it.”
“Uh-huh,” Yeager said. “Mr. Broker, would you mind following me into town?” Polite but firm.
“I could do that,” Broker said. He walked back to his truck, pressed the lock remote, opened the door, and got in. As he turned the key in the ignition, he instinctively checked under the seat with his left hand.
Broker decided not to mention the missing pistol and badge as he followed Yeager back to town. He’d just watch and see if Yeager gave anything away. He pulled into the parking area in front of the motel, next to Yeager’s Crown Vic. Yeager got out and leaned against the cruiser’s front fender, hatless, smoking a Marlboro Light that looked like a white straw in his thick fingers. He could have got those arms lifting free weights, but you don’t lift iron for hours on end. Throwing hay bales, more likely.
“It’s Yeager, right?” Broker said.
“Yeah.” Yeager took a drag, exhaled. The steady breeze bled the smoke from his nose and mouth. “Kinda figured you’d be on that plane that took off.” Inhale, hold, exhale. “Guess not.”
Broker did his best to look attentive. He pointed to the Explorer and said, “I’ll be driving.”
“When?” Yeager asked.
Broker mugged a tight smile, looked away.
Yeager was mellow, totally relaxed. He was, after all, completely in control here. He raised his chin inquiringly. “So how’s the hand? Heard you tagged Ace Shuster with a left. Musta smarted some.”
“Some.”
“Uh-huh. And I noticed that you and the little girl dropped in on Dale Shuster this morning. I don’t think he’s going to sell that old Deere, do you?”
“Not likely,” Broker said.
Yeager looked away for several seconds. “You know, there’s this Air Force radar base east of town. Real sophisticated stuff. Tracks all the space junk, is what they say. Can spot a beer can at eight hundred miles.”
“Really.”
“Really. Got private security, though. Local guys man the gate. They stay on orange alert there. The rest of the country is on yellow. But they know what’s going on, and one of them tells me this helicopter showed up last night. One of those Black Hawks, like in that movie that just come out.” Yeager paused and watched Broker’s face for a reaction.
“No shit,” Broker said.
“No shit. The story is, the chopper was en route to Grand Forks on a routine flight and had to stop for minor mechanical repairs. Six guys plus the crew. ’Cept they all wear civilian clothes and keep strictly to themselves. This guy told me four of them are, like, in real good shape. Regular animals. The other two are kinda nerdy looking. Just hanging out, playing basketball next to the hanger. Thought you might be interested.”
“Well, maybe they just had minor mechanical trouble.”
“Yeah, probably. Another thing…Your wife? Nina?
“Yeah…”
Yeager watched him come forward through his cool act, alert.
“Yeah, well, thing is…Her and that Jane Singer”-Yeager hooked his fingers, making air quotes-“the overt lesbian? Army doesn’t know anything about them. Where they are. What they’re doing in North Dakota. Said they’ll get back to us.”
Broker smiled his unhappy smile.
Yeager went on talking in a steady, friendly voice. “And the old guy in the beach shirt who was hanging around the swimming pool when you showed up?”
“You been following me, Deputy Yeager?”
Yeager shrugged and smiled. “Not me.”
“Somebody else maybe?”
“Maybe. Well, after Jane checked out of the Motor Inn yesterday, the old dude drove out of town behind her. Just take a wild-ass guess where they spent last night.”
Broker stared at him.
Yeager smiled. “My buddy the security guard at the radar site heard that Jane has a mean hook shot.”
Broker saw that Yeager wasn’t going away. So, effectively agreeing to dance, he said as much. “You ain’t going away, are you, Yeager?”
“Hey, Broker, I live here. See-after the spooks and the black helicopters and the feds finish creepy-crawling around and have their moment, then they’ll leave.” Yeager studied the coal of his cigarette, put it back between his lips, and calmly placed his hands on his hips. “Then, well…I’m still here in this county. Me and, basically, three other guys.”
Broker withdrew the tinfoil pouch of Sweets from his back pocket, dug out one of the rough wraps, put it in his mouth, and waited while Yeager took out an old-fashioned Zippo and thumbed the wheel.
Broker puffed until he was lit and then pointed at the lighter. Yeager handed it to him. The case was nicked and rubbed smooth. Ditto the brass eagle, anchor, and globe on the side. Under the Marine insignia there were just two engraved words, one almost faded away, one newer:
Yeager said, “My dad gave it to me when I went into the crotch. I had it in the ’Ruit in ’83.”
“The barracks?” Broker handed the Zippo back.
“I was on detail, hauling ash and trash, about a mile away when it blew. Three other guys in my room-they never found enough to fill one body bag.” Yeager paused, thumbed his smoke, set his jaw. “Nineteen years old. I handled a whole lot of dead bodies the next couple days. How many dead people you touched in your life, Broker?”
Broker looked past Yeager, scanning the scrolls of clouds that filled the sky, as if he’d find a list of instructions spelled out.
Yeager, ever patient, watched the wheels revolving in Broker’s eyes. “Okay. Tell you what. Instead of just standing around looking out of place, why don’t you hop in my cruiser and let me show you around. I’ll do all the talking. You just listen. Then, later, if you want to talk or get ahold of me-like, if something were to happen…” Yeager heaved his shoulders, let them drop.
“What the hell,” Broker said. The more he saw of Yeager, the more sure he was that it was the guy, the one in the van, who broke into his truck. Deal with that later.
“Get in. Your Ford’ll be just fine here.”
Broker got in, looked around. “No computer.”
“Nope, we got us a time warp going here when it comes to budget. So it’s old-style. Just the radar and the radio.”
They were easing east on 5 and came up to the flashing red stop. Yeager hung a left, looked across the seat. “So when’s the last time you worked patrol?”
“Jesus. Hadda be the eighties.”
“Goddamn. And I thought I was old. Things have changed, huh?” He paused. “Not here, maybe.”
Broker wished he still had Kit because the fields started to roll out like a scene from the
“Yeah,” he said, “things have changed. The new breed of cops are a lot smarter than I was.”
Yeager grinned. “Got to be smart to drive, talk on the radio, type on a computer, answer your cell phone, and ding out messages on your Palm Pilot all at the same time.”
“Way too smart to rush into things the way we did,” Broker said.
Yeager leaned back and rubbed his chin with the knuckles of his right hand. “Something to be said for rushing in. I watched that Columbine thing live on TV. Those Colorado boys sure didn’t do any rushing in on that one.” He cut Broker with a frank look. “Just my opinion-but my gut read was if there would have been more dead cops, there would have been less dead kids.” After making his point, Yeager swung his eyes back on the road. Then he said, “Your wife and her army pals are old-style, when it comes to rushing in…”
Broker didn’t take the bait and so Yeager drove in silence. They passed two deserted farmhouses in as many
