Eagle, Kathleen (15 page)

He
glanced at the miniature encampment on the far side of a convoluted ribbon of
blue paint. "Or Lakota Nation," he amended. "Why did he say
Sioux? He's probably the one who got them to change the damn sign. He's the
expert now.
Was
the expert."

"Who's
that letter to?"

"Some
white guy," he said absently, then caught himself and cast her an
apologetic smile. "I mean, some bureaucrat."

"I'm
not a guy," she said with an easy shrug as she scanned the papers.
"It looks as though he wrote a lot of letters." A typical Roy Blue
Sky phrase caught her eye, and she smiled. "They're wonderful. So
straightforward, just the way he talked."

"Yeah,
he was a straight shooter, all right. I've been looking this stuff over pretty
carefully, and I think he was onto something. If his information is right, the
figures don't add up."

"His
information comes from..."

"Some
of it comes from Ten Star. Some from tribal accounts, some from the gaming
commission, some from..." The next words, spoken carefully, clearly
troubled him. "My brother."

"Well,
Carter's the general manager."

"The
ol' man calls him Mr. Marshall." He handed her another letter, but he
peered over her shoulder and read aloud. "He says, 'Mr. Marshall claims
that surveillance tapes are closely scrutinized, and there's been no
significant cheating. If that's true, then there's something else going on.'
And here's the reply." Helen recognized the government letterhead on the
paper Reese tossed atop the pile. "They promised to investigate."

"Then...
they will."

He
spun a kitchen chair on one leg, straddled it, folded his arms over the
backrest, getting into Helen's face now. "How would they go about
it?"

"There's
nothing in the letter?"

"Something
about sending someone in..." His smile was disarming. He knew, she
realized now, just as Roy had known. "... undercover. Sounds funny,
doesn't it? An undercover agent in Bad River, South Dakota."

"It's
probably just..."

"Just
what?"

She
returned his smile with a little sauce of his own making. "Some white
guy."

"Be
pretty hard for a white guy to go
undercover
here. They're kind of
conspicuous." He waited for a comeback, but she shook her head, gave a
small shrug. "Did they send someone, Helen?" The head shaking
stopped. "Did my father know it was you?"

She
bolted from her chair. It didn't matter what he knew as long as he kept it to
himself. "I can't talk about this, Reese."

"How
in the hell did you get into—"

She
turned the corner into the sparsely furnished brown-and-white living room. The
front door stood open. Cool morning air wafted through the screen.

Reese
pressed her from behind. "Who do you work for, Helen?"

"I've
worked for the government ever since you first met me."

"You
were a BIA teacher."

"My
GS rating is a little higher now, but..." She'd retreated to the open
door, drawn to the fresh air and the view of purple coneflowers, golden
brown-eyed Susans, and gray-green sage scattered throughout the tall grass.
"Everything I've told you is basically true, Reese. I hope to get back
into teaching full-time very soon. I'm working as a blackjack dealer right now.
I really can't say any more, and if you tell anyone what you've surmised, then
I'll probably lose my job. No one will trust me." She turned back to him.

"Who's
no one? The Bad River Sioux Tribe? You think they trust you now?" He was
looking at her differently, trying out a new concept, one that had apparently
just occurred to him. "They don't really know you, do they?"

"Not
really," she admitted, meeting his gaze, if not on an equal level, at
least with equal challenge. "Not any better than they know Reese Blue Sky
anymore, but they're willing to let him serve on the council, no questions
asked."

"I'm
still—"

"One
of them? Still Roy's son? Still Lakota?" She could tell she'd hit a nerve
by the quick spark in his eyes, and she regretted her cynical tone. She wanted
no battle line drawn between them. She laid a hand on his warm, bare chest.
"Trust is such a fragile thing. Such a risky proposition."

"Tell
me, did my father know what you were doing here? Did you..." He lifted one
eyebrow. "Did you level with him?"

"We
didn't discuss it, other than..." She let her hand slide away. "He
said if I wanted my old job back at the school, he'd put in a good word for
me."

"I
guess filling in for him means making good on some of his promises." He
hooked his arm around the back of her neck and pulled her close. "You need
a Blue Sky, you come to me. I got all kinds of good words for you."

"All
I really want is for you to be careful. I really don't know why those figures
don't add up, but I think it might have something to do with why your father's
dead." She looked up at him, and she saw three generations. "I don't
want anything like that to happen to you."

"Seriously?"

He
was almost smiling, and she knew it had nothing to do with what had happened to
his father. He could see how serious she was about his life being important to
her. She was lost in the splendor of his eyes, and for the moment, she couldn't
worry about what he might know or what he might discover. For the moment, she
could think of nothing but the kiss he was about to give her.

Reese
wasn't sure what to think about
who Helen really was. If she really was
working undercover—there was that bizarre word again— then she had an
interesting side to her that he hadn't imagined.

So
interesting, she had him flying down the road thinking like some kind of a
detective. He figured he'd hook up with Titus Hawk, and maybe they'd pay Dozer
Bobcat a call. If Helen could do the undercover thing, hell, he could do some
snooping around in plain daylight. He had a friend or two on the police force.
Well, he was pretty sure they were still friends, even though Reese hadn't been
around for a while. They'd played ball together. Once a team, always a team.

Once
a lover...

Maybe
he'd never learn all there was to know about Helen, but he was willing to take
the time to discover each facet one by one. And he was willing to wait if she
couldn't talk about it right now. Far be it from him to blow his own side's
cover. And if there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that somehow, some
way, they were both working for the same side.

Which
meant he was into some kind of a game. That was fine by him. He'd been on the
damned disabled list long enough. He was ready for a game, ready to take on all
comers, but he needed more than one other team member. He needed Dozer Bobcat
and Tims Hawk. He and Dozer had joined the army together—the kind of a move it
took two guys to spur each other into after they'd quit college the first time
out, knocked around for a few weeks, looked at each other bleary-eyed and said,
Now what? Go home, or what?
Uncle Sam was always
or what.
Dozer
had been a cop in the army and a cop when he got out. Reese had been a
basketball player, and no matter what uniform he'd ever worn, they'd always put
the ball in his hands.

He
found Titus at home in his 1970s vintage trailer at Riverside Trailer Park.
Somebody had written "Tornado Target" above the words "Trailer
Park" after homes had been rolled by three twisters in one season. Reese
remembered that year—he'd been a freshman in high school— but it didn't
surprise him that the graffiti was still there. Change was not a hot ticket in
Bad River. Surprisingly, he found himself taking comfort in that.

They
got another cop to track Dozer down, and they met him at Big Nell's Cafe. Reese
laid his cards on the table along with a round of burgers.

"I'll
be taking that seat on the council for a couple of months, so I decided to
study up a little, and the way it looks to me is..." He braced his
forearms on the edge of the table and used his hands to set up the play.
"There are two sides on the casino-contract issue. You're either with Ten
Star or you're suspect. So if I'm going to be open to alternatives, I'll need
some backup."

Titus
was nodding already. Dozer was working on his fries, dunking five at a time
into a pool of ketchup.

"I
want to know who ran my father down, Dozer. Is anybody making an effort to
answer that question?"

"They're
going through the motions," Dozer said around a mouthful of fries. He'd
always been beefy, and Reese figured he'd added at least fifty pounds since
high school. But they were friendly pounds. "I wasn't on duty, but I know
it was tribal cops on the scene first. Whatever they found, they already turned
it over to the FBI."

"And
then what?"

"And
then we probably won't hear any more about it unless we come up with something
ourselves. And then, you know, we'd have to turn it over because it's federal.
Funny thing is, first I heard they'd found a piece of a headlight. Then I heard
they didn't find nothing but tire tracks."

"You
heard
who
found...?"

"It
was Gene Brown and I think Earl Sweeney who got to the scene first, but all I
heard was
they.
They found a broken part that they thought came off the
vehicle, but then no, they said, that was bullshit."

"Earl
Sweeney? Preston's brother?"

Titus
chuckled. "At least once a day Earl likes to mention his brother is the
tribal chairman."

"Gene's
talked to me a couple of times since it happened," Reese said. "The
first time he was all condolences and cop questions, but he acted a little
skittish the last visit." He thought about it for a moment, then tapped a
finger on the table. "I need you to find out about that evidence, Dozer.
Anything,
anything
anybody picked up or anything
you
can pick up.
Even if it's pieces that don't quite fit."

"You
think somebody ran him down deliberately?"

"What
do you think?"

Dozer
sucked his teeth, pulling his thoughts together. "I've been thinkin', why
him? We know he was home earlier that night, and everything was fine and
normal. What was he doing out on the road? There was no stock loose, no gates
reported open, nothing. No reason he should be wandering around in the
road."

"Where
was the dog?"

"Right
beside him. That's how they found him, you know. The dog was standing guard.
And the other thing was, the body was found on the left side of the road, but
the vehicle was headed north. You can tell from the tire tracks." Quietly,
Dozer added, "So looks like to me the driver had to bulldoze him across
the southbound lane, which sounds pretty damn deliberate to me."

"Or
else the driver was wasted," Titus put in.

"If
he'da been that drunk, he'da never got away clean."

"Never?"
Reese couldn't buy that word. Too many crimes went unsolved on the reservation.

"I
told you, Blue, I keep comin' back to the same question. Why him?" Dozer
sighed as he tossed a limp French fry toward the edge of his plate. "He'da
run for chairman, I'da voted for him. I told Earl that, too. Just yesterday, I
told him."

"I,
uh..." Reese sighed, too. Dozer's considerable loyalty struck deep.
"It's been a while since I talked to him about anything besides your basic
health and weather. We'd kinda lost..."

Titus
laid a hand on his shoulder. "Seems like he had the bad days behind him,
Blue. Seems like losing him, we all lost a father. That's how it feels to
me."

Reese
nodded stiffly. "Let's find out what happened to him. Somebody must know
something."

"You
come around to the high school gym on Law and Order night," Dozer
suggested. "You could shoot some hoops with us."

"That's
right, Blue. Infiltrate."

"Eez,
that guy. Infiltrate? Where'd you get..." A word like that? Reese
chuckled. Cloak-and-dagger was exactly what he was asking for. But it sounded
as outrageous as
undercover.
"How am I supposed to
infiltrate?"

"Hell,
he's
Reese Blue Sky,"
Dozer rhapsodized. "He can hardly just
blend in with the rest of us on the court."

"Why
can't I? I played with you guys before. That gym, it's my home court."

Titus
and Dozer looked at each other.

"But
infiltrate?
That sounds like something out of a book."

Titus
and Dozer grinned at each other.

"Or
some damn..." Reese looked from one to the other, then fell right in. The
grins were contagious. "Game."

***

He
hadn't expected that Carter would give him his first infiltration opportunity.
When he ushered Helen past the huge Two Gray Hills rug on the wall in the foyer
of Carter's sprawling house overlooking Rapid City, he was expecting the family
dinner he'd been promised. He figured the new pickup and the Beamer in the
driveway were his brother's latest acquisitions. Carter was a collector. You name
it, he collected it. Especially if it had a hefty price tag. His adoptive
family had trained him for good taste, and he had it in spades. The house was
done up in all the good stuff. Rich textures, ripe colors, Southwestern style.
It reminded Reese of his own condo, but there was more space here, more stuff,
more money tied up in it. If he wasn't mistaken, the geometric-style painting
hanging above the pine staircase was an original Oscar Howe. He'd almost bought
one himself, but decided it was a little too spendy for his blood.

"Guess
who's here," Carter said after he had closed the front door. His eyes
sparkled. "Preston Sweeney." He turned to Helen. "You know our
tribal chairman, don't you?"

"I've
met him." She glanced at Reese.
What's going on?

"And
Bill Darnell. He's the manager over at Little Pair-a-Dice, the original bingo
hall, used to be called B-Four, remember? Now it's our smaller casino
operation. Bill trained me there. He's—"

Reese
pulled his brother up short. "I thought this was going to be family."

"Preston
has something for you, and I wanted you to meet Bill."

"I
think I already met him at the funeral."

"There
were so many people. I wanted you to..." Carter lowered his voice.
"They probably won't stay long. Sarah doesn't think much of Bill, and you
know how she is. She doesn't like somebody, it shows."

"Uncle!"

A
bundle of nine-year-old energy careened into Reese's legs like a bowling ball
picking off a spare. Reese laughed as he ruffled his nephew's water-slicked
hair. In his crisply ironed white shirt and khaki slacks, Derek had clearly
been dressed up for show.

"Dad
says we get to have a basketball game later, and I've got three friends coming
over, just three. Dad said not too many because they'll be hangin' all over
you, but we need a little bit of players, don't we? For a game?"

"Can't
play without a little bit of players."

Another
small whirlwind came charging down the stairs. "I wanna play! I wanna
play!"

"Well,
sure, you get to play, Alicia." Reese swung the child up in his arms.
"Man, you're getting big. You're gonna catch up to your brother one of
these days. Do you have friends, too?"

Derek
groaned.

"I
didn't ask any friends," she said. "Just me. But I have to be on
Daddy's side."

"You
can be on Daddy's side, but we're not going to play right away, so just cool
it." Carter unloaded his daughter from Reese's arms. Reese felt as though
he'd picked up one of the collectibles and was subtly being told he wasn't
handling it quite right.

"They've
been bragging about you to the whole neighborhood," Carter said as he led
them toward the living room. "I ain't kiddin', they're going to be lined
up around the fence. Sarah, they're here," he called out.

Two
men stood near the huge fieldstone fireplace—a beefy, balding white man and a
small but paunchy Indian, to whom Carter deferred first. "Here's the
chief."

Reese
offered his former classmate a handshake.

"Hey,
Blue. Glad to have you on board. This makes it official." Preston produced
a letter headed with the Bad River Lakota Nation emblem and finished off with
his ornate signature. Reese noted his own name and the proclamation of his
appointment to the tribal council. "We've got a meeting tomorrow. You have
to take an oath, pass a test, sign your name in blood, relinquish all your
worldly possessions."

Reese
laughed. "You're just after my limos, Sweeney."

"Did
I mention the vow of chastity?"

"Yeah,
you first."

"Hey,
I'm the chairman. I'm exempt." On the heels of polite laughter, Sweeney
added, "I'm glad you could do this. Your father had a very loyal
constituency, especially the older folks. They're already pleased with you for
staying around, for showing this respect for your father. You'll be a real
asset to us, Blue."

"It's
only for what, three months?"

"We've
got a lot of business to do in that time."

"I'm
anxious for my brother to learn more about our gaming operations," Carter
said. "He's been a team player, so he knows—"

Sarah
Marshall appeared in the doorway with a nervous smile and a tray laden with
mugs of coffee, which she unloaded on the coffee table. Carter's wife was a
tiny, strikingly beautiful woman from the Yakima Nation. She reminded Reese of
a small, shy bird, but she was tough when she had to be. She'd thrown his
brother out of her life more than once. But she loved him, and she was a
hopeful woman. She'd also forgiven more than once, and Reese figured she would
again. He could tell by the tender glances she kept stealing Carter's way. She
thought she was keeping that tenderness a secret, but her eyes gave her away.
She said she had to get back to the kitchen because she had food in the works.
Helen popped out of her chair immediately with an offer to help.

Reese
would have liked nothing better than to follow the women. He'd come for family,
not for business. He'd been used a time or two, and he knew damn well he was
looking across the coffee table at two smiling opportunists. Dripping with
touristy jewelry and bureaucratic lingo, Preston Sweeney had become quite the
politician. Reese already had Darnell pegged for one of those guys who put in
his two cents, then sat back and kept score. But Carter had set up this little
meeting for some reason, and Reese figured he was required to stay for more
happy talk. Even though he generally rebelled against requirements, he told
himself to think
rules.
Every game had its rules. These guys didn't
offer to lay them out, so you had to read them between the lines. Which meant
you had to wade around in their bullshit.