Snow Blind-J Collins 4 (23 page)

with the chain but we don’t have corroboration.”

I felt ill.

“Another customer pulled Doug off BD and held him back until we arrived.”

“What now?” Dad could be arrested for assault.

Should be, probably.

“Here’s the thing: Doug Collins hasn’t had so much as a speeding ticket in the last ten years. In fact, he’s never been arrested for a damn thing.”

232

How ironic that he’d finally been arrested for the very thing he used to do to me.

“Once BD shows up, I’m gonna suggest he not file charges.”

Whoa. “Why?”

“No one is talking on the record. Which means no witnesses on the alleged assault. The Disturbing the Peace arrest will stand.”

Better than a felony. “What did they argue about?”

“No one knows. Doug ain’t talking. The witness said Doug warned BD if he ever repeated what he’d said to anyone else, he’d . . .”

“He’d what?”

Deputy John sighed again. “The witness didn’t hear that part. Like I said, your dad’s tight-lipped, and I suspect I’ll get the same response from BD.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

“What? Say what’s on your mind. You’re not exactly shy, Julie.”

“Does Sheriff Richards know you’re going to suggest that BD not file an assault charge?”

“He trusts me to do my job, so I haven’t brought it up. I suspect he’d do the same, given Doug’s clean record.”

Be stupid to point out the sheriff probably wouldn’t want the assault charge dropped, because it would strengthen the suspicions against my father in the un-resolved Melvin Canter situation. Deputy John had 233

to know Sheriff Richards brought Doug Collins in for questioning yesterday.

You don’t work here. This oversight won’t come down
on you.

“So he’s stuck in jail?”

“No. He’s waiting to be bonded out.” He frowned.

“I thought that’s why you were here?”

I hedged again. “Will Sheriff Richards be around when that happens?”

“Nah. He’s at a conference in Sioux Falls the next two days and over the weekend.”

Relieved, I slumped in the chair. “Has Trish been here yet?”

Deputy John frowned. “Who?”

“His wife. Did Doug call her?”

“No. I thought the only person he called was you.”

He hadn’t called me. Come on, poker face.
Who had he called to bail him out?

“So you haven’t told the family?”

“Not yet. Needed the facts straight first.”

And big fucking surprise Dad expected me to do his shit work. Asshole deserved to spend the night in jail, even though he wouldn’t. Maybe it’d wake his stubborn hide up.

“You always were logical. Things ain’t the same with you gone. We all miss seeing you. I know Tom does, too.”

Again, I didn’t know how to take that. I stood.

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“Thanks again.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

I waved good-bye to Twee and collected my belongings. I warmed up my truck and stared at the jail portion of the building for the longest time. Must’ve smoked half a dozen cigarettes before I dialed my step-mother to tell her that her husband was a jailbird.

235

Martinez had meetings all night so I ended up at the Sturgis McDonald’s for an early supper. I slipped into my usual spot, the back corner booth. My mind was a million miles away when the hair on the back of my neck prickled.

Someone was watching me.

I casually looked at the guy on the other side of the aisle. He paid more attention to the classified ads on the table in front of him than me. My gaze moved to the construction worker on the other side of the garbage container, shoveling French fries in his mouth at an alarming rate. The only other customer was a har-ried pregnant woman and her three young children.

Maybe I’d imagined the freakish sensation. Although, enough crappy things happened to me to justify my bouts of paranoia.

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As I refilled my coffee, the man with the classified ads left and roared out of the parking lot in a green Chevy Blazer. Something about him felt wrong. I lingered inside, eyeing the screaming kids in the play area, wondering if I’d been born without a maternal longing. Or maybe it’d been beaten out of me. I liked children; I just didn’t want any of my own.

I climbed in my truck. With no reason to rush home, I meandered through Sturgis. Billboards for Ratt, Poison, Rob Zombie, and Joan Jett were still up around town, although the concerts ended with the Sturgis Rally in August.

I’d motored past the formerly named F.O. Jolley Funeral Home, when I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw the same Blazer from the McDonalds. On a whim I stopped at Lyn’s Dakotamart to buy two packs of cigarettes, a loaf of wheat bread, and a twelve-pack of Diet Pepsi. Didn’t see the guy get out and lurk in the frozen food aisle and he didn’t appear to be idling in the parking lot when I returned.

But as soon as I merged on I-90, he snuck in behind me again. At a discreet distance, sure, but this guy sucked at surveillance.

Yeah? Do you know how long he’s been following you,
smarty?

My paranoia gave way to annoyance.

If I stopped anywhere else he’d know I was onto him. I went straight home, scooted into the house, and locked all the doors. With the lights off, I peeked 237

out the front window. That Blazer crept past my house every thirty minutes for the next four hours.

On one hand I was pissed. On the other hand I was . . . even more pissed. I’d told Martinez to call off his watchdogs. If he wanted me protected at all times, he oughta be here to do it himself. I rocked at pegging Hombres muscle; it infuriated me I’d missed this slimeball, even when he didn’t look the part.

So what if it wasn’t one of Martinez’s guys looking out for me?

My dad’s smart comment surfaced:
Ain’t you afraid
the Standing Elk family will be gunnin’ for you for revenge
for killin’ their cash cow?”

No. It was the Hombres. It had to be. I couldn’t think beyond that.

I set the alarm, and brought my Sig Sauer to bed with me instead of tequila.

The next morning I craved sugary, chocolaty donuts and stumbled to my truck for the short jaunt to the Kum & Go. Within two blocks of leaving my house, a babysitter appeared. Not in the same vehicle. At least they were smart enough to change it up. My new shadow drove an older model Toyota 4Runner.

Enough. This ended today.

238

I opted not to call Dad to see what his bond ended up being and who he’d called to bail him out. The curious part of me wondered how Trish explained to the kids why he’d spent the afternoon wearing orange coveralls and paper shoes. Part of me wondered if Brittney would call me and chew me out for her daddy ending up in the place I used to work. She always found something to make me feel guilty, and I don’t know why I let her.

At 9:00 I called Jimmer at his pawnshop.

“Julie! Wazzup wit yo’ very bad self, sista?”

I rolled my eyes. He’d been watching 1970s blacksploitation DVDs again. Charming, if an odd choice for a former military man with an aversion to racial diversity. If at any point during the conversation he said, “Get out, shut yo’ mouf,” I’d break into the chorus of
Rubberband Man
.

“Nothing much. You busy this morning?”

“Depends. Whatcha got in mind?”

“You up for a little snipe hunting?” I explained what I’d planned, pacing and smoking while waiting for his reaction.

Ugly silence.

I exhaled, fighting the urge to blather. “Then again, I’m open to suggestions from the expert.”

“You don’t have nuthin’ better to do, little missy, than to fuck around with this?”

“Nope. I need to know who it is, one way or the other.”

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“Better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission?”

“Something like that.” I played the card that always worked. “Come on, Jimmer. You love this kinda sneaky shit. Being armed to the teeth. Making guys piss their pants in fear. It’ll be fun.”

When he still wasn’t acting gung ho, I added, “I’ll even take you out for pie afterward. My treat.”

“I’m in. You done any recon on this area?”

“What I remember is the entire stretch is fenced.

Isolated. No residences, no secondary gravel roads.

No place to turn around. No signage announcing any of the above.”

“Cool. Looks like the weather’s gonna cooperate, too. Snow and blow, baby.”

“Be nice if something went right for me for a change. Will you be ready in half an hour?”

“Yep.”

I explained where he needed to be.

“Gotcha back, kitty cat.”

“For Christsake, Jimmer, you channeling
Shaft
now?”

“Nope.
Superfly
.” He laughed and hung up.

Bundled up and loaded for bear, I cranked the tunes 240

and burned rubber out of the driveway.

Bingo. Mr. 4Runner swung in place behind me on the service road.

I took my own sweet time driving up County Road 35, aka a dirt road to nowhere, keeping his vehicle within my rearview, even when the swirling snow tried to erase it.

Twenty minutes ticked by. We were on the far edge of Bear Butte County. Miles of snow-covered grazing fields spread out in an ocean of bluish white.

The thick, jagged crusts of the snowdrifts were the foamy whitecaps; the rise and fall of gauzy snow mist was like the fine spray of saltwater. The occasional stark tree offered a visual break in the unwavering line of the horizon. Telephone poles listed to the left in an ongoing battle to stay upright against the never-ending South Dakota wind.

Easy to fall prey to the landscape’s austere beauty and lose focus. My gaze zoomed to my rearview mirror.

Why hadn’t my tail gotten suspicious? Driving deeper into the wilds didn’t faze my follower. This setup screamed . . .
setup
to me. Had I been too quick to blame this on Martinez? Tony’s guys weren’t stupid.

My adrenaline pumped when I crested the last hill. I sucked a deep drag and smashed the cigarette butt into the ashtray. Placing both hands on the wheel, I floored it.

On the other side, I slammed the brakes; the back end fishtailed until I stopped sideways in the middle of 241

the road. I threw it in reverse. The back tires bumped the gravel shoulder and slid into the ditch. I threw it in park, shut off the engine, and grabbed my gun from the seat as I scrambled out the passenger door.

I waited by the right front tire for my babysitter to run across my “accident.” I only hoped he was a good enough driver not to run into me.

The rise and fall of the whistling wind surrounded me, and the soft
ssssss
of hard snow crystals drifted over the road like icy, white, scaleless snakes.

A motor hummed on the other side of the hill, and the rolling thump of tires on snow-packed ground broke the monotony of the eerie stillness.

Come on, come on.

No screeching tires. No metallic clicking of an-tilock brakes. The vehicle simply slowed and stopped within my line of sight.

My heart beat so fast my eyes pulsed.

The engine quit. The door opened. Booted feet hit the road, kicking up a cloud of fine snow. A slight hesitation and then the feet stopped by the driver’s side door of my truck.

I barreled around the front end, gun in hand. “You lookin’ for me?”

A look of utter surprise.

“Hands above your head, asshole, and don’t move.”

He started to back away.

“I said, don’t fucking move.”

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He didn’t utter a peep; he just kept backing up.

Which pissed me off. I fired at the ground so close to his feet snow puffed over the toes of his boots like marshmallow topping.

Then he froze.

I inched closer and yelled, “On the ground.”

He stared at me with his mouth hanging open so far I saw his fillings.

I fired again. “Now!”

He hit the snow.

“Stretch your arms above your head. Pretend you’re Superman.” I loomed over him. “You try anything while you’re moving them up there and I’ll shoot you in the ass.”