I sighed. “Okay, what’s part two?”
“We get you in shape.”
I took another sip of coffee; it was getting cold. “Oh, I’m past that shit.”
“I want you to think about part three.” He smiled. “I want you to think about part three while we’re going through parts one and two.” He bumped me in the shoulder, and I spilled a little coffee. More splatters. He turned and dumped a small can of green chilies into the pan.
“I don’t suppose any of this might stem from conversations you may or may not have had with Cady, Ruby, or Vic.”
He was working the meat around, and the smell of the green peppers was intoxicating. “I talk with a lot of people about a lot of things.”
“How come you didn’t talk to me about Cody Pritchard eating his last meal at the Pony?”
He placed the metal stem of the spatula on the edge of the frying pan so that the plastic handle wouldn’t melt and leaned against the counter. I listened to him breathe and realized how much he had aged in the last twenty years, or the last two seconds. After a moment he reached across the counter with a steady hand and poured me another cup. “I did not think it was that important. You ran out of the place Friday night and did not say a word to anybody, and I knew I was going to see you this morning. I guess I thought I had more important things to talk to you about.” He poured himself a cup and placed the pot back on the burner. He looked me in the eye just to clear the air. “Well, officer… It was the night of November second at approximately 6:02 P.M. that the aforementioned, one Pritchard, Cody, entered the establishment known as the Red Pony. Witnesses to this fact are Mssrs. Charlie Small Horse, Clel Phillips, and the attesting Henry Standing Bear. The condition of Mr. Pritchard at that time was one of profound intoxication, whereupon he was refused alcoholic beverage and served one Mexican cheeseburger deluxe, including fries and a Coke. Twenty-five minutes later there was a verbal altercation between Mr. Pritchard and Mr. Small Horse, which resulted in Mr. Pritchard being escorted to the door of the establishment and asked to leave. The last I saw of Cody, he wheeled that piece of shit palomino-primer truck of his around in my parking lot, sprayed gravel, and headed east to a far better place than he had ever been before. So, do you want to book me, or you want to go take a shower?” He sipped his coffee.
“You seem a little defensive.”
“No shit? I just want to keep my proficiency and conduct reports up to snuff.” He smiled a tight little smile. “Anything else?”
“No, you pretty well covered it. I think I’ll go take a shower.” I stood up and walked past him toward the bathroom. I picked up the coffee since it was growing on me. I was hoping he’d say something, anything that would give me the excuse to turn around.
“Do not get me wrong, Walt, I did not like the kid, but then I do not know anybody who did. If you are looking for a suspect, just open the phone book.” He was watching the sausage as it burbled. “Are there any leads?”
I sighed and leaned against the refrigerator. “Toxicology at DCI said a high content of brewed barley malt, cereal grains, hops, and yeast…”
“Known in the trade as Busch Lite.”
“Ground beef, jalapenos, and American cheese.”
“Mexican cheeseburger. Anything else?”
“Nothing from toxicology. Ballistics says no lands or grooves, and the deformity of impact with the sternum makes identification that much more difficult.”
His curiosity sharpened. “Smoothbore?”
I shrugged. “Who knows, but if it is, it narrows the search to ten yards or less.”
“Which means it was somebody the little shit knew.” He smiled the tight smile again. “At least well enough to let them get close with a shotgun.” He pushed down on the frying pan handle, allowing the grease to puddle at the end of the skillet closest to him. “That is pretty close.”
“Yep.”
“No companions, no tracks?”
“Nope.”
“Any cover?”
My turn to smile. “That Powder River country, there’s a goodlookin’ woman behind every tree…” He joined me for the rest. “There just ain’t any trees.”
“Back to square one. Wadding or contact dispersal?”
“Nope. No powder tattooing, either.”
“Any hope of brass?”
“Ferg and that bunch didn’t come up with anything.”
“Hmmm…” He grunted. “I will withhold comment on whether Ferg and his bunch could slap their ass with both hands.” He frowned at the frying pan, spooned the pooled grease into a measuring cup that he must have used to apportion tomato paste, and flipped the majority of the contents. “Meteorite?”
I had to smile. “The more people I talk to, the more I am convinced that this may have been an act of God.”
“Hate to see the Supreme Being take the fall for this one.”
“He sees even the smallest sparrow fall.”
“That would pretty much describe the decedent, but would this not be stretching the jurisdiction thing?”
“Maybe.” The mood had lightened, and it was an opportunity that I couldn’t pass up. “Hey?”
“Hmm?” He looked at me, and the expression his face carried was one of open concern for a friend who had all but accused him of impeding a murder investigation. My heart wasn’t in the question, but I had to ask. “You know the scuttlebutt on the Rez?”
“What, you worried about the Indian vote?” He smiled to let me in on the joke, but it still hurt. “What?”
“The Little Bird rape case…”
“Melissa.”
“Melissa.” I was feeling lower and lower. “What’s the general feeling on the Rez about the job I did?” There was a brief look of irritation as he flipped his hair back and trapped what would have been a fine tail on a good cutting horse in a leather strip he had pulled from the back pocket of his jeans.
“General feeling”-he pointed up the phrase as silly white-man talk-“is that you could have done better.”
“And what is the basis of my failure?”
He turned his head and looked into the distance at the log wall only two feet away. “Two years suspended sentence, two years parole.”
“People don’t think Vern Selby and a jury had something to do with that?”
“These people do not have any bond with that judge or jury, none of whom were… Indian, and they do with you.” He paused. “You should take that as a grave compliment.” He opened a ziplocked bag of preshredded cheese and offered me some. I took a pinch and stuffed it in my mouth. Pepper jack. “Anyway, the goodwill of these people is not going to have much effect on your condition. There is only one person who can offer you absolution in this case, and he is a difficult individual with whom to deal… he forgives everyone but himself, and he never forgets.” We stood looking at each other, chewing. “You should go take a shower. Part three said she would be here for kickoff at two.” He pulled open the door of the oven and checked on his biscuits. The smell was marvelous.
“Part three?”
“Vonnie Hayes expressed a desire to participate in the bonding ritual this afternoon. I thought it might lead to a more desirable ritual between the two of you later this evening.”
I took a moment to reply. “I just saw her yesterday morning. She didn’t say anything.”
“Women seem to enjoy surprising you, perhaps because it is so easy.”
I looked around the house at the piles of books and accumulated dirt on the floors, the walls, and the ceiling. “Oh, shit…”
He followed my eyes and shook his head. “Yes, it is very bad, but we will tell her you are under construction. Red Road Contracting, the young men I told you about, will be here tomorrow morning.” He pulled the biscuits from the oven and placed them on one of the front burners. “Go take a shower.”
I started, but turned. “What’s part four?”
“Spirituality, but that may have to come from somebody else.”
I turned the water on in the shower and spent the time waiting for it to heat up by inspecting my bullet holes.
