ground.

  Blalock stopped. “Where did you last see your husband?”

  “By the road, I think.”

  Ella, who’d been looking for someone hiding behind the car, saw movement on the ground to Blalock’s left. As an arm came up from behind a bush along the drainage ditch, she swung the HK around.

  “To your left, Dwayne.” Her sights captured a man’s head and bloody arm.

  “Help,” he called, his voice weak.

  Blalock, his pistol out and ready by his side, walked toward the man.

  Ella covered him until she saw him stop and holster his handgun.

  “It’s for real, Ella. Go help the others.”

  Ella thumbed the safety on the automatic weapon, then placed it on the floorboards and climbed out, bringing the first-aid kit from underneath the seat. Pistol jammed into her belt, she hurried toward the woman and child, grateful to hear a siren in the distance. Help was on the way. Now if she could only avoid getting her skirt caught on the brush. . . .

  Fifteen minutes later, they caught up to the rest of the transport team and the Lonewolf family. Much to Ella’s pronounced relief, the rest of the trip to Albuquerque went without incident.

  Once the Lonewolf family was settled in base housing and the patient secure at the hospital, Blalock and Ella hit the road back to Shiprock—a three-hour drive on Highway 550 with little more than the beautiful desert scenery to keep them distracted.

  “That was top-notch housing the base commander chose for the family,” Blalock said.

  “Sergeant Lonewolf’s not just a tribal hero—he’s the country’s hero, and a real one, too. A quarterback who passes for the winning touchdown, or the forward who scores the most three-pointers in a come-from-behind victory isn’t a hero. They’re just skilled athletes—and maybe a bit lucky. A real hero is someone who chooses to put his own neck on the line in order to save others—above and beyond what’s expected of him, or her,” Ella said. “Sadly enough, war and real heroes all too often go hand-in-hand.”

  A long silence stretched out as they each remained in the privacy of their own thoughts. Ella stared at the desert outside her window wishing there was something more to see than dry grass and the ever-present mile markers.

  Never comfortable with long silences, Blalock finally spoke. “How are you planning to handle the issue of trust when your team finds out that you didn’t tell them about Adam’s transfer to Albuquerque?”

  “Hopefully they’ll understand that they had to be at the station and on hand for that press conference. If the reporters decided they wanted to speak to a member of the crime scene team, and we were all gone, questions would have been raised, and we probably wouldn’t have been able to pull it off.”

  “Having Adam secure and out of the way should simplify our job. We have only one guy to keep out of harm’s way now,” Blalock said.

  “That’s assuming Kevin was ever really the target. . . .”

  “The shooters at the airstrip were hired guns, Ella. We’re in agreement there. Since we still aren’t sure who the intended target was, we should concentrate on finding the motive behind what went down. Who might have wanted, one, or both, of those men dead, and why? We need to start pushing people harder,” Blalock said.

  “I agree. I’m also hoping Teeny will be able to get something from the scrambled data on Adam’s BlackBerry,” she said, giving him the details.

  “I’ve been talking to gunshop employers who are active with the shooting clubs and service most of the gun owners in the area. I’m hoping lady luck will smile and one of them will be able to give us a lead to the two gunmen. My guess is that the pair practiced the hit, and that means they consumed a lot of ammunition. The rounds recovered and the cartridge cases have established that their the ammo was military surplus, probably bought in bulk. There should be a record of that somewhere, or, if not, a record of the theft.”

  “That’s a good angle. The problem with the Four Corners region is that among the mostly honest, legitimate sportsmen and gun owners, there are still a few hardcore nut jobs worried about Armageddon or who believe the urban legend of impending gun confiscation. Of course a lot of those guys already have more firearms and ammo than most small town police departments.”

  Blalock laughed. “Truer words were never spoken.”

  Ella mentally went over the details of the incident once again. “I still can’t wrap my head around what happened at that airstrip. Nobody in his right mind would go gunning for Adam. He’s the pride of the Navajo Nation—and New Mexico. They’d have to know that every department in the area would go after them.”

  “So you’re thinking it was a mistake?”

  “Or a total lack of common sense by someone who was desperate. To me, it sounds like somebody panicked,” she said. “Maybe it has something to do with the money he was carrying. But we still can’t dismiss the possibility that Kevin was the real target all along. There’s a chance he’s holding out on us—with the best of intentions, mind you, but still not telling us everything.”

  “What’s going to make things really tough is your personal connection to him,” Blalock said.

  “If you think I’m going to cut him some slack, you’re crazy. I’m on the job.”

  “So there’s nothing between you two anymore?”

  “He and I have a connection—our daughter. But we’re not romantically involved, and haven’t been for ages,” Ella said. “And even if I cared for him, that still wouldn’t stop me from doing whatever I’m sworn to do.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Let me make this easy for you. If you feel you could question him more effectively than I could, then go for it,” she said without hesitation.

  “That’s an excellent idea, all things considered.” Blalock started to say more when his cell phone rang. He kept one hand on the steering wheel and used his free hand to flip the phone open. “When and where?” he said, listening for only a few moments.

  Noting the abrupt change in his tone, Ella’s sat up a little straighter.

  “Understood—just information and no guarantees,” Blalock said, then after a moment added, “No problem. I’m on an errand right now, but give me an hour and I’ll meet you. I’ll have to stop by my house to change clothes.”

  Blalock hung up and glanced over at her. “You might want in on this, Ella. That was Dan Butler, one of my most reliable sources. He
runs that little Farmington gun shop on east 550 past the country club.”

  Ella nodded. “That’s the Double Barrel, right? He carries everything from Old West antiques to urban assault weapons.”

  “That’s him. With the gun business booming in this uncertain economy, he doesn’t want anyone to see him talking to law enforcement, local or otherwise. Dan’s concerned that it’ll look like he’s an informant to those ‘storm troopers’ who’ll soon be breaking down doors and taking away their guns. Something like that might cost him business—or his life.”

  “So he wants to meet out of town somewhere?” she asked, finishing his thought.

  “Yeah, at a place where a few of the locals go for a little informal target practice. But we can’t come looking like cops. I used that stopping-by-the-house excuse for your benefit. With my bubba outfit I’m pretty much set except for some boots and my shooting jacket, but you might want to change out of that dress into jeans and a tee-shirt so we can join him for a little late afternoon target practice. I should have something that’ll fit you well enough. You’re not nearly my weight, but you’re tall enough.” He glanced over at her. “It’s a shame, though. I may never see you in a dress again.”

  “At your funeral, maybe, particularly if you mention it to anyone on my team,” she joked.

  “You’re safe. Nobody would believe me.”

  “I actually put some of my clothes, including jeans and a jacket, in the suitcase I brought along for show. I also packed my boots and socks, so I’m set on clothing. But if you have one, I’d like to borrow a baseball cap. Between that and my sunglasses, my face will be all but covered. That’ll give us a little added insurance, especially after that photo of me in the paper and my appearance on the TV news recently,” Ella said.

  “No problem,” he said. “I’ve got a Springfield M1903A4 sniper rifle from WWII that you can show off, too, and we can fire a couple of clips if you want. I’ll also take the M1 carbine I picked up years ago and throw a couple of targets into my old SUV. I’ve got an NRA sticker on the back bumper for street cred.”

  “Why didn’t Butler just talk to you over the phone and save us all some time?”

  “He was still in the shop, with a customer due to pick up a rifle Dan’s been working on. My guess is that he didn’t want to take the chance that he’d be overheard. Dan’s as close to paranoid as you can be and not get locked up,” Blalock added.

  “And a licensed gun dealer? In a way, I guess that makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  They soon reached Blalock’s home. Although he’d lived in a Farmington apartment for almost as long as she’d known him, Blalock had recently taken advantage of a slow real estate market and bought himself a home farther east, outside of Bloomfield. The commute to his Shiprock office was longer, but once through Farmington, traffic was easy.

  As they drove up the long driveway, Ella studied the house. It seemed large—three or four bedrooms—a lot for just one person.

  “Is there something you haven’t told me?” she asked.

  “Like what?”

  “A large house like this one . . . for just one man?”

  He laughed. “I got it for a song. It was too good a deal to pass up.”

  “No new lady love?” she pressed, more curious than ever.

  He grinned. “Her name’s Cat. You’ll meet her when we go in. She’s perfect.”

  She knew that Blalock didn’t care for felines, so this wasn’t likely to be a stray he’d adopted. It was probably some kind of nickname—short for Cathy or maybe Katrina. “What makes her perfect?”

  “No demands and no expectations. I’m too old a horse to learn new tricks, Ella. I need someone who can accept me the way I am.”

  “Old and crotchety?” she baited.

  “Honorable and wise, trying to make the most of that special time in my life—after birth and before death.”

  She laughed.

  “But she’s not much of a housekeeper, so don’t expect everything to be in place,” he said. “Not that I care. We don’t get much company.”

  Ella gave him a surprised look, but didn’t comment. If Cat was the love of his life, being critical at this early stage in their relationship made no sense to her. A man in the middle of a passionate love affair—or even a lukewarm relationship—didn’t see his lady’s flaws.

  As Ella glanced at Blalock, she suddenly had a hard time visualizing the possibility of passion and romance from the man. Blalock was dependable, but as methodical as time. Passion wasn’t a quality she’d ever associated with him—except for his work. He was a good agent who honored his duty. But Mr. Romance when it came to women? No way.

  When they arrived at the house, Ella saw Blalock’s old SUV, but that was the only vehicle. Too bad. The woman’s choice might have revealed something about her personality. For example, country women in New Mexico drove pickups most of the time. But there were no other vehicles parked outside and the home only had a carport. Wondering if his lady love had gone shopping, or just didn’t have a car of her own, Ella waited as Blalock opened the door.

  As it swung open, she heard a strange sound. It was as if someone with a truly wretched voice was attempting to sing. A heartbeat later, Ella came face to face with a dog with the size and stature of a horizontal fireplug. The bulldog, with its massive wrinkles and severe underbite, had a weird looking smile on her face.

  “Don’t try to pet Cat,” Blalock warned. “Wait ’til she comes to you.”

  “Cat’s a dog?”

  “She’s my son’s pet, really. Her name comes from ‘Cat 9,’ a Marine Corp reference to someone beyond dumb. Apparently, Category 5 is the lowest score you can get in the entrance exams. Needless to say, Cat’s virtually untrainable.”

  “How did she end up here with you?”

  “Andy conference-called his mother and me. They were deploying him overseas where he couldn’t take Cat, and he didn’t want to give her away. My ex, Ruthann, isn’t big on pets so I ended up with the dog-sitting gig.” Dwayne looked down at the dog and smiled fondly. “Cat’s a bit on the crabby side and dumb as a stump, but there’s something about her that gets to you. The best part of it is that Andy drove her here and we all got to visit for a while. Ruthann came, too, with our boy facing deployment in a combat zone.”

  “When’s the last time Ruthann, Andy, and you all got together?” she asked, petting the dog, who’d finally decided to come over.

  “Years. Andy’s a captain in the Marines now, and after two tours in the Persian Gulf he’s been stateside, training future Marines. But the Corps came up with new orders for him, and he’s now going to see more action. As far as seeing Ruthann again . . . I forgot how much we had in common.”

  Blalock led the way into his den, opened a tall weapons safe tucked away in a closet, and brought out the rifle, carbine, and ammo for both. The targets were on a shelf. With Ella’s help, they carried them out to his SUV, adding a couple of realty signs that the man obviously used to hold his targets, and two headsets for hearing protection. Once everything was loaded up, they transferred their department weapons, except for their handguns, into the trunk of the sedan.

  Five minutes later, after changing clothes, they left Cat behind the sofa chewing a rawhide bone roughly the size of Ella’s forearm and drove off, heading north out of Bloomfield.

  “You never told me how it went with you and Ruthann,” she said, still curious.

  He took a deep, steadying breath. “That’s one of the reasons I asked you about your connection to Kevin. You know that Ruthann and I called it quits a long, long time ago. Our grown son is really the only tie that binds us. Yet when we were all here under the same roof . . . it just felt good.

  “I know. It’s crazy,” Blalock continued. “We were ancient history, Ella. But with Andy, Ruthann, and me all together and the dog running around—we were like family again. All the anger and nonsense that led us to the divorce didn’t seem so important anymore.” He paused for several moments. “I
haven’t been that happy in a long time. The really strange thing is that we all felt it. Ruthann and I . . . Well, we’ve kept in touch since then, and she’s been back twice already.”

  “And that’s why you bought the house?”

  “I moved in right before my family arrived, and I think that’s what helped me see things in a new light,” he said. “Or maybe I was already in the right mind-set, so things fell into place.”

  “So, are you and Ruthann thinking of getting back together?”

  He paused. “Three months ago if you’d asked me that same question I would have burst out laughing. Now, I can’t answer that. I’m not sure what’s going to happen.”

  “Do you want to get back together?”

  He hesitated. “Well, I’ve kept the house, and it’s not just for the dog.”

  Ella shook her head. “Here’s a hint. When you talk to Ruthann, phrase things differently. Women like to have things spelled out a little more, shall we say, romantically?”

  “I suck at that,” he muttered.

  “She knows that already, but she’ll appreciate the effort.”

  Blalock adjusted his baseball cap. “There’s a UNM Lobo cap in the glove compartment that’ll fit you. Harmless enough unless Dan’s an Aggie fan.”

  Ella slipped it on, then pulled her ponytail out the gap in the back. “What’s your plan when we meet this Dan guy?”

  “We’re going to have to play it by ear.”

  “Good enough. Now tell me about this place we’re going.”

  “There’s a mesa a few miles ahead where people go and shoot across a ravine into the opposite side. Somebody has set up a few old, sand-filled oil drums painted white with big black Xs. It’s just a safe place for locals to go plinking or check out their hunting rifles. But here’s a heads-up. People have a tendency to bring just about anything, from black powder muskets to machine guns. One time someone actually brought a Civil War cannon.”

  “Wait—how do you know this place so well?”

  “Dan Butler’s helped me out on a few cases, and this is where he likes to meet. I’ve been here before, so even if someone were to see him and me out there we’d blend in with the other good ole boys.”