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

“He can take care of himself,” I said.

“Right,” she said. She poured her milk down the drain.

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“Not much. It’s our one-year anniversary. I have your present in the car. I’ll go get it,” she said.

A HALF HOUR LATER, I got a call from Francis Broussard at the FBI office. “Johnny American Horse walked out of St. Pat’s Hospital today. You happen to know anything about it?” he said.

I couldn’t assimilate his words. “He walked—”

“He used a paper clip to pick his handcuffs and went out the front door with some painters. We think one of his buddies from the res planted some workclothes in the restroom for him to change into. His wife was waiting for him across the street. The question is, how did he and his wife set it up and where did they go?”

“You think I had something to do with it?”

There was a pause. “No, but you’re a personal friend and you know things about American Horse other people don’t,” he replied.

“Was Amber allowed to visit him?”

“No.”

“How about his lawyer, Brendan Merwood?” I said.

“He was there twice.”

“Anyone else?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?” I said.

Again the phone went silent, and I knew Broussard had already drawn conclusions that he didn’t want to admit, at least to me.

“The escape couldn’t have been set up without Merwood’s participation,” I said.

“Yeah, that’s a possibility, isn’t it? But why would an oilcan like Merwood ris

k his career, plus serious prison time, on a pro bono case?”

“How about he’s scared shitless?”

“I did some background on Mr. Merwood. He’s represented a couple of Karsten Mabus’s enterprises. Do you know where American Horse and his wife are hiding?”

“No, I don’t,” I said impatiently. “You’re telling me Merwood is setting them up to get whacked?”

“You said it, I didn’t.”

“What about the painters?”

“We have an Indian from the res in custody. But he’s D, D, and D, and I don’t think that’s going to change.”

“He’s what?” I said.

“It’s the Indian concept of a dialogue with federal agents. ‘Deaf, dumb, and don’t know.’ ”

“Pick up Merwood and lose the paperwork. Move him to a federal facility and let him spend a couple of days in the bridal suite with a few swinging dicks who dig rap music.”

“I can’t imagine why the A.G.’s office was happy to see you make a career change. Call me if you hear from American Horse,” he replied.