Land of Wolves (22 page)

He whimpered again.

“Now, once I get it out of my pocket, I’m going to reach up behind you and you’re going to take it and cut that rope around your hands, then you can cut that rope around your neck, got it?”

He moaned.

Taking one of my hands away, I slipped my fingers into my pocket and pulled the stag-handled Case out. Carefully, I handed it up behind him, trying my best not to dislodge his boot from my shoulder.

I could feel him fumbling with his fingertips. “I’ll try to get it higher.” Pushing his boot closer to my head, I could feel him getting a better grip on the thing. “Do you have it? I’m not letting go until you’re sure.”

He whimpered again, but this time it was louder.

“Okay, I’m letting go, but whatever you do, don’t drop it, because I don’t have another one.”

I could feel him adjusting his hands and assumed he had begun sawing at the hemp behind his back. Looking straight
ahead, I tried to remember the last time I’d sharpened the damn thing and made a mental note to be a better knife owner in the future.

Donnie stopped moving.

“Hey, just keep working on that rope—whatever happens just keep cutting, you got me?”

He whimpered again and continued.

I felt something strike my back and heard something fall to the snow behind me.

“Please tell me you didn’t just drop the knife?”

Silence.

I almost laughed. “All right, I’m going to have to stoop down and get it.” He made no noise at all. “We have to have that knife and unless you’ve got a better idea, I’m going to have to let you hang for a few seconds while I get it.” There was still no response. “I’ll ease down and then grab the knife and come back up, so have your feet ready to rest on my shoulders—it’ll only be a second, so hang on.”

It was a poor choice of words, but I felt his legs tense and figured he was ready.

“Donnie, are you ready? Here we go.”

I eased into a crouch and felt in the snow for the knife but couldn’t find it. Desperately thrusting my hands into the snow, I came up only with a set of car keys on a Jeep fob. Hearing Donnie strangling above me, I stood quickly and placed his boots onto my shoulders again. “I couldn’t find it, but I found your keys of all things.”

There was no sound.

“Donnie, I need to try again.” Looking up, I could see his face staring down at me, the pressure of the rope having turned it dark and distended. One eye was battered partially shut, and
the other bugged out at me as he shook his head. “I need to get that knife.”

He shook his head again.

“What?”

Looking down at me, I could see him struggling with the tape, trying to talk. After a few seconds he gave up and closed his eyelids, only to open them a second later with a passive resolve.

The next thing I knew, he’d kicked my shoulders away and was swinging his legs in all directions, clocking me in the ear with a hiking boot. I tried to grab his legs again, but he continued to struggle and refused to let me take the weight. After another outburst, I got ahold of his legs, but they were limp and lifeless.

Whirling about, I looked for where the rope might’ve been tied off, but could see nothing. Taking my flashlight from my belt I followed the hemp rope tied around the man’s neck to a branch above where it looped over and continued.

Running behind him I finally found where the thing was secured to a lower limb on another tree, but with the tension on the rope and the tightness of the knot it seemed like it took forever to untie the thing. I watched as Donnie fell to the ground in a heap.

Lunging back toward him, I pried my fingers under the noose and freed it, but he remained motionless. I pulled off my hat and placed an ear to his chest. Nothing. Ripping away the tape and rolling his head to one side, I began attempts to resuscitate him, but he didn’t respond. Finally, I sat back on my haunches and stared at the dead man.

After a moment I saw his hands still tied together, the one desperately clutched around something. Leaning forward, I pried his curled fingers apart to find my knife still there.

I found the mule at the edge of the park about a hundred yards away.

He was a little reluctant to return to the scene of the hanging, but even less enthused about staying out there in the darkness with 777M. Catching the leather lead, I walked him back and tied him to what looked to be a sturdy tree. I wrapped the body in the saddle blanket and loaded the dead man onto the mule’s back. Kicking the remaining embers of the fire into a pile, I shuffled snow on top of it, effectively putting it out, and then coiled up the rope and hung it over my shoulder with the .243 and my canteen.

I made the clearing and could see the prints Jimenez had made inside mine, the only marks on the pristine snow. The mule got used to the idea of walking and took less pulling, finally matching stride with me as I tromped on.

Somewhere below zero I occupied myself with the sins of the fathers that are visited on the children and how strong a person it took to break those chains and stop a personal evil that is visited on the truly innocent.

When I crested the hill, I could see the fire from the sheep camp, as could the mule, which brayed to his friend, the jenny, tied up there, who answered his call with an ear-splitting response—so much for a stealthy approach.

Jimenez and the Jeep were gone, but two people still faced the fire.

Keasik Cheechoo sat huddled with a blanket wrapped tightly around her. Even from the distance, I could see her blue eyes focused on the dancing flames as she lifted a bota and
swallowed some wine. Abarrane sat beside her still holding the shotgun.

Neither of them moved. I stepped back and carefully lifted the body onto the hood of the International in plain view. Hanging the Ruger on the grille guard of the old truck, I turned and unscrewed the top of the canteen, taking a swig. “Well, there’s your handiwork—I hope you’re proud.”

His voice resonated in his chest as if inside a tomb. “You tink dis was somethin’ I enjoy?”

“I would’ve hoped that it was something that was so distasteful that you wouldn’t have done it.”

“What if it was your grandchild, what if it was your daughter?”

I turned to her. “You stay out of this—you’ve done nothing but enable this entire mess, including the death of Miguel Hernandez.”

“I did no such thing—he found out about it and confronted Donnie on his own. I begged him to not do it, but he was so adamant about the whole thing and that it had to be stopped.”

“Did it ever occur to either of you to come to me with this?”

They sat there, silent.

“Well?”

Keasik glanced at Abe and then turned back to me. “The man was psychotic, he’d already killed Miguel. Do you think he would’ve stopped at killing Jeannie or Liam or any of us?”

“You could’ve come to me.”

“And then what? Abarrane tried to save his daughter but she was paralyzed with fear not only for herself but for what Donnie had and would continue to do to their child, so Abe took him. What would you have done?”

Pulling the Colt from my holster, I reached around and took the handcuffs from my belt. “Stand up.”

He didn’t move.

“I said stand up.”

Finally finding his voice, he shook his head. “No, I don’ tink I will.”

I loomed over the fire, feeling the heat. “Don’t make me use force, Abe.”

He rubbed his nose and smiled a sad grin. “I heard about dat force of yours from Jacques and I don’ think I want helping.”

“Put the shotgun down, Abe.”

“No, I don’ tink I do dat either.” He stood unsteadily and directed the shotgun away from me, knowing I would fire in an instant otherwise. “I think about dat ol’ man of mine, de one dat supposed to shoot Lucian?” He shook his head. “Crazy times dat was. I tink dem times is long forgotten, but now I see that crazy times is all around us waiting for de opportunity to step up and shake hands all over again.”

There was a wavering sound that carried in the high wind with a sorrow and loneliness that was profound. We all paused to listen, and Abarrane barked a laugh. “
Ezezagunen lurraldea otso lurraldea da
. .”

I listened for the wolf again, but there was only silence. “What does that mean, Abe?”

For the first time, his eyes met mine, and there was none of the singsong rhythm in his voice. “A land of strangers is a land of wolves.”

I could see his hands tightening on the Remington. “Don’t do it, Abe.”

He stared at me, dark eyes glinting in the reflection of the fire, and I knew he’d made up his mind.

“It’s like dat, you know—you kill a man and you kill yourself.”

I raised the .45, leveling it at his chest.

“God is good, but he not crazy.”

Suddenly, there was a whirring sound.

We all froze. There stood Liam on the steps of the wagon with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his bare legs exposed, and Keasik’s dog Gansu beside him.

Abarrane stood unmoving, licking his lips, trying to find his voice. “Did Poppy wake you up with dat loud talk?”

The boy nodded.

“Well, you go on back in dere and stay warm.”

“No, Liam, don’t.” The old man turned to look at me as I put away the cuffs and holstered the Colt. “Why don’t you come out here and join us?” Walking around the campfire, I moved past Keasik and, wrapping him more securely in the blanket, lifted the boy into my arms and turned back toward the fire.

Gansu joined her mistress as I approached Abarrane with his grandchild tucked into my arms. The child smelled good, of warmth, sleep, and life, wiping away the smell of gunmetal and death with his small, fragile breaths. “Put the gun down and take your grandson, Abarrane.”

The lines in his face smoothed and softened as tremors of emotion overtook him.

“Take your grandson, Abe.”

A sob broke from his twisted mouth. The old man tossed the shotgun aside and reached out to take the boy, burying him against his chest with a retching cry that rivaled that of the wolf.

We sat on the tailgate of my truck and stared at another dead sheep.

“I’m thinking Larry is pushing his luck.” I didn’t respond. She gave me the same look she’d been giving me all afternoon, trying to read my unsettled mood. I watched as Butler and Kaplan worked the freshly killed carcass. “This one’s only twenty-four-hours old, so they’ll be able to get a more definitive read on what killed it, right?”

“Yep.”

She turned back to the grisly scene. “So, spoke with Larry lately?”

I didn’t say anything.

“You think he’s still out here?”

I studied the tree line leading to the high country. “In one form or another.”

She sipped the coffee from the chrome lid of my old Stanley thermos and looked out at the fresh blanketing from two days ago. “Snow in May—welcome to the Bighorn Mountains.”

“The absence of all color.”

“What?”

“White, the absence of all color—it’s like nature has wiped the board clean and left nothing.” I sat there, looking at the
snow, feeling like I was falling into it and smiled a sad smile. “Rapidly becoming my favorite thing.”

She stared at me. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Nothing, I’m talking about nothing, absolutely nothing.” I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, watching a thick haze lift into the air and dematerialize. “What day of the week is it?”

“It’s Friday.”

I stretched my side, trying to unkink the muscles in my ribcage without pulling my stitches. “Seems like a weekend.”

“Uh huh.” She handed me back the cup. “You sure you’re all right?”

I refilled the cap and took a slug. “What time is it?”

“You having some kind of cognitive disassociation or something?”

“No.” I lowered the cup. “I’m just wondering what time it is.”

She glanced at her watch with all its buttons and dials. “It’s four-twenty.”

“The office will be closed by the time we get back down.”

“Yeah, and it’s still going to be Friday.” Raising her voice, she called out at the two men. “Hey, when are you two possum patrolmen going to finish up here?”

Butler, the brand inspector, turned to look at her. “I’m sorry, are we interrupting your coffee break?”

“As a matter of fact, you are. Besides, there’s a nice fire back at my house and a half-bottle of Chianti that’s calling my name. So, let’s get this wrapped up, shall we?”

Ferris Kaplan rose, distributing portions of the victim into Ziploc bags and removing his plastic gloves. “Can I come?”

Vic smirked at him. “I said a half-bottle, carp-cop.”

Not taking the remark seriously, the bearded game warden
stepped around Butler and crossed toward us. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He turned back as Butler stood and joined him. “Well?”

The older man tipped his signature black hat back and rubbed a calloused hand over his face before blinking and making the pronouncement. “Cat.”

Kaplan nodded in professional confirmation. “Cat.”

“Hallelujah.” My undersheriff raised her face to the retreating sun and then turned back to them. “Wait, once they get the taste for human flesh is it hard to break them of the habit too?”

Ignoring her, I asked. “You’re sure?”

They both looked at me, Butler frowning. “What, you wanted it to be your wolf?”

“No. Not really, but I guess I wanted to know if he’s still here.”

Butler shook his head as he glanced at me knowingly. “If he’s not dead, he’s moved on to greener pastures—too much activity around these parts, I’d say.”

“Where would he go?”

He shrugged. “Back in the park, the basin or farther north into Montana would be my guess.” He looked at Kaplan, who nodded in agreement. “Anyway, you don’t get another public wolf scare with this one.”

Vic looked up at me. “No such thing as a mountain lion scare?”

It was Kaplan’s turn to shake his head. “Sometimes, but not much, which is kind of surprising in that they’re much more capable killers, especially solitary ones. It’s odd too, because unlike wolves they’ll sometimes kill a dozen sheep in one attack just because they’re moving. I mean, they’re cats.”

“Too much like us.” They all turned to look at me. “Wolves,
they’re too much like us, which is why they scare people. Too much like us in their use of hierarchy, teamwork, cooperation, territory, ritual, and loyalty.” I capped my thermos and moved toward the driver’s side of my truck, opened the door, and greeted my own great beast in his part-time lair. Ruffling his ears in an attempt to get him over the grudge he’d been holding against me for about a month now, I jammed the thermos into the seat cushion in the back and turned to look at them. “Except sometimes humans aren’t very loyal at all.”

“So, he forgot and tied up the mule?”

“Yep.” I navigated the switchbacks slowly, enjoying the ride down the mountain. “Donnie wasn’t much of a cowboy, and given his state of mind I guess he forgot.”

She reached back, letting Dog lick her open palm. “But he was the guy who beat up Miguel at the bar?”

“Yep, I got an inkling of that when Jeannie said she and her husband had taken line-dancing lessons and that he’d bought an outfit and hat.”

“All this because Miguel found out about the abuse?”

“It would appear.”

“So, Mickey Southern: Pervert Hunter was right?”

“In a way.”

“What way?”

“Donnie Lott was Mickey Southern.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Sancho went back to the Denver PD, and because of the seriousness of the crime, they were able to get an injunction that forced the server folks to give up the info on the Southern
site. I guess he’s been doing this for years as some kind of recompense for his actions. There are no formal charges, but Jeannie admitted that there had been instances in the past that had been covered up.”

“She protected the son-of-a-bitch?”

“It’s not unusual.”

“From the abuser of your own child, nevermind yourself?”

“Funny where those lines of loyalty delineate themselves, huh?”

She gave it some thought. “So, Miguel finds out Donnie is beating his wife and molesting his own kid and threatens to tell Abarrane, so Donnie gets the shepherd drunk and hangs him.”

“There were also the arboglyphs that the shepherds were using to communicate between themselves, including the one with the man and boy—the one with the evil eye warning.”

“What about the whole Columbian connection?”

“A diversion.” We hit the straights past the runaway-truck cable system, and I gave the three-quarter ton a bit more steam. “By that time Donnie was on his last rope, so to speak. He’d accidentally run into me at the gas station and got spooked. He must’ve felt like the world was closing in on him, which it was.”

“So, being an IT guy, he figured a way to crack into the Colorado Department of Labor and Employment files and insert the incorrect fingerprints?”

“He did, but the photos didn’t match.”

“How about the ICE guy, did he show?”

“Yep.”

“And?”

“He got a nice tour of the museums in Absaroka and
Sheridan counties before having a beer at the Mint Bar and getting back on a plane to DC.”

“At least he knows where Wyoming is now.” She shook her head. “What about the Choo-choo woman?”

“Keasik, Cree for ‘sky blue,’ like her eyes and like the eyes of her grandfather, Jakes. She’d been in touch with Abarrane after following up on Miguel. I think she knew about what was going on and used Hernandez as a point of contact. Then she and Abe worked together to get Donnie.”

“Teamwork.”

“Once the investigation started, they saw me as the real threat and her main job was to keep an eye out and make sure I didn’t get too close.”

“Territory.”

“Blood being thicker than water.”

“Loyalty.” She shook her head. “So, all the wolves go to jail?”

“Inchoate crimes.”

“Excuse me?”

“A legal term relatively specific to the state of Wyoming, inchoate crimes are attempted crimes committed by accessories or by conspirators. Both Abarrane and Keasik were charged with attempted involuntary manslaughter and arranged a plea hearing and sentencing whereby they can plead nolo contendere; they were promised that they would be placed on probation, including but not limited to whether or not they go to jail.”

“Verne Selby is okay with that?”

“The judge likes to see justice done.”

“You talked to him.”

“I did.”

“You also talked to the prosecutor and explained that Donnie was an internet predator, a spousal abuser, a pedophile, and a child molester—of his own child no less—and the murderer of Miguel Hernandez.”

“I did and also pointed out Donnie’s decision to not extricate himself from the noose, which would warrant a more lenient treatment of both Abarrane and Keasik.”

“You think he dropped his spare set of keys in an attempt to get you to let go of him?”

When I didn’t respond, she shook her head. “Why not? I mean you beat your wife, molest your own son, and there isn’t going to be much solace from anybody.”

“No, there’s not.”

“So, time served and honest Abe is back at his ranch cutting hay to feed to the sheep the wolves are going to eat.”

Rolling into town, I slowed and made the turn, pulling in and parking beside the jail. “More or less.”

“And Keasik Cheechoo?”

“I don’t know, and tell the truth, I don’t care.”

“‘Inchoate crimes,’ it does have a ring to it.” Once again, she stared at me. “Come over and help me drink wine?”

“I thought there’s only a half-bottle?”

“I lied.” She unbuckled her seat belt and knelt on her seat, placing her elbows onto the center console and breathing on the side of my face. “C’mon, I’ll make spaghetti, and we’ll have sex.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“Sex or spaghetti?”

I smiled. “Maybe I’ve finally had enough of what people can do to each other.”

“I got there a long time ago.”

I turned to look at her, those eyes very close. “So, why go on?”

“Because we’re doing good, Walt. We’re the only thing that holds the wolves at bay.”

“That’s unfair to wolves.”

“Yes, it is. Here’s where the hierarchy comes into play—we’re the alphas, the ones that fight for decency and the common good.”

“Think we’re winning?”

“That’s not important, the important part is the fighting. I can’t believe I’m giving this pep talk to you. I don’t know much, but I know you’ve got to stand for something in this life—you have to fight for something. Some people go their whole lives without standing up or against something that’s wrong. I don’t know about you . . . Actually, I do. We don’t want to be those people, so that means we play by the rules, fight the fights, and take the shots.”

It was silent there in the truck-—the only noise was Dog’s breathing. “I think I’ll just go in and get a few things done and then head home, sit in my chair, and look out the window.”

“Well, maybe that’s the fight for today.” She knelt there with her eyes on me for quite some time and then turned, sat, and opened her door. She slid out and stood with a hand resting on the handle. “Whatever you decide to do, I better be part of the equation.”

I nodded. “Yep.”

She quietly closed the door, and I watched as she climbed into her unit, fired it up, and swung it around beside me. She cranked down her window.

I stared at her with a questioning look.

“Just so you know, I lost the office pool.” Rolling up her
window, she jetted out of the parking lot at just under light speed, pausing only a moment to give me the finger.

I don’t know how long I sat there, but it was dark and the next thing I was aware of was Dog sniffing my ear and placing his head on my shoulder. “You need to get out, buddy?”

I could feel his weight shifting the truck as he moved to the suicide door behind me. I unbuckled my seat belt, opened my door, and stepped out to open his. I watched him as he leapt to the ground and trotted to the edge of the parking lot between us and the courthouse to relieve himself with the one-leg salute.

Standing there waiting, I studied the traffic lights and then turned and gazed at the red-stone front of the old library with its two columns and tall windows, one of 1,679 such buildings philanthropist Andrew Carnegie donated to communities across the nation from 1886 to 1919.

I felt as old as the building.

I glanced up at the dark clouds and scattered moonlight that was highlighting the Bighorn Mountains. Patting my leg, I made for the door and was surprised to find it ajar. I held it for Dog, who bounded ahead as I slowly followed him up the stairs.

Saizarbitoria was sitting on Ruby’s stool leafing through a copy of
Wyoming Wildlife
magazine, tossing it onto the counter as I approached. “Welcome home.”

“Thanks. What are you doing here so late?”

“Waiting for the results—neither wolf nor dog?”

“Cat.”

“A mountain lion. Do we have to worry about that too?”

“Probably not.”

“Good, I don’t think I’ve got the stamina for another scare.” He stood, stretched, and yawned. “Ruby left a note for you in your office.”

I stared at him. “A note?”

“Yeah, Boss.”

With a deep sense of dread, I approached my office, and looked inside at the large envelope lying on my otherwise naked desktop. “Where’s the computer?”

“She had me put it downstairs on the communal desk.” He joined me at the door and peered over my shoulder. “I have no idea what it says.”

Entering my office, I sat in my chair and studied the intimidating cursive handwriting, spelling out my full name. “I thought I was doing pretty well.”

“The computer?” He crossed his arms and leaned on the doorjamb. “What, you want it back?”

“No.”

He pulled something from his uniform shirt pocket. “I almost forgot. I was cleaning out the prisoner personal-possessions locker and found the rucksack Keasik Cheechoo left behind and these fell out.” He tossed the stack of cardboard coupons held together with a rubber band onto my desk—at least fifty Mallo Cup Play Money cards.