Yellow Medicine

by Anthony Neil Smith

  I wanted him to get to it. “You want my shield and sidearm, right?”

  His face wrinkled a bit. Squirmed. “Listen, it’s procedure. The right thing to do for now.”

  “I suppose you also plan on telling me the Feds would like me in protective custody because of my first hand knowledge.”

  Raised a hand to Rome. “That’s not up to me.”

  A long moment passed, me looking at Rome, wishing he could give me some hope. The agent said, “You guys make it hard for someone to help you. We had planned to take Deputy Lafitte in last night until you, Sheriff, cut him loose.”

  “Take me in for what, exactly?”

  “How about murder? Conspiracy? Treason?” Rome counted them off on his fingers.

  Whoa, that didn’t sound good. It hadn’t really occurred to me just how bad this looked. Why not just give up Paul, then? It had been an easy choice before the threat had ballooned like this. Why weren’t the words spilling out, then? Jesus, what was wrong with me? Asimov surely wouldn’t be a fountain of truth when faced with a horde of Fibbies. Telling them he had sold out to terrorists was pretty much the same thing as wrapping a towel around your head and waving an AK-47. What it felt like was that I needed to hear it from him first. I didn’t care how bad it looked right now. No way I was throwing him to the lions without making sure he was beyond redemption. He was the one telling me we could be a team again. Doing that would feel better than giving in to the suits in sterile rooms.

  It occurred to me, too, that Graham wasn’t putting on as much of an act as I assumed anyone in his position might. The guy really thought of me as family. It was an obligation to him.

  I had to clear my throat. “I appreciate your help, Graham.”

  “No problem. You deserve that much respect, at least. I know some good lawyers from The Cities who might be willing to take your case. You should get one, let him push for a deal if you’ll cooperate. They’ll do it. Terrorists are more important than mobsters.”

  “Don’t go filling his head with that shit.” Rome stopped pacing, braced his arms on Graham’s desk. Stared into me. “There’s one deal and one deal only—you tell us everything you know, and maybe you get put away in a minimum-security prison, one of those country clubs.”

  “I don’t deserve that. You know it. I want to keep my job, stay here.”

  “That’s a pipe dream now. Not an option. Think about it. What’s the alternative? They’ll put you in a real jail. You’ll never even see a trial. It’s my way or you’re toast.”

  I didn’t want my kids thinking their father was a traitor, carted off to prison. Not like I was being Superdad anyway, but I liked thinking that one day I could be a part of their lives again. Maybe even regain some sort of friendship with Ginny. Hope is what kept me going through lousy winters at this shithole backwater department. Hope that the exile was only temporary.

  Graham was right. I didn’t get to choose anymore, so I had to ask myself what was the better option.

  I took the dried but crinkled photo pages out of my jacket pockets and handed them over to Graham. “These arrived at my house. Probably yesterday. I didn’t get them until this morning.”

  He flipped through. “This is the girl you were with?”

  Almost said, You know I wasn’t, but was sick of arguing about it. “Heather, yeah.”

  “And we know Ian.”

  Rome peeked in from the side as Graham made a bad noise. “See what I mean?”

  “My God, that’s awful.” The sad turn of his lips signaled his vulnerability, something that would drive him out of this job eventually. He would take in more and more darkness and then have to make a decision—live with it or exorcise it. You could read his decision with each new photo.

  “Did they arrive in this condition?”

  “I threw up on them. Sorry. Shock to the system.”

  He let go of them. They floated to his desk, scattered. A solemn nod, a pastor giving counsel. All I had to do for absolution was say That knife? It’s mine. Someone broke into my big red truck and took it.

  Someone. One of those Asians. Stealing an insurance policy. Then I wondered if maybe Paul had been the one... Shit, no. Then again, I had left him at the house alone while I was wasting time getting lectured. It was fine, I assured myself. Paul wouldn’t have come to warn me if he was out to get me. It just didn’t make any sense.

  “If that’s all, I should go pack a bag,” I said, already pushing up from the chair.

  “Okay, sure. Get someone to drive you home.”

  “I want to come along,” Rome said.

  “Can’t I just use my truck? One last time?”

  “Are you completely insane?”

  Graham stood, clamped a hand on Rome’s shoulder. “Give the guy some breathing room, all right? You’ll have plenty of time together later on, kids. How about it, a favor for me?” His expression was stone. The voice was level. He didn’t wait for Rome to answer before turning to me. “Get someone to drive you home. Be back in an hour.”

  *

  I sat on the edge of Layla’s desk and said, “He told me I could use Big Red. They don’t need it anymore.”

  That same stone expression I got from Graham.

  “Come on.”

  Layla unlocked one of her desk drawers, pulled it open just a bit. “I always forget to lock that one. You want some coffee? I feel like a cup.”

  “Okay.”

  She took a slow motion walk to the break room. Why she liked me enough to risk her job, I had no idea. Sometimes the blessings fall and you don’t question them. In the drawer, right on top, were my keys.

  The truck was parked out front. Graham hadn’t bothered to impound it or anything. Maybe if I asked nicely he would fix the window for free.

  Not after you steal your own truck.

  Funny when you think of it that way. Having to steal my own truck. That’s exactly what I did.

  SEVENTEEN

  I wanted to race back to my house and beat Asimov to a pulp. My head was filling up with brutal pictures—it was Paul holding my knife. It was Paul thrusting his dick into Heather’s bruised mouth. Maybe not, but it was the only thing I could think about. I had to know for sure. Did he really sell his soul on this one? After all, he had been a guest in my home. Both of them, now. He’d hugged my ex-wife, held my kids. That’s the guy who was setting me up to take the fall for terrorists?

  No, I got it¾it was to take the fall for Asimov, let him fade into the background noise again, a ghost, so that when I tried to blame him they’d think I was not only a traitor, but batshit insane as well.

  Fuck that. It wasn’t going to happen.

  That was the plan anyway. Only one thing could run me off the rails.

  The cell phone rang. I looked at the number. Drew’s. I nearly swerved off the road, held steady and opened the phone with my chin.

  “Hello? Hello?”

  “Billy,” she said. Her voice shook.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Jesus, what‘s going on? I just…somebody else tried to run me off the road. Tried to kill me, Billy!”

  “I’m coming. Tell me where you are.”

  “I’m driving in circles. I don’t know where to go. Why are people trying to kill me?” Drew coughed, cleared her throat. It wasn’t fair, what she was going through.

  “Don’t the police have someone watching you?”

  She said, “They don’t send the bodyguard until sundown.”

  “That’s all?” What assholes. This is how they treat a murder victim’s girlfriend, one of my close friends, who’d already been targeted once? She only rated part-time security? “Meet me at the Falls. Five minutes. If you see anyone suspicious, take off.” I pulled into the parking lot of the nine hole golf course near my house, spun around, and headed out towards the Falls.

  *

  I pulled up just as she parked her Toyota, the hood dented over the left headlight. She climbed out, hugged herself, and stared at me. She wore
a U of M sweatshirt and old jeans, her hair pulled back into a simple tail. Sunglasses too big for her face, amber lenses.

  I parked beside her and hopped out, glancing this way and that to see if she’d been followed. Seemed we were clear.

  “What happened?”

  She waved her hands angrily. “Fucking Chinese guy tried to run me off the road! Whole truckload of them. I had to pull onto the shoulder. Then he gets out with a gun, Billy.”

  “You’re okay? He shot at you?”

  “Are you insane? I hit him. See the car?” She turned back, pointed. “He bounced off and I took off. I called you.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “No, he got up. Just bruised him.”

  “What type of vehicle? An SUV? Where?”

  “Stop, stop. Too much. It was…that, um…Suzuki. Yeah, SUV.” She looked at me, cocked eyebrow. “You know who they are, don’t you?”

  “Tell me where. I need to know.”

  “I’m not saying another goddamned word until you tell me what you know.”

  She stood her ground. I was going to lose.

  I just said it. “Ian wasn’t involved with drug runners. These guys were terrorists.”

  Something changed in her, one short blink behind her sunglasses. “I don’t understand.”

  “That brand on his ass was the mark of some homespun terror group. They wanted to raise some quick money by taking over drug operations in the Midwest. Meth, heroin, smuggling across the Canadian border, lots of stuff. They wanted to do it from behind the scenes, make it look like Chinese organized crime.”

  “You’re shitting me, Billy. I don’t like it.”

  “No, babe, really. I’m not kidding.”

  “But why me? Why Ian? Our band?”

  I let out a breath, looked away. “They thought I was going to help them. So they’re trying to set me up in order to convince me to do what they want. If not, I get locked away for a long time.

  She stared at the Falls, a manmade dip of about ten feet, lots of ducks swimming around at the bottom of it. The rush of it was intoxicating, even if it wasn’t all that impressive. I had to snap my fingers to bring her back.

  “Oh. God. I’m going to throw up.”

  “I don’t really know what else to say.”

  Drew said, “Terrorists in Pale Falls? We’re not, like, New York or anything. Why us?”

  “It’s all about the money. They came from Detroit.”

  She turned her face to me. I wanted to kiss her glossy lips, let her know I’d protect her. I’d massacre the guys who killed her band, who had tried to kill her. I’m talking pliers and fingernails, screwdrivers and eyeballs, nails and balls. If she’d only give me a chance. Go ahead, say it: give me a chance.

  She said, “How do you know they came from Detroit?”

  Did I want to lie again? “Look, don’t worry about that.”

  She dug in her jeans pocket, came out with a keychain bottle of pepper spray. “No, it sounds like you must’ve screwed them over and now they’re taking revenge.”

  “I had no idea about any of this until you asked me to help Ian.”

  “Fine fucking job you did, too!”

  I stepped towards her, too fast, too mad. She held up the spray but couldn’t bring herself to blast me. She winced, waiting for me to slap her, I guessed. Instead, I gently took the bottle from her fingers and dropped it to the ground.

  “Drew, I swear I didn’t want any of this. I messed up big time, but I’m trying. You’ve got to believe me. I don’t want anyone to hurt you. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt at all.”

  I reached for her arm, a light touch. She grabbed hold, pulled me into her embrace. After a long minute, she pushed me away. “No, don’t do that. You can’t expect me¾“

  “Sorry, no. You’re right. It’s okay.”

  The quiet stretched on, us close enough to feel each others’ heat, but with a force field between us. She lifted her chin, a Mona Lisa smile on her lips. “They won’t get us. We’re too smart for them.”

  I liked that. She was a tough one. She’d be fine. The ducks and the rush of the falls soothed our fears for the moment. Nothing out there in the big bad world could get to us right then and there. For the first time in days, a little glimmer of happiness. Not just the high of a good fuck or a bottle of wine, but true happiness. Drew had forgiven me for my mistakes on this. She had found the right people to blame for Ian’s death. With her on my side again, what was to come next didn’t seem so overwhelming after all.

  I said, “Look, right now you need to get to the sheriff. Tell him what happened. Don’t stop on the way. Fast as you can to the sheriff. I need to pick up someone, bring him in. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Can’t you just follow me?”

  I thought of everything Asimov could be doing at my house to drag me deeper into this. “I don’t have time. We need to move fast.”

  “You know, I still don’t trust you. But I do think you’d do damn near anything to protect me. “ She leaned over, pecked me on the cheek. “Thank you for that.”

  I was dying to kiss those glossy lips. I bet they were cool, like mint. I hated mint. But I wouldn’t have minded right then. “Get out of here. I’ll catch up.”

  She climbed in and drove away, the look on her face one I’d never forget, like the memory of my fourth date with Ginny. That night on the beach, mid-summer. One of her sandals washed away in the surf, us laughing as she waded out knee high trying to get it. It didn’t work. So I tossed one of my sandals in after it. We kissed with the waves lapping around us, one shoe apiece. A permanent mental photo. So was Drew and me by those falls during the spring thaw in Minnesota. Maybe not romance, but that girl brought out the want in me.

  EIGHTEEN

  On the way back home I imagined what it would’ve been like asking Drew to run away with me instead. Just grab her and go. Send one big lump check to my kids right before I set out on the road. It made for a sweet distraction, singing along to George Jones in the radio along the way: “Oooooh…White Lightnin’”. Felt like a love song to me. I thought about telling Drew she should cover it with her band, then remembered her band was dead.

  Well, hell, that’s what we’d do—start a new band. I could be the manager, muscle some nightclub owners. Sure, we could pull it off. Find a joint in Vancouver that would let the band do half-psycho and half-lounge, whatever the customers wanted. What would they call themselves? I liked the word “pirates”. Maybe “Psychopirates” or, hell, why not “The Decapitated Terrorists”?

  I turned into the driveway and saw an unfamiliar vehicle parked behind Paul’s. End of the fantasy, back to reality. It was the Suzuki Drew had described. Guessing who had rented it was easy enough. And me without my gun.

  I thought of what they‘d just done to Drew, so I didn’t slow down. I slammed into the SUV’s bumper. Rattled the fuck out of me. It wasn’t going anywhere unless the driver wanted a demolition derby. I climbed out, figured at best they were waiting to talk to me, at worst were waiting to finish me. Quick peek in the front room windows—the older of the two guys I’d had lunch with was standing, watching. Paul was seated on the couch and the younger one was in my favorite chair, reclined, legs crossed and head back.

  That was my only advantage.

  I stepped inside. Paul couldn’t look me in the eye. The other two could. The younger one twisted his neck to face me. “It is about time.”

  “For what?”

  “For us to come to an understanding. And now you owe us a truck.”

  I crossed my arms. “You know, I never asked to be involved in the first place. Didn’t I run you two out of town? But here you are, and I hear you‘re still putting the pressure on my friends.”

  “No matter now. Asimov says you’re involved, so you are.”

  Paul shook his head. “I never actually said that, remember? It was only a suggestion.”

  Two steps. I grabbed the chair and pulled hard until the whole thing flipped backw
ards, the twerp with it. He kicked and tried to push himself up. I put a boot on his throat, held it. His buddy started towards me. I held up an empty hand.

  “Another inch, I crush him.”

  The big guy shouted loudly in his own language and I didn’t know what the hell was going on except this kid beneath me choking, trying to pry my foot off his neck. Then, more noise. Off to the left, coming from my kitchen. I looked up in time to see a couple of other Asian men, bearded, both in black T-shirts and khakis, rushing towards me. I retreated quickly to the door but not fast enough. They were on me—one grabbing hold of my arms while the other punched me in the face and stomach. Each pop connected, my skin giving way, sounding squishy. He was hitting me with brass knuckles.

  Paul was up, coming to my rescue. “Hey, that wasn’t the deal!”

  I took another punch and felt the skin tear over my eye.

  The Big Man took out a pistol, took aim at Paul. That shut him up, sat him down. The twerp I’d choked was on his feet, spewing like a chicken thrown through a jet engine.

  That’s a cute comparison, the sort of shit you think up when you’re about to pass out. Which I did.

  *

  I wasn’t out for long. Barely a few minutes. It was getting dragged outside across the gravel and rocks of my driveway, around the garage into the wide backyard that bordered the Minnesota River, that woke me up. The pain was coming at me from all sides and it was cold.

  When they dropped my legs, I opened my good eye. Five men standing over me. The sky gray-black behind them. More snow? No, spring was finally poking through. This would be the wind moving in.

  The younger man was still holding his throat. The knife was in his other hand, held low, fingers tight on the handle. He looked as if he would slice out my intestines and leave me to hold them in if the others allowed it. That might be the better option, considering what they did to Elvis Antichrist.

  “Who are you?” I said. “Really.”