Hawk Moon (17 page)

"You think she's home?"

"Could be. And it'd be nice if you stopped by and saw her. She needs some friends right now. Her being a deputy and all — well, she isn't real popular with either Indians or whites sometimes. She's a lonely gal."

"But a good one."

He nodded. "The best, you ask me. I mean, I don't like to think of myself as a racist but I can take Indians or leave them. Met some good ones, met some bad ones. I just don't want you to think I like Cindy because she's some type of affirmative-action gal or something. She's the best deputy I ever had — except maybe for Rand, and the thing he's best at is keeping people in line — and also one of the most decent. In her time off, she's out at the reservation making sure all those little kids are getting their booster shots and things like that. And on Saturdays, she's out there tutoring kids in reading and math. Her people are finally starting to succeed. They're becoming very sharp at business and farming and learning how to capitalize on their heritage, and it's all because of people like Cindy."

"That's quite a speech."

The Chief smiled. "Meant every word of it."

"Clarence doesn't seem to like her."

He smiled again. "That's because she's a whole lot smarter, prettier and tougher than Clarence."

"Don't let him hear you say that."

"His mother died of liver cancer ten, twelve years ago — my sister, God rest her soul — and Clarence has kinda been my charge ever since. His old man, who I always thought was a no-good drunken sonofabitch and who up and walked out on them just a few months before Bernice got sick, anyway his old man hated Indians and I'm afraid it rubbed off on Clarence."

I took the last of my coffee. "You ever know Sandra Moore's daughter?"

"Oh, yeah."

"I spent a little time with her tonight."

"She's just about as pathetic as her mother. The Indians have a real hard time with the bottle."

"You know any reason her mother and David Rhodes would hate each other so much?"

"Sure."

"Sure? Just like that?"

"David's sister was kidnapped from the reservation when she was six years old."

"Right."

Well, guess who was supposed to be babysitting her that day?"

"Sandra Moore?"

"Right. She still came back to the reservation occasionally in those days."

"No wonder, then."

"David got in some trouble with the Cedar Rapids PD a couple of times because he'd get drunk and go up to Sandra's and hassle her. Plus, Sandra had a way of putting on airs. Even when she was living on the reservation, she was working for the Hestons and trying to give all her friends the impression she was a lot better than they were."

"She was working for the Hestons and still doing babysitting jobs here?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Not "jobs." But she and David's mother were good friends. She just said she'd watch the little girl while David's mother drove to Des Moines. Cedar Rapids or Des Moines, those are the two big cities to people who live here." He grinned. "Not exactly New York or Los Angeles but good enough to get by on, I guess."

I stood up, offered my hand, thanked him for the coffee.

"Guess I'll go see Cindy."

"Know where she lives?"

"Yeah."

"Make her laugh a little. She needs that."

"I'll do my best."

Dear Mr. Payne,

I've changed my mind. I'd like to go flying at 10:00 A.M. tomorrow.

Sincerely,

 
Silver Moon

C
indy Rhodes was not at home so I'd come back to my motel and was about to put the key in my lock when I saw the note that had been taped to the door.

I smiled as I read it. Given her fear of flying, this was a major decision for Silver Moon.

Then I heard the noise from inside.

The first thing I thought of was the pig. I couldn't recall his name at that moment — you have to say a pig's name several times before it sticks in your mind — but I could picture him cavorting about inside my room.

But what if it wasn't the pig?

I'd irritated a number of people in and around the reservation the past few days. What if one of them had decided to irritate me right back?

I took out my Ruger.

I don't do that very often.

I believe in the advice I got at Quantico: if you draw your gun, you're likely to use it, and if you use it, it's probably because you used your emotions instead of your head.

I'd always cherished that piece of advice and quoted it whenever I wanted to rattle the more macho types of lawmen I encountered.

In fact, I quoted it to myself as I eased the key in and turned it, then pushed the door inward and stepped inside.

And all the time I quoted it, I kept my Ruger in my hand.

No sense in taking chances.

"Please don't turn on the light."

I'd found Cindy.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. But I'd prefer the darkness if you don't mind."

"Fine with me."

"Be careful so you don't trip."

"Thanks, Mom."

She laughed. "No wonder David thinks I'm such a pain in the ass. I was always the older sister, always watching out for all the little kids."

"I thought it was kind of sweet, warning me."

"Do you plan to put that gun away any time soon?"

"How about right now?"

"Right now would be great."

I put the Ruger away and made my way through the deep and shifting shadows. I smelled hand soap, mildew, furniture polish, dust and heat.

There were two armchairs collected around a battered table. She sat in one, I sat in the other.

"How're you doing?" I said.

"I need to see him."

"Maybe they'll find him."

"Even if they find him, I won't see him. Not ever again."

"They won't kill him."

"But he'll be in prison."

"Oh."

"It'll kill him, being in prison."

"We can find him a good lawyer. If you say he didn't do it—"

"That's just it," she said in the darkness.

"What is?"

"Maybe he did do it."

"Oh."

"That's what I'm afraid of, anyway."

We didn't talk, not for a long time, just listened to the crickets and the big trucks out on the highway, and the occasional teenager with his powerful car and even more powerful radio.

"You know the funny thing?" she whispered.

"What?"

"We haven't made love for two years."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't think he finds me appealing anymore. I'm sort of like his sister. Did that ever happen with your wife?"

"No. I loved my wife. She was my life."

"And you never got tired of her sexually?"

"No."

"Did you ever get tired of a woman sexually?"

I laughed gently. "I don't think so. First of all, I haven't been to bed with that many women. And second of all, I was always sort of grateful when they went to bed with me. I'm not exactly Robert Redford. And besides, every woman I went to bed with taught me something."

"You mean sexually?"

"Sure, sexually — how to be a better lover, you know, more dutiful and less worried about my own pleasures. But they also taught me more about women. In the long run, they were teaching me how to be a better husband to the woman I'd marry someday — and not just sexually. In every way, I mean."

"I envy your wife. It must've been a nice marriage."

"It sure was for me. And I think it was for her."

"You shouldn't put your looks down. You're nice-looking."

"But not exactly Robert Redford."

"Do you think he killed those women?"

"I don't think it can be ruled out."

"I love him so much."

"I know."

"And I'm so lonely. That's what's so strange. I'm so afraid for him and he's all I can think of, and yet I feel so lonely, too." She paused. "Would you just lie down with me?"

"Sure."

"I think that's why I came here."

"That's fine. Lying down with you will be a pleasure."

"I don't want to make love."

"That's all right."

"Really?"

"Really," I said.

"I think that's why I came here. I mean, I didn't admit it to myself, but that's why I came here."

"Would you like to lie down first?"

"Now I'm scared."

"Nothing to be scared of."

"And I feel like a slut."

I laughed at her and found her hand in the shadows. Her skin was smooth and her hand surprisingly small, like a girl's. "I don't think you have to worry about being a slut."

"I really don't want to make love."

"I know."

"I just need to be held."

"That sounds nice."

"Would you mind lying down first?"

"No problem."

I got up and went over and took off my nylon jacket and laid down on my side on the bed. The springs squeaked and the wooden headboard banged once against the wall. I stood up again. "Let me pull the bed out from the wall a little."

I pulled it out and laid down again.

"I just feel so self-conscious now."

"Better hurry before I fall asleep."

She laughed. "That was a good one."

Then suddenly she was up and coming across the small space between chair and bed. And lying down on her side facing me.

"Is my breath bad?" she asked.

"Not from here anyway."

"Can I breathe on you and test it out?"

"Sure."

She breathed on me and tested it out.

"It's fine. Now relax."

"Don't try to hold me right away, all right? I mean, I'm still a little nervous."

"So am I."

"Really?"

"Sure. You think I let strange women do stuff like this to me all the time?"

She laughed again. "You're crazy and I really like that."

"Thank you."

Then, "He called me tonight."

"I figured he would sometime."

"I asked him where he was but he wouldn't tell me."

"Oh."

"You know what I'm afraid of?"

"What?"

But before she answered, she took my free arm — my other was propping up my head — and placed it on her hip. Her hip felt very, very nice.

"What I'm afraid of is that I'll help him."

"Without telling Chief Gibbs?"

"Right. And it'll all be over, then. My whole life. I'll lose my job because I helped him. I was one of the first ones from the reservation to go to college. I didn't finish but I went for nearly three years, and—"

"It wouldn't be worth it."

"I know."

"You need to think about it."

"But if he calls—"

"Tell him to turn himself in. Tell him you can't help him."

"I keep seeing him as a little boy. He was the cutest little boy I've ever seen. I always hoped we could have a son of our own and that he'd look just like David. God, I must've had a crush on him when I was four years old."

And then the rain started and we just lay there side by side and listened to it on the roof and smelled it through the open window, two prairie creatures dry and safe from the night.

And then she said, "Would you mind holding me?"

"If you insist."

"I do."

"I'm glad you do."