In the Moon of Red Ponies (Billy Bob Holland 4)

“No.”

He looked back over his shoulder, as though he did not want anyone else to hear our conversation. “How do you read it?” he asked.

“Someone cuffed him to a U-bolt and used the two-by-four that’s on the floor. Then Lester broke the chain on the cuffs and went after them. That’s when he got shot in the forehead. I think some of the blood on the walls might belong to his kidnappers.”

“Think Antelope creeped the research lab down in the Bitterroots?”

“How would I know?”

“He’s buds with your client, Johnny American Horse, Native America’s answer to Jesus Christ.”

“I knew Lester. He was a good man. This happened right up the road from my house. I’m not in a light mood about it,” I said.

“Maybe these guys are sending you a message. You think of that?”

“Be more specific,” I said.

“You and I both worked for the G. All this Indian stuff is cosmetic. There’s a much bigger issue at work here. I just don’t know what it is. You still pissed because I got rough with American Horse?”

“I don’t like cops who blackjack unarmed people.”

“Maybe I don’t, either,” he said.

Darrel stuck his notebook in his shirt pocket, the wind flapping his coat, his revolver and holster exposed. Then he scratched his cheek and seemed puzzled. For a moment I thought he could actually be a likable man, except for his abiding insecurity and desire to control others. He was standing slightly higher on the slope than I was, I suspect not by accident. “They didn’t get what they wanted, did they?” he said.

“I think Lester spit in their faces, then signed off with his hands on their throats. You want anything else, Darrel?” I said.

“Nope,” he said.

I turned to go. The valley down below was green and blanketed with sunlight now, and just around the bend in the road was my house, where Temple and I would have supper together that night, safe from all the intrusions of the world.

“Antelope had information these guys wanted real bad. That means they’re going to have another run at it. You think about that,” Darrel said.

I walked back up the slope until I was a few inches from him. “Run that by me again?”

“I was being straight up with you, Holland. No second meaning intended. I don’t want any beef with you,” he said.

LATE THAT AFTERNOON it turned cold and snowed unexpectedly. Through the back window I could see the ravine and trees behind the house turning gray, the white-tailed deer heading through the undergrowth for cover. Temple had spent the day in Red Lodge, deposing witnesses in a civil suit, and had heard nothing of Lester Antelope’s death. I fixed her a cup of tea, then told her of the events that had occurred that morning. She stared out the window at the snow drifting in the trees.

“They drove him up our road to do it?” she said.

I nodded.

“Coincidence?”

“Maybe. Except the doll was thrown from the car up on I-Ninety. The abductors were headed in the opposite direction from us.”

“Maybe Lester was put in another vehicle.”

“Maybe. Johnny American Horse told me he’d had a dream about an animal trapped in a burning woods. He said he felt responsible for the animal’s fate.”

“I don’t care about Johnny anymore. I care about what he’s doing to us.”

“Guys like him and Lester are on their own. They don’t have many friends, Temple.”

“Forgive me. I guess I shouldn’t worry about the prospect of losing our home,” she said.

“It’s not that bad,” I said.