Indian Country Noir (Akashic Noir) (19 page)

When he turns at the next corner, he glances back at me,
but doesn't lose stride. I don't know what street this is, but
it's even narrower. We're heading toward the river again and
there are fewer people here. A man in a hard hat steps from
a building in front of the Wolf and then leaps out of the way,
crashing against a parked car.

I manage to croak out "Police!" as I pass to keep him out
of the way.

The Wolf turns down South Peters and I know this street
and try my best to tell headquarters we're heading downtown
now. Cars are parked on both sides of this skinny street. A
siren echoes in the distance, then another. The cavalry's coming, thank God.

Jesus! This guy's as good a sprinter as me and I run regularly on the levee. My knee's pinching a little now, but I can't
fall back. At least my breathing's still coming evenly, although
I'm sucking in a lot of air. I feel a surge in my warrior blood
and increase my pace. Can't let this fucker get away.

The Wolf crosses the street and I see umbrellas ahead. It's
an outdoor cafe, tables covered in wide Cinzano umbrellas.
I get up on the sidewalk as the Wolf skirts the first table and
grabs the next one, crashing it and umbrella to the sidewalk. I
cut between the parked cars back into the street.

A woman screams and a gunshot echoes. The picture
window of the cafe explodes and I spot the Wolf jumping behind a parked car. The window of the car to my left shatters
and I see yellow flashes as he fires at me. I leap behind a van
across the street, take to the far sidewalk, and go belly down
as more slugs hit the van. I crawl forward and slip behind an SUV. It's big enough for me to look under, but I can't see the
Wolf's position from here.

Six more shots ring out.

Jesus, I hope he's not shooting people in the cafe! I tell
headquarters where we are, steeling myself as I get up and
move forward as fast as I can, the parked car shielding me.

When I reach the vehicle directly across from the Wolf's
position, a marked police car skids to a stop at the far corner,
lights flashing, siren wailing. I take in a deep breath, let half of
it out, and peek from between the cars.

The Wolf's on his haunches, looking at the police car. I
raise my Beretta as he lifts his weapon, sticks it in his mouth,
and shoots himself. He falls face forward, half in the street.

The cops alight from their car. I wave at them as I cross
the street.

"He shot himself!" I call out as the patrol officers approach, guns drawn.

"Check the people in the cafe," I tell them. "Make sure no
one's hurt and make sure no one leaves! They're witnesses."

The two move off as another police car screeches up. I
put out a code four on my radio, then ask to have the homicide supervisor, the crime lab, the coroner's office, and Jodie
Kintyre join its.

As I holster my Beretta, the Wolf's body twitches and I
yank out my knife, then laugh at myself, which draws curious
looks from the two cops. I feel someone move up behind me
and turn to see Juanita Cruz's wide eyes. She's in T-shirt and
jeans too, her hair down. Her lips tremble as she stares at me
and says, "You are the Raven."

I stop myself from snapping at her when I kneel next to
the Wolf and check his throat, trying to find a pulse in his carotid artery, not that it'll do him much good with most of his brains on the sidewalk. I find no pulse and calmly slice off a
chuck of his hair to slip into my pocket. Juanita's eyes are huge
and I see I've nicked the Wolf's forehead with my knife. I feel
his warm blood on my fingers.

Slipping my knife back into its sheath, I rub my eyes with
my clean hand. When I blink them open, I spot several uniformed men whispering to one another, nodding toward me.

Jodie comes on the air asking me, "Is the subject 10-7?"
(Out of service-permanently.)

"10-4. 29-5." I make sure to tell her he killed himself.

"I'm in route." She sounds relieved that I didn't have to
shoot anyone.

I call out to the first officer who'd arrived, asking if anyone in the cafe was hurt. He shakes his head as I turn to the
sound of running feet behind me. Lt. Merten lumbers up, sees
the body, and looks at me, wheezing as he tries to catch his
breath.

I raise both hands and tell him, "I never fired a shot."

He nods and leans both hands against the nearest car.

"You ... all right?"

"Yeah."

Juanita stands stone-stiff above the Wolf's body, staring
down at it. I lean close and ask if she's okay.

"This doesn't make me feel any better," she says.

Boy, do I know that feeling.

She takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. I can feel
the emotions raging through her tight face. Suddenly, a gust
of wind washes over its from the river, a warm summer breeze
that rustles Juanita's hair. She peers up at the sun, closing her
eyes as it touches her face.

When she opens her eyes, I ask, "How'd you get here so
fast?"

"I remembered how he'd broken into Kim's and decided
to check on Bessie's apartment."

"Me too." I reach over and spread the Wolf's blood on
Juanita's face in two stripes, painting her like a good plains
warrior, the obsidian knife suddenly heavy on my belt. Her
eyes grow wide with comprehension. I nod and repeat, "Me
too," adding the word she's been looking for, "partner."

San Juan, Puerto Rico

here must be more dead dogs on the side of the road
in Puerto Rico than anywhere else in the world. The
strays must go out of their way to kill themselves
there. Or maybe Puerto Ricans just don't like dogs. I was in
a cramped rental car, driving my three aunts to my cousin's
wedding in Ponce. It was a ten-minute ride, and I'd already
seen four dog carcasses. Tongues hanging out. Guts. Blood. It
took some of the buzz off.

"Que paso con los jodios peros en la highway?" I asked.

"Se dice perrrrros," my Titi Juana said.

"Perrrrrros," I tried.

"Perros," Titi Gloria said.

Then Tia Nidia said, "No se, mi amor. Toda la gente
maneja como loco aqui."

I could see how the roads in PR could drive you crazy.
There wasn't always a traffic light where you needed it. A lot
of the blacktop hugged the sides of mountains and were crazynarrow so that your sideview mirror hung over a thousandfoot drop into nothing but jungle. Still everyone on the island
seemed to drive fast.

But no one honked. They might not like dogs in PR, but
they sure as hell were polite.

"Por favor, mi amor, maneja mas rapido," Titi Juana
said.

My aunts giggled about something I didn't follow. I wondered if the reception would have an open bar.

The church was dark, big. Polished pews. Bleeding Christ.
The ceremony in Spanish. I spent the time shifting my weight
from one foot to the other.

At the reception, I went right to the bar. The drinks weren't
free, so when the bartender poured, I told him, "Mas. Chin
mas," and he was cool about it. I tipped him a couple of
bucks.

At the table, my aunts gossiped, and I tried to listen, nodded a lot, and laughed when I thought I should. I knew everyone at our table except one woman. She had black hair
cut straight across the forehead. Copper skin, broad cheeks,
thick, dark lips. She sat alone, except for a gift bag in the seat
next to her. It was decorated with a coqui wearing a straw hat.
I got up and walked around to her side.

"Quieres que yo lo puse esto con los otros regalos?" I
asked, standing over her.

"Que dices?" she replied, looking up with her eyes.

I gestured to show what I meant. Gift bag. Gift table.

"Gracias, pero es algo diferente," she said and looked
down at her manicure.

"No sweat," I said and took a seat next to her. "Me manejo
aqui esta noche y vio una cosy ... rara. Vio, como, cuatro perros
en la highway-muertos. It was crazy."

She laughed, covering her teeth like some women do,
then shook her head to herself. I hadn't been trying to be funny.
She looked completely away from me. I got the hint and so I
bounced and went back to the bar.

Some people gave some speeches. I went outside for a smoke.
The moon looked like my grandmother's glaucoma eye.

It smelled good out there, green, wet. Palm trees and
the sounds of tree frogs all around, like this invisible choir.
I'd never seen a coqui before so while I puffed I walked
around to see if I could spot one. Then I heard a woman
talking in a loud voice. I glanced up and saw a silhouette.
A woman talking on a cell phone. I couldn't catch all of it.
Something like, How can you do this to me? Then some bad
cursing.

I got closer. It was the woman from the table. Framed in
the light coming from the reception hall. She had that gift bag
with her.

She hung up, saw me standing there. "Estas perdido?" she
asked.

"Que noche bella!" I said.

"Que noche fea!" she responded and walked past.

"Frio, you mean," I said to her back.

I finished my cigarette and considered calling Julie. I had
a vision of her tight, freckled body in a bikini. But it wasn't a
good time. So I just went inside.

A band was playing, and my TIa Lidia wanted to know
when I would ask her to dance. So I danced with her and then
my other aunts and then with every female relative I had.
As one salsa finished, another aunt would come up, and so
it went. I had a couple more drinks. Then I danced with my
cousin Carmen. She was a good egg-a doctor who had just
married another doctor.

I asked her who the dark woman was. "Una amiga de co-
legio. Se Ilame Itaba," she said. "That's funny, Papo, because
she asked me about you."

My cousin was small, thin-hipped, dark-haired, glowing.
She was tiny in my arms. At six-four, I towered over her.

"Oh really? What did you tell her?"

"That you were divorced. That you were trying to find
your feet. Not too much."

I guess that was the nicest way of saying I'd been unemployed and unemployable for almost a year. "Okay," I said.

"I can't wait to get to Mexico. This humidity is killing me.
Is my hair okay?"

"How's mine?" I said, and we laughed. "Leave it to you to
get married during hurricane season."

I danced another salsa with Titi Juana. I felt good, energized, buzzed. I figured I'd give that dark lady another shot.

But then I saw my grandmother. She wore a black dress
ringed with fluffy edges and sat on the edge of her chair. I
could tell she wanted to dance.

"Abuela. Vamos a bailar," I said. She smiled up at me with
shiny false teeth. I took her velvet soft hand and led her to
the dance floor. She put her white-haired head against my
chest.

When the dance ended, she smiled at me again and said,
"Coco Duro," the nickname she had for me as a kid. Then she
smacked me in the arm because she couldn't reach my head
anymore.

When I got back to the table the dark woman was gone.

Maybe she'd left to make a phone call again. I was walking
to the door, caught myself in the mirror and put up a hand to
fix my hair, when this guy bumped into me. Dark, wraparound
shades. I don't like not being able to see a man's eyes. You
can't see if you can trust him. He was swarthy. Jet-black hair,
combed back. Funny thing was the man's forehead-it was
deformed. Flat from his eyebrows to his hairline. And there
were thin scars up and down his dark cheeks. The guy caught
me looking, his shades turned toward me, but he said nothing,
I said nothing, and that was it.