The man had not moved. The dogs were in a pen, two German shepherds and something that looked like a Rottweiler with a bushy tail. They were barking insanely, bouncing against the chain-link fence like pinballs. The man shifted his M-16 down off his shoulder, letting it dangle at his side. He was wearing a down vest over a heavy navy sweater, fatigue pants and heavy black boots caked with mud. He was tall and burly. His face was hidden on top by a cap emblazoned with the Oakland Raiders logo and below by a thick red beard.
“Stop right there,” he said slowly.
Louis and Jesse came to a halt about ten yards away. The cacophany of barking was ear splitting.
“Quiet!” the man shouted suddenly.
The dogs stopped. They circled each other in agitation and then sat, ears pricked forward, snarling at Louis and Jesse.
“This is private property,” the man said.
“We know,” Louis said. “We just want to talk to you.”
Louis became aware of movement from the corner of his eye. He turned slightly to his left. Two men had materialized out of the woods. Both wore the same hybrid outfits of military garb and outdoor clothing. He heard a sound behind him and sensed the presence of others at his back.
“We don’t like cops here,” the man with the beard said.
Louis nodded. “Fair enough.”
Another man came out of the nearest building. He was shorter than the others, wiry, black. He stared at Louis. Louis held his eyes for a moment then his gaze dropped to the empty left sleeve of the man’s jacket. He looked back to the bearded man.
“We’re from Loon Lake. We’re investigating a murder,” Louis said.
“Two murders now,” the man said.
Louis stared at him. “Yes, two murders. Two police officers.” He waited, but the bearded man said nothing. “We think the killer had a connection to the military. We think — ”
“You think,” the man interrupted, “that your killer is a wacko vet. And here we are, a whole camp of loonie- tunes right under your nose.” He smiled and hoisted the rifle up over his shoulder. “Now that’s one nifty piece of investigating there, Kojak.”
“Look, I just want to show you something,” Louis said, reaching into his pocket to pull out the plastic evidence bag. He came closer, holding it up. “You ever seen a card like this?”
The man ignored it. “Look, we don’t have to put up with your shit this time. We’re not in your fucking jail now. We’re on my land.
Louis sensed the men behind him moving closer. His eyes flitted up to the black soldier. He was staring at the card. Suddenly, he turned and walked off into the trees. It started to snow.
“Louis, let’s get out of here,” Jesse said tightly.
“I’d take your partner’s advice, friend,” the man said.
Louis hesitated. This was going nowhere. He stuffed the bag back in his pocket and brushed the snow from his face. Jesse was right. He wasn’t going to get anything out of these head cases.
He turned and started back toward the cruiser. Jesse followed quickly.
“I told you,” Jesse said when they were out of earshot.
“Shut up, Jess.”
“Christ, look at this shit,” Jesse said, gesturing at the snow. “We’re never gonna get the cruiser back up that hill. We’re gonna get stuck up here and — ”
Jesse froze. Louis looked up.
The black soldier was standing a few yards in front of the cruiser. He was holding a large gun of some kind.
“Oh, great,” Jesse said through clenched teeth. “If that motherfucker — ”
“Shut up!” Louis hissed. He approached the soldier, his eyes going to the gun. With a twist in his gut he realized it was an AK-47. How in the hell did he fire it with one arm?
From the lines in his face, the soldier looked to be in his forties. He gave off an aura of harnessed energy, his sinewy body a coiled spring, his black eyes snapping. Louis looked at the faded name on his worn jacket. CLOVERDALE. He recognized two patches from Phillip Lawrence’s souvenirs: a sergeant’s strips and a CIB, a combat infantry badge. “If you ever see a man wearing a CIB, he’s worthy of your respect,” Phillip had told him.
“You’re lucky Randall didn’t blow your head off,” the soldier said.
Jesse stepped forward. “Listen, asshole — ”
The soldier tensed. Louis’s arm shot up against Jesse’s chest. He turned his back to Cloverdale and glared at Jesse.
“Goddamn it, Jess,” he whispered tightly, “we need this man’s help. He knows something.”
Jesse’s eyes darted over Louis’s shoulder to Cloverdale and back to Louis’s face. Jesse’s neck was red, the flush creeping up into his face.
“Go wait in the cruiser,” Louis said. “Please.”
Jesse hesitated, glared again at the soldier then stomped off toward the cruiser. Louis waited until he heard the slam of the door and the start of the motor then turned to face Cloverdale. He pulled out the card and held it up.
“You know about this?” he asked.
Cloverdale’s eyes didn’t leave Louis’s face. “Why should I talk to you?”
“Because I need help,” Louis said.
The man gave a low bitter laugh. “Help? Well, ain’t that ironic.”
Louis thrust the bag forward. “You know what this card means. And I think you want to tell me about it.”
“Why? Because you’re black? You think we got some kind of special brother thing going here?” Cloverdale laughed again. “Let me tell you something,
He sobered and looked toward the cruiser, at Jesse sitting sullenly behind the wheel. “That your partner?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Too bad, man.”
Louis wiped the snow from his eyes. It was coming down heavy now. But he couldn’t leave, not yet. This man wanted to talk, he was sure of it.
“Hey, you got a cigarette?” Cloverdale asked.
“Sorry. Don’t smoke.”
Cloverdale hoisted the gun up, holding it against his shoulder. He saw Louis looking at it.
“Yeah, it’s heavy,” he said. He studied Louis’s face. “Go on, ask me,” he said.
“Ask you what?” Louis said.
“How I lost my arm. It’s what you were thinking about.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
Cloverdale smiled. He had beautiful, straight teeth. Movie star teeth. “How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty-five,” Louis said.
“I was twenty-four when I joined up,” Cloverdale said. “I grew up in a shithole town in Arkansas…Marked Tree. Man, I would have done anything to get out of the South.”
“Mississippi,” Louis said.
“What?” Cloverdale said, squinting through the snow.
“Black pool, Mississippi, that’s where I was born. Probably makes Marked Tree look like Paris.”
Cloverdale stared at him for a moment then smiled. “You don’t strike me as military,” he said. “You serve?”
Louis shook his head.
The soldier’s smile turned pensive. “I was at Fort Campbell,” he said. “They picked me for Delta Company, second battalion, 501st Infantry, 101st Airborne Division.” He cocked his head. “You ever see that movie
