Hawk Moon (9 page)

"Neither am I, but he stopped by tonight and wanted to know how much I had in my savings account."

"Did you tell him?"

"Yes." Pause. "I've never seen him like this — not when he was sober, anyway. Really scared, almost to the point of being crazy."

"He give you any idea of what the trouble might be?"

She shook her head. In the light, her sweet smart face showed the late hour and the strain. "I'm going to take out two thousand dollars in the morning and give it to him."

"Is that everything you've got?"

"Yes."

"Must have taken you a while to save it."

"He's my husband."

I thought of the way he'd smirked about her earlier at the casino. She was the nice bright girl in the high-school class who always fell in love with the dashing bad boy. Some of those girls never got over those bad boys. Not ever.

"He owes you an explanation."

Sad quick smile. "David's not much on explanations."

I sighed. "David doesn't seem to be much on anything, does he?"

"You don't like him, huh?"

"Let's say I like you a whole lot more."

"He hasn't had an easy life."

"Neither have you."

"His sister. That's how all this started."

"What about his sister?"

"Kidnapped."

"From the reservation?"

"Yes," Cindy said. "She was three years old, playing out in the back yard. Her mom was a good parent, always kept an eye on her kids. But she had to go to Des Moines one day, and had to get a babysitter. And when she got back, her daughter had disappeared."

"Were there ever any leads?"

"Not any good ones. David was obsessed with her. He was one of those brothers who are really protective of their little sisters. He can be very tender. Honest."

The waitress came with more coffee.

"Well," I said, after the lady left, "I feel sorry for him about his sister but he sure as hell hasn't treated you very well."

"I know that, but I want to help him anyway."

"There were two men tonight. They were beating him up, outside the casino. He tell you anything about that?"

"No. My God, what was that all about?"

"I don't know but it may have something to do with him wanting to leave town."

I thought of telling her about the burned-out Victorian house and the human arm the Border collie had brought me. David Rhodes had been somewhere in that fog. He was likely the person who'd knocked me out. He was probably in a great deal more trouble than Cindy understood.

"Will you go with me to see him?" she asked suddenly.

"Now?" I said.

"Yes. I'd appreciate it. I'm sure he's started drinking and . . . he gets abusive. You know."

Nope, sometimes they never got over the dashing bad boys. Not ever. And almost no matter what those bad boys did to them, either.

"Sure."

"This kind of irritates you, doesn't it?"

"Not at all. I almost never have anything better to do at two forty-five in the morning."

"I'm crazy for still loving him, aren't I?"

I smiled. "Wasn't that the title of the last song they played on the jukebox? ‘I'm Crazy for Loving the Dirty Sonofabitch’ — or something like that?"

She laughed, a burst of pure pleasure that put some luster
back into those beautiful dark eyes of hers.

"C'mon," I said, "let's go see him before somebody puts more money in the jukebox."

W
hat was important to know about the relationship between the red and white man was that the red man was perceived as having only four roles in white society — as the wretched drunk; as the lazy reservation Indian; as the impossibly noble icon the liberals contended; or as one of the mainstays of the American criminal class.

Professor David Cromwell's Indian Journal

June 4, 1903

Rain all day, rain all night. Anna had wanted to play basketball — she was as good at it as most men — but not in rain like this.

Mrs. Goldman had a bad head cold and went right up to her room after dinner.

Anna stayed in the living room with its elegant twelve-light electric fixture suspended from the ceiling, and its comfortable Victorian furnishings, and its abundance of plants and ferns.

She read the paper, starting with
News in Brief
, which was always her favorite section.

President Theodore Roosevelt declared yesterday that control of the Pacific Ocean must fall under American control in this new century

More than 100 Jews were murdered in St Petersburg on Friday of last week.

Professor Albon W. Small, head of the Department of Sociology at Chicago University, predicted at last weekend's Journalist Society that sooner or later Germany and the United States would go to war. He predicted the war will likely come within three years.

William Thompson, of Kearney, Nebraska, will speak at the Cedar Rapids History Society tonight on the subject of scalping. Mr. Thompson claims to have been scalped as a young man and to have photographic evidence of this. A lively discussion is promised.

A
nna was still thinking about the last story when she heard the door buzzer. She got up, left the living room and walked to the front door.

"I was just walking by and thought I'd stop in and say hello."

Trace Wydmore. Soaking wet. She knew better than to believe his 'just walking by' story. Their relationship had taken a sudden, sharp turn the other night and Anna still felt confused and a little frantic.

She had always considered herself to be a good girl. Now she had her doubts.

Trace, a few years older than Anna, handsome, lanky, shy, came in. Anna built a small fire in the fireplace. Trace sat close to the flames, shivering.

"I really appreciate this, Anna."

They spent a pleasant half-hour, Trace giving her a couple of new facts about the great state of Iowa (Did you know that Iowa's hens lay eggs that bring an income larger than that of all oranges in the United States? Did you know that the amount paid for Iowa cattle in the stock-market is more than the receipts of all the tobacco crops in the United States?').

"You don't need to thank me anymore, honest."

She was nervous and he was, too. They were going to talk about anything except what they really needed to talk about,
which was what had happened the other night.

Trace stared into the fire. "Kind of lonely lately, with my parents gone and all." He raised his eyes and looked at Anna. "Pop says it's time I settle down and take a wife and start a family."

"Sounds like good advice."

"I told you they were in Europe, didn't I?"

She nodded. There was a time she'd been mistrustful of Cedar Rapids' rich people, but in the course of her job she'd met most of them and found them to be, in pretty much the same proportion as not-rich people, good and bad alike.

She was especially enamored of Trace's family. Even though they were always going off to Europe, and always having social events for their friends, they were nice, decent, unpretentious people with a genuine love for this community and its people.

"Say, Anna, did I show you that new key ring I got to give away at the Visitors' Bureau?"

Trace was what you'd call a Booster. There was no subject he liked espousing more than Cedar Rapids. He could have gone into far more profitable work with one of his father's various businesses, but instead he chose to work at the Visitors' Bureau.

He dug in his pocket and took out a key ring and handed it to Anna.

"Shape of a horseshoe, notice that? Supposed to bring you good luck."

"I see that," Anna said, examining the U-shaped key apparatus that was stamped on the curve of the U with: GOOD LUCK FROM CEDAR RAPIDS, IOWA.

Then she noticed the black, moon-shaped fishing lure. Where'd you get this, Trace?"

"The lure?"

"Uh-huh."

"From Doug Shipman back when we started that Semper Fi Fishing and Drinking Club of ours. I guess it was our junior year in college — during the summer, I mean, when we were all back here."

"How many did he give out?"

"Let's see. There were four of us. But what's so interesting about that gosh-darn old lure, anyway? I even forget I have it most of the time."

"Tell me about the others who got them."

He looked at her, frowning. "You sure you feel all right, Anna?"

"I feel fine, Trace. You have a lure and Doug Shipman has a lure — and who are the two others?"

"Uh, Bob Wethcoat. For one."

"Where is he?"

"Los Angeles. Stocks and bonds."

"Was he here last month?"

"Why, no, Bob hasn't been back here for years."

"Who had the fourth lure?"

"Jimmy Daly."

"And where's he?"

"Dead. Influenza. Remember back in '94? Poor kid."

"So you and Doug are the only two with these lures?"

"Far as I know. I sure wish you'd tell me what you're being so mysterious about."

"How about some hot cocoa?"

"Boy, that sounds great. But I don't mean to put you to any trouble."

"No trouble at all."

"Say, how come you're smiling so much, anyway?"

"Scientific detection."

"Huh?"

"Scientific detection."

"Oh, Lord."

"What?"

"I set you off again. You talk about scientific detection almost as much as I talk about Cedar Rapids."

And then they were both silent and knew that they would have to talk about it now. Not even the things she'd learned about the case tonight could misdirect her attention anymore.

She had to face what she'd done the other night.

And the kind of girl she'd become.

"I don't think we should see each other anymore, Trace."

"God, Anna, what're you talking about?" He looked stunned, shocked.

"We shouldn't have done what we did the other night. And I don't ever want to do it again. I'm supposed to be a good Catholic."

"But that's what people do when they're in love."

"I don't want to be a whore."

"A whore? Anna, a whore! You're crazy! You're a very good girl."

"I wasn't a good girl the other night. I shouldn't have let you do that. And it was my fault as much as yours."

"But I love you and you love me, Anna. That makes it all right, loving each other, I mean."

He came to her suddenly on the divan and tried to put his arms around her but she gently pushed him away.

"All I want to do is kiss you, Anna."

"But then you know what'll happen, Trace – what happened the other night."

It was all so confusing. She had enjoyed the other night so much for that wonderful blinding moment – but ever since, there had been this burden of guilt and shame. When she walked down the street, she imagined that people stared at her disapprovingly, as if they could see what she'd done, see into her very heart and soul. Harlot.

"It wasn't a home run, Anna."

"It wasn't what?"

"A home run. That's what the fellas call it when – well, when a guy and a gal do the ultimate thing. What we did, well, it wasn't anywhere near a home run."

"It wasn't?"

"No, it wasn't even third base."

"I don't know what that means."

"It's baseball terms, Anna, that's all. First base is a kiss and second base is here," (he pointed to her breasts) "and third base is here," (he pointed vaguely in the direction of her middle) "and a home run is—"