Earthway (21 page)

“She’s there, and there’s a light on. She’s just testing us.”

At long last, a middle-aged Navajo woman wearing a long skirt and
a velvet blouse tied at the waist with a concha belt came to the front door, turned on an outdoor light, and waved.

“Good. The fact that she invited us inside will make things easier,” Ella said.

The woman ushered them into the narrow living/dining room. Shelves and cabinets were loaded down with an overflow of canned goods and dishes from the kitchen. On top of the portable television, which
rested on a window seat, was a photograph of a stern-looking young Navajo man in his Marine dress uniform.

“Are you here because of what that Navajo preacher did to my husband?” she asked immediately.

“We’d like to hear your side of the story,” Ella said.

“Reverend Tome
promised
that he’d check on my husband. I wouldn’t have left him otherwise.” Her voice broke
and she turned away, handkerchief
in hand. “Everyone says that it wasn’t the preacher’s fault, but he didn’t take care of my husband and neither did his God.” She took a deep unsteady breath. “I should have taken my husband to a
hataalii
. My grandparents relied on them and they lived into their nineties.”

A daddy longlegs spider crawled onto her chair and she captured it between her two hands and set it outside. After a moment
she returned to her chair. “So you gonna arrest him?”

Ella blinked, but managed to keep all expression from her face. “We’re here because we wanted to talk to you about him. It appears that someone wants the reverend to die. They’ve tried to kill him twice in the last three days.”

“I didn’t know that someone went after him a second time, but like everyone else, I heard about that bomb in Shiprock.
And just in case you’re asking, I had nothing to do with that. I’ve seen enough of death, believe me,” she added in a whisper-thin voice.

“I know it’s been difficult for you,” Ella said, then focused her gaze on the photo of the Marine. “We understand your son came home for the funeral.”

“He’s here on leave, but he spends most of his time at some bar over in Bloomfield.” She pointed to a matchbook
on the tiny kitchen table.

Ella picked it up and read the name: Bottoms Up. “Is that his photo?” she asked a moment later, walking to the picture on the TV.

Seeing her nod, Ella took a closer look at the young man’s face, memorizing it. She then handed the photo to Blalock, who’d come up behind her.

“How does he feel about what’s happened to his father?” Blalock asked.

“I don’t know. He won’t
talk about death . . . or much of anything else, either. He wasn’t always like that, but the war . . . it changed him.”

“Thanks for inviting us into your home,” Ella said, heading back to the door.

Inside the tribal SUV, Blalock fastened his seatbelt, then glanced over at Ella. “It’s still Sunday, Ella, but we’re heading for the Bottoms Up, right?”

“Yeah, so keep your weapon tucked in and hard
to reach. I’ve been in there once or twice and it’s a rough joint,” she said.

“Yeah, I know. It’s a gas and oil field-worker hang-out, with enough overflow of local cowboys to stir things up. More often than not, there’s a fight brewing.”

“I think the guys go there to test themselves, you know?”

“Some men enjoy that type of thing,” Blalock answered. “And that includes a few cops I’ve worked
with. The theory is that it’s a good way to keep their skills sharp.”

“Or get knifed. I still hate that place,” Ella muttered.

“Some women enjoy it. They go there ‘cause they like rough men.”

“I prefer wusses,” she answered and Blalock laughed. Growing serious again, she continued. “I’m going to keep my badge pinned to my belt. Not in plain view, but I want to be able to move my jacket back
if I have to, and flash it.”

“They’ll know you’re out of tribal jurisdiction.”

“Probably, but it may slow them down, and sometimes that’s all that’s needed. It’ll be seven by the time we get there and by then, those who got off work at five will be working on their fourth or fifth beer.”

“I’ve got your back, but I’m getting too old for bar fights, Clah.”

“Don’t give me that. I’ve seen you
in a fight,” she said with a grin. “You cheat and win.” She still vividly remembered one time when Blalock had feigned a punch, then delivered a crushing kick to his opponent’s groin, sending him to the floor in a moaning heap. The man couldn’t even stand at the booking desk.

Blalock laughed. “At my age you take whatever advantage you can get.”

Forty minutes later they arrived at the Bottoms
Up, just south of the main highway junction in Bloomfield. The vast parking lot was filled with rows of big trucks and trailers, oversized company pickups, and a half dozen older models with construction gear and ladders in the beds. Ella took two ASP collapsible batons from the cup holder where she kept them for emergencies and tossed Blalock one.

“Would you believe a crowd like this on a Sunday?
I can’t imagine what it must be like on Friday night. Let’s just find the Marine and get on with it,” Blalock said as they strode toward the steel door of the sprawling one-story cinder block building.

To their surprise, the interior of the bar was nearly empty. Blalock looked at Ella and shrugged.

Seeing the bartender opening beer bottles and placing them on a serving tray, Ella went up to
him. She pulled back her jacket, showing him her badge, and Blalock did the same before wandering off.

The Anglo bartender looked bored. “What can I do for you, detectives?”

“Where
is
everyone?” Ella asked, glancing at the few patrons watching an East Coast baseball game. “The parking lot’s filled.”

The bartender pointed to the big-screen TV on the wall. “The owner got tired of replacing the
TV every time a fight broke out, so he built an outdoor patio with wooden benches and a big kerosene heater. If there’s a problem, the boys have to settle it out back. The bouncers make sure everyone plays by the new rules and, best of all, the plasma TV stays intact.”

“So most of your customers are outside right now?” Ella asked.

“Yeah. No big games are on tonight, so the guys got restless.
When tempers started flaring, our people showed them the back door. They can have their drinks served out there, too. We have a small bar outside and kegs on tap.”

Ella turned around to look for Blalock and saw him waiting for her by the back door. Joining him, she brought him up to date.

“I’ve already taken a quick look outside. There are a couple of drunks going at it. Everyone else is standing
around watching, just like back in junior high. Can this day get any better?” he grumbled. “You want to split up while we look for our guy?”

“Yeah. The plus is that everyone’s attention will be focused on the fight, so we shouldn’t get any interference.”

They made their way to the crowd that was gathered under the open-sided loafing shed and illuminated by lights on poles. Ella could see two
men fistfighting in the center of a circle of about twenty men. Both fighters were Anglo, so she didn’t give them more than a passing glance. Blalock worked his way around to the left. Ella took the opposite direction, passing a matter-of-fact waitress gathering up empty beer glasses left unattended at the wooden picnic tables. Two burly men in red muscle T-shirts, no doubt the bouncers, were on
opposite sides of the circle watching the fight closely but making no effort to break it up.

Ella was about halfway around the tight circle of cheering onlookers when someone placed a hand on her hip. “You’ve got a nice ass, honey!” she heard in a whiskey-laced growl.

Ella spun around, brushing the redheaded man’s hand away in one fluid motion.

The man, wearing the local gas company’s uniform,
laughed and moved toward her again. Just then a Navajo man in blue jeans stepped between them. Ella got no more than a quick glance at his face, but she recognized Louis Billey. Whose side was he taking, she wondered.

Before she could speak, two other Anglo men wearing gas company uniforms grabbed both of Billey’s arms, answering her question. An enemy of her enemies might turn out to be an ally,
but right now, they were both in trouble.

Ella stepped up and kicked one of the men, but her aim was off and she only managed to get his thigh with the toe of her boot. The man stumbled back, then lunged, throwing an off-balance jab.

Ella slipped under it and landed a fist to his right kidney. As he folded to the brick floor, another drunk reached out to grab her.

Blalock, his flexible nightstick
extended, whipped the guy across the forearm and the man yelped, jumping back. He collided with another patron, who grabbed him in a headlock. Both stumbled into a wooden table, then fell to the floor.

“Cop!” Somebody yelled, and that only galvanized the attack against Blalock.

As Blalock moved to Ella’s side, two more patrons rushed in, throwing blows. Ella blocked one attack with a jab to
the man’s substantial belly, but the big man quickly grabbed her by the hair.

Blalock slapped the man across the forehead with the nightstick, but then another grabbed him around the neck, trying to wrestle the FBI agent to the ground.

“Get the cop!” people started chanting in unison.

Billey moved in, watching Ella’s back as she stomped on the instep of Blalock’s attacker. The man let go and
jumped back, barely avoiding Ella’s kick. Ella, Blalock, and the Marine stood back to back, ready to take on all comers, but that only seemed to incite the crowd. There was no sign of the bouncers, and Ella couldn’t really blame them for ducking out.

At least four more men came at them, the first ducking in low with a tackle. Ella grabbed the man’s jacket and
threw him into another man standing
beside a table holding two beer bottles. Beer flew everywhere, and the men who’d collided started punching wildly at each other.

Ella called out to Billey, but he couldn’t hear her above the din. When she grabbed the back of his shirt to get his attention, he spun around, swinging, and she had to duck fast to avoid the punch.

“Parking lot,” she managed quickly, pointing toward the courtyard’s
wooden gate.

Blalock, at her side, also heard and nodded, then began moving in that direction.

Ella felt a thrown beer bottle brush her head as she hurried through the gate into the parking lot. Blalock was half a step behind. Once among the cars, she heard a third set of steps, and spun around, fists up.

“Whoa, it’s me. You okay?” Billey said, his eyes bright with excitement. “You’re good
in a fight, lady. You a Marine?” he asked, a dribble of blood slipping out between his lips.

“I’m another cop. Special Investigator Ella Clah of the Navajo Tribal Police,” she said, catching her breath. “Thanks for watching our backs.”

“No prob. I’ve heard of you,” he said nodding. “You out on a date, looking for a little action? Maybe I shouldn’t have stepped in.”

“No, I’m glad you did,” she
said, laughing. “Actually, we came here looking for you.”

His expression darkened. “My mother . . . she called you?”

“No, but she told us where you’d be,” Ella said, then introduced him to Blalock. “We’re trying to make some sense out of a few things that have been happening on the Rez and were hoping you could help us,” Ella said, telling him about the attempts on Ford’s life.

“The attempts
on Reverend Tome’s life have nothing to do with either my mom or me,” he answered before she could
ask. “He’s nothing to us now. My mom’s going back to Traditionalist ways, and I’ll be shipping out in another week.” He paused, started to say something else, then changed his mind.

“Go on,” Ella encouraged.

“I was just going to say that even though he’s Navajo, that preacher sure has a way of
making enemies among the
Diné
.”

“What makes you say that?” Ella asked, puzzled. She hadn’t heard this before.

“I haven’t been back for long, but I’ve already met an ex-GI who hates his guts.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Henry Mike. He blames the preacher for the split between him and his wife. Says it wouldn’t have happened if the reverend had minded his own business,” he said, and shrugged.
“The guy’s got an explosive temper, and the way he’s been drinking, all you have to do is look at him wrong to set him off. He’s dangerous as hell.”

“So where can I find him?”

Louis shrugged again. “All I can tell you is that he was here two nights ago. I saw him take on three guys when one of them spilled Mike’s beer. The bartender had to Taser him twice to bring him down. The guy’s the size
of a truck, so he can do a lot of damage.”

Ella handed him her card. “If you find out where he’s at, or if you run into him, give me a call. It’ll stay between us.”

“I don’t think he’ll be coming back here anytime soon,” Billey said, frowning. “His head’s not screwed on right. Just before that last fight, he told me he needed to hole up someplace. He said something about making a last stand
that no one would ever forget. I have no idea what that was all about.”

“Did he say where he was going?” Ella asked.

“According to him, a relative’s place up in the mountains. Said it was empty now and he needed to get back in tune with Mother Earth, or something like that.”

“Thanks for your help,” Ella said.

They were back in the SUV a few minutes later, driving west toward the city of Farmington.
Ella called Justine, and after relaying what she’d learned, added, “Find Mike’s relatives and ask them where Mike would go if he wanted to hide out in the mountains. Our intel suggested Many Farms, so maybe we’re looking for a place east of there in the Chuskas.”

“Got it. I’ll get back to you.”

Ella glanced at Blalock. “Wanna pick up some dinner?”

“Let me guess. You’re trying to get a bead
on this guy so you can see him
tonight
?” Blalock asked, with a martyred sigh.

“Yeah, if it turns out he’s still in-state, I’d like to find him,” Ella said.

Blalock gestured to a fast-food restaurant just ahead. “Go through the drive up.”