FIC: Dog Days (Ray Levoi/Walter Crow Horse, NC-17) for myhappyface (1-2/4)
TITLE: Dog Days
RATING: NC-17
FANDOM: Thunderheart
PAIRING: Ray Levoi/Walter Crow Horse
SUMMARY: On domestication. Takes place eight to ten months after the events of the movie, and assuming Ray has been living on the rez for six to eight months.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: For myhappyface. “Why are you doing this, Carly?” “Holly is my friend.”
THANKS: There are not words to express my gratitude for kita0610, and her continuing to beta read these stories for me. Thank you so much, bb.
Chapter One: Fences
Jimmy ran through the tall prairie grass, the long stalks whistling as he tore past. The grass-shaded ground was cool beneath his paws, and he slid through the foliage with the aerodynamic grace of an airplane taking wing, as though he had been engineered specifically for this purpose.
Ray and Crow Horse followed a few yards behind; less naturally suited to the task, they trampled over and swatted away the grass as they made their way through the fields.
“The hell you talking about, ‘zoning boards?’” Crow Horse demanded. “This is my land. Only one person’s approval you need to build anything on it: mine.”
“I thought it was tribal land,” Ray said.
“Yeah,” Crow Horse said, “and they’ll get it back when I die. And if they decide then that they don’t like the fence, they can tear it down. What’ll I care? I’ll be dead.”
Crow Horse stopped and turned to look back in the direction of his house.
“We’re about thirty yards out. That enough room for Tripod?”
“Why don’t you just fence the border of your property?”
Crow Horse frowned. “Building fences is not the Indian way, Ray. Don’t know how well you know your history, but on the whole we’re not much for breaking up land and setting up boundaries. I’m giving you a lot just fencing off a bit of it.”
Ray looked ashamed, and Crow Horse knew that he just hadn’t known any better, so he added, “Plus, you got any idea how much it’d cost to fence all this? I’m not made of money, you know.”
Ray smiled, and they continued after Jimmy, now a small figure against the horizon.
“We don’t have to put up a fence,” Ray said. “Jimmy can take care of himself, I just-”
“You worry like a woman about him getting snatched or hurt or running off. I know that, Ray.”
“I am not a woman. And he has been hurt; what’ll he do if he loses another leg? It’s just for when we’re both at work; it’s not fair to leave him cooped up in the house all day-”
Crow Horse stopped, frowned. He put up a hand to block the worst of the sun, and squinted off into the distance.
“Call him back,” he said.
“What? I-”
Crow Horse looked at him, dead serious. “Call him back.”
Ray whistled and called Jimmy’s name. The dog turned, ears pricked, and then ran full speed back to them. Ray knelt to receive him, petting and praising him.
Ray looked up at Crow Horse. “What’s the matter?”
Crow Horse didn’t answer. He started walking again. After a few steps, he bent to pick up a fallen branch, and then continued right on. Ray was used to paddling along the wake of Crow Horse’s mysteries, so he followed along, keeping Jimmy close.
Crow Horse was easy to catch up with; he stopped walking after a few yards and stood, hands on his hips.
“Careful,” he said. And then, nodding to Jimmy, “Keep hold of him.”
Ray took Jimmy’s collar in hand, and stopped beside Crow Horse. At their feet was a set of shining metal jaws, attached by a short chain to a peg in the ground. Jimmy was straining in his hand, curious and unused to being tethered. Crow Horse took his branch and thrust it vertically between the metal jaws, hitting it square on the platform between the twin rows of steel teeth. The jaws slammed shut, moving so fast there was a whining sound as the air was torn. The branch snapped, a loud crack.
Ray jumped.
“You can let him go, but keep an eye on him,” Crow Horse said. “That’s a fox trap, chief.”
Ray didn’t let go of Jimmy’s collar. “You put out traps?”
Crow Horse shook his head, his mouth drawn tight. “No. No, I did not. Someone’s poaching on my land.” He kicked irritably at a clump of dirt. “Shit, Ray. Jimmy coulda stepped on that, or you, or me. Those things close, they break the leg. Add into that how cruel they are even if it was a fox got caught. Fox in a trap’ll do anything to be free. It’ll chew off its own foot, just to get loose.”
Crow Horse shook his head. “You take Jimmy on back to the house. I gotta walk the rest of the property to see if there’re anymore.”
“I’ll come with you,” Ray said.
Crow Horse looked after him a moment, then nodded. “All right. But I want you to put him in the house, anyway. And I don’t want you letting him out on his own until we got this sorted out.” He frowned. “Guess we better get movin’ on that fence of yours.”
***
Ray came in snarling two hours after his shift usually started. It was a slow morning, and Crow Horse and George were at dispatch going over reports and donuts.
“Hey,” Crow Horse said. “How was your meeting with the Bureau of Indian Aggravation?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ray said. He looked at Terry. “Tell me there’s a call for something I can shoot at.”
Terry looked down at the log. “Oh, uh, sorry, Ray, but-”
“He’s joking, Terry,” George said. “And if he hadn’t been, what should you have done?”
“Oh,” Terry said, face scrunching, “um, I should have . . .”
“Not given it to him,” George said. “Not.”
“Also, you shoulda told me,” Crow Horse said, “so I could make sure his gun’s got no ammo in it.”
“Like you do with mine?” Terry asked.
George patted Terry on the shoulder. “We’ll go over this later, eyah, kid?”
Crow Horse stopped lounging at the dispatch desk to approach Ray.
“I need to disarm you, kola?”
Ray’s shoulders slumped. “No. I’m fine.”
Crow Horse raised his brow.
“I really am,” Ray said. “I wouldn’t lie about that.”
“Okay,” Crow Horse said. “We got a light load this morning; want you to catch up on anything outstanding you got, then, if you’re still riled, why don’t you take Terry up to the shooting range, work on getting his marksman ranking?”
“I’m really fine,” Ray said.
“Then you’ll have no problem following my orders.”
They locked eyes for a moment; the gaze broke when Ray laughed.
“Thanks,” Ray said, and headed off to his desk.
“You really want me to go shooting?” Terry asked.
“Sure,” Crow Horse said.
“You want me to keep an eye on Ray when we’re there?”
Crow Horse looked at Terry for a long moment, a smile creeping over his face.
“Yeah,” he said. “You knew I wanted you to do that, huh?”
“What’s the matter with him?” George asked.
“He’s having it out with IHS,” Crow Horse said. “They’re giving him the runaround.”
George winced. “Tribal enrollment?”
“Yeah. He wasn’t going to bother, but IHS won’t cover him unless he’s enrolled. Tribal council’s givin’ him hell, though.”
“How come?” Terry asked. “You said Ray was Indian.”
“He is, Terry,” George said. “But the tribal council has blood quorums, and you gotta prove lineage, all sortsa hoops to jump for new people comin’ in.”
“It’s got him a little stressed,” Crow Horse said. “But it’ll work out.”
***
Ray had bought his first car at fifteen. It had been a piece of shit, but he had paid cash for it, money he’d earned at his first job. He’d driven it into the ground, but it had run until he’d been working a real job for a few years, and he had been proud to be able to afford a grownup mode of transportation when it had finally died.
Ray had sold the convertible before moving out to the rez with Walter. He had been surprised by how easy it was to give up.
In the meantime, he had become oddly attached to the truck, which was, even from an objective standpoint, much crappier than his teenage T-Bird. There was no explanation, really, for why he liked it so much. The brakes were touchy, the air conditioner didn’t work, and it drank oil like a sieve.
Still. Like Jimmy, who was wild and one-legged and refused to wear a leash, who had just jumped into his life one day and refused to leave, it was like Ray didn’t have a choice. The truck had chosen him, and he had grown to love it, despite himself.
They took the truck to the lumberyard, and then to the hardware store.
Ray frowned over a posthole digger. “Do we need one of these?”
“Next you’re gonna want some robot to do the building for us,” Crow Horse said. “Keep it simple.”
He started walking away, then changed his mind and doubled back, snatching a posthole digger from the rack. “Aw, hell. What can it hurt?”
“I thought you said we didn’t need one.”
“You ever built a fence before?”
“No.”
“So, what, you’re an authority? Ray, you gotta-”
“You are so full of shit,” Ray said. “You told me splitting up land and marking boundaries wasn’t the Indian way, and now I’m supposed to believe that you’re some kind of expert?” Crow Horse didn’t say anything, so Ray pressed. “Have you ever built a fence before?”
“Well, no, but-”
“But what, you majored in Fence Theory? Give me a break.”
They rode home with the bed full of lumber and the cab full of supplies they may or may not have needed. Ray drove, and Walter pawed through the bag from the hardware store, expressing renewed concerns over several of Ray’s purchases. Ray eased the truck to a standstill coming up on a stop sign; the engine coughed, seized, and then died. Fifteen minutes and grease streaks all up Ray’s forearms later, the truck was chugging back down the dusty trail.
It was a pain in the ass sometimes, but Ray still loved it. He couldn’t help himself.
***
They spent the better part of the day building the fence. Probably they should have started earlier, or later, anything to avoid the worst of the sun, but there was something deeply rewarding about sweating beneath the sun and the strain of an honest day’s work.
It took six hours, but it was a job well done, and Ray felt safe letting Jimmy out. It was a ridiculously sweet slice of Americana: a little house with a yard and a dog. Afterwards, Ray and Crow Horse sat on the back porch, their thirsty, sunburned flesh drinking up the cool night air, watching Jimmy frolic in the prairie grass. Crow Horse sipped on a couple beers, laughing more with each one. Ray felt himself mellow just on the company, and as the last of the sun’s rays faded away, revealing the true black possible only of a desert night sky, he pulled Crow Horse to his feet and to their bed.
The night music of their laughter and the whisper of cloth sliding off flesh. It was a familiar soundtrack, but one they never tired of; they put the record on most nights.
Their mouths salt-coated, swallowing down the taste of the earth and each other. Their chests ached with laughter, and for the first time that night Ray had the fleeting, ridiculous thought that his body could take no more; he would be ruined by sensation.
***
Ray was halfway through his morning ride-through when the radio crackled. Ray picked up the receiver.
“Levoi.”
The familiar scratchy echo of Radio Terry sputtered through. “Hey, Ray. I got a 211 for you at Sammy Moon Dog’s.”
“Residence or business?”
“Oh, yeah, right. Um, lemme check.” Ray smiled, listening to Terry fumble through his papers, not thinking to stop broadcasting. “Okay. It’s the gas station, Ray.”
“10-4, Terry, I’m 76. Thanks.”
Ray arrived at Sammy Moon Dog’s in less than five minutes. He found Sammy inside the convenience store, sweeping up broken glass. Ray sighed.
“Mr. Moon Dog, leave that, please. It’s evidence.”
Sammy shrugged. “Evidence’a what? Evidence’a me losin’ business cuz my customers cut up their feet?” He took a moment from his chore, studied Ray. “I know you. You’re Walter Crow Horse’s boyfriend, enit? The Indian FBI?”
Ray’s mouth twisted, and he pulled out his badge. “Ray Levoi. I’m the FBI liaison to the tribal PD. You called the police, didn’t you?”
Sammy nodded, grinning. “I did. ‘Ray Levoi, FBI liaison.’ You ain’t Walter’s boyfriend?”
Ray tried to pretend he could not feel himself blush. “That too.”
Sammy chuckled. “Eyah, ‘that too.’ He’s a good boy, Walter. I knew his folks growing up, known him since he was on cradleboards.”
“I, uh-yes, sir,” Ray said, tripping over his tongue. “Um, you-you had a robbery?”
Sammy nodded. He bent to sweep the glass into a dustpan.
“Yeah,” he said. “Some young buck come in here, waved a gun in my face, knocked some shit over. Not bad enough to take the money, he gotta make a mess.”
The door swung open. Ray spun around, badge at the ready. The old woman in the doorway froze.
“I’m sorry, Gramma,” Ray said. “Police business. Store’s closed.”
Sammy rolled his eyes. “Settle down, son. I got a business to run, here. Come on in, Gramma. Just ignore Ray here. You know how these young kids get, all eager.”
Gramma started to browse the aisles, and Sammy went behind the counter to empty the contents of the dustpan into the garbage can. Ray sighed and followed him.
“Mr. Moon Dog, please. It’s my job to collect evidence so I can catch the person that robbed your store.”
Sammy glanced at the trashcan. “You wanna take this home with you?” He chuckled. “Okay, Ray, you do your work. But I ain’t closin’ my store. I took a hard hit this morning; I gotta make up the money.”
Ray accepted the concession. He took the pad and pen from his jacket pocket.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Sammy nodded, and started tidying up the packages of gum spilt all over the counter.
“Eyah. Round nine this morning, I’m working the register, this young man comes in, wearing one’a them masks the kids wear when it’s real cold out, the knit kind. It’s months ’til the first cold snap comes through, so I knew somethin’ was wrong. I keep a shotgun back here-” Sammy picked up the weapon, tucked beneath the counter, and showed it to Ray. Ray took it, examined the chamber, and handed it back. “-but before I could reach it, he’s got his pistol out, telling me to hand over all the cash.”
“And you did.”
“Sure I did. Couple hundred dollars ain’t worth getting shot over. I emptied the till into a paper bag, handed it over. We got a safe in the back where we keep money for changing out and everything, but he didn’t say nothing about that, so I didn’t, either. I gave him the money, he knocked over some shit, told me if I called the police, he’d kill me. I waited ’til he run off, then called you all. Not letting some little shit too lazy to do a real day’s work tell me what to do. I built this business from the ground, been around since he was in diapers, prob’ly.”
“He leave on foot?”
“Yeah, ran outta here, and I mean ran.”
“Did you see which direction he was headed?”
Sammy pointed behind himself. Ray wrote east on his pad.
“What did you do after he left?” he asked.
“I called the police, and then I started cleaning up.”
“You didn’t try to chase him, anything like that?”
“Hell no,” Sammy said. “I’m too old to be running after kids with guns. Ain’t that your job, young buck?”
“Yes, sir. You did the right thing.” He glanced around the store, the old woman still inching down the aisles. “Were there any customers in the store or out front when he came through here? Any other employees?”
“Only employees I got are my grandkids, and they only work summers and after school. Had a quote-unquote ‘customer,’ but he was really just usin’ the bathroom free. Don’t imagine he saw much from in there.”
Ray studied the store’s perimeter. “Do you have security cameras on the premises?”
Sammy laughed. “You kiddin’?”
“Can you give me a description of the man? What did he look like?”
“Dunno much; he had that mask on. But he was short-what do you go, six foot, six-one, maybe?”
“Six even.”
“Eyah, you prob’ly got five, six inches on him. And he was skinny, but he was wearing baggy clothes, like he pretends he ain’t.”
“What was he wearing, besides the mask?”
“Jeans and a t-shirt-both of them a few days past needing a wash. Sneakers. Looked like any other punk comes in here.”
Ray tapped his pen against the pad. “What can you tell me about the gun?”
Sammy shrugged. “Dunno much about them, to be honest. It was one’a them handguns, that I know. Seemed huge to me, but it was in my face threatening to go off, so I prob’ly ain’t, whattya call it, unbiased.”
Ray nodded, and tried not to look disappointed. Not much to go on.
“Okay, Mr. Moon Dog. I’m going to get my kit, and collect some evidence.” He frowned at Sammy’s continuing cleanup efforts. “Try not to throw everything away before I get back, okay?”
***
Ray spent a few hours processing Sammy Moon Dog’s, and canvassing the neighborhood for potential witnesses. He returned to the station pessimistic. No one had seen anything, the only possible evidence was a few fingerprints, and there was no guaranteeing they didn’t belong to Mr. Moon Dog or one of his customers.
Ray sent his evidence packet off to the FBI lab in Rapid City, wondering briefly if liaison was Latin for courier, and stuck his head in Crow Horse’s office.
“Lunch?”
Crow Horse was growling over the Everest of paperwork on his desk.
“Maybe I’ll have time for that tomorrow,” Crow Horse said. “Where you been all morning?”
“211 at Sammy Moon Dog’s.”
Crow Horse frowned at him. “Where’s the report? I don’t run this department on show and tell, Ray.”
“I just got back five minutes ago, so let’s say it’s in the planning stages.” Ray entered the room, sank into the chair opposite Crow Horse’s desk. “You okay? You seem surlier than usual.”
Crow Horse sighed. “Yankton PD wants to come up here, take a look at our operation.”
“So? It’s just another rez’s PD, right? What’s the big deal?”
“It’s another complication we don’t need, Ray,” Crow Horse snapped. “One more thing to look after.”
Ray poked his tongue into his cheek.
“I don’t know why you’re snarling at me,” he said carefully, “but if I’ve done something to piss you off, you might start by telling me what it is.”
Crow Horse dropped his papers to his desk, and studied Ray for a long moment.
Finally, he said, “It ain’t you. Well, nothing you’ve done. It’s your fault they’re comin’, but that’s my fault, really.”
Ray knit his brow. “I don’t get it.”
Crow Horse sighed. “Gave a talk at that damn BIA Justice Services thing last month, talking about how the department’s changed since we took you on as Fed liaison. Between that and the numbers we been putting out, I guess some people are pretty excited, and the Yanktons wanna send some of their boys up here to check us out.”
“I still don’t understand why you’re upset about it. I mean, you’re happy with the work I’ve done here, aren’t you?”
Crow Horse’s face softened. “Of course I am. It’s-never mind.”
“Walter-”
“Just forget it, kola,” Crow Horse said. He pushed his chair away from his desk, stood up. “I changed my mind; I got time for lunch. What are you hungry for?”
***
Lunch was fine, and then Ray went back to work on Sammy Moon Dog’s robbery. He was good at his job, and liked it besides, and having a problem to solve gave him excellent focus. He became completely absorbed, enough to forget the little tiff with Crow Horse. That is, until that night. The two of them were settling down to sleep, Crow Horse’s back to Ray, and Ray slid the silky curtain of Crow Horse’s hair from his neck, and kissed his shoulder. Crow Horse shuddered him off.
“Long day, hoss,” he said. “Leave it.”
Ray flushed, embarrassed and stung as if he’d misread the signs on a first date, and turned quickly onto his back, far enough from Crow Horse that they weren’t touching.
“Sorry,” he said.
Crow Horse made a formless, noncommittal noise, a verbal shrug. Ray stared at the ceiling, trying to swallow down the knot of shame and nausea choking off his air. It didn’t mean anything. They didn’t have sex every night; there had been a definite decline once they got used to each other and the routine of their life, but that’s what always happened. They were lucky that their relationship still worked when they weren’t in bed. And it did. It did work, almost all of the time.
Still, Ray had never felt like this with Walter. And he had never felt like Walter was keeping something from him on purpose, like he had in Walter’s office that afternoon.
Ray swallowed it down. It was nothing. It was fine.
***
Ray woke alone, which wasn’t a big deal. Then he discovered that Crow Horse had left for the station without him, which was. Ray realized the house was empty and was struck by such nausea that he had to sit down. Jimmy, who was good at noticing when people were upset or at petting height, nuzzled Ray’s knee until Ray scratched his ears.
“Shit,” he said aloud.
He continued petting Jimmy, and reviewed his options. Maybe this was normal, part of the post-honeymoon period cooling. Or maybe Walter was so mad at him he couldn’t even tell him why, couldn’t even stand to look at him. Ray thought back over the past weeks for anything he could have done to upset Walter like that, and couldn’t think of anything.
“Shit,” he said again.
Ray got dressed and went to work, because he didn’t know what else to do, besides sit with the dog and torture himself. Walter’s cruiser was at the station; usually Ray parked next to him, but today he left his car on the other side of the lot, just in case Walter couldn’t stand to look at him.
Ray checked dispatch for calls, but there weren’t any. The evidence from the Sammy Moon Dog case still hadn’t come in, which meant Ray had exactly nothing to do. He wanted to avoid it, but Crow Horse was his boss, so he didn’t have a choice. Ray knocked on the door to Walter’s office.
“Eyah, come in.”
Crow Horse was at his desk, accompanied as usual by coffee and a mess of papers.
“Just checking in,” Ray said softly, stopping a good three feet from the desk. “Terry doesn’t have any calls for me, so I just thought I’d see if you had anything you needed.”
“Where are you on your 211?”
“Waiting for evidence to come back from Rapid.”
“Nothing you can do without it?”
“No,” Ray admitted. “I’m stuck.”
Crow Horse nodded. “All right. Why don’t you baby-sit dispatch for a while; tell George to take Terry on his rounds.”
Ray felt like he’d taken a gut shot. Sure, working for the rez PD was a different game altogether, and usually no one gave a shit about his background or his degree or his conviction record. Everyone helped everyone any way they could, the way the rez worked all over. But this meant the same and hurt as bad as when Coutelle had benched him during the fight with the GOONs after the shootout at Maggie’s-hurt worse, in fact, because Coutelle had been using him and he’d been the kid in that equation besides, but Walter respected him and they were supposed to be partners, so it should have been different.
Maybe things were, though. Different. And that was the problem, because Ray had been using all of his detective skills in trying to figure out what was wrong with him and Walter, and he was still clueless. You couldn’t win a game you didn’t know the rules too. You just couldn’t.
Ray bit his tongue.
“Yes, sir,” he said quietly, and left to go relieve Terry.
***
Ray was reaching the tipping point of being mad at Walter for treating him like this but madder at himself for taking it. He was not by nature compliant, but he was careful and could have soft hands when it was required, and some nagging part of him was sure that he was overreacting, and the only smart move was to ride it out.
Crow Horse small-talked through dinner like nothing was wrong, but when they went to bed, he begged off before Ray could even touch him. Ray couldn’t stand to be that close to Walter anymore with that feeling in his chest, so he mumbled something about taking a walk and left the room.
Ray stood out on the back porch, watching the acres of prairie rolling out into the dark night. It had taken a long time for him to become used to how dark the nights got out here: no streetlights or illuminated buildings; just a galaxy of sparkling stars, and the low, yellow lights of home fires burning. Desert nights were cold, the heat of the day falling away as soon as the sun went down. Ray felt the chill like little bites on his poorly covered skin. He rubbed halfheartedly at the goosebumps spotting his bare arms, and then decided he liked the discomfort, and left it alone.
He looked back, briefly, at the sleeping house behind him. Then he slipped a hand into his shorts, the discomfort of his unrequited erection. It was ridiculous; his whole adult life he had been in control of himself, and now Walter had him conditioned so he started getting hard as they were getting ready for bed. He hadn’t been so governed by what was going on in his underwear since he’d started needing to shave every day.
Ray palmed his cock, tried for a moment to relieve the tension, but found himself unable to maintain interest. This isn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want sex; he wanted sex with Walter. He wanted to feel loved and connected and he wanted to feel like he was half of a partnership.
This isn’t what he wanted. And he was too old for this shit.
Ray pulled his hand back, self-loathing roiling in his gut. And then, with precocious flashback, looked around to make sure he hadn’t been seen. But he was still alone; the nearest neighbors were miles away. Even with the dearth of people on top of you, so different from city life, Ray usually did not feel so alone.
***
He had probably been too green for his first solo undercover job. But he had been at the top of his class at Quantico, and the smaller, more supervised jobs he’d done had all ended in convictions. And he had been so eager that he would have taken on anything, the world, so moving into a shitty apartment in Anacostia and getting to know the dope trade was just another target to tilt at. He had been picked because he was smart, and driven, and because he learned fast and had a faculty for languages. And, because of his mixed pedigree, he came off as racially ambiguous. It had not been stated, and his Indian blood had never been mentioned, but Ray had been told, bitingly, by one of his peers, that they had been passed over for a good gig because Ray could pass as dago, and what the hell kind of thing was that to encourage?
In preparation, Ray had spent countless hours in the language lab. He read the pertinent case files so many times he memorized them. His handler provided him with a cover, and the necessary paperwork, but most of the work was Ray’s. He memorized the case files, and the facts of his cover ID. But he didn’t begin to build his persona until he was on the ground. He needed to see and smell and taste his environment, to dress in the cover’s clothes and look at himself in the mirror to know who he was, how he spoke, how he walked. Ray wasn’t sure, really, how it worked, but the process came naturally.
His first few weeks undercover as a runner for the dope trade in Anacostia, Ray had had to short a shipment. The reasons were twofold: to give product samples to the Bureau labs, and to create a perceived weakness his contacts could exploit. People always felt better if they thought they had one over on you. He hadn’t pinched much, just enough for the lab, maybe eighty dollars worth; it was the kind of thing that was routinely done, but it was not the kind of thing that was tolerated if you got caught, and Ray knew he had to get caught. They wouldn’t kill him for an eighty dollar transgression, but Ray knew going in that they would let him know that they knew, and they would let him know what would happen if he did it again.
For the first time in his life, Ray had been so nervous that he had been sick; he spent the night before the meeting white-knuckled on his knees in the bathroom. Undercover work on the whole was not good for his appetite; he came out of the Anacostia job twenty pounds lighter than he’d gone in. The next day, they had broken two ribs, and Ray had just had to take the beating; until the stronghold, it was the hardest thing he had ever had to do, but he had gotten through it, all on his own.
***
Ray stood on Crow Horse’s porch, looking out into the dark desert night. He felt the loneliness inside his body like an injury, as profound and singular as years ago, on the peeling linoleum floor of his shitty undercover apartment, waiting for sunrise and the inevitable.
Chapter Two: Pack Mentality
Ray spent another agonizing morning wrestling with the Indian Health Service. It was like another world. Or a circle of hell, maybe. Ray had spent most of his adult life working for the federal government; he had literally dealt with government bureaucracy every day. He had been the fucking government bureaucracy. And he had never felt so frustrated and nameless; even when he’d been a cog in the machine, he had still felt like himself. Special Agent Raymond Levoi, working for-and then against-the government. He’d had a name; now he was just another fringe mutt trying to work the system. He wasn’t even a number; he was a fraction: full-blood white plus one-half Sioux equals what?
At first Ray had tried to be smooth, sweet-talking the Wasi’chu BIA ladies, using his knowledge of the government bureaucracy. It would only take a few minutes to get this sorted out, surely.
But his in-speak hadn’t gotten him anywhere. Ray, whose only run-in with the law had been that speeding ticket Crow Horse had written him solely to get him lathered up, had felt like a criminal. That was how he had been treated, like he could not be trusted, like he was trying to steal something. He had been treated worse as a federal agent-been cursed at, threatened, shot at, spit on-but it had never made him feel like this, devalued and degraded. It was a question of power, he guessed; regardless of the other variables, having power was always easier than not having it.
Ray waited nearly an hour past his appointment, shifting and sliding in the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the waiting room.
“Leevoy?”
Ray walked back to sit in another painful government chair before the desk of a middle-aged Wasi’chu woman.
“It’s ‘Levoi,’ ma’am,” he said.
The BIA woman looked down at Ray’s file, and then back up at him over the rims of her glasses.
“My records show you were just here at the beginning of the week, Mr. Levoi. Has there been a change in your status?”
Ray shifted in his chair. Maintaining purchase on the slick surface was difficult. “I hope so, ma’am.” The BIA woman just looked at him, so he added, “My application is still pending, and I need-”
“Do you have documentation of tribal affiliation?”
“No, ma’am. I’ve submitted-”
The BIA woman closed Ray’s file. “Bring in documentation of tribal affiliation, and your application will be reviewed for approval.”
“But-”
“Thank you, Mr. Levoi.”
The BIA woman stood behind her desk, one hand on the back of the chair, the other holding Ray’s file. She just looked at him from behind her glasses until Ray stood to leave.
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
***
Ray stopped at Sammy Moon Dog’s on his way to the station.
“Solve my case yet, Mr. FBI Liaison?”
“No, sir. I just thought I’d stop by to see if you’ve thought of anything else that might be pertinent to the investigation.”
“‘Pertinent to the investigation.’ Listen to all them twenty-dollar words.” Sammy shook his head. “I’m afraid not, son. I have been trying not to get held up again, though.”
Ray opened his mouth to offer protest, or reassurance. Sammy clapped him on the shoulder.
“Cheer up there, Ray. I got faith in you. You’ll catch that sumbitch yet, young buck.”
Sammy went to scold a customer using the gas pump improperly. Ray pawed through his pockets until he found a dime, and then went to use the payphone.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, sweetheart. How are you? How’s Walter?”
The question stung. Ray shook it off. “We’re fine, Mom. Look, I need a favor. I don’t know-do you have anything of my father’s that might have information about his Indian blood?”
There was a long pause, hesitation.
“Oh, Raymond, I don’t know. I’ll look, but you shouldn’t get your hopes up.”
Ray had known going in that it was a long shot, but that didn’t make the failure hurt less.
“Yes, ma’am. I just-I would appreciate it if you’d look.”
His mother must have caught something in his voice that he hadn’t meant to let loose, because she asked, gently, “Are you okay?”
Ray had it all worked out in his head: he would tell her about his problems with IHS, and that would explain everything away.
Unfortunately, it turned out Ray was unable to lie to his mother, no matter how logical a decision it might have been.
“Walter and I are fighting,” he said instead.
“What about?”
“I don’t know.”
“Raymond.”
“I really don’t know,” he said. “I mean, we get each other’s hackles up all the time, but nothing like this. And I don’t-it just seems like it came out of nowhere, and I don’t know why.”
“Have you thought about asking him?”
Ray sighed. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve thought about it, but I-I don’t know. It’s like maybe I hope I’m imagining it, or that things will work out on their own. If I say something, it just makes it real, or it makes an issue where there isn’t one. And we don’t really talk like that, so-”
“So you would be uncomfortable,” his mother said. “You love him, don’t you?”
Ray closed his eyes. He let the weary weight of his head fall against the plastic paneling of the payphone kiosk.
“Yes,” he said.
For a moment, he thought he may have spoken too quietly to be heard, but he couldn’t make his voice any bigger.
“And he loves you?” his mother said.
“I think so. Yes.”
“That’s worth a little discomfort, don’t you think?”
Ray didn’t know if it was because she was his mother, or just because she had known him so long, but no one could make him feel so childish, so obtuse. She was not, he knew, doing it to be unkind. He needed to hear these things; it was good for him. Still. It wasn’t good for his pride.
“Yes, ma’am.”
***
Ray thought discussing their private life at work was a bad idea, but maybe this time he should have. The conversation simmered too long without release, so the moment they stepped inside the house it boiled over.
“So, when are you planning on letting me in on why you’re so pissed at me? Just let me know. I’ll mark my calendar.”
The question stopped Crow Horse on his way to the bedroom. He threw his jacket to the living room couch, and sized Ray up for a moment before responding.
“I told you already. I ain’t mad at you.”
Ray had been planning on decorum and an even temper, but his plans soon fell through.
“Then why are you treating me like this?”
When Ray had selected the words in his mind, they had been stated calmly, a gentle inquiry. But, like a chemical that reacted violently with air, they left his mouth in an explosion. Unfortunately, the air was not all they reacted badly with. Crow Horse’s jaw went steel taut, and he took a heavy step toward Ray, one meant to drive him back, make him flinch. Ray stood his ground, but that only made Crow Horse angrier. Not mad, indeed.
“Treating you like what? Like some hard on can’t keep his temper in check?”
Ray’s hands balled into fists with the same automatic, complete removal from his control as the flush burning over his face. He took a step forward, hoping to force Crow Horse to give him some space, but Crow Horse was angrier than Ray had realized, and instead of backing up, drove the heel of his hand into Ray’s sternum, shoving him back half a foot and into the arm of the couch.
“Like. What.”
In the minute he had to catalogue the list of ways Crow Horse had been showing his disdain for him the past few days, Ray’s anger died.
“Like you can’t stand to look at me,” he said softly. “Like you can’t bear to be in the same room with me. Like the thought of touching me makes you sick.”
The hard line of Crow Horse’s tensed jaw softened, and some of the fire went out of his eyes.
“I never said that,” he said.
Ray winced. “No. You haven’t said anything; you’ve just been giving me these pat words that don’t mean anything, and your actions-”
Crow Horse grabbed Ray so hard that he would wake the next day with bruises on his arms, perfect egg-shaped copies of the pads of Walter’s fingers. Walter pulled Ray against him; Ray was too caught off guard to do anything but be dragged along, his shoes squeaking over the hardwood. Walter kissed him so hard Ray lost his breath, and when they parted, he was panting and dizzy.
“Actions, huh?” Crow Horse said.
Crow Horse spun Ray around. Ray was still lightheaded from being so thoroughly kissed, and closed his eyes to the world spinning around him. He felt giddy, and took a deep breath, trying to beat the feeling down, to become grounded again. Crow Horse forced him over the arm of the sofa, knocking the air from him just as he was getting it back. Ray was so stunned it took him a moment to feel Crow Horse’s hands reaching around his waist, fumbling with his belt and fly. Crow Horse forced Ray’s pants down, and pushed him forward over the couch arm, his hand weighing at the small of Ray’s back. Crow Horse pushed into him, without tenderness or preamble, and then struck up a hard, fast tempo. After a moment, the shock died down, and Ray felt every moment of unanswered desire he had felt the past several days swell in him. He was reminded of his first time, endless hours of wanting finally released.
It had only been three days. How could he be that desperate for Walter after only three days?
He still could not understand why Walter had been acting the way he had; Ray could feel in the fervor with which Walter thrust into him, in his fingers gripping into his hips, that Walter was starving for him, too. It didn’t make any sense, but Ray couldn’t keep his mind there long enough to work it out, not now, not with the flood of lust overtaking him.
Ray moaned and tried to find friction against the couch, but Walter’s hand on his back anchored him, making the necessary movement difficult. Ray tried to reach a hand down to take care of it that way, but Walter brushed him away, reaching around Ray’s waist with his free hand. He was gentler here, and slower, the pace a light melody against the driving base rhythm.
“Is this what you want?” Crow Horse asked.
It wasn’t the question that caught Ray off guard, but speech itself. They usually didn’t speak much during, and the sparse discussion was generally fond ribbing. Crow Horse didn’t talk dirty.
“Say it,” Crow Horse said.
“Yes,” Ray whispered.
“Say it.”
Ray felt ashamed, and then, he realized with another wash of embarrassment, very turned on.
“I want you to fuck me.”
And he did. Walter thrust into him, and Ray thrust against Walter’s palm. He closed his eyes, and tried to just become lost in the sensation of being with Walter, of feeling him inside him and all around him.
Walter spoke again, breathless. “Do you love me?”
Ray froze. It wasn’t that the words themselves offended him. He had, in fact-many times-considered saying them himself; it was just that Walter would make fun of him, so he’d kept his mouth shut. Ray felt wary; he didn’t understand how or why the rules were changing.
“Yes, Walter, I-”
“Say it.”
“I love you,” Ray said.
Walter bucked against him as his tension released, and a moment over, the comforting familiarity of Walter’s weight settling over his back, Ray came, pushing desperately into Walter’s hand.
Ray turned to look Walter in the face, but the second he moved, Crow Horse stepped away, yanking up his pants and hiding his face under pretense of dealing with his belt. Ray started after him, then tripped over his pants around his ankles. By the time he’d righted his clothes enough to follow, Crow Horse was in the shower.
***
Probably he should have known better than to rush in head first, but when he got a fire lit under him Ray had trouble applying the brakes.
“Listen,” Ray said, pulling back the shower curtain. “I don’t know what’s up with you, but I’m fucking tired of it.”
Crow Horse cursed and tried to yank the shower curtain back in place, but Ray refused to let go.
“Goddammit, Ray, you’re lettin’ the draft in. We got problems with the water bill as it is.”
Ray shut the water off.
“I get it if you don’t want to tell me what’s up with you. I’m not really happy about it, but if you need secrets, that’s fine. But it’s not fair to treat me like this. I-” It was harder to say face to face, but it needed to be said. “I love you, you asshole, and-you don’t have to say it, but you have to fucking do it.”
Ray realized, somewhere in the periphery, that he was shaking. Walter’s face softened, and for the first time in a while he was looking at Ray just to see him. Walter stepped out of the shower and folded Ray against him. Ray’s clothes soaked up the water dripping down Walter’s body, soaked through to Ray’s skin, sticking them together.
***
Ray got out of the shower to find Crow Horse fretting before the mirror. Ray froze for a moment in the doorway, studying Crow Horse and his reflection. Kind of odd, to be able to see all three hundred and sixty degrees of him at once, but odder still to see him in khakis and dress shoes and a button-up shirt that looked as though it had actually been ironed.
“You look nice,” Ray said.
Crow Horse grumbled, and pulled irritably at his collar. Ray tried to keep his grin under wraps; Crow Horse did look handsome, but also like a child forced into his Sunday best, longing for mud and freedom.
“What’s the occasion?” Ray asked.
“Damn Yanktons comin’ in today. Suppose I better look presentable.”
Ray frowned. He put his jeans away, and went to the closet instead.
“I didn’t know that was so soon,” he said. “You could have warned me.”
Crow Horse shrugged, still eyeing his mirror counterpart. “Didn’t think it much mattered to you.” He caught a flicker of Ray dressing in the background, and turned. “What’re you doing?”
Ray sat on the bed to put his shoes on. “I thought you wanted us to look presentable.”
The corner of Crow Horse’s mouth tugged up, and he left the mirror to go harass Ray in his suit. Ray sat looking up as Crow Horse crowded his personal space, fingered the practiced knot of his tie.
“Presentable,” he said slowly. “Us.”
Crow Horse worked a finger into the knot of Ray’s tie, slowly worked it loose. He slid the silk snake from around Ray’s neck, and then unbuttoned the top buttons of Ray’s perfectly pressed shirt.
“Don’t want to show up too starched,” Crow Horse said. “You might get mistaken for a Fed, start scarin’ people off.”
“I am a Fed,” Ray protested weakly.
Crow Horse crawled onto the bed; he crawled over Ray, pressing him back to the mattress.
“Well, yeah,” Crow Horse said. “Sometimes you are.”
Walter kissed Ray, his hands on Ray’s body beneath the starch of his jacket, rumpling his impeccably ironed shirt.
“Think of it as business casual,” Walter said. His hands around Ray’s waist, pulling the tail of his shirt out of his trousers, his hands on Ray’s bare hips, and loosing the buttons and zipper of Ray’s fly.
Ray groaned. “Listen, I really like the way this conversation is headed, but we’re going to be late. Very, very late.”
Crow Horse bit Ray’s neck. “We can be late. Benefits of sleeping with the boss.”
“What about the Yanktons?”
“They ain’t comin’ ’til ten. We got time.”
Ray pushed Crow Horse to his back, straddling him at the waist. “I don’t know what you had planned, but I may need more time than that.”
Crow Horse grinned. “Then we’ll be late.”
***
They were late, but so were the Yanktons, who got lost in the maze of poorly marked reservation roads. Ray and what was left of his suit-tie gone; shirt open at the collar, and all the starch worked out by Crow Horse’s enthusiastic hands-went to his desk and found the evidence report back from Rapid City. Print packages: six unique sets, one belonging to Sammy Moon Dog, and one to his granddaughter, who worked the store after school. The rest were mysteries; no hits in any of the relevant databases. Well. Square one, then.
“Whatcha got there?”
Ray turned to find Crow Horse and two Indian men in suits. Real, grownup suits, with ties and pleats and all the buttons they’d left the factory with, because their boyfriends didn’t enjoy snapping them off their shirtfronts when they could just take three more seconds and slide the damn things through the buttonholes like God and Brooks Brothers had intended.
“Evidence from Sammy Moon Dog’s,” Ray said, and stood, print packages in hand. “Not much help, though.”
“Ray, this here’s Mr. Little Valley and Mr. Keeps the Pipe from the Yankton rez down south. Gentlemen, our Fed liaison, Special Agent Raymond Levoi.”
Ray shook hands. “Nice to meet you.”
Crow Horse nodded to the print packages in Ray’s hand. “Ray’s working an armed robbery.”
The Yanktons exchanged a look.
“Really?” Little Valley said.
“Yup,” Crow Horse said. “And he don’t even have to be principal; any member of the department can work a Major Crimes case, so long as Ray here signs off on it and handles the Fed office in Rapid City when we need it.”
“And that’s all legal,” Keeps the Pipe said.
“Eyah,” Crow Horse said. “We can’t try ’em here, but that’s fine by me. I don’t have nothing to do with the courts. But we can work the case, make the arrest, and it all holds up legal when they go to Wasi’chu courts. Once we got someone, Ray gives the Feds in Rapid City a call, and they come down for the transfer. It’s a good system; we get jurisdiction, and we don’t have to clog up our jailhouse with serious offenders.”
“That’s fantastic,” Keeps the Pipe said.
“May I see those, Agent?” Little Valley asked.
Ray handed him the print packages. “It’s Ray, really.”
Mr. Little Valley looked over the reports. “You do your forensics in house?”
“No,” Crow Horse said. “We use the Fed lab. Express mail. Little longer turn around, but if it’s important Ray can drive it.”
“Who pays for that?” Keeps the Pipe asked.
“The FBI,” Ray said. “They’d be paying for the forensics either way. The whole setup is actually cheaper for them, since the tribal PD pays my salary, and I only work billable hours for the FBI when we get a Major Crimes case.”
“Prob’ly means a big pay cut from what you been used to,” Little Valley said.
Ray shrugged.
“I’ve got perks,” he said, and briefly met Crow Horse’s eyes.
Mr. Keeps the Pipe studied the print packages another moment before handing them back to Ray.
“Fantastic,” he said.
He extended his hand to Ray again. “Agent Levoi.”
“Ray,” Ray said again, and shook his hand, and then Mr. Little Valley’s.
“A pleasure,” Little Valley said.
***
Ray was left to his own devices for the next half hour or so, which mostly meant agonizing over how to proceed with his 211 without any witnesses or evidence. Then he felt a presence shadowing his desk, and turned to find Mr. Keeps the Pipe and Mr. Little Valley standing behind him, which was odd because Ray was pretty sure he had seen Crow Horse show them out not a minute before.
“Agent Levoi,” Little Valley said.
“Please,” Ray said, coming to his feet, “call me Ray.”
“Listen, son,” Keeps the Pipe said, “you’re from a Wasi’chu city, so I know you prefer-what’s the expression?-getting down to brass tacks. We like the work you’re doing for the Bear Creek Police Department, and we would like to offer you a job.”
Ray blinked.
“I have a job,” he said-stupid, but it was the only thing that came to mind.
“We’re prepared to double your salary,” Little Valley said. “And we hear you’re having trouble with IHS; we can expedite your tribal enrollment.”
Ray felt mentally clumsy, like he was missing the joke.
“I’m a Minniconjou,” Ray said. “I don’t think I have any Yankton blood.”
The Yanktons shared a brief look.
“Sioux’s Sioux,” Little Valley said.
Ray frowned. He hadn’t been living as an Indian very long, but he knew that wasn’t right.
“Look,” he said, “I appreciate the offer, but I have to decline. I’m sorry.”
“Agent Levoi-”
“Look, I know the thumb the FBI’s got you under, and it’s not fair. But I can’t fix it for you; I have responsibilities here. Maybe you could talk to the agent on your block, see if he can do something for you. I can’t.”
“Tell us what Crow Horse is giving you that’s keeping you here, and we’ll see what we can do to match it,” Keeps the Pipe said.
Ray stopped himself before he laughed.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am. But that’s not possible.”
***
Ray sleepwalked into Walter’s office. He felt like a traveler from another world, unused to even the smallest things: the atmosphere, gravity.
“You all right there, man?” Walter asked. “You’re looking a little pale, even for you.”
“The Yanktons came back to see me,” Ray said. “They offered me a job.”
Crow Horse’s spine went ramrod straight, like he’d been shocked. “What did you say?”
“What do you mean, what did I say? I said no! I mean, you don’t wanna move to another rez; your whole life is here-”
“So?” Crow Horse said. “My whole life. They didn’t ask me.”
Ray flushed violently. He thought he might be sick.
“Is that a joke?” he said. “I moved half a world away to be with you. I worked my whole life to be well thought of at the FBI, and now I’m a punch line there, a pariah. This is going to be the last job I ever have, Walter. And I can’t even explain why, not to the Bureau, not even to the Yanktons; it’s not like we’re married; they won’t understand, and so it’s like I just scrubbed out. And worse, my family-it’s been almost a year since I’ve seen my mother, and my father won’t even talk to me-”
Crow Horse left his desk, came within feet of Ray.
“That ain’t my fault,” Crow Horse said. “I didn’t ask you to do any of that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Ray looked at Crow Horse’s drawn face, and realization dawned.
“You knew that’s why they were coming,” Ray said. “That’s why you’ve been up my ass, because you thought I might be leaving? Why didn’t you just tell me, and then I could have told you that there was nothing to worry about, and you were being stupid?”
Crow Horse shrugged. “No use me telling you anything. You’re a free man, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not!” Ray tried to keep his voice down, but his temper was straining at the leash, and he ended up shouting. “I am-well, I’m with you, and I’m not sure what we are, but I’m sure as hell not free!”
“So I’m, what, holding you back?”
Crow Horse slammed both palms into Ray’s chest. Ray stumbled back, and then rushed Crow Horse, swinging wildly. He was too upset to aim, and missed by a large margin, lurching forward off the momentum. Crow Horse caught him mid-motion, jerked him upright.
“Settle down,” Crow Horse growled.
“You tether me, I guess,” Ray said. He was shaking. “And it makes me less free, but I wouldn’t trade it. And I hope that you wouldn’t trade me, either.”
Walter’s face softened. “Ray-”
Ray tried to work the nerves from his body, but he only shook more. “You can’t-you can’t keep things from me, or lie to me-”
“You said you didn’t care about that.”
“Well, I lied. Which, yeah, I know, doesn’t exactly strengthen my case, here, but I bet way too much on this, and-”
“Me too, Ray. I’m sorry.”
Walter put his hands on Ray, arrested his nervous movement. Ray took a breath, and concentrated on the gentle restraining force of Walter’s hands on him. He stopped shaking.
Crow Horse’s office door swung open, and Terry’s head poked in.
“Not now,” Crow Horse barked.
“Yeah, uh, sorry, boss,” Terry said. “But we got a call, another 211, this one down at that liquor store in Red Crow, Blind Coyote? Only someone got shot this time.”
Crow Horse cursed. “All right. Ray, I want you on scene; I’ll go to the clinic to talk to the victim.”
“Oh, no,” Terry said. “They didn’t take her to the clinic. She, um, she died on scene.”
( Chapters Three and Four )