Death on the Greasy Grass (20 page)

C
HAPTER
26

The elevator thumbed its nose at Manny, taunting him, as it rode slow enough for a second chorus of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” Christmas music in June made no sense to Manny, and he sure as hell didn't feel merry. Clara's text to get to the hospital had betrayed Manny as he tried sneaking past Hard Ass Harris, and Manny had been brought into his office for a closed-door session. The senior agent in charge had grilled him about his questioning of Wilson Eagle Bull. The bureau, Manny had reminded him, often stepped on toes during the course of an investigation. Manny just had to convince him toe flattening was needed in this case, and he was grateful Hard Ass had let him off with just a brief ass nipping.

He slapped the button for the fifth floor as if doing so would make the elevator go faster. “Come right to ICU,” Clara had texted again. Manny leaned his head against the elevator and closed his eyes, praying Willie's condition had improved. He became aware of gears whining, of the elevator shaking ever so slightly as it crept upward, of the odor he had not noticed before.
The odor of death?
Manny shook his head to clear it. No, this was the odor of a hundred people riding the elevator today, and he had newfound respect for wee people riding elevators with smelly, gassy people.

The tiny bell brought him off the wall and he poised, the doors remaining closed long enough that Manny felt the taunt as if the machine fueled his anxiety. When it finally opened, Manny squeezed through before the doors fully opened and ran down the hall. He passed the nurse's station, grateful the bulldog-jawed biddy that had kicked him out before was not on scowling at him from behind her magazine. The duty nurse gave Manny a curious look before she went back to charting.

Clara met Manny at Willie's room and stepped into the hall, closing the door after her. She hooked her arm in his and led him to the waiting room.

“Willie's come out of it and he wants to talk with you.”

“That's great.” Manny turned to Willie's room, but Clara held him back.

“He's come out of it long enough to make a declaration.”

“Declaration?” Manny struggled to make meaning out of it. “Declaration of what?”

Clara's mouth turned down and she ran her sleeve over her eyes. “His dying declaration. At least that's what Lumpy called it.”

Dying declaration. Then Willie thinks that his death is imminent.
“Dying? I thought the doctors drained the fluid in his lungs?”

“They did,” Clara muffled through her hand covering her mouth. She turned back, eyes red, regaining her composure.
At least one of us has it under control.
“He developed pneumonia, and the medication's not working.”

“What do the doctors say? He's not going to die?”

Clara squeezed Manny's arm. “What's important is that Willie thinks so. He's lucid enough that he ordered the nurses to take the feeding tube out of his stomach. He's given up.”

Manny patted his back pocket for his bandanna, anticipating his condition when he talked with Willie. If Willie intended making a dying declaration, Manny intended holding it together long enough to record it and convict the SOB that shot him.

Manny eased the door open, and Doreen stood from the chair beside the bed. She glared at Manny as she brushed past him. “He wants to talk with you alone.”

“I understand.” What Manny understood was that Willie was about to make his way to the Wanagi Tacna, and he didn't want to travel the Spirit Road alone.

“Hell of a predicament I got myself into this time.”

Manny barely made out Willie's whisper, and pulled a chair close. Willie's heavy eyes, red and bleary, found Manny. He turned away for a heartbeat, breathing to control himself. He needed to maintain composure in order to get through this, but it was difficult for Manny to see his friend's sallow, drooping cheeks. Willie had lost twenty pounds in the few days since the shooting despite the feeding tube, and Manny wouldn't have known him in the dark.

“Doubt if I'll get a chance to top this.” Willie coughed violently. Manny grabbed the call button but Willie waved his hand away.

“I'm all right for now.” Spittle dripped from one side of Willie's mouth, and Manny dabbed it with a towel draped over the bed stand.

Manny patted Willie's cold, clammy, fragile hand, Manny's palm resting on the IV tube sticking out. He never thought he'd ever see his friend this fragile.

“I need to make a statement.”

“You of all people know Lakota tradition,” Manny said. “First we jaw a little before getting down to business.”

Willie's eyes closed, and Manny's heart jumped. He couldn't tell if Willie was breathing, and only the steady beeping of the monitor above him showed he was still living. “I got no time to jaw,” he said at last. He looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time, and his eyes met Manny's. “I need to make a statement. For court. When you catch the bastard.”

“There'll be time enough for that when you get up on your feet.”

“I won't be around to make a court appearance.” He lapsed into another coughing fit, and Manny held the towel under Willie's chin. He slumped back onto the pillow, his breaths coming in wheezing gasps. “You need to get this asshole. Before he kills someone else.”

Manny suddenly became very proud of his protégé—putting others ahead of himself. With fortitude like that, the Old Ones would be proud of Willie. “Of course.”

Manny grabbed his notebook and pocket recorder from his briefcase. Although he rarely needed notes, this was different. These would be Willie's final words, used to catch and convict the shooter.

“I spotted Degas coming out of Wilson's barn in that big Dodge dually. I didn't . . .” He started coughing, chunks of green spitting onto his bedsheets, and Manny grabbed for the call button. Once again, Willie stopped him. “I don't want that female drill instructor coming in here and kicking you out.”

“She's not on duty.”

“She's always on duty.” Willie smiled for the first time, and continued. “I learned Degas was working for the Eagle Bull Ranch and waited until I saw some activity down at the bunkhouse.” Willie sputtered, coughing. Manny grabbed for a metal pan beside the bed. Willie spit phlegm into it and wiped his mouth with his hand.

“I put the binos on them. Cubby Iron Cloud was riding in the passenger seat.” Willie breathed, rasping breaths coming hard. “They got to within a hundred yards of where I was hidden and turned around. Like he forgot something in the barn.”

Manny wrote legibly.
For court.
“What did they do then?”

Willie closed his eyes. “They went back to the bunkhouse and parked. I was sure they didn't spot me, but I'd been sitting there all night waiting for Degas; I was running out of gas myself. I decided to drive in there. Talk with Degas. Arrest him if I could.”

Manny started to speak, but Willie interrupted. “I know what you and Chief Looks Twice said about confronting him alone. I messed up.” His eyes closed, and Manny quickly wrote what he had just told him. Willie remained motionless and Manny nudged his arm. Willie opened his eyes.

“I'm not sure what happened then.”

“Wilson's foreman said the ranch hands surrounded you.”

Willie nodded. “That's right. They started pushing me around when I told them I needed to talk with Degas.”

Manny wrote quickly. “And Cubby?”

Willie shook his head. “Don't know. I didn't see him after that time riding in Degas's truck.”

Manny waited until Willie found the strength to continue. “After they let me go, I took off down Wilson's driveway. Got a quarter mile when I saw Degas was parked across the road. Hood open. I didn't know it was him at the time as it was a different truck than he drove earlier. I stopped. Thought someone had problems. But it was him.”

Willie slumped back on his pillow and motioned for the water glass. Manny held it up and Willie sipped through the straw. “He was friendly enough. At first. He said he'd come into the police station for an interview. But wanted to know what I wanted him for. I said he was a suspect in Harlan's death. At the reenactment.

“He laughed. Said he wasn't there. Said he was in jail in Hardin when Harlan was shot. I told him we had him on a camcorder swapping ammo.”

Manny flipped the page and finished writing what Willie had told him. “Maybe you ought to rest a bit . . .”

“I got no time,” Willie sputtered. “Listen, Degas started getting real agitated when I said we had proof he was in Harlan's tent. He demanded who else knew. He was especially interested if you knew about it.”

“What did you tell him?”

Willie motioned for another sip of ice water. “I didn't. I kept quiet. That's when he pulled that gun from the small of his back. I knew Degas intended killing me,” Willie said, opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling. “I could see it in those black eyes of his. Heartless eyes. I'm not ashamed to say he scared the hell out of me.”

Willie gasped, wincing in pain, shallow breaths coming in spurts. “He wanted to toy with me. Like a wildcat with a field mouse. A big, mean cat. I talked to him. Tried to distract him. Thought if I got him to talking I could pull my own gun.”

Manny wrote, aware Willie's words were coming at more effort.

“I got him to talk. Asked him why he switched that ammo that killed Harlan. Why he killed Sampson Star Dancer. He got madder 'n hell. Shouted. Demanded to know who else knew about them. I told him you did. And that you kept the tape with you all the time.”

Even with Willie staring down the barrel of a gun, he kept his wits. “So he'd come hunting me up?”

“Sorry,” Willie gasped. “But I knew he'd have to come after you. And when he did, you'd get him. Sorry.”

Manny patted Willie's arm. “You did good. He will come after me. And when he does, I'll be ready. What happened then?”

“That's when I saw my chance. I sprang for him. Just as the gun went off, I landed a right cross on his chin. We went down in a heap.”

Manny wrote, imagining Degas would be sporting a swollen jaw, or worse, broken, given Willie's strength. At least up until he came to call ICU his last home.

“I landed on my back. Tried to get up,” Willie gasped, and Manny wiped spittle from his chin. “But it was like I was paralyzed. Couldn't move. But at least Degas's jaw was at an odd angle. I knew I done damage. He had a hard time talking. But he got up. Asked again what you knew about Harlan and Sam.”

“And you said?”

“‘Stuff it in your ass.' That's when he pressed the gun to my chest and touched off a round.”

Manny wrote, watching Willie out of one eye. “Where was Wilson's other ranch hands all this time?”

Willie shrugged, and he winced in pain. “I'm sure we were too far away from the house for them to have heard. It was just me and that son of a bitch on the road. He stood over me for the longest time. I kept my eyes closed. Finally heard him moving off. He thought I was dead. And you know the funny thing?”

“What?”

“I had a vision. Right there on Eagle Bull land I had a vision. I was almost sorry the cavalry arrived and carted me off.”

Willie's eyes fluttered and Manny was quick to keep him talking. “What was the vision?”

Willie's yellowed eyes focused on Manny. “You know that's a private matter. You know I can't tell you.”

Manny nodded.

“Now let me sign. While I can. You're my witness.”

Manny held the statement up in front of him, his fingers wrapped around the pen, his signature little more than a scribble. He dropped back onto the pillow. “That will stand up in court, won't it?”

“It would, but we won't need it.” Manny tried sounding confidant, but anger replaced his deep sadness. For once, he did his best to clear his mind, to learn if Willie would live or travel south along the Milky Way.
What the hell good are visions if they won't come when you need them?
“This is no dying declaration.”

“It is.”

“Bullshit. You got too much to live for.”

Willie laughed, but a coughing fit overcame him and Manny held the pan for him to spit phlegm. A large piece cascaded off the side and dropped onto the floor with a dull smacking noise.

“What do I got for me here?”

“Doreen for one.”

A faint smile crossed Willie's face. “Who, if I pull out of this, will leave me.”

Manny glanced at the window as Clara talked with Doreen just outside the door. “I'm certain when you finally make the break from this place, Doreen will be there for you.”

Willie started coughing, his shoulders shaking violently, his IV popping out of his arm. Manny hit the call button and the charge nurse burst through the door just ahead of Doreen. The nurse started rethreading the IV tube. “He needs rest,” she ordered.