Craig Johnson - A Serpent's Tooth - A Walt Longmire Mystery

“Sure you are.” She watched Henry make the last adjustments on the McMillan and arrange the rounds within easy reach like not-so-small soldiers standing at attention. He rolled over on the rock to look at us with a downturned palm to the chest and a fist.

I turned back to my undersheriff, thinking about the things she’d just said. “You spotting?”

“I am; you got a problem with that?”

“Don’t shoot until I say so.”

Her lips kicked sideways, and she studied the suicide knob on the steering wheel of the Kenworth. “They shoot you—I’m having the Bear unload into every flammable piece of equipment down there and then I’m shooting every single motherfucker that tries to crawl out of this burning hole.” She turned back to look at me, and I could feel the warmth of her breath on my ear. “So for the sake of population density and your future relationship, don’t get killed.”

“I promise to do my levelheaded best.”

She reached over and grabbed my chin, pulling my mouth toward hers. “You never had a levelheaded day in your life.” She tasted like bottled water, sweat, and the slight tang of metal that was probably the uncertainty in both our mouths; she tasted good. She raked her nails across my jaw as she released me, and I was pretty sure there were fire trails there, marking my flesh. “Do not confuse that with a good-bye kiss.” She stepped off the running board, and I watched as she swung the desert tan FN carbine onto her shoulder. She blew me a kiss with a smile at the end of it. “Hit the road, Jack.”

I let off the air brakes and inched forward, getting a feel for the narrow road and making sure I didn’t strike the rocks where my team was set up, which might cause an avalanche. The Kenworth was now in the line of sight from the rig below, but with all the activity it would probably take a while for them to notice me.

I thought about what Vic had said and had to admit that it made a lot of sense. There was the difference in our ages, but obviously she was okay with that. There would be talk, but there was always talk in a small town. Here I was just getting used to the terms of our relationship, when all of a sudden she wasn’t. Perverseness of human behavior. Boy howdy.

I made the turn and started down the long straightaway, maybe an eighth of a mile. Still moving slowly, I glanced over the side into the drop-off that lead to Sulphur Creek, aware that if I made a mistake in my trajectory I would likely roll over and go into the shallow drink.

I guess I was going to have to reassess my relationship with Vic and go back to my old way of thinking. I would really have to finish my cabin. It was a shame she’d just bought a house, but even with the market the way it was, she could sell it or maybe we could keep the little house in town for when Cady visited. Things were changing on that front with her married now and expecting my first grandchild. What would Cady think? She’d been bold enough to ask me about the relationship between Vic and me this summer, but I’d told her in a polite way that it wasn’t any of her business. I guess now it was.

The creek was a long way down, and I figured I better start paying attention to the job at hand when suddenly I felt as though somebody was staring at me. Feeling the adrenaline rush through my nervous system like a body blow, my hands jerked in surprise along with the rest of me as the hairy figure standing on the running board tapped on the passenger-side window.

Orrin Porter Rockwell.

I hit the brakes and watched as he almost fell off but then recovered and smiled at me with a grisly grin showing a missing tooth. He’d looked better—dried blood plastered his forehead and his hair stuck to one side of his face and beard. I caught my breath, slowed the truck, and punched the button that lowered the window. There wasn’t enough room on his side to open the door. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He scrambled through, finally settling in the seat beside me. “Howdy.”

“And where the hell did you come from?”

He laughed. “I apologize for my appearance, but I’m afraid when your lady friend had her accident I was knocked unconscious.”

“You were in the back of my truck again?”

“I was, yes.” He breathed heavily from his exertions and then shut his mouth sharply, as if the missing tooth was paining him. “I told the children to stay with the vehicles and started off in the direction they indicated. Fortunately, you came down the road in this majestic conveyance, and I couldn’t resist the temptation of jumping on board.”

I glanced down the road, aware that it was only a question of time before the men working below noticed a stainless-steel eighteen-wheeler sitting idling in the roadway. I also thought about the crosshairs of the Nightforce NXS 8-32×56 Mil-Dot telescopic sight that was now trained on the ass end of the tanker we sat in. “You have to get out of here.”

He looked around and then asked with genuine curiosity. “Where is it I should go?”

His point was well taken; it was too far back up the road to safety, and he wasn’t likely to receive any warmer a welcome than me if I sent him ahead. “Never mind.” I released the brakes again and began the slow roll down the narrow road, my mind scattering thoughts like pea gravel as I tried to figure out what to do with him.

The activity on the rig had blown into a full frenzy, and it looked like they were finished filling the next tanker, which was pulling forward. I allowed the transmission to shift into a higher gear and hoped that I could get to the bottom of the incline before they pulled onto the road, which would result in, appropriately, a full-blown Mexican standoff. “Well, Mr. Rockwell, it appears that you are along for the ride.”

He looked forward with an expression of deep anticipation. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Sheriff.”

The driver of the other truck was the one to notice me first and tooted his air horns in confused concern. I in turn tugged mine to announce my arrival to any and all in a long, sustained blast echoing off the canyon walls.

There looked to be about forty to fifty men on and around the rig, but there might’ve been more in the few surrounding tin buildings to my right. All faces were turned toward us as I applied a steady pressure to the brakes and stopped dead in the road at the throat of the canyon where no one could pass. I listened as the air brakes locked like a vault, then switched off the diesel and tossed the keys over my shoulder.

I turned to Rockwell and spoke in a gentle and assured tone, thinking about how I wished that there had been another time for this, but that I needed to be sure that the man held some sort of mental stability in the coming moments. “We don’t have a lot of time, and I need you to listen to me.” He nodded his head. “These men up here are pretty bad, and I’m going to have a word with them. I would tell you to stay in the truck, but that isn’t an option. Now listen to me and listen closely—I think you know you had a life before this one, before you were MIA and before prison. You had a name—Tisdale, Dale Tisdale, Dale ‘Airdale’ Tisdale.” He seemed to be considering my words. “You had a wife—still have a wife—by the name of Eleanor.”

He stared at me and then his head dropped just a bit. “I seem to remember something about that.”

I studied him, hoping that I was doing the right thing in revealing this information now. I wasn’t sure how he was going to react, but I figured I’d rather have him have his epiphany here in the truck rather than out there with all those guns pointing at us. “That’s not all; you have a daughter, the young woman I’m trying to find—her name is Sarah.”

He didn’t move. “Hmm.” Finally his hand came up and rested on the dash, almost as if seeking support. “My daughter.”