Peter Leonard - Quiver

From seventy yards he recognized it as a county sheriff ’s cruiser, could distinguish the light bar on the roof. What was it doing out here? There was a flattened cattle gate where it had driven in along dirt tracks that served as a road.

From ten yards, he could see blood on the window and door and door handle. He walked up right next to it and looked through the glass on the driver’s side and saw a body sprawled across the backseat on his stomach, head down, facing the opposite side. It was a sheriff ’s deputy.

He walked around the car and opened the rear door and went down on one knee and looked at the deputy’s face-what was left of it-and thought it was Bill Wink. That opinion based more on the man’s muscular build than his facial features, which were nearly obliterated. There were blood and bone fragments and brain tissue on the floor. Johnny’d never seen a man shot this way and it made him queasy. He stood up and stepped away and took a couple deep breaths, getting himself under control. He came back, hunkered down and touched the deputy’s skin. It was still warm. He was thinking it hadn’t been long-maybe an hour or so.

First thing Johnny thought: It had something to do with the woman. Bill had called and told him some story about her finding the kid. Far as Johnny was concerned, it didn’t wash. He knew what he saw that day in the woods. Knew what Del saw-their interpretations being similar, if not exact. Then the woman was at the bank withdrawing a lot of money, which was also strange, particularly since Bill said she’d left town, gone back downstate. Now he took out his cell phone and called the sheriff ’s department, told a Sergeant Romeo who he was and what he found and gave him the coordinates.

He thought about Bill on the way to his truck. Remembered the day they met. Johnny was chasing a drunk who’d cut across reservation land and he radioed the sheriff and told them to be on the lookout for a red Porsche-license number delta-alpha-tango-one-five-nine.

The Porsche, driven by a college student, finally pulled over, and a sheriff ’s deputy pulled up with its lights flashing and that deputy was Bill Wink. Johnny wanted to beat the hell out of the kid, teach him some manners.

Bill said, “You know who this kid is?”

Johnny shook his head.

“His father owns about twenty-five car dealerships. You lay a hand on him, they’ll put you away.”

Sure, Johnny understood-that’s the way life worked. You had money, you could do pretty much what you wanted.

Bill and Johnny bumped into one another occasionally after that, Bill joking about the beads and feathers Johnny had hanging from the rearview mirror of his truck.

Johnny said, “What do you expect? I’m an Indian, ain’t I?”

“I thought you were called Native Americans now. Isn’t that the politically correct term?”

“I prefer Indian, if you don’t mind.”

“No kidding,” Bill said.

“No kidding.”

“Tell me, what’s the hardest thing about being a tribal cop?”

Johnny didn’t have to think long. He said, “Dealing with non-Indians. They don’t have a lot of respect for us. Don’t believe we’re the law on the reservation, or that local cops have no jurisdiction. Just like we got no authority off it.”

Bill said, “People’re fucking stupid, aren’t they?”

“Isn’t that the truth.”

Johnny grinned and Bill grinned back at him.

Kate thought she heard a car drive off, tires rolling over the gravel. Ten minutes later she heard the garage door open and another car drive out. She was sure they’d left, taken the money and taken off and she had a sudden feeling of relief. It was finally over.

She looked down at the bear trap on the floor. It was a couple feet from the door, its metal teeth and gaping jaws open. Then she heard the key in the lock and saw the door open. Teddy came in the room grinning and looked up at her in the rafters, knowing he was too late to stop Luke. She could be mistaken, but if two cars were gone, he had to be here by himself. She didn’t know what was going on, what they were doing.

Teddy aimed the big chrome-plate automatic at her and said, “Move another inch, it’ll be your last.”

She was thinking the same thing about him, hoping he’d take another couple of steps.

“Get that kid back in here and come down.”

She said, “You dumbass hick-why don’t you come up here and get me?”

He grinned at her and said, “If that’s the way you want it, puss.”

She climbed out the window and was standing on the sill when she heard the trap spring closed, the loud metallic snap of the metal jaws hitting with force. She reached up and felt the steep pitch of the roof and swung her body up and turned on her back, the heels of her hiking boots digging into the shingles, trying to hold her position. She heard a car and looked over the roofline and saw the Z28 drive in and then disappear as it pulled up in front.

Luke was on the ground running for the treeline. He turned and looked back at her. She heard gunshots and two bullets ripped through the roof next to her and then two more. She lifted her heels and slid down to the flat roof over the porch, landing on her feet. There was wood stacked five feet high in a metal rack that was built into the side of the lodge. She’d lower herself onto it and climb down. That’s what she was trying to do when DeJuan appeared, aiming the shotgun at her.

DeJuan was preoccupied on the ride back from taking the deputy, fiending on Celeste, staring at her driving the Camaro. Picturing her naked body with the tats. He’d had white trim, black trim, Asian trim, French Canadian trim, but this Celeste, man, she got to him. Why she turn him on so?

At one point, she glanced over, caught him with his eyeballs popping out. Said, “Take a picture, it lasts longer.”

Busted him like she could read his mind.

He heard gunshots when they drove in-four of them-wondered what was going on. He and Celeste looking at each other-going for their own guns now. They got out. He went right around one side of the lodge and she went the other way, no discussion, knew what to do and did it.

DeJuan moved slow, coming along the east wall of the cabin, looked in the window, saw the kitchen. Looked toward the water, saw the kid standing at the edge of the woods, then disappear. He couldn’t believe it-leave for ten minutes, come back, somebody shooting, kid escape again. Little motherfucker like Houdini. Where the fuck Theo at?

DeJuan was going after him but stopped when he saw Kate on the roof. Had a better idea. He yelled in the woods. “Yo, little man, better not leave your moms. Something happen to her, you be all alone in the world.”

Bitch on the roof said, “Luke, don’t listen to him. Run.”

DeJuan racked the twelve-gauge. “Better listen to this-not say another word, Mr. Remington going to talk at you. Don’t want to hear what he got to say. Now come on down here.”

He watched her get on her stomach and lower herself, feet finding the wood pile, putting her weight on it, standing and balancing, climbing down the rails of the metal rack that held the wood in place.

DeJuan had seen a lot of movies, seen people react in a lot of real-life situations. Was convinced he knew something about human nature and he’d bet his share of the money-look like seven hundred large-rich kid wasn’t going nowhere, still in the trees, watching him. Afraid for his moms-and DeJuan was going to play on that fear.

“You leave her,” DeJuan said, “you going to blame yourself. Like when you shot your pops. Don’t be doing it again.” Laying it on the little guy, fucking with his head.

DeJuan’s new three-step plan: get the kid back, take ’em in the lodge, pop his little Houdini ass, then do his moms. That was step one. Step two, repeat the process with Teddy and Celeste. Step three, get the fuck out of there-retire.