Read Death Along the Spirit Road Online
Authors: C. M. Wendelboe
Death Along the Spirit Road (24 page)
Manny jerked his hand away from his bandage. “The three of them were inseparable back then. Except when Elizabeth was pregnant with Erica, they attended every AIM function together.”
“Aunt Lizzy always laughs and tells me she met Reuben in prison.” Willie grabbed his can of Copenhagen. The pungent odor caught Manny by surprise, and he yearned for a cigarette.
“She did. When AIM took over Alcatraz prison in 1969, Reuben was one of AIM’s special enforcers, someone who kept the peace internally during the occupation. Elizabeth was one of the occupiers. That’s when they started their relationship—behind the bars of Alcatraz.”
“She talks about Reuben now and again,” Willie said. “Talks fondly, even after all these years. She must have loved him a lot.”
“I’m certain she did.” Manny drove past the Batesland Store toward Elizabeth’s house. “But when he killed Billy Two Moons, she had to do what was best for Erica. She’s always done what she had to do for Erica, and I can’t fault her for having ambition.”
Willie nodded. “She worked her tail off for that finance position, and it fits her. Everyone on the rez knows she’s honest and thorough, and people look up to her for that. I’m as proud of her as she is of herself.”
They turned onto Elizabeth’s gravel driveway and Willie grabbed his overnight bag from the backseat.
“Will she be gone long?”
Willie shrugged. “Hard telling. When Aunt Lizzy goes shopping, she may be gone for hours. Especially when she’s with Rachael Thompson, who’s a shopping legend around here.”
Manny had never been married, never been close enough to a woman to know her shopping habits, but he had married colleagues who stood around watercoolers talking about their wives’ shopping marathons. If Elizabeth would be gone that long, Manny understood why she would want her nephew to house-sit until she returned. Elizabeth’s business associate had been killed recently, and her FBI agent ex-brother-in-law had been attacked. Willie’s presence would ease her fear.
“I’ll pick you up in the morning, and we’ll go over those recent lab results. I want to be prepared when I interview Reuben.”
Willie unbuttoned his shirt as he walked toward the house. Manny waited until he retrieved the house key from the flower bed before he drove away, and the washboard gravel road leading to the highway jarred his thoughts. How would he interview Reuben tomorrow? He’d finalize his attack when he ran tonight, when thoughts came more clearly. From a thousand interrogations, he’d pull pieces of what had worked and what had failed in his interviews.
As he drove past the shelter belt along the road, his mind wandered. He found it hard to think of Reuben and the investigation. He let Clara Downing fill his thoughts, remembering how she had leaned against Jason’s office door, one lithe leg crossed over the other, hair falling freely onto her shoulders. She had the most wry smile he had ever seen, projecting that “Want a good time, sailor?” look. Yet she was no tawdry madam but a sophisticated woman, and that made her flirting with him especially intriguing. He longed to return to Rapid City and cash in that rain check.
But he had little time for his own wants. The investigation had stalled, and he was not much closer than when he began. On the bright side, Clara Downing was part of this. She had vital knowledge he needed, and for that, he would have to visit with her again. Soon. Perhaps tomorrow after he talked with Reuben. Perhaps.
Headlights suddenly filled his rearview mirror. In a heartbeat, something slammed into the rear of his car. His forehead hit the steering wheel. His head whipped around. Behind him. Coming fast. A truck. Manny floored the accelerator and stiffened his arms on the wheel. The truck hit him again. His arms buckled. A back tire caught a crumpled fender and he skidded sideways in the road.
Manny gripped the wheel, but the Taurus skidded across both lanes, ran over a delineator post that punctured the radiator, and stalled. Steam rose from the dying motor while the truck’s lights illuminated him. Motionless, Manny strained to see the driver as the truck lurched forward and T-boned him on the passenger-side door. The car rolled. And rolled, and rolled. Manny scooted down in the seat, bracing himself. The car teetered once before it stopped with the passenger side up.
Manny lay against the driver’s door and forced one eye open. The other was stuck shut. Sticky warm blood oozed between his fingers as he gingerly touched his head. Glass, gritting on his skin, mixed with blood as it trickled down his forehead, the stitches in his head pulling apart and breaking open. He closed the open eye against the blood and glass and spat out a broken tooth. His labored breathing came in short gasps, and he sprayed blood over the windshield from a split lip.
He tugged at the seat belt.
Stuck.
Pulled harder. Pain shot through his chest. He stopped when he heard a door slam.
Close.
Close enough that footsteps approaching in the dry grass echoed in his ears. Purposeful footsteps, footsteps that approached to ensure the truck had done its job. He bit his lip to stay conscious. To analyze. Was there one set of footsteps, or two? Were they hard steps, or soft?
Stuck.
Pulled harder. Pain shot through his chest. He stopped when he heard a door slam.
Close.
Close enough that footsteps approaching in the dry grass echoed in his ears. Purposeful footsteps, footsteps that approached to ensure the truck had done its job. He bit his lip to stay conscious. To analyze. Was there one set of footsteps, or two? Were they hard steps, or soft?
He tried reaching the Glock. Three steps.
Closer.
Reached again. Steps stopped outside his shattered window. He lay on his arm, trapped, unable to get to the weapon. He willed his labored breathing to stop. He told the rising and falling of his chest to be still. He lay quiet, listening, praying to God he could pull it off. His hand fell automatically onto his medicine bundle.
Closer.
Reached again. Steps stopped outside his shattered window. He lay on his arm, trapped, unable to get to the weapon. He willed his labored breathing to stop. He told the rising and falling of his chest to be still. He lay quiet, listening, praying to God he could pull it off. His hand fell automatically onto his medicine bundle.
Someone shined a flashlight into Manny’s car. Through his closed eyelids, Manny saw all this as if he was sitting in a theater watching some dark, foreboding movie. Light played across his lids. He wanted to open them, wanted to get a look at his attacker, but he didn’t. The driver squatted inches from him, close enough that Manny felt warm puffs of breath on his neck through the window. He struggled to remain conscious. His cop side took over, and he listened for anything that would later identify the driver. If he lived through this.
For the first time since childhood, he clutched his medicine bundle and prayed to
Wakan Tanka,
the Great Mysterious of the universe, giver of all things. He prayed his attacker wouldn’t realize he was still alive.
Wakan Tanka, unsimalaye
, he prayed.
Wakan Tanka, pity me.
He had no time to reflect from what part of his distant memory the old words came, and he slowed his breathing more.
Wakan Tanka,
the Great Mysterious of the universe, giver of all things. He prayed his attacker wouldn’t realize he was still alive.
Wakan Tanka, unsimalaye
, he prayed.
Wakan Tanka, pity me.
He had no time to reflect from what part of his distant memory the old words came, and he slowed his breathing more.
His sight returned, yet his eyes remained closed. Even as a boy during the
hanbleceyapi
, when he had sat for four days and nights crying for a vision, he had not had one. Hoofbeats neared, while the sweet scent of lilac reached him. Was this how a man faded into the other life to journey south along the Spirit Road, the
Wanagi Tacanku
? Amid collective memories and forgotten teachings? Maybe he was that close to death that his vision would come to him now. He wanted to cry out to the meadowlark he heard in his head, for he knew the meadowlark spoke Lakota, but no sound came from his lips.
hanbleceyapi
, when he had sat for four days and nights crying for a vision, he had not had one. Hoofbeats neared, while the sweet scent of lilac reached him. Was this how a man faded into the other life to journey south along the Spirit Road, the
Wanagi Tacanku
? Amid collective memories and forgotten teachings? Maybe he was that close to death that his vision would come to him now. He wanted to cry out to the meadowlark he heard in his head, for he knew the meadowlark spoke Lakota, but no sound came from his lips.
The hoofbeats grew louder. Riders neared. Bugles blared. The wailing of mothers louder than the horses. What were the surviving sisters and wives shouting to him? Where were they pointing? What did they want of a man lying near death, fighting for his life in a wrecked car along a dark reservation road? Before losing consciousness, Manny thought that these ancients had finally arrived to carry him home along the Spirit Road.
Manny heard muffled talk somewhere to his left. He opened one eye, the other blocked by a gauze bandage. Desirée stood over him, her face inches from his, her lips painted like they had bad intentions.
“I thought we’d lost you,” Desirée said.
He tried sitting, but fell back down onto the pillow. He drew in a quick breath. A stabbing pain in his chest caused his breath to come up short. Elastic constricted, and he knew he had broken or bruised ribs. He closed his eyes. Shallow breaths now, coming quicker as he tried to match his breathing with the throbbing in his head.
Antiseptic stung his nostrils, like someone running ammonia under his nose. He was certain that the hospital staff had used about a gallon on him before patching him up. The room shone clean, unlike the would-be-rental-car-grave he last remembered. “I’m at the hospital?”
She smiled a wide set of perfect pearlies. He looked at her as if for the first time since they were in school, since that time she left him for Lumpy. Slight crow’s feet tugged at the corners of her eyes, just enough to reveal she’d aged as he had, except she looked like she was ten years younger. She bent over, showing more chest than he needed to see right then. “I came as soon as I heard you were admitted.”
“Let me guess: Lumpy told you I was here.”
“What are ex-husbands for?”
“Hoka hey.”
Willie filled the doorway. He held a foam cup of steaming coffee. His grin was exaggerated, but his face was ashen and bags had formed under his eyes. “How you feel?”
Willie filled the doorway. He held a foam cup of steaming coffee. His grin was exaggerated, but his face was ashen and bags had formed under his eyes. “How you feel?”
“I feel like you look.”
“Been up all night since I heard you’d been in an accident.”
“That was no accident,” Manny said.
Willie turned a chair around beside the bed and sat backward on it. He rested his beefy arms on the chair back as he sipped his coffee.
“Where … ?” Manny craned his neck to look at Desirée with his one good eye. “I’m afraid Officer With Horn has some confidential information to share with me.”
Desirée frowned, then a smile lit her face. “Well, the least I can do is take care of you when you get released. Just rap on the wall and I’ll come over.” Just before she walked out of the room, she glanced back over her shoulder and blew him a kiss. Willie waited until the sound of her footsteps had died.
“Guess you have a new love interest.”
“Just an old flame wanting to rekindle, not for any good purpose I can figure out. What you got on the accident?”
“You’re one tough bastard, I got to say that for you.” Willie flipped through a stack of Polaroids and showed one to Manny. The Taurus had been shortened several feet as a result of the rear-ending: it was at least half as tall because of the rollover, and there wasn’t an intact window left. “Most men would have been dead. Maybe it’s because you had this.” Willie held back a corner of the bedsheet to expose Manny’s beaded turtle. His medicine bundle, still hanging from the leather thong around his neck, watched over him. “Officers said you clutched your
wopiye
like you planned to walk the Spirit Road with it. Maybe you’re not dead because of it.”
wopiye
like you planned to walk the Spirit Road with it. Maybe you’re not dead because of it.”
“I ain’t dead?” Manny wanted to tell Willie about his experience waiting for the truck driver to finish him off. But such a highly personal vision would have to wait before he shared it with anyone. “What do you know about the wreck?”
“We know we damned near got another agent sent out on this Red Cloud investigation,” Lumpy called from the doorway. He waddled across the room and stood beside Willie, who, sitting down, was about even with Lumpy’s shoulders. “I passed Desirée in the hall. She said you were doing just fine. I told her I’m sure she had brightened your day.”
“Thanks a hell of a lot.” Manny tried sitting and got a couple inches higher up on the pillow this time. “Will someone tell me what the hell happened?” He propped himself on one elbow. Pain, intense and biting, radiated from his chest to his navel, and he eyed Lumpy through his one unbandaged but bloodshot eye.
Lumpy smiled. “Well, Hotshot, seems like someone stole an F-350 and ran you off the road.”
“You found the truck then?”
“A dozen yards from where you rolled, but no one was around. Whoever did the deed left you for dead. Probably caught a ride from someone else, probably also involved. Means more than one suspect, I’m thinking.”
Manny peeked around the bandage at Willie. “Anything in that truck that could ID the driver?”
Willie began speaking, but Lumpy interrupted. “The truck was stolen from Reuben’s jobsite. It belongs to a contractor installing the electrical. The owner leaves the truck there when he knocks off work and grabs a ride from another electrician back to Hot Springs. The guy didn’t even know it was stolen until the Fall River County SO talked with him. We’re bringing in Reuben with all his little urchins for interviews as we speak.”
“Any prints?”
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