FIC: Dog Days (Ray Levoi/Walter Crow Horse, NC-17) for myhappyface (3-4/4)
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.
( Chapters One and Two )
Chapter Three: Coyote Ugly
Part of working with so small a police department was getting used to being first on scene more often than not. Ray had joined the FBI straight out of college; before coming to the rez, he had never worked any other kind of law enforcement. Federal officers were always called in later, after the basic facts of the case were assessed and somebody made a decision about jurisdiction; there were always local cops on scene long before Ray got there. Even in most police departments, patrolmen were the first on scene, and detectives were called in later, but the rez didn’t have extra officers to prep and hold down the fort before the investigation began.
There were witnesses this time, which would be good in the long run, but immediately meant that there were a lot of people to be comforted and corralled. Ray was glad he was there with Crow Horse: he excelled at this public relations stuff, and he knew most everyone on the rez; having him there made Ray feel more confident, less like he was missing the joke.
Once they got everyone settled down, Crow Horse and George started taking statements, and Ray went to contend with the body. Deceased was Blind Coyote owner Jackie Spotted Elk, forty-two. She had been shot three times close range with a small caliber handgun; given the weapon and range, the wounds were neat, small holes without much blood or tattooing. They looked almost innocuous, more like birthmarks or some of that body modification shit than cause of death.
Ray could only hear snippets of the conversations going on behind him, but he could fill in the blanks on his own. The store had been held up; Mrs. Spotted Elk had been less amenable to the idea of giving up her hard earned money than Sammy Moon Dog had been; the robber had not been interested in negotiating.
Ray collected evidence, snapped some photographs of the DB and the scene. They had taken the department van, which Ray would need to transport the corpse to the medical examiner in Rapid City, the only part of his job he really loathed. When Ray was finished processing the body, he caught Crow Horse’s eye; Crow Horse nodded, and in a moment came over to help Ray lift Mrs. Spotted Elk onto the gurney.
“Getting anywhere?” Ray asked.
Crow Horse shrugged. “They all got the same story, which is good. Everyone minding their own business, skinny fella comes in with a ski mask and a gun, asks for the money in the register. Jackie here refused, and he blew her away without so much as a warning.” He sighed. “Damn shame, Ray.”
Crow Horse helped Ray secure the gurney in the back of the van.
“That’s it?” Ray asked. “He just asked for the money in the till, and that’s all?”
Crow Horse nodded. Ray frowned.
“Like at Sammy Moon Dog’s,” he said. “The guy didn’t think to ask for the money in the safe.”
“No saying it’s the same guy,” Crow Horse said. “Sorry to say, but armed robbery ain’t exactly uncommon around here.”
Ray shrugged. “Same MO, same general description. Maybe we’ll get lucky and match some prints.”
They hopped out of the van, and Ray shut the back doors.
“Sammy Moon Dog said the guy only took him for a couple hundred dollars, Walter,” he said.
“Yeah, that’s prob’ly what he got away with here, too. And?”
Ray shook his head. “Nothing. It just makes it harder, that she was killed over so little.”
Crow Horse nodded. “Yeah, well, it’s hard all around.”
***
Ray helped George process the rest of the scene; that way he could take all the evidence down to Rapid at the same time. Crow Horse saw to finishing up the witness statements, and then directed traffic a bit, trying to steer away folks slowing down to gawk at the crime scene tape. It was coming on to evening when Ray and George finished, and Ray was glad for his suit jacket. George’s cruiser was just the red eyes of taillights down the darkening road, and Crow Horse did one last walkthrough of the scene, then came around to the driver’s side of the department van and opened Ray’s door for him.
Ray stayed a moment, caught between the body of the van and the metal wing of the door, looking at Crow Horse half through the distortion of the window and half through just plain air.
“Can you come with me?” he asked. “I’ll be getting back late.”
Crow Horse just looked at him a moment, and for a second Ray was paralyzed by the uncertainty and disconnectedness of the past few days. But it was just a second, and then it was over, and Crow Horse was nodding, and he was getting into the car.
***
Ray wasn’t sure which was stranger: driving out of the rez at night, or driving into it. Driving out, the stark blackness of the desert night gave way slowly to streetlight illumination, and then to the supernova of the lighted city. Driving in, the artificial day and glass smooth roads of the city degraded into rocking axles and darkness. Either way, it was like traveling through time.
The night shift was on at the FBI lab, which meant most of the special agents were out. Ray preferred it that way; the lab guys and cub agents generally had no idea of him beyond business as usual, so infiltration and extraction were merely matters of paperwork, not ego measuring.
The medical examiner was out, and the coroner’s assistant glanced over Jackie Spotted Elk’s white sheet shadow with the same boredom with which he regarded the forms accompanying her.
“Thank you kindly, Special Agent Levoi,” he said, and slid Jackie into a drawer.
Twice in one day he’d been called that; it was shameful, maybe, but hearing it still made Ray proud, even if most days it was only a technicality. Crow Horse was looking at him, and Ray turned his face away, afraid Crow Horse could see his pride, but then Walter put a hand on his shoulder and led him back to the van.
They had dinner at a Thai place, which Ray recognized as a concession, since Walter didn’t like spicy food and was personally offended by chopsticks, and then made love in the back of the van. It came on sudden, like a storm at sea, like laughter, and afterwards-despite the abrasions on his knees and more buttons suddenly missing from his shirt-Ray almost felt like it didn’t happen. He sat in the passenger’s seat, soaking up the strange of shuttling back into the past, watching the lights fall away. Walter looked over at him, and grinned, and Ray felt suddenly tethered to the moment, and he knew where he was and where he was going, and he knew that he was going home.
***
“Listen, Terry, it’s nobody’s fault. But next time, let’s be sure to read all the directions before trying out the pepper spray, okay?”
Ray caught Crow Horse’s eye from across the station, and nodded towards Crow Horse’s office. Crow Horse held up a finger-his index finger, not the usual-and clapped Terry on the shoulder.
“Just think on it, okay, kola? Safety first.”
Ray and a large envelope were sitting on Crow Horse’s desk when he entered his office. Crow Horse tried to be annoyed, but he felt so relieved after the shit storm with the Yanktons that he couldn’t manage it for more than a few seconds.
“What are you so goddamn chipper about?” Crow Horse demanded. “There a sale on white bread and twenty dollar haircuts at the general store?”
“Fuck you. I got the forensics back from the Blind Coyote shooting.”
“Well, let’s see,” Crow Horse said, crowding Ray’s personal space.
Ray kept the envelope closed. “Oh, no. Don’t you want to make fun of me some more, first?”
“There’s time for that later. Whatcha got?”
Ray frowned, but he pulled the forensics reports from the envelope. “Weapon’s a .22, probably a High Standard.”
“Pistol?”
“Yeah.” Ray ran his tongue along his teeth. “You see a lot of small handguns like that out here?”
“Sure, Ray. We got lotsa .22’s out here; people use them to scare off coyotes-”
“Rifles,” Ray said. “They use rifles to scare coyotes. This was a pistol, for sure. And a .22’s a small round for a pistol. Really small.”
Crow Horse shrugged. “Sure, but we still see a fair amount. People like to use them for target practice, teach their kids how to shoot-”
“But it’s a bad choice for an armed robber intending to shoot somebody,” Ray said. “I mean, if I thought I was going to have to shoot somebody, to stop them coming after me, I’d want the stopping power of a .45 at least-”
Crow Horse raised an eyebrow. “What universe has you knocking over convenience stores? You write expense reports when you accidentally take home pens from the station.”
Ray ignored him. “I bet he didn’t know any better. I bet he just picked up the gun because it was easy for him to get to, and he never gave it a second thought.”
Crow Horse frowned. “I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up over this, Ray. Sure, maybe not a crackerjack decision, but it killed Jackie Spotted Elk all right.”
“I just meant we’re not dealing with a professional,” Ray said.
“Hell, this ain’t the city, Ray. We don’t have professional robbers; they’d starve, just like everyone else. There’s no damn money here.” Ray gave him a look, and he relented. “Okay, chief. What else you got in there?”
“More evidence suggesting we’re not dealing with a professional,” Ray said, and pulled out some print packages. “Some of the prints we found on scene match prints from Sammy Moon Dog’s-”
“Not to pick at you here, man, but saying your suspect’s been involved in more than one robbery don’t really support your argument that he’s not a professional-”
“-and neither of them,” Ray said, raising his voice to talk over Crow Horse, “came up in any relevant databases, which means he’s never been arrested before.”
Crow Horse looked thoughtfully over the print packages. “Well, all right, kola. Not bad.”
***
Ray and Jimmy returned from the rez post office, which was run by Gramma Ghost Bear out of her kitchen, and only did delivery when her grandkids were out of school and around to do it. Jimmy bounded into the house like he had just returned from war, and jumped up on the couch, tail wagging, to tell Crow Horse all about his adventures. This upset Crow Horse’s slouching on the couch watching football thing, and also his beer, but Jimmy was eager to help clean that up.
Crow Horse stabbed some gestures at the dog.
“Goddammit, Ray, aren’tcha gonna do something about this?”
Ray looked up from sorting the mail, and scowled. “Are you letting him drink beer?”
Crow Horse sighed and slumped back into the age-soft sofa cushions, batting ineffectually at Jimmy’s attempts to cuddle.
Ray set the bills-the majority of the post-on the kitchen table to be dealt with later, and slit the seals of the package he’d received with a butter knife.
Crow Horse craned his neck to investigate. “Sure as hell hope that’s your enrollment shit from IHS.”
Ray frowned over the return address while walking back to the couch.
“It’s from my dad.”
Ray sat down and opened the box. He immediately went ashen.
Crow Horse frowned. “What’s the matter?” He peered over Jimmy to get a look at the contents of Ray’s package. “He sent you a box inside a box?”
Ray ground his teeth and closed the box back up, like he could restopper the feelings he had just loosed, a hope as foolish and fervent as Pandora’s.
“It’s the present I sent him for his birthday,” he said tightly. “I guess this is the civilized way of handling it; he could have just stamped Return to Sender on it, and left me to wonder if he’d moved or died without anyone telling me.”
Crow Horse cursed. “Jesus, Ray, I’m-”
Ray shook him off, but his eyes were glued to the box. Crow Horse half reached over, half squished Jimmy-the damn thing had such an enormous capacity to not budge-and took the package from Ray.
Son of a bitch. Crow Horse’s animosity towards his father-in-law-or, shit, whatever the hell he was-was hardly novel, but that didn’t make it less real. Ray didn’t need this one right now, but instead of getting angry, he just got beat down. Crow Horse got angry for him.
“Well, he can’t get past where you put your dick, or who’s signing your paychecks, then good riddance.”
Ray didn’t say anything, and he kept staring down at his lap at the ghost of the package, so Crow Horse continued, “Look, I mean, I guess it’s taking him a while to get his shit together about this. But it’s on him, Ray; you can’t let it affect you like this. You just gotta . . . you gotta steel yourself. You know, be prepared for it, until it blows over.”
It was a hard line to walk, Ray and his family, and Crow Horse knew almost immediately that he’d said the wrong thing.
“I was eleven when my mom got remarried,” Ray said. His tone was measured, like he was translating his thoughts from another language. “My stepfather had been married before, but he had never had kids. But never once, not one time in my entire life, did he refer to me as his stepson. Never. When he was talking to me, or my mom, or when he was introducing me-even when he introduced me to his family-he always called me his son. Always. And I know this blood math stuff is hard for you, but my father died, and he left a long time before that, and I didn’t think I was going to get another chance at that, and he-the Colonel called me his son, Walter, and I thought it meant something. So fuck you, because no, I did not see this coming, and I did not store away any supplies or set up any sandbags or make any contingency plans.”
In light of his recent reading the riot act to Crow Horse over not keeping secrets, Ray probably should have stayed to talk it out, but he couldn’t. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. Without waiting for a response, Ray left the room, went down the hall, and shut himself in their bedroom. He sank to the bed and waited for it to pass. It was a long time before he could breathe again.
***
George was at dispatch, quizzing Terry on ten codes, when Ray walked in. George’s look was enough to stop Ray in his tracks; it was the look George gave his kids when they were trying to pass something by him.
“You got visitors,” was all he said.
The Yanktons were waiting for Ray at his desk. Ray sighed; he took off his jacket and slung it over the back of his chair, and he began to go through the paperwork waiting for him, like it was just a normal day.
“What can I do for you gentlemen?” he asked.
“We were hoping you had reconsidered our offer,” Little Valley said.
“No,” Ray said. “I’m sorry, but no.”
Mr. Keeps the Pipe brought some documents out of the interior pocket of his jacket. “We’ve had our tribal council get your tribe enrollment paperwork together. That’ll sort out all your problems with IHS, plus entitle you to land on our rez. Agent Levoi-”
Ray shook his head, and slapped his paperwork back to his desk.
“I can’t,” he said. “Look, I can make a call, if you want, to the SA on your block, maybe set up a meeting for you. But that’s all I can do-”
“We have spoken with the agent on our block,” Keeps the Pipe said. “He is not interested in collaboration-”
“Or even conversation,” Little Valley finished. “As far as he’s concerned, it’s the nineteenth century and he’s just minding the colonies.”
“We hate to be indelicate,” Keeps the Pipe said, “but we’re desperate.”
“I’m sorry,” Ray said, and he was. He exhaled slowly, like deflation, his shoulders slumping.
“Geez, you’re just liaising all over the place.”
Ray had been too distracted to hear Crow Horse’s boots on the station’s linoleum, but it was a rare occasion that someone missed his voice. He talked to be heard. Crow Horse sidled up to the threesome, thumbs hooked in his belt loops.
“You know,” he said conspiratorially to the Yanktons, “I let my eyes off him for a second, he’s liaising with the CIA, the RCMP, the damn IRS. I think the boy’s got a thing for acronyms.”
“I’m just friendly,” Ray said numbly.
“Is there something I can help you gentlemen with?” Crow Horse asked. “You’re spending so much time here, it’s like you’re sniffing for job opportunities. I can getcha an application, if you want.”
“They’re just leaving,” Ray said.
“Sorry, Crow Horse,” Little Valley said. “It’s nothing personal.”
“You’d do the same thing in our place,” Keeps the Pipe said.
“You know, I’m not sure that I would,” Crow Horse said. “You boys know the way out, right?”
“Agent Levoi,” Little Valley said.
“Please just explain to us what’s keeping you at Bear Creek,” Keeps the Pipe said, “and we can make arrangements-”
“And you.” Crow Horse continued as though he had not been interrupted, aiming his index finger at the center of Ray’s chest, and taking steps toward him. “You get back to work.”
And Ray, before he knew what was happening, was pulled into Crow Horse’s arms and kissed.
“I, uh-yes, sir,” he managed, but Crow Horse was already walking back to his office, whistling tunelessly, his mouth curved in a familiar coyote grin.
The Yanktons exchanged looks. Ray smiled sheepishly.
“I told you,” he said. “I have perks.”
***
The Yanktons apologized profusely and drove off back to their rez. Ray stopped by Crow Horse’s office.
“Thanks,” he said.
Crow Horse shrugged, not looking up from his paperwork. “What for? Just keepin’ up workplace morale.”
Ray came over to sit on the edge of the desk, fitting his legs between Crow Horse’s. Ray bumped Crow Horse’s knee with his own, and Crow Horse finally looked up.
“Okay,” Ray said. “Thanks, boss.”
There was no evidence that would have held up reliably in court, or even in banter later, but Ray was sure Crow Horse blushed. He was about to say something about it when George poked his head in the door.
“Got everything straightened out with the Yanktons there, Ray?”
Ray hopped off Crow Horse’s desk. “Yeah. I know where I belong.” George’s expression softened, but Ray preempted his apology. “Don’t worry about it. We’re good.”
George nodded toward dispatch. “Terry’s got a call for you, a 213 up at Crow Creek.”
Ray frowned. “More kids with fireworks on Grampa Little Bear’s land?”
“Sounds like. If you want, you can take my indecent exposure at The Singing Sisters.”
“Pass.”
George chuckled his way to his squad car. Ray started to the parking lot, too, but then Crow Horse got up and followed him to the door, so Ray waited.
“Best go with you. Grampa hates Wasi’chu’s, and he hasn’t held onto a new memory for twenty years, so I’m sure he don’t remember you’re okay. He might come after you with a shotgun if you go it alone.”
“Thanks,” Ray said.
Crow Horse shrugged. “It’d be a damn shame to have to replace you is all, especially after going through that whole mess with the Yanktons. And quit grinning like that-some damn fox in a henhouse. It makes you look like you’re on the wrong side of the law.”
***
Ray didn’t get shot. He and Crow Horse calmed Grampa Little Bear down, and then they gave a police escort to the boys they’d found out in Grampa’s fields, pockets full of M-80’s and cherry bombs. It was still surreal to Ray that after all his hard work and training, most days he was basically a hall monitor with a sidearm. But then he reminded himself, sneaking a look at Crow Horse in the passenger’s seat, that work was just work, and life was made up of a lot more important things than job titles. Anyhow, the perks were definitely worth it.
The radio crackled on their way back to the station, and Ray picked up the handset.
“Levoi.”
“Hey, Ray, are you guys still at Crow Creek? We got a someone calling from that tract housing down there, saying they heard shots fired.”
“Just heard?”
“Yeah, she said she didn’t see anyone with a gun. She said she hears shots all the time, but usually not this early in the day, so she thought she’d call it in.”
“Copy. We’re 76.”
Ray pulled a U-turn. The rez roads were great for that; not a lot of traffic. They were a few minutes from their destination when Crow Horse straightened up in his seat.
“Whoa, Ray, stop here, the gas station.”
“We got half a tank; it can wait-”
“Just stop, goddammit. Somethin’ ain’t right.”
Ray pulled the cruiser into the gas station parking lot, and understood what Crow Horse meant. There were several cars in the lot, but no customers visible, in the lot or inside the store.
“What the hell?” Ray said.
“Close enough to be the shots fired,” Crow Horse said.
Ray followed Crow Horse out of the car, stalking carefully to the convenience store’s door. They both took their weapons in hand.
Ray fitted himself into a piece of wall between windows, and squinted through the dirt-clouded glass door.
“I don’t see a clerk,” he whispered. “I don’t see anybody.”
Crow Horse nodded. He brought his gun to the ready, and took the section of wall on the opposite side of the door.
“Stay out here until I give the all clear,” Ray said.
“Ain’t my first rodeo, Ray,” Crow Horse said. “Be careful.”
Ray raised his weapon; he followed his gun like it was his center of balance, using his other hand to press open the door. He entered the convenience store slowly, checking the perimeter.
“Police! Everything all right in here?”
There were three people, two men and a woman, on their bellies on the floor between the aisles of shelves, hands covering their heads. Ray did the math just quickly enough, and fell to a crouch as his query received an answer: a bullet whistling past, crashing through the glass door. Ray saw the gun and the black ski mask, and he threw himself behind a row of shelves, sending a shower of candy bars to the floor.
“Police!” he said again. “Drop the gun!”
A shot through the shelves; shining specks of silver wrapper and bits of chocolate exploded around Ray like a Hershey’s Kiss grenade. Ray peered around the corner; the shooter was halfway between the service counter and the aisles. Ray had five or six inches on him, and he was thin, swimming in baggy clothes. He had a gun in one hand and a plastic store bag in the other. It wasn’t very full; they had, Ray imagined, interrupted him emptying the register. He wondered where the clerk was, and then with a hot rush of bile realized he probably knew the answer. Ray fired a few shots, but he was more worried about return fire than precision, and he missed, the bullets lodging into the wall behind the shooter, one taking out the pot of decaf bubbling on the burner behind him.
“You’re a crappy shot,” the shooter said. “I thought you Wasi’chu cops had all kinds of training and shit.”
“Drop the gun,” Ray said again. “Come on; I know you don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
“Casualties of war, man.”
Another bullet, another explosion of candy wrapper confetti. Ray inched backwards along the tile floor, chocolate smearing his pants.
“Let me help you,” Ray said. “If you come quietly, I can work on getting you a deal.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you give a shit about me.”
The gunshots were loud, but Walter had been teaching him tracking tips, honing his senses, and Ray could hear the shooter’s steps beneath the reports. Walking towards the front of the store, walking towards him. Ray inched further down the aisle, but in a moment that wasn’t going to be an option anymore. He would have to go into the aisles, and put the customers in danger, or he would have to stand and fight. A shootout. Neither option was particularly appetizing.
The shooter stilled in front of the door, the rectangle of light falling around him. He looked at Ray, his eyes dark behind the mask. Ray was in his sights; decision time. Ray glanced briefly toward the aisles, his only chance to hide, and then flashed to the terrified faces he’d seen before the bullets had started flying. That wasn’t an option. Ray came to his feet. His hand shook around his gun.
“Police,” he said. “Drop the gun.”
The shooter laughed, and aimed. Ray began putting pressure on his trigger, but before he could fire, there was a crack and a whistle, and the shooter was doubled over, a dark stain flowering over the leg of his pants. He dropped his weapon; its clatter to the floor was one of the loudest noises Ray had ever heard. He rushed forward and kicked the pistol away, took the shooter in one hand and drove him against the counter, his gun nuzzling the ski mask.
Walter came in the shattered door, his boots rustling the little pellets of broken glass.
“You have great timing,” Ray said.
“I know, I know,” Walter said. “I’m pretty damn heroic.”
He pulled out his cuffs.
“All right, you son of a bitch,” he said. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney, the Wasi’chu’s will get you one for free as soon as we get you down there to the Fed jail in Rapid City. But that’s days down the pike; right now you’re stuck with me, so I advise you get talkin’.”
“Fuck you,” the shooter growled.
Walter snapped the cuffs around his wrists, and dragged him to his feet. Ray let go of the guy, and walked around the counter to check on the clerk.
“I believe that’s the suspect waiving his rights, don’t you?” Crow Horse said.
“That’s what I heard,” Ray said. And then, softly, “Oh, no.”
The clerk looked to be a high school kid. He was thin and had acne splotching his chin, and he was lying supine with two small, dark holes in his gut.
He was still alive, his eyes open, his breath sputtering in his chest. Ray looked around for something to stop the bleeding, and came up empty, so he took off his jacket, folded it, and pressed it against the kid’s abdomen.
“Walter, we need an ambulance.”
Crow Horse peered over the counter. He still had the shooter in one hand and his gun in the other.
“You know we don’t have ambulances,” he said softly.
Ray flinched. Yes, he knew that. He knew. Shit, but they needed one, so maybe he had just . . . hoped.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Ray said, but the kid’s eyes weren’t on him; they weren’t anywhere.
“I’ll radio for backup when I put this sumbitch in the cruiser,” Crow Horse said.
“No,” Ray said. “I mean-yes, call, but don’t put him in the car. I have to-we have to get to the clinic.”
Ray’s jacket was darkening, the blood seeping up to meet his fingers. It was hard to pick up the kid without letting go of the compress, but Ray figured it out. The kid hardly weighed anything; the blood sticking to his hands felt heavier.
Crow Horse and his assault with a deadly weapon arm weight held the door for him, and then trailed after him en route to the cruiser.
“Ray,” he said.
Ray waited for Crow Horse to open the cruiser doors, but Crow Horse was just looking at him.
“Help me,” he said.
“Ray, it’s too late.”
For a long moment, Ray didn’t understand. Then he looked down at the kid in his arms; his eyes were rolled back in his head, and his chest wasn’t moving. Ray dropped to his knees, laid the kid on the ground. He tried CPR, but the compressions only drove blood into the kid’s mouth. There was no breath left.
“We were too late, Ray,” Crow Horse said. “Come on, get up. We got a lot of work here.”
Get up. He needed to get up, but somehow Ray couldn’t remember quite how. The kid’s eyes were still open, and Ray closed them. He looked down at himself; he was covered in blood, in some places as dark as the chocolate staining his pants.
Crow Horse was standing over him with the son of a bitch who had done this, who had killed this kid and almost certainly Jackie Spotted Elk, too. Ray swallowed it, and came to his feet. He grabbed his kit out of the cruiser, set it on the hood of the car, and opened it. He grabbed an evidence bag and then strode over to Crow Horse and the shooter, and ripped the ski mask from the guy’s head. He stuffed it in the bag, and then he looked into the face of the man that had killed two people and tried to kill him.
Only it wasn’t a man. It was a boy, not much older than the kid on the ground. Ray lost his breath.
“Well, lookit, Robby Red Fox,” Crow Horse said. “Looks like you graduated from selling pot and stealing car radios to major league stupid.”
“You know him?” Ray said.
“Oh, yeah,” Crow Horse said. “Me and Robby go way back. He’s been a criminal mastermind since grade school.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Dunno, what’re you, seventeen now, Robby?”
“Eighteen,” Robby mumbled.
“Well, you’ll get the most out of life in prison,” Crow Horse said. He steered Robby toward the cruiser. “Come on, now, Ray. Need you to get him up to the clinic, have the doc see about that bullet in his leg, then get him back to the station, call the Feds, all that good stuff.”
Ray just watched dumbly as Crow Horse maneuvered Robby into the backseat of the car. Crow Horse slammed the door on the snarling, cursing kid, and then turned back to Ray.
“Look, Ray, I know this is hard, but we got him. You got work to do; don’tcha wanna tell Mr. Spotted Elk and this poor kid’s family we caught the sumbitch shot their kin, and that he’s going to jail?”
Ray nodded. He took a deep breath. There was a job to do. There was justice to be done. He needed to focus.
“I’ll take care of it,” Ray said.
Crow Horse clapped a hand on Ray’s shoulder. “Good kola. I knew you would. Call me some backup, okay? I gotta take care of these witnesses, collect evidence, get the body handled. Call in every damn body.”
Ray must have responded too slow, because Crow Horse added, “It’ll be okay, Ray. Everything’s gonna be fine.”
Chapter Four: Domestication
The clinic was near empty, and Ray had not been that grateful for something in a long damn time. Robby Red Fox growled and spat and howled under the doctor’s ministrations, but he was cuffed and Ray had a gun on him, so he didn’t do much more than complain.
The last time Ray had been at the clinic was for Hobart, with Maggie. The doctor remembered him.
“Why is it that I only see you escorting gunshot victims?” he asked.
Ray shrugged. “IHS won’t clear me, so the only smart move’s not to get sick.”
The doctor cut fabric away from Robby’s wound. “I heard one of the FBI guys was staying on at the tribal police; I didn’t know it was you. How’s life on the rez treating you, BIA bullshit aside?”
“I think I’d like it better if fewer people got shot around me.”
The doctor shrugged. “Fact of life around here, I’m afraid.”
“Yeah,” Ray said softly.
The doctor glanced over Ray’s blood-dyed clothes. “Are you hurt?”
He was, in fact. There was a pain in his chest like it was crumbling inwards, crushed by its own weight, and it was hard to breathe.
Ray shook his head. “No.”
Ray had never escorted a prisoner to the clinic before, and he seemed to make the doctor nervous; the man narrated his actions, and waited occasionally for Ray’s okay before proceeding.
The doctor readied a syringe.
“I’m going to give him something for the pain while I extract the bullet.”
The shining needle poised above Robby’s vein. The doctor was looking at Ray, waiting for his okay.
Ray’s mind flashed, unbidden, to the glassy dead stare of the gas station clerk. Don’t, he thought. Let him have the pain.
Ray swallowed thickly, and nodded. The doctor gave Robby the shot, and Ray looked away, from the blood and Robby’s angry eyes, shame rising in his throat like suffocation.
***
It was a long while before Crow Horse finished up at the scene. He returned to the station to find Ray’s cruiser gone from the parking lot.
“Oh, hey, boss,” Terry said. “Good collar, enit?”
“Yeah,” Crow Horse said. “Glad that little shit’s off the streets. Where’s Ray? You send him on a call?”
“Oh, no, he left. He got that kid through booking, and then he tore outta here.”
Crow Horse frowned. “What do you mean, ‘he left?’ He’s got all kinds of work to do on this, plus transports and all.”
“He said he was going, and that he’d be off air.” Crow Horse didn’t say anything, mouth drawn tight, so Terry added, “He looked pretty rattled when he came in here, boss.”
“Try pinging him for me, huh, Terry?”
“He said he was off air-”
“Just try it.”
Terry pinged the system, sending a chime over the radio louder and higher in pitch than the usual low tone of calls. Then he turned the mike on.
“Officer Levoi, 10-21 Robert. Repeat: Officer Levoi, 10-21 Robert.”
In the fifth minute of standing silent, straining to hear the minutest crackle of the radio, Crow Horse became aware of how ridiculous he was being. He sighed.
“Shit,” he said. “Terry, I’ll be on air; lemme know if you hear from him.”
***
Walter checked home first, and then Grampa’s. And then he was out of ideas; anywhere else Ray went, he went there for work or with Crow Horse. The rez wasn’t home yet, and he didn’t have haunts. Maybe he’d gone to the city. Crow Horse pinched the bridge of his nose; he was a good tracker, but he didn’t know where to begin hunting Ray down if he’d gone into the city. It was a home court advantage deal; he might never find him.
Or maybe Ray had just gotten on a plane and flown back to DC, in which case he certainly didn’t want to be found.
Crow Horse slammed his hands down on the steering wheel. No. No, Ray wouldn’t just run off without saying anything. Okay, well, he had done that, back at the station, but he wouldn’t really go far without saying goodbye. Maybe there was one place left he could check.
Crow Horse drove to Metoska.
***
Crow Horse found Ray’s cruiser at the edge of what used to be Maggie Eagle Bear’s place. As far as he knew, the tribal council hadn’t found anybody willing to move in yet; maybe they never would.
Crow Horse parked beside Ray’s car, and walked up to the driver’s side door. Ray was watching Maggie’s empty house, becoming faded behind the wild prairie grasses growing thick around it.
“You got a lot of nerve, Ray. You got any idea how much work you left undone? Plus walking out without saying anything to me, like some punk kid? I oughta kick your ass.”
Ray was motionless behind the driver’s side window, like a museum exhibit. Still Life with Half-Breed.
Crow Horse tapped on the window. Ray turned, blinked at him through the glass. Crow Horse caught sight of Ray’s pale, spooked eyes, and gentled his tone.
“Open up, kola. I wanna talk to you.”
Ray moved back in his seat a little, and the shift was enough that Crow Horse’s view changed. Ray was masked by shadow, and it was harder for Crow Horse to see him behind the glass than it was to see his own reflection. Crow Horse watched himself frown. He pressed his badge to the glass, and rapped on the window with his knuckles. Ray just looked at him for a moment before rolling it down.
“Can I help you, officer?” Ray asked softly.
“License and registration, please.”
Ray was a long moment in responding, but eventually he handed over his wallet. Crow Horse slipped it into the front pocket of his jeans.
“Step out of the car.”
Crow Horse fully expected Ray to flip him off, or maybe to start the car and drive off. But he didn’t. For a long time, his pale eyes held Crow Horse distrustfully, but then he opened the door and got out of the cruiser.
“Turn around, spread your legs, and put your hands on the car.”
Crow Horse was sure this would be the fight, but, wordlessly, Ray turned away. He moved his feet shoulder-length apart, and put his hands on his squad car’s hot metal body.
Slowly, thoroughly, Crow Horse patted him down, Ray’s muscles tensing high wire taut beneath his hands. Crow Horse straightened up, and he took Ray by the shoulders, spun him around, and drove him against the cruiser. Crow Horse crushed his mouth against Ray’s. Ray’s body remained so rigid Crow Horse worried he would snap and roll up like a window blind, and he did not return the kiss.
They broke apart. Crow Horse studied Ray’s face for some sign, but emotion was crowded out by the intensity of those blue eyes boring holes in him. Crow Horse felt anger simmer behind his sternum and he pushed Ray, once, twice, into the cruiser’s metal skeleton, to try and shake some reaction from him.
Ray just looked at him, sullen and silent. Crow Horse threw Ray’s wallet back at him. It hit Ray in the chest and bounced off, hitting the ground with a loud slap. Crow Horse waited a moment for Ray to retrieve it; when he did not, Crow Horse sighed and did it himself.
“You wanna talk?” he said finally, stuffing Ray’s wallet back in his pocket. Ray didn’t say anything, so Crow Horse sighed again, and shook his head. “Fine, chief. However you want it.”
Crow Horse turned his back on Ray. Fuck him. He would just drive home, and Ray could show up there whenever he grew up, and they’d have it out then.
Ray got back in his cruiser. Crow Horse had settled behind his own wheel when he caught a flicker of movement in his periphery. He turned as reflex, and saw Ray bent over the wheel, shoulders hunched, head down. Shit. Crow Horse got out of his cruiser, and walked back over to Ray’s. Ray hadn’t shut the door, and Crow Horse just eased it gently open. Ray was bent over like he needed the wheel to keep him upright, and crying. Not subtly, that one tear actor bullshit, but really crying, his body shaking with it.
Shit. Crow Horse took Ray by the shoulders, pulled him up off the wheel, started to pull him out of the car. Ray just drove into him, nuzzling like a calf, hands fumbling for purchase. Crow Horse wanted to move-only action could solve this-but he just stood still until Ray was through. Ray limp against his chest, Crow Horse reached across the driver’s seat and took the keys from the ignition, and then he got Ray to his feet and directed him to the passenger’s seat of his own car.
Crow Horse didn’t turn on the running lights, but he drove like he had.
***
Ray was silent the whole ride, and he was silent when they arrived, too. Crow Horse got out of the car; he waited a moment for Ray, but Ray wasn’t coming, so Crow Horse pulled him out of the car like he had back at Maggie’s, and took him into the house. Jimmy ran up to meet them, but Ray didn’t even seem to notice. Crow Horse looked at Ray’s blank expression, like a shock victim just pulled from a car wreck, and wondered if he was hurt.
Crow Horse took Ray to the bedroom and stripped him, Ray limp and compliant. The blood on Ray’s clothes was still wet, and when Crow Horse got close, he could smell it, metallic and raw. Some of the blood had soaked through and stained Ray’s skin copper orange, and carefully, with his eyes and the flats of his palms, Crow Horse slowly studied every inch of Ray’s body for injury. He found none.
Crow Horse looked to Ray’s face and was able to catch his gaze and hold it. He looked apprehensive and hurt, but inherently trusting, the same expression Jimmy had when Crow Horse yelled at him.
“Come on,” Crow Horse said.
Ray didn’t say anything, but followed him to the bathroom. Crow Horse took off his own clothes, and he maneuvered them both into the shower. Ray stood dumb under the water, which Crow Horse had expected, so he lathered his palms and took Ray in hand, and worked the bloodstains from Ray’s skin. Just a second of the water stained slightly rust-colored, and then it was gone down the drain, like it had never happened. Except Ray still looked like he was trying to make out the number of the bus that’d just hit him, his eyes wild and haunted, his face impassive.
Ray was easily led, and let Crow Horse get him out of the shower and into some clothes. Then he and Crow Horse just stared at one another a moment; Crow Horse was out of ideas. He was out of his element, here.
Maybe he knew a place good for that.
Crow Horse whistled for Jimmy, and he piled Ray and the dog and himself into Ray’s truck.
***
Grampa Reaches was watching an afternoon soap opera when they arrived.
“These Brewers are nothing but trouble,” he said in Lakota, barely glancing up from the television. “Why would anyone marry into that family? Bad blood.”
“Sorry to interrupt your stories, Grampa,” Crow Horse said. “But I think Ray needs some guidance.”
Grampa motioned to the chair in front of him, and Crow Horse sat Ray down, his hands weighing heavy on Ray’s shoulders, anchoring him to his seat. Grampa turned away from the television to better regard Ray.
“You look like you seen a ghost,” Grampa said.
“No,” Ray said. “Not this time.”
“The Wasi’chu people,” Grampa said, “they don’t think too much about what it means to be Wasi’chu, and it’s easy. It’s different to be Indian, because you cannot forget it.”
“Yes,” Ray said softly.
“That boy, Robby Red Fox, that is not your fault. It is not the fault of the Wasi’chu’s, or the Indians. A man makes his own path.”
“He’s not a man,” Ray said. “He’s a child. And he was driven to this.”
Grampa shook his head. “People drive themselves. You need to forget Robby Red Fox. You need to watch where you are going, or maybe you will fall.”
“I don’t understand,” Ray said.
“Listen,” Grampa said. He began to sing, softly.
Ray withstood the lack of answers for a moment, and then shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Ray stumbled out from under Crow Horse’s grip, and left the camper. His feet worked faster than his mind, and he stumbled, catching on every one of the not inconsiderable number of obstacles between him and the door.
Crow Horse watched after him, crossing his arms over his chest. Grampa shuffled up behind him, rested a hand on Crow Horse’s back.
“That’s okay,” he said. “It’s coming up on dinnertime; you should take him somewhere he can eat.”
“Eat?” Crow Horse repeated, not sure he’d heard right.
Grampa nodded. “Food is important for healing. He’ll think much better on a full stomach.”
Ray and Jimmy were sitting in the truck. Jimmy looked up when Crow Horse slid behind the wheel, tail wagging; Ray kept his eyes down.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Hell, if anyone’ll understand, it’s Grampa.” He studied Ray’s drawn face for a moment. “You hungry?”
Ray looked up, surprised.
“Yeah,” he said, voice lilting like he had not realized it until Crow Horse asked. “Starving.”
Crow Horse nodded, and started the engine. Jimmy smiled, and wagged his tail some more; he liked going in the car. Ray petted him, and closed his eyes as he pressed his nose into Jimmy’s soft, clean-smelling fur.
The closest restaurant was the Buffalo Beauty, which was technically more a bar that happened to serve food, and besides, it wasn’t a place likely to help Ray feel better about being Indian or living on the rez. They could drive to Rapid City, but Ray probably couldn’t take the two hours cooped up in the car; he’d gotten antsy after five minutes at Grampa’s.
Crow Horse had a better idea.
***
“Hey, Ma. Sorry we didn’t call first.”
“You don’t have to call, Walter,” Crow Horse’s ma said, and hugged her son.
“Was hoping we could stay for dinner.”
“Sure,” Crow Horse’s ma said, but her attention caught on Ray’s lack of eye contact. “Everything all right?”
“Ray’s having a time. Just needs to get his head on straight.”
“Okay. Dinner’s almost ready; why don’t you boys go set the table?”
Ray suffered the plates like they were made of lead.
“I don’t want to be here,” he whispered. “Let’s go. I want to go.”
“You said you were hungry,” Crow Horse said. “You got a place in mind to go to, or are you just tryin’ to run?”
Ray didn’t say anything. He worked on lining up the silverware in perfect geometric harmony with the placemats. Crow Horse hadn’t been answered, but he figured this was probably one of those times to just let it be, so he left Ray to his obsessive straightening. He was still at it when Walter’s pop entered the kitchen, his eyes lighting briefly on the boys at the table.
“Be nice,” Crow Horse’s ma said. “I mean it. Not a word of argument; just be nice.”
Crow Horse’s pop shrugged like his wife was outlining the days of the week to him. He patted Walter on the shoulder, and then Ray, carefully.
“Thought you boys’d be ass-deep in paperwork,” he said.
Walter’s mouth thinned, and he cast a sideways glance at Ray and his far away eyes.
“It’ll keep,” he said finally. “Man’s gotta eat.”
“The hell’s wrong with him?” Crow Horse’s pop asked finally, nodding to Ray.
Crow Horse’s ma frowned, and intervened, coming up to the table and taking Ray gently by the arm.
“I told you to be nice,” she said. Then, “Raymond, come with me. I have some scraps you can give Jimmy.”
Walter and his pop watched Ray kneel, and feed little bits of meat to the dog. For a wild animal that had come up off its wits in the desert, he was awful gentle taking the treats from Ray’s fingers, and he waited patiently between bites, sitting at attention, eyes wide as the moon. Ray had done a good job getting the animal to heel, Walter had to admit, and the damn thing loved him crazy, besides.
“You know how these environmentalists try and get involved, introducing new species into places they think they’ll have a better survival rate, things like that?” he said.
His pop nodded. “Yeah. Usually turns to shit.”
“I think that may be the problem, here.”
Jimmy stuck his snout into Ray’s empty hands, searching out more meat. When he decided none was forthcoming, he licked Ray’s face, tail wagging so hard his whole back half wiggled.
Crow Horse’s pop watched his son watching the mutts. He rested his hand on Walter’s shoulder.
“I’m very sorry, Walter.”
***
Dinner was venison stew. They ate in near silence; Ray wasn’t talking, and after a point it was infectious.
Afterwards, the boys tried to help with the dishes and were shooed away by Crow Horse’s ma.
“You planning on staying awhile?” Ray asked.
“Yeah,” Crow Horse said. “Why? You got somewhere to be?”
Ray shook his head. “Will you miss me if I go lie down?”
Walter didn’t think it was time for that conversation, so he just shook his head. Ray disappeared down the hall, his faithful three-legged shadow just steps behind. Walter was going to go, too, but his pop stopped him before he could leave the kitchen.
“We need to talk,” he said.
A knot of dread formed in Walter’s stomach like he hadn’t felt since he was still young enough to get whipped.
“Okay,” he said, because it was the only thing to say.
And then he noticed his father looked uncomfortable, maybe nervous, which wasn’t something Walter had seen often. He perked up his ears.
“Listen,” Crow Horse’s pop said. “A father wants certain things for his son, and maybe part of that is things he wants for himself but can’t separate, because in a lotta ways a man is his son. But something every man wants apart from himself is for his son to be happy. And if this half-breed makes you happy, then I want you to have him. I know I haven’t always been supportive of that, but I’ve sat with it a while, and I’ve seen how you are with him, and I believe you love him and that’s all he wants from you, so that’s fine. It ain’t what I wanted for you, but it’s useless trying to direct what life gives you.”
Walter remembered the look on his father’s face when he had first brought Ray home. He had done it just two days after they’d come back to the rez, hoping to beat the gossip, so that his folks would hear how things were from him. But he’d been too slow, and his folks had understood what Ray meant when they’d showed him in. Crow Horse’s father had taken one look at the three-quarters white man his only child had brought home, had in fact tracked and trapped, and Walter had met his eyes and hadn’t needed to hear a word of the speech about bloodlines and hundreds of years of history dead on the vine that his folks would spend the next half hour rolling out in Lakota because they knew without asking that Ray wouldn’t understand.
Walter would remember the look on his father’s face then the rest of his life, but he did not see a trace of it now.
“But Walter,” his father said, looking sympathetic and maybe even sad, “you gotta figure out if what’s wrong with him is growing pains, or if he’s snared. If he’s just changing, fine; he’ll work through his troubles and come out grown on the other side. But if he’s snared, a fox in a trap, there’s no fixing it. All a trapped fox can see is freedom and the thing keeping him from it. He will destroy you and himself and anyone else that’s keeping him tethered, and the only kindness you can show him is to let him loose.”
***
So much of their lives growing up had been different, but Walter’s childhood bedroom wasn’t that dissimilar from his own. Little boys were the same all over, he guessed. Ray lay on his back on Walter’s bed from when he was a boy, looking up at the faded paper figures parading across the ceiling, secured with yellowed Scotch tape. A western scene, cowboys and Indians.
Jimmy was curled up on the rug. Ray didn’t look down when the door opened, but he could hear Walter stumble and curse almost tripping over the dog. Walter made it to the bed without serious injury, and patted the mattress, whistled for Jimmy.
“Come on, now, hup,” he said.
Ray swallowed. It must really be bad if Walter was inviting Jimmy onto the bed. The dog hopped up beside Ray, snuggling against his ribs, and so he was surrounded: Jimmy on one side, Walter on the other. Walter kicked off his boots and got comfortable, laying beside Ray, shoulder-to-shoulder, sharing his pillow. He didn’t say anything, just followed Ray’s gaze up to the tableau on the ceiling.
“Did you put those up there?” Ray asked.
This was as close to a safe topic as there was one. They had stayed several times at Walter’s folks’ place, sleeping in this same spot, and Ray asked that question most every time. He wasn’t really sure himself what he was getting after, the unspoken question he wanted answered, but Walter was patient with him and answered every time.
“Yeah,” he said. “They came in a little book; you punched them out, and then you could play with them, or whatever. I got a mess of cousins, and usually we couldn’t be still long enough to play with things like that, things easy to break, so my pop stood on my bed and held me up, and I taped them up to the ceiling so I could watch them when I was going to sleep, and make stories in my head. I was six, maybe seven.”
“That’s how old I was when my father died.”
Walter was looking at him strangely. Ray tried to conjure the words to explain-youth happened so fast, and some years were just blurs in the space of his memory, but the world had stopped then-but couldn’t.
“I know that, Ray,” Walter said finally.
Ray couldn’t divine the unspoken question there, either. He brought his eyes down from the ceiling, and studied Walter’s face for fatigue lines, for disappointment, for clues of what had gone on in the time he had been shut up here with the paper Indians.
“Your parents read you the riot act?” Ray asked. “Warn you off me?”
“No. They actually told me I need to do what’s best for you, even if it’s not what I want.”
“I was thinking,” Ray said, “that even if I left here tonight, went back to DC and begged for my old job back, found a nice white girl to marry, my stepfather still might not talk to me.” Walter didn’t say anything, so Ray continued, “It’s terrifying, to think you can ruin something on accident, and not be able to fix it after you realize what you’ve done.”
Walter just looked at him for a long time, and Ray could see disappointment rise up like contour lines on the map of his face.
“If you’re thinkin’ of doing any of those things,” he said carefully, “I think I’m owed a warning.”
Ray lost his breath as completely as if he’d taken a punch to the solar plexus.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“What for?”
“Lots of things, I guess. Mostly disappointing you. But right now, not thinking of you when I ran my mouth.”
“Ain’t the first time,” Walter said, “or the last. Anyway, you got a lot on your mind without me there.”
“Yes,” Ray said softly.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Talking was hard with anyone, and with Walter especially, where so much was at stake. It was another gamble, Ray guessed; it would be easy to just bet on things staying the same, but if he wanted anything more, he’d have to risk. Still, it was hard, and when he finally spoke, it was slowly, like he had to weigh out the words before they could leave his mouth.
“You’re not the only reason I came to live on the rez,” he said.
“I know that, Ray.”
“I had forgotten, Walter. I’ve been passing my whole life. I didn’t-I didn’t really do it on purpose; I didn’t think about it. After my father died, I just wanted to bury him. He was all I had from that world, and with him gone, it was easy to forget about. And so I lived completely in the white world, and I passed. But not as well, I guess, as I thought I did, because the first chance the FBI had to use me as an Indian, they did it. It was something I had forgotten about myself, but it was all they saw. And so when you came for me, I wanted-not because I’d been found out, but because I remembered-to go with you, to come back here.” He shook his head, eyes downcast. “But now I’m here, and there’s so much that’s hard or unfair, so many things that are really difficult to swallow. And the worst part is, I’m not white enough to live out there, and I’m not Indian enough to live here. I don’t belong anywhere.”
“Ray-”
Ray raised his eyes. “Except with you. The only place I belong, the only place I don’t feel out of place, is with you. Look, I know I’ve been a pain in the ass, and I’ll probably continue to be. Some of these changes are really hard for me, and apparently I’m not going to be graceful making them. I just need you-I’m asking you, please-to be patient with me, because I don’t know how I’d do this without you. And I wouldn’t want to.”
It wasn’t the betting that was hard, the moment of thinking over what you might lose. It was the seconds before the roulette wheel stopped spinning, the moment you lived in limbo without knowing whether your risk paid off, or if you just lost.
Walter set his palm at the nape of Ray’s neck, his fingers feathering up through his hair. Ray squeezed his eyes briefly shut, felled by the pleasure of the familiar sensation, the relief of leaving limbo.
“So you’re not lookin’ to get free?” Walter asked.
“No,” Ray said, inching closer to Walter until their foreheads were touching, his hand searching the small, dark space between their bodies until it found Walter’s. He threaded their fingers together, and when he squeezed, Walter squeezed back. “Kind of the opposite.”
Walter shifted, opening up in embrace the arm currently not in Ray’s possession. Ray tucked himself into it, and closed his eyes, his body relaxing along the familiar length of Walter’s. Jimmy inched forward into the abandoned space, pressing himself against Ray’s back, so there wasn’t an inch between Ray and his tiospaye. Ray was penned in by love on all sides, and that was pretty okay.