Thunder’s eyes wandered over the destruction. “No idea who did it.”
“It wasn’t the sheriff’s people?”
He shook his head. “They didn’t leave it like this.”
“When did it happen?”
“Found it this way a couple of days ago.”
“Does Lonnie know?”
“I got no idea what that boy knows.”
“Why didn’t you report it to the sheriff’s office?”
“Think they’d care that Lonnie Thunder’s trailer’s been tore up? Hell, I figure it was Buck Reinhardt, come looking for Lonnie, sending him a message with all this mess.”
Cork thought the same thing. “Mind putting the shotgun down?” he said.
Thunder lowered the barrel. He stood in the doorway. Behind him, the sun broke through clouds and Thunder suddenly cast a shadow, longer than he was tall, across all the debris that littered the floor. Where the face of that shadow would have been was a broken picture frame that held a photograph of Lonnie, maybe twelve years old, grinning from ear to ear, standing beside a multiple-point buck he’d brought down. Ike stood beside him in the photo. Lonnie was already a head taller.
“Know where Lonnie is?” Cork asked.
“Haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks.”
“Would’ve been about the time Kristie Reinhardt died.”
“That’d be it.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Ike. Do you know where Lonnie is?”
“No idea.”
“Care to speculate?”
Thunder’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want with him?”
“He took a few shots at me last night. I’d like to talk to him about that.”
“Talk? Yeah, right.”
“Okay, I’d like to beat the crap out of him. Better?”
“Truer.”
“My boy was with me. He could’ve been hurt.”
Thunder’s left eye was artificial and it was fixed in a dead gaze off to the side of Cork’s face. His other eye showed just about as much emotion. “Lonnie shot but didn’t hit you? Must’ve had to be he didn’t want to. He’s a good shot.”
“He called me afterward.”
“Yeah? What’d he say?”
“Told me to quit looking for him. Told me next time he wouldn’t miss.”
“That’s more’n he’s said to me in six months.” Thunder slipped his hooks free of the rings on the shotgun and deftly scratched at the stubble along his jawline. “You were looking for him? Buck Reinhardt hire you to find him?”
“You know about Alex and Rayette Kingbird?”
“I heard about ’em. Heard Reinhardt was behind it. Hell, he’s probably the one did this.”
“It appears he’s got an alibi for the Kingbird killings.”
“Sure. He’s white and he’s rich.”
“I’d like to know where Lonnie was when those folks were gunned down.”
Thunder looked surprised, then perturbed. “You’re thinking Lonnie might’ve had a hand in that? He’s not the brightest spark from the fire, but he wouldn’t do something like that. Hell, he thought the world of Kingbird. All those Red Boyz did.”
“I’m thinking Alex was going to turn him over to the sheriff. Maybe hoping to keep the peace and take the heat off the Red Boyz.”
“They can handle the heat.”
“I’d like to talk to Lonnie about it.”
“Seems like that’s something he definitely don’t want. Lonnie don’t want something, that’s all she wrote.”
Cork made a final appraisal of the destruction. “Whoever tore this place apart, they find Lonnie, it won’t be pretty.”
“Lonnie takes care of himself.”
“I hope you’re right, Ike. Mind?” He indicated he wanted to leave.
Ike Thunder moved back and Cork exited the trailer. Thunder followed him, swinging his stiff artificial leg as they headed back to the house.
At his Bronco, Cork said, “You’ve modified all your firearms for that hook of yours?”
“Yeah.”
Cork gave it a moment, then said, “Heard you were at the Broiler last night. Heard you showed up after the shots were fired over at Sam’s Place.”
“I got no idea when Lonnie fired them shots. Len Boudreau gave me a lift into town. Helped me deliver a cedar chest to Darwin Dassel, then he dropped me at the Broiler.”
“How’d you get home?”
“He had some kind of meeting at the fire hall, picked me up after.”
“Len, huh?”
“I got work to do,” Thunder said.
“I find Lonnie, want me to say hey from you?”
“You find Lonnie, you’ll have your hands too full to be doing much of anything ’cept saving your own ass.”
TWENTY-ONE
By noon the sun had come out and it was warm enough to have lunch outside. Annie and Cara Haines sat on the wall of one of the brick planter boxes that lined the entrance to Aurora Area High School. Five years earlier the district had consolidated with several of the smaller districts surrounding Aurora, and a new high school had been built. Annie hadn’t paid much attention at the time, but she understood there was a lot of discussion about the location of the building. The site that was finally chosen was a large meadow near the gravel pit at the edge of town. From the windows of the rooms facing west, the tall gravel conveyor was visible, rising from the pit like a long-necked prehistoric beast spitting rock. East, the view was of the parking lot in front of the school, and beyond that, the houses of Aurora, side by side, lining the streets that headed toward the lake nearly a mile distant.
“I’m thinking of going camping this weekend,” Cara said. “Maybe Slim Lake. Want to go?”
“I’ll be helping my dad at Sam’s Place.”
“Right. Fishing opener. My dad says your dad should wait to start the season.”
“Why?”
“All this trouble with the Red Boyz. The shots last night. He thinks folks will stay away from Sam’s Place for a while. Actually, he thinks I should stay away from you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s serious?”
Cara looked toward the parking lot where a group of guys were clustered around Gary Amundsen’s red ’67 Mustang convertible. Gary’s father owned Amundsen’s Auto Body, and both Gary and his father were car freaks.
“About nights, he’s serious. Once it’s dark, he doesn’t want me hanging with you. He’s afraid of what he calls ‘collateral damage.’”
“That’s so bogus.”
