Jack Slade, page 13
“Good god, you two!” Slade grimaced. “It’s too much. If you don’t stop, I’m going to break into tears. I was just doing my job. It’s what I do.”
She grinned impishly at him. “Same old Slade. Tell me, do you ever break character?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Apparently, however,” Connolly put in, “your job isn’t finished. You still have an encounter back at the reservation.”
Slade took a deep breath and released it through his teeth. “Tonight is the last night of the full moon. I expect to face the killer tonight and decide the issue one way or the other.”
Stating the issue so calmly, in such a matter of fact manner, was stunning to the others. They just stared at him in wonder.
“You know…” Connolly’s gaze brooded on Slade. “…I’ve been a cop my entire adult life. But as I get to know you better, I’m coming to the realization that there’s a world of difference between what I do and what you do. It’s like you’re a window into a dark, alien universe where the standards that I, and the rest of us, live by, don’t apply. Aren’t even relevant.”
“The world in which I live and work would blast the sanity of most people. That’s why I work alone. It’s why I don’t share everything I know with others.” He glanced at his watch. “Speaking of work, I need to get out of here and drive up to the reservation.” He turned to Helen. “Do you want to come back with me, or will you be staying here with your parents?”
“I’ll go back with you. I need the peace and quiet of the mountains to recover from all of this.”
Connolly leaned forward and spoke quietly. “Slade, would you mind waiting outside for a few minutes? I’d like to speak to Helen privately.”
“No problem.”
Slade pushed to his feet, went to the door, passed through, and closed it behind him.
He crossed the squad room, uncomfortably running the gauntlet of all the eyes trained on him. As he moved through the front gate, the desk sergeant leaned across the counter and extended his hand.
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Slade. I’d consider it an honor to shake your hand.”
“Thank you, Stan,” Slade returned warmly and gripped the hand.
Then he stepped outside in the afternoon sunlight, walked to the Jaguar, rested his hips against the front fender, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited.
Slade found a parking space in front of the Black Cloud Bar, pulled the Jaguar into the curb and cut the engine.
Helen glanced around curiously. “Why are we stopping here?”
“I want to speak to an old Indian in the Black Cloud Bar. Come in with me,” he added. “I think you’ll enjoy meeting this guy.”
They walked into a room filling up with the after work crowd. All speech stopped when they entered. They became the focus of every eye. The bartender spotted Slade, moved to the spigots and drew a beer. He placed it on the counter as they passed.
“Here you are, sir,” he said with a wide smile. “It’s on the house. And as many more as you want.”
Slade saluted him with the mug, then poured a long swallow down his throat.
“Thank you,” he replied, then continued down the bar.
Standing Bear, his long grey hair shimmering like a silver aureole in the muted light, and the two men who had been present the first night, sat at the table and watched them approach. At sight of Helen, the old man’s lip-less mouth stretched in a smile, and the wrinkles on his face deepened.
Slade set his mug on the table and started to make introductions when Helen blurted out, “I know you!” She pointed a slim finger at Standing Bear. “I remember you from my childhood. You’re a friend of my grandfather’s.”
The old man chuckled with pleasure. “Yes, and I remember you. You were that skinny little girl who was always tagging along behind us, pestering us with an endless stream of questions.” He looked her over, and his black eyes glowed. “You’ve become a beautiful young woman. You’ve done well for yourself. You’re a credit to your people. We are all proud of you.”
She beamed with pleasure before shifting attention to Slade.
“Sit down.” The old man waved a gnarled hand at two chairs. “Tell us about it.”
Slade and Helen sat. He hunched forward and leaned his arms on the table. “I just stopped by for closure. It appears that everyone already knows what went down. There’s not much more I can add. You no doubt know that the killer and leader of the rebellion was John Dancing Horse.” He spread his hands. “I just want to thank you for the help you gave me.”
Standing Bear shook his head. “It is we who thank you. Only a mighty warrior could do what you did. You saved many lives, both Sioux and white. With John Dancing Horse gone, there is a chance for whites and Sioux to come together.”
“I know my father is going to dedicate his future projects to building affordable housing within the Sioux community,” Helen put in. “And he wants to be involved in renovating what’s already here.”
Standing Bear nodded. “Your father is a good man. We have a chance now to make a better future for the young people coming up behind us.”
The sun was sinking behind the western mountains in a blaze of crimson when Slade finally swung the Jaguar onto the highway and headed back to Twin Peaks. He drove in silence, his grey eyes somber, listening to the deep throaty roar of the engine as he contemplated what awaited him. Helen rested with her head leaning back against the seat, eyes closed, breasts rising and falling with her soft breathing.
The night falling was the last night of the full moon. There was no question that Johnny Tall Trees would be waiting for him. The challenge had been laid down and accepted. Truth be told, Slade knew that both he and Johnny were eager for the encounter. They both lived for action, felt most alive in a life and death struggle. And when their time came, it was in such a struggle that they wanted to go down. There was something horrible about getting old and feeble and dying in bed. Slade wanted to go out in the rush of combat, at the height of his powers. In the ecstasy—in the white heat—of battle. It was something not easily explained to those not treading the Warrior’s Way.
But Johnny Tall Trees understood. And Soaring Eagle understood.
Helen rolled her head on the seat, opened her eyes, and regarded him solemnly. “What are you thinking about?”
“The obvious.”
“So you’re really going to do it? You’re going to shape shift and face Johnny in his wolf form?”
Slade didn’t respond.
She sighed heavily, then glanced out the window at the darkness creeping on stealthy feet across the prairie. “Jeff was right, you know,” she murmured musingly. “Neither of us understands the world you live in or the way you think. I can’t imagine anything more terrifying than what you intend to do. And I don’t see how you can move toward it so inexorably. So…dispassionately.”
When Slade still didn’t respond, she lapsed into silence and stared out the window.
The moon was lifting above the horizon, dimming the few twinkling stars, when Slade reached the reservation. He saw Helen’s house coming up on the left, began to decelerate, when she placed her hand on his thigh.
“Don’t drop me off at my home. I want to go on with you to my grandparents’ house.”
Slade glanced at her sharply. “That may not be the safest place to be.”
“Maybe not, but I want to see my grandparents after all I’ve been through. They represent good times to me, and I feel the need to be with them.”
Slade nodded and pressed back down on the gas pedal.
The moon was arching toward its apex, casting a silver sheen over the sable vault when they pulled into old Joe’s driveway, came to a halt behind his battered pickup. Slade cut the engine. He leaned back behind the wheel, took a few deep breaths, then glanced at Helen. She was staring at him, her dark eyes glowing like huge sapphires in the darkness.
“This is it,” he said simply. He pulled the lever and threw open the door.
They walked along the dirt path in front of the house and climbed the steps to the porch. Old Joe was sitting in the rocking chair at the edge of the porch, almost invisible in the shadows.
When Helen saw him, she cried out with joy, ran to him, and threw her arms around his grizzled neck. “Grandpa! I so needed to see you and Grandma. How are you? How’s Grammie?”
Hearing Helen’s voice, Jesse, dressed in her usual shapeless dress and apron, stepped out onto the porch. “Here I am, child. And we’re doing fine.”
Helen rushed over to her, hugged her, and kissed her weathered cheek. “It’s so good to see you, Grandma. I’ve just been through hell, and I needed to see you and Grandpa really bad.”
“You know you’re always welcome here. You can stay with us for as long as you want.”
They stopped speaking and gazed at the two men, who had been staring at each other in silence while they talked.
“You knew about the rebellion,” Slade stated as a matter of fact. “That’s the bigger reason why you brought me here.”
The old man’s black eyes twinkled in the darkness. “You met my old friend, Standing Bear. He knew what was happening in Crawford. He understood the terrible consequences if the rebellion wasn’t stopped. But he couldn’t discover who was behind it, and he didn’t have enough power to handle it on his own. He came to me for help.”
“And you came to me.”
His chuckle was dry as an old file. “I saw you in spirit vision. I knew who you were. I knew you were the man we needed. A slayer who could move between the worlds. A hunter who knew the ways of the whites but could work with the Sioux. Standing Bear acted as go-between, as a source of ideas.” He paused then added slyly. “It was me who brought the thick fog down on you that forced you to stop at the abandoned ghost town.”
“You wily rascal.”
Old Joe became serious. “But the problem of Running Wolf was a real one. His killings and the threat of rebellion just happened to occur at the same time. I brought you here so you could solve both problems.”
Just then, a figure emerged from the shadows clinging to the corner of the house. Slade glanced around to see Johnny Tall Trees, in flannel shirt and Levi’s, his hunting rifle cradled in his arms, step into the moonlight.
He glanced at everyone on the porch and grinned, and it was like a puma baring its fangs. “Did I hear someone mention my name?”
13
Deep silence descended over the porch as they stared at Johnny Tall Trees standing in the yard, moonlight glimmering along the barrel of the hunting rifle held in his arms, black eyes blazing fiercely as he returned their disapproving glares. When his gaze encountered that of Soaring Eagle’s, however, an expression of regret crossed his harsh features.
Then he focused on Slade.
“This is the last night of the full moon. I was beginning to think you didn’t have the courage to face me. That you ran back to white man’s civilization with your tail between your legs.”
Slade snorted contemptuously. “Get real! This is your last night on earth. I hope you’ve said all your farewells.”
They fell silent as Soaring Eagle heaved himself out of the rocking chair and walked to the edge of the porch. Drawing himself up to his full height, he glared sternly down at the younger Sioux. “You betrayed your heritage. We could forgive. Even understand the killing of the men who desecrated your sister. Even if it brought the wrath of the white man’s law down on the reservation. But killing an innocent hunter was too much. For that,” he shook his head sadly, “you must pay.”
Johnny bowed his head in acceptance of the old man’s judgment. “It grieves me more than I can say that I’ve earned your displeasure. You’ve been as a second father to me. I honor you above all men. Although each time I killed, I felt that I had no choice. I admit that the killing of the hunter pushed me outside the laws of our tribe. For that reason, I bow to your judgment. After I’ve disposed of this one,” his black eyes flicked at Slade, “I’ll leave the rez and go off into the mountains alone. An outcast. You will never see me again.”
Soaring Eagle glanced at Slade who stared broodingly down at the young Sioux from beneath black brows, his hands thrust deep in his trousers pockets. He shifted his gaze to Helen and Jesse, standing back by the door, holding each other as they watched the scene unfold. Then he glanced back at Johnny and sighed regretfully.
“It must be as you say,” he intoned. “You two will meet in combat. To the death.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “We must go to the back of the house. I’ve performed rituals there. It has been purified. You will fight in sacred space.”
He went down the steps and moved around the corner of the house, leading the way to the back yard.
Slade descended the stairs and confronted Johnny. The younger man bristled, his black eyes flashing. Slade bowed and gestured for him to precede him.
“I pay homage to him who is about to die.”
The Sioux scowled angrily. “Blustering white man!”
Then he followed Soaring Eagle around the house.
Helen and Jesse came down the steps, and Helen gripped Slade’s arm. She gazed up into his face. She suddenly released him and fell back, hand raised to her mouth, eyes dilated with alarm.
Slade was no longer aware of her existence. He moved after the others as if in a trance, his eyes pulsing with a deep, inner fire, face rapt in a state of exaltation. His movements elastic, vibrant, electric, sparking with dynamic power. As he strode eagerly toward a life and death encounter, he experienced, not merely his surroundings, but the entire world as a vast, transparent play of awesome, coruscating power. A boundless and free universe where titanic forces struggled and clashed, built and destroyed. Where strength and power were the sole arbiters deciding who lived and who died. Who prevailed. Who was crushed and swept into oblivion.
Wave after wave of electrical power, flashing and glittering, surging terrifically through endless space, suddenly narrowed to a focus, sharp and diamond hard. That focus was Slade. As he strode into the area behind the house, he felt as if the entire universe funneled through him, was not separate from him, and that his struggle against a contending force, his unbending will to conquer and prevail, impressed meaning upon that moment. His meaning. His strength justified him. Won him a place among the mighty forces that struggled for supremacy throughout the magical universe.
He halted facing Running Wolf. Soaring Eagle, cradling the young Sioux’s rifle in his arms, stood between them and to the side. The old man glanced at Slade, and his black eyes widened. Johnny was aware of the transformation in Slade, and he gazed at him in wonder.
“I have called upon our gods to witness this encounter,” Soaring Eagle intoned in a deep voice. “You will both retreat to the opposite sides of this clearing, shift into your animal forms then meet here in the middle. Only one of you will survive. Then this matter will be at an end.” He glanced at Johnny. “If you defeat Slade, I can’t stop you. You’ll be free to go where you will.”
He moved between them and mounted the steps to the back porch where Helen and Jesse stood in the shadows against the wall. Sitting down on the top step, he crossed his legs then rested the long gun across his thighs. His wrinkled face was stern as he glared at the two men.
“Go.”
Slade nodded to the other then they spun around and walked to opposite sides of the area.
Slade stepped from the bright moonlight that bathed the clearing and entered the deep shadows hovering beneath a spreading pine. Nettles and leaves carpeting the ground made a comfortable bed as he stretched out and composed himself, resting his hands at his sides, palms down, and closed his eyes. Power surged through his body with the terrific force of an electrical storm as he descended deep, very deep, within. Deeper and deeper he went. His breath became shallow then stopped. Deeper still and he lost physical awareness. At last, he reached the deepest depths of his being, where slept his totem. His consciousness merged and became one with his animal form.
He didn’t merely assume the shape of a black jaguar.
He became a black jaguar.
He rose, snarling and spitting, from the inert form lying entranced in the deep shadows beneath the tree. He stepped into the clearing, black coat shimmering in the moonlight, great muscles bunching and rolling like iron cables. His eyes, as he spotted the wolf on the far side of the area, were whirlpools of crimson fire. He bared his long sharp fangs in challenge, and they glimmered like daggers in the pale light.
The wolf growled in response and moved toward him, its flaming eyes blazing with challenge, the hackles along its back standing straight, dripping fangs glistening in the moonlight. The beast was gigantic. More fearsome than anything the jaguar had ever seen. As it moved over the ground, its great head lowered, growling deep in its throat, its paws dug deep furrows in the soft soil.
They circled each other warily, snarling, growling, their eyes never leaving each other. Watching and assessing. Suddenly the wolf lunged toward the foreleg of the jaguar. The jaguar lowered its head, its great jaws gaping, ready to sink its fangs in the exposed neck of the beast. The wolf jerked back, and the jaguar’s fangs snapped on empty air.
They resumed circling.
In a blur of motion, the jaguar leaped, forelegs whipping forward, and raked its long black claws across the muzzle of the wolf. The strike landed, and red streaks glistened in the light as the muzzle was sliced to the bone. With a shrill scream of pain, the wolf reacted. As the jaguar’s foreleg retracted, like a flash of lightning it lunged in and fastened its ferocious jaws like a vise on its throat. The jaguar went over backward, and they rolled across the clearing, roaring, spitting, sharp claws ripping, long fangs tearing. The jaguar used the sharp claws of it forelegs to break the wolf’s hold on its throat at the first roll, but the beast kept coming, its fangs reaching again for its throat, attacking its chest and underbelly. The jaguar kept it at bay as it mounted counterattacks against its neck, legs, and chest with its fangs and fore paws, and against its soft belly with the slashing claws of its rear paws.
