Against Me (Cedar Tree Book 3) (5 page)

"Whereabouts are you?" Gus wants to know.

"Just coming up to Aztec, New Mexico. The drive through the mountains was pretty bad. I should've come the other way and cut through Utah, but since the weather forecast was clear, I thought I'd be ok. Didn't expect parts of the 550 would be closed off because of mudslides."

"Where was this?"

"Just north of Durango, but there were slides as far back as Ouray, they just weren't blocking the road all the way, but it made driving treacherous even so."

"Must be the early spring runoff we're having. I know they've had some flooding in the lower lying areas here. Mancos has had a few issues. So what are your plans? It's almost eight o'clock now."

"I'll stop in Farmington, grab a bite and check into the Travelodge. Too late to do anything useful tonight, so I might as well set up camp there. No half-decent motels any closer to Shiprock anyway, and I don't mind a little bit of distance for when I need it."

"Sounds good. Check in tomorrow night when you've had a chance to look around."

Gus seems ready to hang up, but before he does, I decide to address the unsettled feeling that’s been with me ever since I left Katie about six hours ago.

"Will do, but can you do me a favor and keep tabs on Katie? Saw her this afternoon and she knows I'm on a job, but I don't feel settled."

"Did she say anything? Something come up?" he wants to know.

"No. Just don't feel good about being half a day away from her."

I hear a low chuckle over the line and curse under my breath.

"You are so fucked," Gus feels the need to point out.

"Pointing out the obvious, my friend. Quit yanking my chain."

"No worries. I'll keep tabs. I’ll give Neil a call in a bit. He's almost around the corner from Larchwood Inns, that close enough for you?"

"That's about as effective as buying her a watch-bunny. Jesus, Gus..." I run my hand through my hair, not feeling any better at all when Gus starts laughing.

"One of these days, I'm gonna let you in on a little secret about our quiet Neil. His waters run deeper than even you have obviously detected, and I can't tell you how much that tickles me. Trust me when I say Katie will be well taken care of. You have my word."

Not left with much choice, I reluctantly agree and sign off, ready for something hot in my stomach and a place to bed down.

A decent meal and a good night's sleep have done me good, and I find I'm not dreading the upcoming reunion with my family and childhood home as much as I thought I might. The drive into Shiprock is pretty uneventful, and it isn't long before I find myself turning onto the dirt road that leads to my parents' place.

The old house is surrounded by farm fields―had been for as long as I can remember. We used to walk to and from school, which is close to the centre of town. Wouldn't take us more than ten or fifteen minutes and we'd snatch whatever was growing on the fields to munch on, coming or going.

Pulling up to the neglected house, I notice a brand-new Dodge Ram parked right beside my dad's old rusty Ford pickup. Before I’m even out of my SUV, the front door slams open and the angry form of my brother appears in the doorway; arms crossed over his chest and a dark scowl on his face. Fan-fucking-tastic. We have a welcoming committee. I simply wanted to alert my mother I would be around for a bit, doing some work from Farmington without going into detail, but apparently Malachi has already gotten wind of my presence. I’d hoped my father wouldn’t be around, but I guess I’m out of luck on that front too, since his truck is there.

"The fuck do you want?"

"Mal, Good to see you too. I'm here to see
nihimá
, to say hello. Gonna be around for a bit for work."

"And
nihizhé'é
, Caleb? Aren't you forgetting your father?"

"Not forgetting a soul, Mal. I'll say hello to everyone."

I don't want to get into an immediate confrontation with my brother, who also happens to be the leader of the Klesh: a gang based out of Shiprock, suspected of involvement in drug trafficking. Yeah, I’m the lucky guy assigned to investigate his own fucking family members.

Managing to get by Malachi, who insists on staying in the doorway like some sentry, I walk into the small living room, which hasn't changed in the past twenty-five years. I'm not even sure if it's been cleaned. A rank smell of unwashed bodies and decaying food assaults my nostrils. I have to fight the urge to turn on my heels and walk right back out that door, but family loyalty, a sense of responsibility, and a love that’s undeniable has me standing my ground.

"Mom. Pops."

I’m met with the blank look of my mother, who continues to rock herself on the edge of her seat, lost to her pain and the memories of happiness. She still clings to the old horseshoe frame with the baby picture of my sister, Nascha. Pops doesn't respond either, but he isn't even conscious. Passed out in his old Lazy Boy recliner, the only sound he makes is the gentle snoring of oblivion. Just the way he likes it. Claustrophobia tugs at my senses, but I shake it off as I turn to Mal, who still lingers in the doorway.

"Have they eaten?"

His eyes register surprise, his anger momentarily forgotten.

"Nothing in the house. I was gonna grab some stuff. Just got here."

So maybe my arrival had been as much of a surprise to him as his presence was to me.

"Why don't you go do that, and I'll go clean out the kitchen. It fucking smells like a dumpster in here," I suggest, looking over my shoulder into the kitchen where every surface is covered in dirty dishes and empty containers.
Christ!

"And get some bleach while you're out. We're gonna need it."

Turning my back, I can hear Mal's involuntary chuckle behind me and it about freezes me in my tracks. It’s a sound I haven't heard since he was a teenager. It's been fucking years.

"On it, El Jefe," he taunts me with my childhood nickname.

––––––––

I
t hadn't been my plan to clean out my parents’ place. I had intended just to go in, say hi and start nosing around, but given that my potential biggest lead was standing on their doorstep had me shifting gears quickly.

That's how I find myself three hours later, with my fingers pruning from the hot water and bleach concoction that I'm using to disinfect the grimy surfaces of my parents' bathroom. Holy hell, it must've been some time since this place has seen a sponge or water. The kitchen has already been sanitized and I've tossed the entire contents of the refrigerator. There was nothing in there that hadn't expired over two months ago. To think that this place was once a source of great pride for my mother, who was like a Native version of June Cleaver.

Mal came back loaded down with boxes of groceries and had the foresight to stock up on the basics as well. Good thing too, since everything that was there before is now in the trash. He’s still here, not talking much mind you, but I figure this silent standoff we have going on here, on home ground, might provide me with a better chance to get some information than when I try and chase him down on his turf. Still, it fills me with guilt. All of it does. The conditions my parents live under, lying about the reason for being here, lulling my brother into some kind of companionship just to fuck him over. Sure, I stand on the right side of the law, but Christ. These are my people; my family. They’re all I have left and it shames me. They shame me. Fuck.

Pops woke up briefly when Mal came in with the groceries and barely coherently started yelling at us being in his house. Something about respect for your elders. Right.

"Shut up, Pops," Mal snarled at him, when he kept on rambling.

I promised myself long ago not to get sucked into the negativity any longer, so I didn't say a word. My parents and brother chose their path; it didn't mean I had to be dragged along. I would stand by my choices, on my own if I had to, and I had for over twenty years now.

"Your fucking phone's ringing!" Mal's voice comes bellowing up the stairway. I must've left it in the kitchen when I was cleaning there. Taking two steps at a time, I make a beeline for the kitchen, hoping the ringing hasn't woken my father again. Don't need another repeat performance.

I find Mal standing by the kitchen counter, my cell in his hand. He’s looking at the screen with his eyes squinted tight, listening to it ring in his hand.

"Phone?"  I hold out my hand expectantly.

He tears his eyes from the screen and without a word, tosses my cell on the counter and walks out of the kitchen. What the hell?

I snatch it up and hit talk, “Yeah?”

"Know you're busy, my friend, but we have a situation. It's Katie."

My son...

Why would Juan call the creepy Latino guy 'son' when that's supposed to be his nephew? For all the time I've spent with him over the past month or so, I've never seen him this upset, or known him to be that confused. Would this be one of his children? The ones who never show their faces? The investigator in me has bells going off all over the place. I don't have a very good feeling about this, but have nothing to really base it on.

The incident with Juan made me forget all about dinner, and with a quick glance at the clock, I see I have to hustle if I want to make it to the dining room in time for the last sitting. Grabbing a light sweater and my room keys, I head out, keeping an eye on my neighbor's door, but there’s no sign of life.

Downstairs, I find the dining room almost empty, most folks here preferring to eat earlier. Juan often joins me later. Looking to our usual spot, I'm a little disappointed to find the table empty, but I grab a tray and make my selection, then I sit by myself.

Halfway through a tasteless chunk of tilapia and some steamed vegetables in an attempt to battle my growing bulge, I notice Sue on the other side of the dining room and wave to get her attention.

"Hey girl, watcha doing sitting here all by your lonesome?" She asks as she pulls out a chair to sit down beside me.

"Almost forgot to eat after that little scene outside my door earlier. You on break?"

"Nah, I'm done for the day. I was on my way to grab a coffee for the drive home, but I'll sit with you for a bit." She plops her bag on an empty chair next to her and settles in.

"So what's with the slinky smooth dude? You've seen him before?"

"Ugh," she says, making a face, "Ernesto. He’s as fake as a two-dollar bill. All smiles and teeth until you look into his eyes. They're black holes; dead and soulless. No emotion in them whatsoever. He freaks me out. First time I saw him was last year when Juan moved in, which was just after you did. I was dispensing his evening meds when the guy just barges into the room without knocking and seemed angry to see me there. When he realized I was staff, he introduced himself as Juan's nephew and tried to assure me he was just looking to make sure Juan had settled into his new home. He actually flirted with me."

The look of disgust on Sue's face and her involuntary shiver make me laugh.

"That bad, huh?"

"Ewww. Gives me the creeps, and in the few times I've seen him since, he hasn't let up on the flirting thing. Makes my hair stand on end."

"So what happened this afternoon?"

"I hadn't seen him come in, but he came barging into the nurse's station earlier, demanding to know where his uncle was. I assumed he was in his room, but when I suggested it he almost bit off my head. He said he'd checked there first. Then he went storming off and I guess he found him outside your door."

"Actually no, now that I think about it, he didn't. Juan was visiting with me, upset about something and when he tried to open the door to leave, it was being pulled on from the outside already. The slinky dude, Ernesto? He was right outside and yelled at Juan when he saw him. I think Juan is afraid of him."

I don't want to share that I suspect Juan may actually be his father, not just yet. Not until I have a better idea of what is going on.

"Sue, do you know anything more about Juan? About his family? Where he’s from or how he came here?" I quietly ask her, keeping an eye on our surroundings to make sure we won't be overheard. She seems hesitant, focusing on her fingers and fiddling with the rings on her hands rather than looking at me. When she finally does, it’s, with nothing short of fear in her eyes.