Winter Counts(43)
“No,” Ben said. “Still against the law, for now anyway. He say who Rick was working with?”
“Didn’t mention any names. I can ask around, but not sure where—”
“Marie told me about the cop, the one who’s been tracking Rick. What did he say?”
I hadn’t realized Marie was sharing all of this information with her father.
“What did she tell you?” I asked. “About the cop.”
“Rather hear it from you.”
For an instant, I wondered about how much to share. I’d wanted more solid information about Rick and his whereabouts before having this conversation, but I supposed I owed Ben.
“The cop said Rick’s involved with some gang in Denver. They’re starting to bring black tar heroin here, just like you said. They got some new system—they smuggle the drugs from Mexico and deliver it to the customers themselves. Hand out free samples to get people hooked—some real bad shit. But they need people here, you know, drivers. Indians who can blend in, not attract any attention. The cop thinks Rick’s setting up the local sales force.”
“What’s the next step, according to the cop?”
I paused again while I considered how much to say.
“He wanted Nathan to wear a wire and set up a buy. At the school. He said selling drugs near a school gets you a life sentence or something like that. But it doesn’t matter now. Nathan’s got these charges against him, so he’s out.”
“Can they get someone else to do it?”
“I don’t know. They wanted to use Nathan, since he already knows the guys. Right now I got to get him out of juvie, figure out what the hell’s going on with those pills they found. That’s job one. The cops can find some other narc to wear a wire.”
I could hear Ben breathing on the other end of the phone.
“You may need to rethink that,” he said.
17
The next day I got up early and left while Marie was still asleep. We hadn’t talked about indigenous cooking again, and that’s where I wanted to leave it. What did I care if Marie wanted to give up frybread and Indian tacos? I had important shit to deal with, and there was no point in getting jealous over some celebrity chef from California.
As I drove, I thought about Nathan’s situation. Something about the arrest didn’t make sense to me. The lawyer had said that the school authorities found illegal pills in his locker. But Nathan told me he hadn’t bought any pills, and if he had, why would he keep them at school? He was a smart kid, and storing narcotics in a school locker was a stupid move. On the other hand, kids did stupid stuff all the time. Maybe he was lying to me and was more involved with the drug guys than I’d known. Dennis had said they were moving black tar heroin, not pills, but they could be selling both.
I decided to call the Denver cop and tell him about Nathan’s arrest. I was sure he’d try to sell me again on the wire, and now I had to consider the possibility, given Nathan’s situation. Maybe set up a deal. But I’d talk to the lawyer first, get his opinion on whether it was even possible. That was his job. I called the lawyer’s office and left a message for him. His assistant informed me that he’d call me back at his earliest convenience. Good to know.
It seemed like I’d done all I could do for the moment, but then I had an idea. I decided to try and find out more about the Denver gang. The ones who’d given Nathan free heroin and possibly the pills. If they were in town, it would be useful to scope them out, see how many of them there were, and if they were moving pain pills in addition to heroin. Useful information for the lawyer, perhaps even the cops, and maybe I could put some pressure on the dealers if the opportunity came up. The problem was finding them. But the rez was like a small town—everybody knew everyone else’s business.
I realized I should go visit my friend Bill Ford—probably should have contacted him sooner. Bill was an older guy who owned a gas station and auto repair shop right on Main Street. He was there all the time, selling gas and fixing cars for cheap. What’s more, I knew he’d tell me if he’d seen anything out of the ordinary, especially if I told him what was going on. Bill had a hatred of drugs and drug dealers beyond words. His only daughter had gotten hooked on something while living in Rapid City. She’d fought it for years but finally gave up and committed suicide. Bill told me she’d taken a full bottle of sleeping pills, then bound her mouth shut with pink duct tape while she waited to die. The heartbreaking thing was that she’d apparently changed her mind in the middle of it, because she tried to call 911 but passed out before she could dial the last number.
Even though it was early, Bill was at the shop, hunched underneath a car hood.
“Hey Bill, how goes it?”
He looked up from his work and saw me.
“Virgil, long time no see. How you been doing?” He grabbed a shop towel and wiped off his hands.
“Doing the best I can. Aren’t we all?”
“Oh yeah. You want a soda? Got some Mountain Dews. Those’ll start your motor. Might have a couple of Dr Peppers, too.” He went to the cooler, opened two cans, and handed me one. “Heard about Nathan, sorry about the news. Hope he gets some help. Damn these drug sellers—sons-a-bitches.”
“That’s why I came by. Cops are telling me there might be some guys moving in, selling dope—real dangerous shit. But they’re not from around here. Maybe from Denver, maybe from Mexico. You see anyone like that?”