Yellow Medicine

by Anthony Neil Smith

  “You pretty much think Ian and Heather are goners already.”

  “Unless the terrorists think hostages would help them. For that to be the case I think you’d get a message soon.”

  “They didn’t hold Drew’s band hostage.”

  “The first time I’d heard that was when you told that dealer. I’m sorry, man. Think of it this way, though. If they’d caught her, I bet she would’ve been the hostage. These guys don’t do ‘Plan A’ and then ‘Plan B’. They do it all at once to scatter our resources, lead us down some dead ends.” He shifted the Suburban into gear. “Now go get your truck and follow me.”

  “Where are we going? What’s the next step?”

  “Ain’t you supposed to be home? I’m sure the sheriff wants to know why you’re off the map.”

  “You’ll be my alibi?”

  “Been a rough day. We needed a couple drinks. We’re pretty good friends, you and me.”

  “We are?”

  Another one of those wide smiles. “We’d better act like it from now on. I almost didn’t save your life, after all.”

  FOURTEEN

  I sat in front of Graham’s desk like a high school class clown who’d gone too far. Slumped, not willing to look him in the eye. My ex-brother-in-law was pissed at me forcing him out of the house this late at night looking for my sorry ass until 11:45, when we showed up at the river house. Two cruisers had been waiting to drag us both to the station. Rome now leaned against the side wall, still undercover as a casino security chief and my drinking buddy.

  “All you had to do was ask, or just let him bring the beer to you, for Pete’s sake.”

  I shrugged. Rome mumbled an apology. I’d never seen Graham this angry. I’d broken his trust and didn’t expect to earn it back.

  “You have witnesses to this, right? Other guys at the bar?”

  Shit. He didn’t believe the story anyway. I said, “You’d have to go pretty far. Cactus Jack’s, halfway to The Cities. It was a busy night. I don’t think they’d remember.”

  “They can try.” Graham lifted the phone. He didn’t get as far as dialing information. Another deputy knocked on the doorframe. Graham hung up. “You need something?”

  “We just heard. There’s a lead on the missing kids around Wood Lake. The Marshall cops need you to go check it out.”

  Graham twisted his lips, then said to me, “You’ll behave, right?”

  “Promise.”

  “I’ll be watching.”

  We stood. Rome pushed off the wall. Graham held out a cautioning hand.

  “If you can stay put until I get back, I’d like to have a few words with you.”

  “I’m coming along.”

  “I don’t think so. This doesn’t concern you.”

  My turn. “Rome had better come along. He can fill you in on the way.”

  *

  Our sheriff was full of surprises that day. Saved my ass when I thought he wouldn’t, and then he didn’t get angry when Rome revealed his real profession. In fact Graham was impressed. Instantly got all respectful, calling Rome “Sir” and “Agent Rome”. At one point he said, “I’m so proud of the job you guys are doing to protect us, anything you need, just ask.”

  I took in their conversation from the backseat as we sped down dark county roads with the flashing lights on, no siren. Wood Lake was about ten miles south of Pale Falls, another one of those places where you’ll be driving past miles of cornfields, then suddenly you see a neighborhood of nice tract homes. A few rows, no more, and then more cornfields. Eerie.

  We avoided the subdivision and headed right through to one of those fields. A Lyon County Deputy was waiting for us on the roadside, a line of eight police cars—Marshall, Lyon, Yellow Medicine. We took our place in line and were escorted through the empty, ice-slick field to a crowd of uniforms with flashlights and a spotlight trained on the ground. It wasn’t looking good. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see it.

  Graham caught me clearing my throat, said, “It’s not your fault.”

  “If I’d said something earlier—”

  “They would still be dead. Agent Rome’s right about that.”

  Some of the cops on the crowd saw Rome and looked confused. Most of them had been to the casino on either business or their downtime. Graham made the introductions, blowing whatever cover the man had left. Rome took it like a rock, but I didn’t think he expected to be outed so soon. Like he said earlier, he’d expected to find me shot in the head.

  “What’ve we got?” Graham said.

  One of the deputies flicked her flashlight beam towards the earth. A half-assed grave, loose soil on top of a leg pulled out of the hole by deer or something. They’d nibbled at his ankles. Dirty khakis. I crossed my arms, not feeling like a cop anymore.

  Someone else carefully brushed the dirt off the rest of the body, skinny like Ian, wearing the same clothes as our last meeting. Brushed off his jacket and then his neck. But there was no head.

  “Someone you know?” Graham said to me.

  I didn’t answer for a long time. Maybe he asked again, but I didn’t hear him. Finally, I took a step closer, even though the cops were warning me off, talking about contaminating the scene. Fuck that, this wasn’t CSI. All I wanted to do was tug the kid’s waistband, look at his ass.

  One of the cops said, “Hey, what’s he doing?”

  I crouched beside the body, said, “It’s easier when they can’t run, ain’t it?” Then I checked for the brand.

  Somewhere in the crowd, I heard a low, “Jesus, I’d heard he was a psycho, but shit.”

  It was there, the puckered skin around the “F” and quarter moon.

  I looked up at Rome. “Ian.”

  He nodded. “I’d better get some Feds on the way.”

  The cops buzzed around each other, excited. This was bigger than their day-to-day small town duties for sure. Might even catch some murderers if they got lucky.

  They could have the thrills. It looked to me that my part in the case had dried up—I was personally involved and at risk, so no more free range roaming for Lafitte. I would be guarded twenty-four seven. I would be an embarrassment. I would be pitied by my protectors. Shit on that. No matter what it cost me, I wasn’t going to be a rat in a cage.

  Rome was on his cell phone, calling in the big guns while also telling the local cops to not touch anything else. They’d already brushed away enough dirt to reveal another torso, this one a girl’s. I didn’t need to see it to know. I sidled up to Graham and said, “You know, I should probably be the one to tell his girlfriend about this. We’ve known each other a long time.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

  “Honestly, she’s a friend. Please.”

  He clucked his tongue while thinking. “We don’t even know for sure if it’s him yet.”

  “It is.”

  “But DNA—”

  I stopped him with, “Can’t I do something good right now? One little thing, that’s all I’m asking.”

  The poor guy. If only I was another deputy, someone he had a little more influence over, someone who actually respected his tight-assed leadership. Graham knew I’d never leave him alone if he turned me down.

  I sweetened the pot. “I’ll tell his folks. Save you that one.”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s my place. The girl’s parents can wait, too.”

  Damn, I took one step over the line. The man seemed to be growing some balls. I said, “I can’t just stand around here doing nothing.”

  “That’s exactly what you need to do. I can’t babysit you right now, and I can’t put you on the case. As long as I’m out here tonight, you’re out here with me.”

  “Might as well slap the cuffs.”

  “Enough.”

  I turned and walked back towards the road.

  He caught up. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “If I’m not on the job, I’m going to sit in the car. I can’t stand this goddamned wind.”


  “You’ll do what I tell you, Deputy Lafitte. Is that clear?”

  Kept walking. “Either arrest me or let me do something, Sheriff.”

  Come on, come on, give in. Don’t shut me out.

  He stopped walking. I kept going about ten more paces before I stopped, spun, hands on my gun belt. “Well?”

  He called to the crowd for Nate, who was talking to the new female cop from Marshall, a strong blonde girl. Nate excused himself and ran over to Graham. I swear, way too eager to please. A puppy.

  Graham told him, “Take Deputy Lafitte to my car. Put him in the backseat. Lock it. Do not let him leave. You need to stand watch over him. Understood?”

  The kid was freaking out. “Is, um, he under arrest?”

  “Look, watch him, please. That’s what I need right now more than a bunch of useless deputies giggling over a couple of bodies.”

  “Do I cuff him?”

  “No, you don’t cuff him.” Graham raised his voice, squeezing Nate down to two inches high. “Just…do it!”

  The rookie looked at me, then the sheriff, then “Yes sir. Right away.” He fast-walked up to me, took my arm. “Sorry Billy, you heard the man.”

  “Nate, if you don’t let go of my arm, I’ll break every last one of your ribs.”

  He let go. “That’s uncalled for.”

  I walked ahead of him. “Not to me it isn’t.”

  *

  After I convinced him to crank the cruiser and turn on the heat, I knew Nate would be easy. He might have been almost a friend and fishing buddy, but he believed all the rumors about me regardless. The false ones had me as some sort of TV antihero, a mean fuck with dirty hands and a vigilante heart. They liked that. They feared it, too. Everybody wanted to be my friend.

  Nate complained about the Feds, thinking he was supposed to live up to the stereotype.

  I said, “I don’t care. They’re more qualified. We don’t want to get tangled up in this mess.”

  “We’re as capable as they are. This is our turf.”

  I leaned towards the cage. “Did anyone tell you what’s really going on?”

  He looked over his shoulder, not expecting me to be so close. “It’s drug stuff, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.” I relaxed into the seat and thought about what I planned to do. A career-ending move. A criminal act. What would the next step be?

  That same TV show the rookies loved would have the antihero pull some sort of shenanigans at the very last minute to avoid being fingered. Or he would catch the bad guys first, thus absolving his sins. Not realistic at all. We lived in a country where criminals could sue the people who arrested them for being a bit rough. I mean true criminals, caught in the act, winning lawsuits against the guys trying to protect the public.

  I didn’t have a chance of surviving this either way because whoever was cutting heads was probably doing it with my hunting knife. I didn’t have an alibi for when the murders took place. I had even covered up evidence that helped me in order to cover up more evidence that painted me guilty as sin. Oh yeah, I was screwed and the Asians knew it.

  Time to sneak out of the house under Daddy’s nose.

  “Who was that lady cop out there? She new?”

  Nate smiled. “Out of Marshall, yeah. Her name’s Colleen.”

  “You, uh, were chatting her up. She’s single?”

  “Wide-open. Okay, so she’s a little older than me, but that’s cool these days. It’s not like I’m looking for a wife or anything.”

  Sure he was. I could tell.

  “You getting anywhere with that?”

  “I only met her waiting around here. Who knows? She seemed sweet enough.”

  “Dude, you need to be out there getting your groove on. Those other guys are going to move in, but she’s going to wish it were you. You were kind to her. If it were me, I’d find a replacement and get my ass back out there.”

  He stared off into space as another van pulled up. The Feds wouldn’t be here that quickly, so I guessed it was the coroner.

  Nate said, “Maybe I could ask her to come help me. Maybe tell her I need a break.”

  “No, man, she’ll see right through that. And I’m here. That’ll really spoil the mood. Better get out on the field.”

  Leave me alone. I know my way out of the backseat. I know how to jimmy the car. I can disappear and let them eat your ass instead of mine.

  “I don’t know. What are you going to do, meditate?”

  “Take a nap.”

  “With the heater running?”

  Shit, he was scared of Graham. I could understand that. Pussy boy. I would have to take it up a notch.

  “Your loss, that’s all I’m saying. Your alternative is watching me piss. Like, right now. I need to take one.”

  “Can’t you use a cup?”

  “Do you have a cup? I don’t. Jesus, it’s after midnight in a cornfield. I need to take a fucking leak!”

  “Hey, cool it. Okay, okay. Give me a second here.”

  He was about to climb out and open my door, at which point I would knock him silly, shove him in the back seat. Take away his gun. Take off his shoes so he couldn’t kick the window out. Cuff his wrists behind him. Then hit the road with the cruiser and not stop until I was in Canada. If I tried to stick around and do things on my own, I wouldn’t last a day. The problem with the wide open spaces was that there were fewer roads. But I wanted to see Drew first. I wanted to tell her how sorry and miserable I was.

  That was the plan. I was ready to pounce. Turned out I didn’t have to.

  Nate was startled by the sheriff thumping a knuckle on his window. The kid lowered it and Graham leaned in, rested his arms on the door. “Everything okay in here?”

  I gave him a thumbs-up. “Peachy.”

  He nodded, looked at the ground. “You know we towed your truck, right? Just to be safe. We noticed the broken window. You lock your keys in?”

  “It was a bad day.”

  “Yeah, well…” Tapped his fingers on the frame. “You promise to be good?”

  “Depends.”

  “If I send you to bed without supper? Promise to be at my office tomorrow morning at eight-thirty?”

  “If I don’t?”

  A long sigh, a cloud of breath obscuring his face for a second. “Please, Billy, it would be a mess if we had to lock you up. Agent Rome’s the only one keeping the Marshall police from taking you in right now. If you’ve got nothing to hide, let us help you.”

  It didn’t feel like the perfect answer. I’d still be useless and trapped. However, it was better than going to jail or getting shot by eager coppers on my fugitive tail.

  I said, “I promise. Cross my heart.”

  Graham told Nate to get me there, no detours. Nate’s “Yes sir” was a little mumbly. I’d just stoked his lust and now he had to leave? I felt bad for the guy. Graham turned away, but then back to tell me, “Oh, please make sure you’ve got your shield and sidearm tomorrow. Very important.”

  I hummed affirmative and watched Graham walk back to the field with another cop at his side.

  Nate shifted the car into Drive and U-turned. “Man, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

  Even unsaid, every cop knows to carry his shield and sidearm on duty. If the sheriff was reminding me, it was because he wanted them. Suspension. Or worse.

  I said, “Take me home.”

  FIFTEEN

  Another sleepless night. Another bottle of red wine. Every plan I worked over in my head ended with me in jail, Drew hurt, my kids without child support, all the rumors confirmed.

  The revolver was on my lap. One bullet in the cylinder. I spun it once, waited. Yeah, I had played this game before—the first night I stayed here, and then again on New Year’s Eve. I lifted the barrel and shoved it under my chin, against my Adam’s apple. Pressure, pain, but nothing like what was going on in my skull. They say most suicide attempts are simply cries for help. The real deals will fool you until you find their cold bodies hung,
shot, sliced, or suffocated.

  If that was the case, what to you call it when someone gambles?

  Cocked the hammer. Took a deep breath. Closed my eyes. Squeezed it easy.

  Click.

  Didn’t win the grand prize. If you ask why I fooled around instead of gritting my teeth and doing the deed, it was because I liked the drama. Even I didn’t know if the next snap of the trigger would be the end. More fun, like a roller coaster. I didn’t have the strength to try again that night.

  I was facing the end of my career in disgrace for a second time. Maybe being a cop was a bad choice after all. Goddamn Katrina. Before the storm I was bending rules but not snapping them in two.

  The wine was the best I owned, a French Cabernet I was saving for a special occasion. I wasn’t sure what that might mean, exactly, but in the back of my mind I saw a speculative snapshot—me, Ginny, the kids, together at a grand dinner table, a fried turkey the centerpiece, with Gin’s cornbread dressing and dinner rolls.

  At the halfway point of the bottle, I wasn’t at the table anymore. The kids were sullen. Ginny had bags under her eyes. The turkey had been replaced by Spam on white bread. Every mouthful of wine made the scene that much worse.

  Spam into Hot Pockets. Hot Pockets into the cheapest frozen pizzas, the ones that taste like ketchup on a cracker.

  Then the headlights appeared at the end of my driveway again.

  It wasn’t that these were distinctive, that I could tell those particular headlights from all others. But they paused the same as those others had. Another excuse to freak me out? Was I supposed to trudge out there and plead for mercy? Give myself over to the fuckers who killed three innocent college students?

  I stood from my chair, set the bottle on the end table. Headed for the door with one bullet in the gun and no jacket. Only jeans and sneakers and a white T-shirt. If this was the final showdown, then I’d go down after taking careful aim for one of their eyes.

  Outside. The wind at my back. Instafreeze. I couldn’t even shiver.

  The car didn’t stay still. This time it rolled up the driveway, crunching the remaining snow and fallen branches. I couldn’t make out the driver because of the headlights. No clue if he had passengers. I lifted the gun with one hand and held it there, waiting. I’d at least let them get out of the car.