I should have thought of where to hide it, I said. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this.
I don’t know why I didn’t either, said Cappy.
He went and rummaged around on the junk-laden coffee table until he came up with a set of keys. Doe had taken his car to work and Randall had gone off in his pickup, but Randall also had the red beater Olds that Cappy tinkered with. It had a black driver’s-side door and a cracked windshield. We went out, put the rifle in the trunk, and got into the front.
The starter’s bad, said Cappy.
It groaned the first time he turned it over. He gave it a spurt of gas. It died.
You gotta sneak up on it, Cappy said. While I’m psyching out this car, you think of where we’re going.
I know where we’re going.
He tried again. It nearly caught.
Where are we going?
To Linda’s. To the old Wishkob homestead.
We sat back, looking out at the shed through the two halves of the windshield.
That makes weird sense, said Cappy. Suddenly, he leaned forward, cranked the key hard, and pumped the gas pedal.
Engage, he said. The engine roared.
The rain was coming down like sixty now. Cappy opened his window and craned his neck to peer out as he drove. The windshield wiper worked on the passenger side, but not the driver’s side. He drove slowly and sedately as an old man. The Wishkob land was at the other end of the reservation in the dunelike brown hills of grass that were mostly good for grazing. It was a nice old place with plantings of lilac and a few twisted oak, battered shrubs that could stand the heavy wind. On the way there we’d passed maybe two cars and there was nobody to see us turn into Linda’s drive—the place was isolated. Cappy eased the car into Park and kept it idling because he didn’t know if it would start again. We got out and walked around the house to decide where. Linda’s old dog set up an asthmatic barking inside the house. We ended up pulling off a piece of the tan latticework tacked to the underside of Linda’s front porch. I crawled in and shoved the gun as far back as I could. We used a tire iron to pound the lattice back in place, then we noticed all the lattice was gone on the other side where the dog liked to sleep. We got back in the car and pulled out. We didn’t talk. Cappy paused the car to let me out on the road to my house. On the upper road leading out of town, we saw the tribal police car driving east, toward the golf course, lights going. No siren.
He’s dead for sure, said Cappy.
Otherwise, they’d rocket.
Their sirens would be going off.
We sat in the idling car. The rain was hardly a sprinkle now.
You saved my ass, brother.
Not really. You would have shot that—
Cappy stopped. Around here we don’t speak badly of the dead and he caught himself.
He would’ve died though, I said. You didn’t kill him. This is not on you.
Sure. Okay.
We were speaking without emotion. Like we were talking of other people. Or as if what we did had just happened on television. But I was choking up. Cappy swiped at his face with the heel of his palm.
We can’t talk about it after this, he said.
Affirmative.
Isn’t that how your dad says people get caught? Bragging to their friends?
They get drunk, whatever.
I feel like getting drunk, Cappy said.
With what?
The car’s idle faltered and Cappy pressed tenderly on the gas pedal.
I don’t know. Randall’s on the wagon.
I could make it up with Whitey, I said.
Yeah? Cappy glanced at me.
I nodded at him and looked away.
After you bring the car back ...
Right.
Meet me at the gas station. I’ll go talk to him.
I got out. I stood away from the car, then reached out and hit my palm on the window. Cappy drove off and I walked slowly over to the gas station, past the old BIA school and the community center, past the one stop sign and past Clemence and Edward’s house. Over the highway and down the weedy ditch and back up. By the time I got there, the rain had completely dried off except for some random dark patches on the gravel or cement. Whitey stood in the doorway of the garage wiping his hands on the greasy rag. He watched me for a moment and then faded back into the darkness. Came out dangling two cold open bottles of grape Crush. I walked up to him and took a bottle. His receiver was crackling police signals. I took a gulp of pop and it nearly came back up.
Your stomach must be turned over, said Whitey. You need a slice a bread.
He got me some white bread from the cooler and after I ate a slice I felt better. We sat down in the lawn chairs in the shadow the garage cast, where Sonja and LaRose had sat what seemed a very long time ago.
Remember when I was little, I asked, you used to give me a swig now and then?
Your mom sure hated that, said Whitey. Hungry? Fancy a rez steak sandwich?
Not yet, I said. I sipped the grape pop.
This time it went down good, said Whitey. He was looking at me closely. He opened his mouth a couple of times before he spoke.
Someone dusted Lark, he said. On the golf course. Made a mess of him like a kid shooting at a hay bale. Then one clean head shot.
I tried to sit very still, but couldn’t. I jumped up and ran around back. I just got there in time. Whitey didn’t follow me. He was helping a customer when I came back. My knees were weak as water and I needed the lawn chair.
I’m switchin’ you to ginger ale, my boy. He went into the store and came out with a warm can.
This ain’t been in the cooler and it should go easy on your gut.
I think I got the summer flu.
The summer flu, he agreed. It’s going around. Your friends catch it too?
I don’t know. I haven’t seen ’em.
Whitey nodded and sat down beside me.
I been listening to the squawk-box. Whoever did it left no traces, he said. There’s nothing to go on. Nobody seen it. Nobody seen nothin’. Then it rained so hard. You’ll be getting over this flu quickly. Still, maybe you should take a lay-down, Joe. There’s a little cot in the office. Sonja used to nap there, and she will again. She’s coming home, Joe. I tell you?
Did she call you? I asked, hating him.
Damn right, she called me. Gonna be different now, she said, her game. But I don’t care. I don’t care. Whatever you think—he looked away from me carefully—I’m stone in love with that old girl. You understand? She’s coming back to me, Joe.
I walked in and lay down on the cot for a good half hour. It didn’t smell like Sonja. I was glad because I couldn’t have taken that. When I got up and went back out, Cappy still had not shown up.
I could maybe eat that sandwich now, Uncle.
Whitey went to the cooler and took out the baloney, cheese, and bread. There was a head of iceberg lettuce in there and he carefully tore off three pale green leaves and placed them on the meat before closing the sandwich.
Lettuce? I asked.
I’m on a health kick, me.
He handed over the sandwich and made one for himself. Then he gave me that one too.
