Land of Wolves, page 19
“What the hell?”
The wolf turned to regard me but made no other movement.
At second look I could make out a little more detail and could see he was indeed darker than the other specimens I’d encountered but with the gray around his muzzle more evident. Whether it was in comparison with the beast known as Dog, or just being closer, I could see he was even larger than I had thought.
I figured he must’ve gotten Dog’s attention and then realized what he was dealing with and decided that vertical was the better part of valor—but climbing on top of a vehicle? That couldn’t be normal behavior for any wolf.
“Howdy.”
He didn’t move, and neither did I.
“Dog.” He turned his head to look at me, but he didn’t make any move to abandon his post either. Patting my leg, I called out. “Dog.”
Reluctantly, he rose and sidled in my direction.
Mostly because I couldn’t hold the weight much longer, I carefully knelt down and pulled Abe from my shoulder, laying him on the ground. I was relieved he was still breathing, but he showed no sign of consciousness.
Glancing up, I could see that 777M was still sitting there, watching the three of us.
Slipping off my jacket, I placed it over Abe in an attempt to make him as comfortable as possible. Having done the best I could, I sat beside the old man and studied the wolf, which studied me in return. “I tell you, Larry, you are one strange animal.”
The ears perked a bit, but that was all.
“There’s going to be a bunch more like me here in a short time and maybe even a helicopter, so maybe you want to get out of here while the getting is good.”
He continued to study me, apparently unconcerned.
“Look, I’m not giving you Abe. First off, he’s not dead, and second, you need to get out of the habit of snacking on people. It’s bad enough that you ate a sheep, if it was you that did it.”
His luminescent eyes never left me.
“What do you want?”
He glanced up the road toward Powder Junction.
“Are they coming?”
Dog barked and started to move back toward the vehicle.
“C’mere, you.” He turned to look at me, longing to ignore my command, but then paced over and sat where he’d been. “Stay.”
The wolf rose up on all fours and even deigned to stretch but continued keeping his attention toward the road, where I could now see flickers of headlights and hear the angry howl of a siren.
Forcing myself to stand, I reached out and grabbed Dog’s collar, holding him fast as my truck’s emergency and off-road lights became visible, along with a few other vehicles just behind. They were closing fast, and I could hear the distant but steady thumping of my least favorite form of transportation coming from the south.
When my eyes returned to the top of the International, in that instant, he was gone.
Glancing around, I felt like I was looking for an apparition I’d summoned up. Walking forward, I continued to hold onto Dog. I peered into the bushes around us and up and down the road, but it was as if he’d never been there.
Dog lurched, and I lost my grip on him as he darted around the Travelall and back to me. Dropping his nose to the ground, he circled the vehicle again, swinging his great bucket head side to side in an attempt to pick up the scent.
With another stab of pain I felt a little woozy, so I placed a hand on the International. “You . . . you can’t track him?”
He sniffed the ground a few more times and then raised his head and whined—perhaps for the first time in his life.
“It’s okay, honest.” I petted his broad head and glanced up the road at the approaching lights, lots of them, and started laughing. I laughed so hard I threw my head back and the next thing I knew I was lying on the ground looking at the left front tire of the Travelall.
Dog was barking and sniffing at my head as I lay there, having difficulty breathing. Dust clouds were broiling up everywhere, and I felt completely disoriented, so much so that I reached out and clung to the tire in hopes that I wouldn’t blow away into the canyon.
The engine of the helicopter and the sirens from the vehicles were deafening, but I could hear voices and called out even though I was pretty sure no one could hear me. I felt something blow against my jacket sleeve and released the tire long enough to grab ahold of whatever it was. The noise and wind had died down a bit, so I risked opening one eye. The dirt was still swirling, but I held the paper close and chuckled into the darkness as I read the blue-and-white card in my hand—CASH PRIZES, MALLO CUP PLAY MONEY 5 POINTS.
* * *
—
“Motherfucker.”
“Nice to see you too.” I raised a hand but found an IV there and so let my hand drop back onto the small, tidy bed. She started to speak again, but I interrupted. “No, wait. I have to say this . . .” Putting on my best most confused and melodramatic voice, I spoke with a dreamy quality. “Where . . . Where am I?”
“Motherfucker.” I turned and looked at her, running a hand through the raven hair. “You’re at the Ass-Kicking World Finals and you’re first in line.”
“Abe?”
“Alive, but still unconscious in a drip sedation coma in an attempt to stabilize his body temperature. He’s in the ICU of Wyoming Medical Center in Casper, because it was their helicopter.” She glared at me. “And you are in Durant Memorial, because I wanted to stab you with a pencil the whole drive back.”
“I feel a little sore, now that you mention it.”
“Mother. Fucker.”
I glanced around the room, noting with relief that she was the only one there. “Where’s the doc?”
“He’s not talking to you, and he says he’s never taking care of you again.”
“Uh-oh.”
“He’s pissed, Walt, just like the rest of us.” She leaned back in the chair and shook her head at me like a hanging judge. “Stupid.”
“I know.”
“Rookie stupid.”
“Yep.”
“Arrogant stupid.”
“Yep.”
“Just plain stupid.”
I nodded silently.
“Motherfucker.”
“Okay, all right, I get it.”
“You had an abscess, a dangerous one that set up a wall that wouldn’t let the antibiotics get to the infection, and it finally burst.”
I felt around on my side and immediately found the source of discomfort. “That’s what was hurting?”
She threw her hands in the air. “Who knew it was hurting at all, you asshole?”
“This has pretty much shot you to the top of the office pool, huh.”
With hands on hips she bent from the waist, really rearing back for this one. “Motherfucker!”
“So, is this a result of the stab wound in Mexico?”
“Maybe, or possibly some new and cataclysmically stupid shit you may have done since then.” She started to turn away but then whipped back. “What if you had died? Lying out there somewhere with Abe-sicle on top of you?”
Sighing, I self-consciously looked around for my hat—it usually made things better. “I knew we had to get him out of the cave and also knew it was going to take a long time hiking down there with a gurney and then hauling him back out—I figured by that time he really would be dead.”
“So, once again, two bodies would be better than one?”
“I didn’t know I had a problem . . .”
“You’ve been in pain for weeks, most people take that as a sign that something’s wrong, you idiot.”
“They’ll have to fix it.”
“They already have, you moron. Half of it, at least.”
“Hmm . . . Is it a nice scar?” I peeked down the neck of my gown, attempting to see the repaired area, but it was heavily bandaged. “Is everybody as angry at me as you?”
“Angrier, but I’m the one who gives a shit about you enough to sit in here for hours to see if you’d wake up. It’s obvious to everyone that you don’t care whether you live or die, so why should they?”
“Is Liam all right?”
“Yes.”
“Dog?”
“Yes, except for Abe maybe, everybody is all right except for you.”
“How long have I been out?”
She went over to the window. “All night and most of the morning.”
“Any sign of Donnie Lott?”
“No.”
“I saw Larry.”
Annoyed, she turned back to me. “Who?”
“The wolf. 777M. Larry.”
“Get the fuck out of here.”
“He was sitting on top of Abarrane’s International when I got to the rim.”
“You imagined it.”
“Dog saw him too.”
“Get the fuck out of here.”
“Honest.”
She reached into the breast pocket of her duty jacket and pulled out the Mallo Cup Play Money card, holding it out to me from the foot of the bed. “And that explains this?”
There was a knock at the door and Henry Standing Bear appeared, his dark hair hanging down at the sides of his face. “I brought you a Whitman’s Sampler, but the head nurse took it.”
“Very thoughtful.”
Vic interrupted. “This is no ordinary wolf.”
“No, I don’t think most eat Mallo Cups.”
“Interesting.” The Bear entered the rest of the way, reached over and took the card from Vic before slumping down into the guest chair.
I nodded at him. “Long night?”
“For the owner of the Red Pony Bar and Grill, it is always a long night.”
“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.” I glanced at Vic. “Do you know Sancho quoted Shakespeare to me last night?”
“Taking your job a little seriously, isn’t he?”
Henry looked up. “Am I missing something?”
“Saizarbitoria has been approached by some citizens to stand for sheriff.”
“Really?”
Vic folded her arms. “Motherfuckers.”
The Bear examined the card. “Unlike the other one, this one appears to be relatively worn.” His eyes came up to mine. “Where did you find it?”
“It found me as I was hugging the tire of Abarrane Extepare’s International trying to keep from blowing into the canyon. And by the way, the wolf was there too.”
“The same wolf?”
“Yep, on top of Extepare’s car.”
Vic leaned her thighs against the foot of my hospital bed as Henry handed the card back to her. “Strange behavior for a wolf, if you ask me.”
Henry suppressed a smile. “The more I hear of this wolf, the more I believe that he may be extraordinary.”
She tossed the card onto the bed. “You mean other than him popping up all over the Bighorn Mountains?”
“That is not particularly notable in that wolves are known to travel a hundred miles a day or more.”
“He’s not a ghost, Henry. Dog saw him.”
He perked up at that information. “How did Dog react?”
I thought about it. “Strange, he acted strange. He took off after him while we were on the trail and when I got to the top, he was sitting there looking at the wolf as it sat on the car.”
“On the car?”
“Right up on the top between the luggage rails.”
“Dog was not barking?”
“Not much, no.”
“Then he knew this wolf, if it was a wolf.”
“Well, the wolf didn’t seem too concerned about us, it just sat there until Vic and the troops arrived.”
“Then what happened?”
“He disappeared.”
“How do you mean . . .”
“I looked away for an instant, and when I looked back he was gone.” Shaking my head, I added, “Also . . . Dog tracked around the truck twice and never picked up his scent.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. Now, he’s no bloodhound, and it’s possible that he was more worried about me . . .”
The Cheyenne Nation reached down and picked up the card again. “Is there a child endangered in this case?” He stood and walked toward the window, but I was sure he wasn’t seeing the landscaped scenery there. “Virgil White Buffalo seems to appear when there are ramifications for children, and didn’t Libby Troon mention something along those lines?”
“She did.”
“I am not saying the wolf is Virgil, but it is possible that this wolf is a totem or messenger animal being used as a mediator between the spiritual forces and temporal beings here in the physical world.”
“Well, I don’t think we have anything covering that in the Absaroka County Sheriff’s handbook.”
“What I am saying is that he may be here to help.”
Vic laughed. “He wasn’t much help to Miguel Hernandez.”
“He is still a wolf.”
I sighed. “The better part of a week on this case, and I don’t think we’re any closer to finding out who killed Hernandez or even if he was murdered.”
Vic came around, sat on the bed, and reached through the blanket to pull the toe she sometimes used as target practice. “Maybe Larry tied the mule back up.”
I sighed, feeling the only thing I always felt when I was in a hospital, the need to get out. “There’s still something odd going on in the Extepare family, and if we can find out what that is, then maybe we can get some traction.” I glanced around the room. “Now the important question: where’s my hat?”
“No, the important question is . . .” The Bear looked between the two of us. “Who, pray tell, is Larry?”
* * *
—
“How come there’s nobody at the office?”
“If by ‘nobody’ you mean Ruby, it’s Saturday night.”
“Oh.” I sat at the top of the stairs as Henry followed in with the pizza, trying to pretend it was my idea. “Where’s Dog?”
“With her.” I watched Vic pull a depleted four-pack from the commissary refrigerator. “I guess she decided that if you were going to take him out cavorting with wolves that you weren’t a responsible guardian.”
“She’s probably right.”
The Cheyenne Nation handed out paper plates and plasticware and opened the box. “You know, this place takes on completely different environs at night.”
“Really?”
He dropped the first slice on my plate. “Yes, much worse.”
Sitting my plate on the stoop beside me, I took the can Vic proffered and opened it, taking a deep draught. “I needed that.”
Vic examined her slice. “You didn’t get anchovies on this, did you?”
“I procured exactly what you ordered.” I took another sip before attending the lesser need. “Anyway, how come you get to decide?”
Making use of the oversize canine tooth, she took her first bite. “Because I’m Italian, and you two are heathens who would put pineapple on pizza.”
Henry shook his head in mock outrage. “I would never do that.”
“So, no sign of Donnie Lott?”
“No.” She shrugged. “It’s been twenty-four hours, not that that makes any difference. Who talked to his wife yesterday?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“She seemed concerned, but in a strange way. She said that he sometimes goes for long runs.”
“Twenty-four hours?” She pointed at the slice on my paper plate. “You gonna eat that pizza?”
Knowing her penchant for poaching, I picked up the piece and took a bite. “Where the hell could he be?”
The Bear folded his slice, taking half of it with one bite. “With friends . . . nowhere . . .”
Vic made a face and took another. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Very few people can completely disappear without help.”
“So, you think he has an accomplice?”
“Difficult to say, not knowing his motivation in this situation—is he attempting to retrieve his son, trying to get at Abarrane, something to do with the wife? These affairs of the heart are always the most difficult—or there is the more simplified answer.”
“Which is?”
“Dead people are much easier to make disappear, especially in parts.” He reached down and picked up another piece. “Slice?”
“Very funny.”
“Going back to this wolf, if it is a wolf. Everything has a voice, but you will not hear it unless you listen.” He leaned back with one of his wide hands covering his knee. “Human social interaction is more closely akin to that of wolves than to the primates your Darwin saw as our ancestors. We could do worse than to see ourselves affiliated with the master hunter par excellence.” He looked up at me. “Virgil White Buffalo was a shaman, but there are older terms such as the sheven, or spirit helper, but that description is misleading in that it is sometimes the animal spirit that picks the shaman to embody . . .”
Vic looked doubtful. “Doesn’t the person have anything to say about that?”
The Bear shook his head. “Not really. To deny the spirit helper is to invite madness or death.” Dropping the piece of pizza on his plate, he looked up at me again, his voice echoing off the high ceiling of the miniature rotunda. “I have another question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you still have the ring that Virgil White Buffalo gave you in the mountains a year or so ago?”
I sat there looking at him. “I do.” Reaching under my collar, I pulled out the dog-tag chain that held the massive ring, which looked more like a pipe fitting in the reflected light of the old library’s entryway fixtures—the turquoise and coral wolves flashing as they chased each other in the silver in a never-ending pursuit.
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