As she spoke, I became aware of a commotion. The screen slapped open and the most formidable of the aunts made her way from the porch and headed toward us. Henry was wheeling Lonnie out the door after her with the buffalo rifle in Lonnie’s lap along with a small, black plastic box. Melissa’s aunt pulled up short when she saw me. I hadn’t formally met Arbutus Little Bird and had previously withstood her cast-iron gaze from afar. She didn’t like me, but I think it was less because I was a white man with a badge and more because I associated with Henry. “Hi, Arbutus.”
She redirected her gaze at Melissa. “Get in the car.”
I took a deep breath and took Melissa’s hand in mine. She was trembling. “Arbutus, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
She didn’t respond but stood there with her hands at her sides as Henry wheeled Lonnie up behind her. She turned slightly and spat out the words, “I hope you’re happy, now that the sheriff ’s here.”
Lonnie’s eyes did light up when he saw me. “Hello, Sheriff.”
“Hey, Lonnie. What’s going on?”
“Oh, my sister isn’t going to let me have my daughter for the holidays. Yes, it is so.”
I glanced up at Henry, who shrugged. I looked back at the galvanized aunt. “What’s the story?”
“I’m taking her home.”
“Well, do you mind telling me why it is you’re not going to let her have Thanksgiving with her father?”
A moment passed. “I don’t have to talk to you.”
“No, you don’t, but I can get on the radio and get one of the IPs over here and you can talk to him.” I was playing an angle, but most inhabitants of the reservation hated Indian Police even more than us. We were just whites. They were apples, red on the outside, white on the inside. She didn’t say anything. “Whatever it is? I’m sure we can work it out.”
“I found a beer in his refrigerator.”
I turned and looked at Lonnie. “Is that true, Lonnie?” God, like I didn’t know the response.
“Yes, it is true. Yes, it is so.” He continued to smile. “I keep it there as a reminder and to keep temptation at hand. Temptation out of reach does you no good.”
“How long’s the beer been in there?”
“About a year and a half.”
She crossed her arms, but she turned to look down at him. We were making progress. “How come I haven’t seen it in there before?”
He blinked his eyes through the thick glasses. “It was behind the pickled pigs’ feet. You don’t ever move them. Um-hmm, yes it is so.”
The look on her face told me he was telling the truth. “Arbutus, do you think it would be all right if Lonnie came over for Thanksgiving dinner at your place?” I waited a moment myself, for the next one. “And do you think it would be all right if Melissa came over here and spent the night with Lonnie, maybe on the Friday after Thanksgiving?” She didn’t say anything but turned to look at me. “Friday night, then?”
“Get in the car, Melissa.”
She started to open the door, but Melissa’s voice stopped her. “Would it be okay if the sheriff came over for Thanksgiving dinner, too?”
Arbutus stopped and turned to look at her, then at me. She was a hard old gunboat, but I saw the steely eyes soften a little. “Walter is always welcome at our table.” She started to open the door, but her eyes steered clear of mine. “You know where I live. Melissa, will you get in the car?”
The hand loosened in mine, and she leaned in to give a slight peck on my lowered cheek. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”
“I’ll do my best.” She stopped. “I’ll be there.” The smile returned, and I watched as she turned the corner and got into the van, or almost did, before she jumped out, ran around the front, and gave her father and uncle a good- bye hug.
I leaned against the bed of my truck, crossed my arms, and looked down. “How you doin’, Lonnie?”
“I’m good, and how are you?”
“I’m all right. Did you leave me a little present?”
He looked up at Henry through the split lenses, and the mid-afternoon sun glinted off his metal-framed glasses. Then he turned back to me and smiled. “Um-hmm, yes, I did.”
I nodded. “How did you get in my truck?”
“Oh, those new ones are easy to break into, that and the keys by the door of your office. Yes, it is so.”
I had to relocate the key rack. “Why did you leave the ammo for me?”
“You’re gonna think I’m crazy if I tell you.” The smile was a little weak when he looked up.
“Lonnie, I’ve seen an awful lot of crazy stuff lately, so why don’t you try me?”
“The Old Ones told me you would need them.” He nodded. “Yes. When I lost my legs, they began talking to me. I think it is because my legs are with them, now. They tell me half things.”
“Half things?”
“Yes, because I am only half with them. Someday, all of me will be with them, and they will tell me everything.”
I smiled. “I hope you don’t get the whole story too soon, Lonnie.” I looked down at the rifle in his lap. “Lonnie, did you take the gun out and shoot it a bunch of times?”
He looked genuinely ashamed. “I was angry, so I shot one of the fence posts out back.”
I thought of the things I might shoot if somebody had done to my daughter what had been done to his. The image of Lonnie out on his back porch late one night shooting at a singular fence post hung there just out of range. I’m pretty sure I jumped a little when the radio crackled in the truck. I could hear Ruby’s voice through the glass and the transceived miles. “Come in, Unit One.”
It was probably word from the Sportshop or on the Espers but, when I looked up at the clock on the dash, it was only two-thirty; maybe it was Jim Keller. I opened the door and keyed the mic. “Base, this is Unit One. Go ahead?”
Static. “Walt, George Esper is gone again.”
I slumped against the doorjamb of the truck and rested my head on the mic in my hand. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Static. “He stole Ferg’s truck. Vic’s in pursuit.”
“Where?”
Static. “Out 16, probably on the highway. He already ran into somebody near the co-op. Turk’s out there now.”
“Did anybody notify the HPs?”
Static. “Yes.”
I waited a moment; chances are Vic was still in range. Static, then a fainter signal broke through. “I’m at Mile Marker 113, and if the little fucker was up here, I would have caught him by now.”
“Vic, leave the highway to the HPs, I got a sneaking suspicion that he’s headed out this way.”
Static, and I listened as she slowed the five-year-old unit down to under a hundred, negotiating the divider with one hand. “I’m on my way back, but if that’s the case he’s got a hell of a lead on me.”
“We’ll get him from the other direction. Unit One, out.” I hung the mic back up and leaned out to look at Henry. “You coming?”
He nodded and started pulling Lonnie back up to the house. Lonnie grabbed the wheel rails of his chair and slid himself to a stop. “You go ahead, I can get back in the house myself. Yes, it is so.” Then he reached down and handed the rifle up to me. “Take this.” I took the rifle as he handed the black plastic box to Henry.
Henry looked at him, nodded, and came around to the passenger door. As I crossed in front of the truck, I stopped. “Lonnie, you know that cartridge box?”
He continued to smile. “Yes?”
“It has writing on it, next to the bullet hole?” He nodded and smiled. “Whose handwriting is that?”
“You should know that handwriting.”
“Lonnie, I don’t have a lot of time…”
“Nedon Nes Stigo, He Who Sheds His Leg.”
Lucian.
