“He did.”
“I saw you in the field. Big Sky is beautiful, even in the rain.”
“Dolly brought a pie.” Duchess handed him the dish by her foot.
Inside the phone rang. It did not ring often. She watched the old man head in and speak a few words that did not carry.
“Who was it?”
“Walker.”
“Did he mention Darke?”
“He was just checking in.”
“Darke will come.”
“There’s no way of knowing that.”
“You don’t get it.”
“Tell me.”
“He promised he’d come for me.”
“Why?”
She said nothing.
They sat and drank and breathed the earthy rain.
“I dream more here. I don’t want to.”
He turned to her.
“And my dreams are fucked up.”
He did not flinch at the curse. “Tell me.”
“No.”
“Tell the gray. She can hear you from here. Just talk, that’s all, Duchess.”
“That’s all,” she said quietly.
He closed his eyes to the rain. She saw him then, a life of paid mistake, the lure of second chance, the plaintive ask of redemption.
“I rise above the farmhouse and see slates and green, the gutter of leaves that remind me of fall and seasons that change no matter who dies. I am high in the sky and Montana is a footnote, patchwork fields stitched by tractors like ants, people that bob like they are drowning in ordinary.
“The ocean is endless but I see its end. I see the earth, the curves are tomorrow but it won’t turn. I see clouds that hold sky, a sunset in the desert and a rise over metals. Before long I am darkness and stars and their moons. The world is a nothing so small I raise a finger and hide it. I am the God I don’t believe in. I am big enough to stop the bad men.”
She would not cry.
Hal watched her carefully. “If he comes I will stop him.”
“Why?”
“To protect you and Robin.”
“I can protect us.”
“You’re still a child.”
“I’m not a child. I am an outlaw.”
He placed an arm around her and she melted into the warmth, hating herself as she did.
22
THE APARTMENT WAS ABOVE A Five & Dime, one window punched out and replaced with a board, the others grimy enough Walk couldn’t imagine much light made it through. Beside the door was a vent, the smell of Chinese food pumped out, despite the early hour.
The girl’s name was Julieta Fuentes and she’d worked at various clubs as a dancer. Martha had left several messages on her cell but gave Walk the address when the girl didn’t get back. It wasn’t on Walk, he didn’t press, but Julieta had trouble with an ex and Martha was worried about her.
He found the door open and climbed the narrow staircase. Mold crept its way from the mottled ceiling.
He knocked on the door, waited a little then hammered it.
Julieta was small, dark hair, wide hips, the kind of beautiful that almost saw him take a step back.
She glared. He flashed his badge and she glared some more.
“My son is sleeping inside.”
“Sorry. I got your details from Martha May.”
Julieta softened then, just enough to take a step out into the narrow hallway and pull the door to behind her.
She pressed close to Walk. He tried to move back, dropped down a step but found his eyes level with her bust. He coughed once, turned a shade of red that saw her glare return.
“Get it over with, whatever you want to know.”
“You worked at The Eight.”
“I took my clothes off for money, is that a crime?”
Walk wanted to loosen his collar, felt it constricting the blood, sending even more to his cheeks. “I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about Dickie Darke.”
No change in the glare.
He cleared his throat. “Martha said you had some trouble with a guy. Is it the father of—”
“I don’t sleep around, officer. Not all girls that dance are whores, you know.”
Walk glanced around, half hoping to see backup arrive. “I’m sorry. I just, I’m trying to find out about Dickie Darke.”
“He didn’t do it.”
“What?”
“Whatever you think he did.”
“That the party line?”
She tightened her robe, opened the door a little and listened out. “My son sleeps late. Up all night.”
“Like his mother.”
The first hint of a smile. “Listen, people look at Darke and see the size of him, guess he’s some kind of tough guy. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he can handle himself. I’ve seen him, this guy tried to grab me once. And Darke just picked him up by his throat. I mean clean off the floor. Like something out of a movie.”
“But he’s not violent.”
Julieta hit his arm, hard enough, something Latin in the move. “You’re thinking like an asshole cop.”
“How should I be thinking?”
She thought on that. “Maybe like a father looking out for his girl.”
“That’s what Darke was like?”
She sighed like she was dealing with an asshole cop. “He didn’t watch us. Dancing. He never watched, never tried to date us, never asked for a blowjob. And believe me, that’s not usual. If we had trouble, came up short, he’d see us right. You talk to any girl from The Eight, you won’t hear nothing bad about the man.”
“This guy, father of your son, did Darke sort that too?”
She didn’t speak, but her eyes told him what he wanted to know.
“Anything at all you can tell me? He might be in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“There’s men looking for him. Two guys, one had a beard and glasses.”
He could tell by the look on her face she knew them.
“I’m just trying to get answers here. Please.”
“I know those men, they stopped by each month, second Friday, left with a fat envelope. Not unusual, the kind of clubs I worked in, there’s always guys collecting.”
“He always paid.”
She laughed. “You don’t have a choice with guys like that. You pay or they make you pay. Darke knows that.”
“And the fact they’re looking for him now …”
“You think they give a shit The Eight burned? Not their problem. They want their money.”
“I don’t think he can
