Defiled: The Sequel to Nailed Featuring John Tall Wolf (A Ron Ketchum Mystery Book 2) (14 page)

Sonny Sideris was out longer than he originally thought he’d be, doing this, that and the other. By the time he got back to the bar at the New York Shock Exchange, some opportunistic bastards had made off with all the talent. For all Sonny knew, though, it might have been just one movie star that stopped by and waltzed off with every last honey in the joint.

Kind of guy who had the looks, buzz and money to stand in the middle of the room, point out all the women he liked and say, “I’ll take you and you and you.” Fill the back of his stretch limo to capacity. The power of celebrity being what it was, a real A-lister probably wouldn’t get turned down by more than one out of ten.

Sonny blamed Clay Steadman for spoiling his night. That gaunt old bastard hadn’t made a decent movie in years, but he was definitely the one who gave this mountain burg its star power. Got his show-biz friends to schlep six thousand feet up into the Sierra. Some L.A. prick like that had to be the one who spoiled Sonny’s chances to play a little grab-ass tonight.

If he could just get Clay Steadman in a quiet, out-of-the-way place …

He’d be doing a job for money, but he wasn’t. So he resigned himself to drinking quietly, stopping when he got pleasantly buzzed, going back to his hotel and see if his new plan for getting more gold had any holes in it when he woke up in the morning. He sure as hell wasn’t going back to Truckee and wait for some damn Indian to show up.

He half-expected one of the lesser babes still on the premises to make a run at him. He’d be polite, express his disinterest gently and if they knew what was good for them, that would be that. What Sonny hadn’t expected was for the bartender to start buying him drinks. Guy didn’t make a direct pass. Just poured him free ones and said, “Compliments of the house.”

Then he’d go and make sure someone else’s glass was full.

Sonny figured the guy just wanted him to stick around and dress the joint up. Be the center of attention in case another shift of front-table ladies came in. That didn’t happen and both Sonny and the bartender paid attention to the TVs that showed a rerun of the classic third Ali-Frazier fight, The Thrilla in Manila. By the time Ali was awarded his TKO in the fourteenth round, Sonny was the last customer left at the bar.

The bartender clicked off all the TVs.

He turned to Sonny and asked, “You need any help getting home?”

Not, “Would you like me to call a taxi for you?”

Christ. The bartender thought he was … The little shit. If he wasn’t so drunk, he’d … hey, why was he so smashed? Had he been drugged? He usually held his liquor better than … Hell, he must have been set up for something. No damn way he was going to let himself get corn-holed and wake up wondering why it hurt so much to sit down.

Sonny got to his feet, managed to find his balance and throw two C-notes on the bar. Nobody was going to say he left without paying. Call the goddamn cops on him. He did not need that kind of attention. He walked out like a man negotiating a tightrope in a high wind.

His car was around back in an open-air parking lot, but no way was he going where he couldn’t be seen from the street. Not that there was anyone
on
the street. He took out his cell phone, intending to call for a taxi, but he dropped it. Goddamn thing cracked open like an egg. He wanted to pick it up anyway, but he was afraid he’d fall if he tried.

Fracture his skull worse than the phone.

He tried to remember the way to his hotel, thought he knew the direction and set off, walking very carefully. He was sure now that he had been drugged. Whiskey didn’t do this to him. With the realization that he’d been targeted came fear.

If that shitass behind the bar came after him in a car, he could pop his trunk, push Sonny in and that would be the last anyone ever saw of him. Not that he wouldn’t suffer and beg for mercy first. He couldn’t let that happen. His old man had been knifed by cons in the county jail.

He’d vowed nothing like that would ever happen to him.

He broke into a shambling run, no longer certain he was headed toward the hotel.

Didn’t matter. What he had to do now was get away. Maybe find a 24-hour supermarket with a coffee bar. Stay there until the drugs cleared his body. Under bright lights and security cameras. Nobody’d be able to grab him there. Sonny started looking for a place of commercial refuge.

Before he got to the end of the block, he heard a car coming up fast behind him. Doing his best not to cry or wet himself, he tried for more footspeed. Turned his ankle on the second stride. He reached out and snagged the pole of a no-parking sign. That was the only reason he didn’t kiss the pavement.

He turned to see who was pursuing him.

It wasn’t the bartender. Not even close. Behind the wheel of the dark green SUV was the guy who’d given him the nugget of gold. Payment for the contract he’d fulfilled. The man he knew had to have more gold … and he did.

The guy showed him another nugget right there, as big as the first one.

He said, “Here’s the bonus I offered you, but this will be the final payment. Agreed?”

Sonny bobbed his head, never having felt more relieved in his life.

He wasn’t going to be sodomized; he was getting more gold.

“Agreed,” he said, slurring the word.

“You want to get in?” the guy said. “I’ll give you a lift to Reno. Then I don’t want to see you ever again.”

Sonny bobbed his head eagerly.

Disoriented though he was, a thought that had crossed his mind before came back to him. The man who’d hired him had to have a
ton
of gold. And Sonny
was
going to get more of it. A lot more.

He had all the leverage he’d ever need.

Sonny’s woozy head wasn’t destined ever to be right again. The guy in the SUV pulled into a parking lot at a marina, found a space and killed his lights and engine. He looked at Sonny.

“What’re we doing here?” Sonny asked him.

“We’re going to Reno by boat.”

The lie wouldn’t have fooled a local preschooler.

In his addled state of mind, Sonny bought it. Thought it was a brilliant idea.

“Nobody will follow us now,” he said.

“No, they won’t. Let’s go down to my boat. You can take a close look at your new treasure.”

Sonny smiled ear-to-ear. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

Something niggled at him just then. He was missing something. Couldn’t figure it out now, so he let it go. They got into the boat, nice little thing with a great big outboard motor. Muzzy as he was, Sonny still noticed something he’d never seen in a boat before.

“What’s with all the plastic? You got your boat covered like my mom’s living room furniture.”

“It’s how I prepare for a fishing trip. You clean your own fish, you don’t want to get that shit in every crack and crevice.”

“Smart,” Sonny said. “You’re a very smart man.”

He handed Sonny the nugget of gold. “Careful you don’t drop that overboard.”

“Never happen,” Sonny said. He was already mesmerized by the shining fortune he held in his hands. There was enough illumination from the marina lights to make it glisten. The man went forward and turned on a radio that was tuned to the police frequency. The volume was low and wouldn’t be noticed ten feet away. But a moment later he heard the police lake patrol craft that was ending its rounds call in to headquarters.

It was heading back to the police dock.

The other boat would be heading out upon its return.

The cops were being careful. They didn’t want to make any mistakes. Have two boats out on the water at the same time. Wind up shooting at each other. So, for a short time, there was a window to violate the curfew and not get caught. At the moment he considered the most opportune, the man started his boat and took it quietly onto the lake, running without lights.

Sonny didn’t say a word. He was obsessed by the nugget, even though there wasn’t much to see by starlight. Maybe his experience had become a tactile one, the man thought. The thug from Las Vegas was enthralled by the
feel
of gold.

Keeping an ear cocked for police radio traffic, the man guided his boat to the middle of the lake and shut the motor down. Sonny’s head came up as he noticed the lack of forward progress. Maybe he saw the miner’s pick slashing down at him, maybe he didn’t. Surely, he didn’t feel more than an instant of pain as the steel spike punctured his skull like a ripe melon.

To the killer’s dismay, Sonny’s arms and legs shot out as if he’d been electrocuted. Not only did the killer get a sharply barked shin from Sonny’s right foot, but the nugget of gold flew from Sonny’s hand in an arc over the lake. For a mad moment, the killer almost lunged for it.

He restrained himself just in time. Had he fallen into the frigid water and his boat drifted even a few yards away, he’d be done for. As it was, he had a lot to do in a very short time. Working quickly, he strapped a weight belt, the kind scuba divers used, around Sonny’s middle. He yanked the pick from Sonny’s head and dropped it overboard. He wrapped Sonny in the plastic on which he’d died, taped him in tight and rolled him over the side.

The burble of voices from his radio informed him the second-shift lake patrol boat was leaving the police dock. With the lead he had, the man knew he’d be able to reach an islet near the eastern shore. He’d go where the large boats couldn’t and hide.

He’d motor home at dawn, pull his boat and put it in the shed behind his house.

In time, he’d sell it on Craig’s List. To someone who boated on another lake.

Special Agent John Tall Wolf was having breakfast at the Marriott when a sixty-something Native American man stepped up to his table and told him, “You wear your hair short.”

Tall Wolf got to his feet and looked down at the man, who stood a good six inches shorter than him. “Can’t say the same for you, but the traditional look suits you. Are you Herbert Wilkins?”

The man nodded. He wore a plaid shirt, new jeans and well-kept cowboy boots.

“Care for breakfast?” Tall Wolf asked. “I’m buying.”

Wilkins gave a nod and sat down. The waitress stopped by and Wilkins ordered a bowl of shredded wheat with berries, hold the milk. He looked at the orange juice Tall Wolf had in front of him and asked if it was fresh. Tall Wolf nodded, and Wilkins asked for a glass.

When they were alone, Wilkins looked around and saw they had the corner of the room to themselves. “Marlene told me you’re not like most of us.”

Tall Wolf smiled. “And she is?”

Wilkins snorted. “No, I can’t say that. You always wear those sunglasses?”

“Marlene didn’t tell you why I wear them?”

Wilkins shook his head. John told him his story.

Being raised by a Caucasian father and a
latina-india
mother.

“Any of that mean you don’t care to help me?” Tall Wolf asked.

“Depends on what you want.”

The waitress came by with Wilkins’ breakfast. They waited for her to leave.

“What I want to know is simple. Where’s the gold deposit the Native American woman showed to Timothy Johnson in 1849?”

Herbert Wilkins shook his head.

Then he told Tall Wolf, “It was 1850 by then, and somebody else came looking for me just yesterday. A white man with yellow hair. I’m figuring he wants to know the same thing.”

“So you do know?”

“I know my people’s history, that’s all.”

John took a sip of his orange juice.

“You don’t want to tell me where the gold is, I can understand that. I haven’t told Marlene yet why I wanted to talk to you. I think the gold is tied into the trouble there’s been around here lately. You’ve heard about the bomb, the one the chief of police found?”

Wilkins nodded. Clay Steadman’s announcements got wide distribution.

Tall Wolf said, “It was meant to kill Lake Adeline, maybe contaminate the whole town, too. Who’d want to see that?”

Wilkins’ frown said he wouldn’t.

More than a few Native Americans thought the white man’s presence on their lands was a transient thing. The time would come when the People would have primacy again and all the old traditions would be restored. Having their land blighted by radioactivity when they got it back didn’t figure into that scenario.

“You can’t kill a lake,” Wilkins said. “Not one like Deep Waters. It is too strong.”

Tall Wolf asked, “Do you think the weather is changing? There are many white people who deny it, but the summers have grown longer and hotter. The wild fires burn hotter, longer and larger, too. Storms grow fiercer with more snow and rain. The very heavens have grown angry at the pain they are suffering. But you think one mountain lake can stand up to being poisoned? I talked to scientists from Washington this morning. I was told if the bomb had gone off no one would drink from this lake again for a thousand years.”

The special agent was lying, but that was a cop’s prerogative.

They were like politicians in that way.