James Doss - The Shaman Laughs

Moon didn't look up from his boot cleaning. "Wanted to talk about Arlo's murder."

The old man felt his heart racing. "You're… you're outta your juris-whadayacallit."

"Guess you're right." Moon wiped his boot heel on the hay bale. "But this isn't official. Kind of a personal visit."

The farmer turned up a burner on his Coleman stove until the black liquid in the blue enameled pot bubbled. "Why d'you care about that little horse's-ass…"

"It's kind of a puzzle," Moon said, "can't get it off my mind."

"You wonderin' why that foreign feller killed Arlo?" Fidel poured coffee into a filthy ceramic cup. "Why, that crazy drugged-up kid didn't need no reason."

"Ecker didn't kill Arlo." Moon continued to clean his boots. "We both know what happened, don't we, old man?"

The farmer sat down on a three-legged milking stool. He glared at the Ute policeman. "You know so damn much, you tell me-then we'll both be smarter."

"I've been checking the telephone records. You called your daughter on the same evening Arlo went into Canon del Espiritu with…"-Moon choked on Benita's name and started again-"… with Gorman's daughter."

Fidel dropped his gaze to the ground. "Don't mean nothin'. I call my dotter almost every night."

"Emily told you Arlo was late for their anniversary dinner date. Then," Moon continued, "the record shows you called the Nightbird Insurance Agency. Talked for about four minutes."

"I can call anybody I damn well please…"

"You bullied Herb Ecker into telling you that Arlo had gone up to the canyon to see my Aunt Daisy." It was a reasonable speculation. "So you knew where Arlo was and…"

The old man bristled. "You got no business here. This ain't no part of the reservation." Fidel regained some of his composure. "Besides, all you got is a pocketful of guesses."

Moon smiled; he got up and hitched his thumbs behind his gun belt. "What if I told you we'd picked up one of your runaway pigs?" He saw a sudden fear flicker in Fidel's eyes. "And what if I told you it was a real stylish porker-wearing Arlo's turquoise ear stud?" The Ute hadn't seen a sign of the pig with the jeweled ear, but Fidel wouldn't know that. Not unless Fidel had recovered the pig himself.

The old fanner deliberately poured his coffee onto the straw; he stared at the spilled liquid as it gradually disappeared into the soft earth. "I was drunk as a skunk when I prettied that pig up," he whispered, "but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time." The old man'wiped his eyes with a grimy sleeve. "What're you gonna do?"

"Can't leave this thing like it is," Moon said. "I'll have to tell Emily what I know."

Fidel turned his coffee cup thoughtfully in his dirty hands, studying the ceramic object as if he had never really seen it before. "I'd as soon you'd leave my dotter outta this."

Moon closed his eyes and tried to remember Benita's face. Every day, the picture faded in his mind. But one thing didn't fade away-Arlo was responsible for Benita Sweet-water's death. But Arlo had been murdered too, and payment must be made for that death. "I've been thinking about that a lot," he said. "I'll have to do what's right." He watched Fidel's face. "You understand."

"Sure," the farmer said. "I know." Everybody in Ignacio knew that you could count on Charlie Moon to do the right thing. Fidel cursed, then stomped the coffee cup into a thousand fragments under his heel.

The pretty clerk in the Durango flower shop beamed up at the tall, somewhat awkward figure, who shifted his weight from one foot to another and back again. "And what sort of message should I put on the card?"

"Well…" he hesitated, "just say it's from Charlie." It was the right thing to do.

The sales clerk scribbled on the card. "Very well, sir. That's one dozen long-stemmed roses." The Chicano girl beamed at the big Ute and wished she had a man like this to send her roses. "She's a very lucky lady."

"Yeah," Moon said. "I guess she is at that." Very lucky indeed.

This girl's big brown eyes were almost as pretty as Benita's eyes, but her lips were not as full. And her voice wasn't sweet music… but that, he reminded himself, was finished business. An opportunity forever lost.

She saw the shadow pass over his face, and turned to answer the telephone. He idly watched the figures on her portable television set. It was the final scene of a hilarious James Herriot tale from the Yorkshire Dales. Siegfried was, as usual, furious with his younger brother. Tristan had terrified the neighborhood by donning a cloak and appearing nightly at a ruined monastery as the tortured "ghost" of an unhappy monk. A brawny constable, who did not believe in such nonsense, had almost run him to ground. The scene was abruptly replaced with an advertisement for "veteri-nary-approved" animal foods. "Your puppy will love Peter's Perky Puppy-Chow," the announcer insisted. The counterfeit veterinarian in the white smock droned on, listing the benefits of "enhanced vitamin and mineral content." This commercial was followed by others. Ford pickup trucks with a factory rebate. Salsa, a grizzled cowboy guaranteed, that wasn't made in New York City. An astonishingly beautiful woman leaned on a stuffed leopard, extolling the virtues of a new perfume from Italy. "My Confession," she whispered huskily, "is subtle, barely touching his consciousness." Then, a seductive smile as she unfastened the top button of her silk blouse.

The clerk hung up the telephone and turned to flash a smile at the policeman who was frowning at the television set. "Now," she said, "will this be cash or credit card?"

Moon didn't hear her. The revelation had been like a sudden illumination of a dark landscape that was already there. A strike of summer lightning at midnight. The Ute policeman already knew who killed Arlo Nightbird. Now he thought he knew how Gorman's Hereford bull had met its death. But he didn't have a shred of evidence.

Charlie Moon looked up from his desk. Emily Sombra-Nightbird had appeared without a sound. It was not an unexpected visit.

"Hello, Charlie."

He got up and nodded toward an uncomfortable wooden chair.

"Have a seat."

"I stopped by to thank you. For the lovely roses." She had the bouquet in her hands, a question in her eyes. Why the sudden attention from this big, taciturn Ute?

Moon tried to appear relaxed, but his heart was kicking against his ribs. "Hoped you'd like 'em."

Emily moved close to him; he enjoyed the wonderful fragrance in her hair. "I can't remember the last time anyone sent me flowers."

Moon nodded dumbly. Emily would be shocked if she knew why he sent the roses. Benita Sweetwater owed her a debt; the roses were a token of that debt.

She touched his sleeve. "You know, I've always had a soft spot for… strong, decisive men."

Moon swallowed hard. "We need to talk."

"I hope it's not about Arlo's death." Her eyes went flat.

"I'd like to put that far behind me." As East is from West.

The Ute studied Emily's face, especially her eyes. "Been doing some checking." He tried to sound casual, but his pulse throbbed under his shirt collar. "On that evening Arlo was late for your anniversary date, phone company records show your daddy called you, then called the insurance agency."

Emily raised her immaculate eyebrows. Her face said So ?

"Herb Ecker must have told him where to find your husband. It looks like Fidel went to the canyon, found Arlo half alive. Everybody knows Fidel hated Arlo. And," Moon added, "your old man has a nasty temper."

"My father didn't… wouldn't…" She hesitated, her lips forming a tight red line across her face.

"I've been out to Fidel's farm. We had a long talk. About a pig that wears a turquoise ear stud."

Emily's face seemed to be frozen; her normally expressive eyes were vacant.