Winter Counts(44)

He paused and stared off into the distance. “How many?”

“Not sure. Could be five or six, maybe more.”

He was quiet again. “You know what they drive?”

“Nope.”

“What do they look like? Indians, white?”

“Not sure. Most likely from Mexico, so Hispanic, I guess. Rick Crow might have been with them.”

“Tough one. This time of year we get some tourists, usually on their way to Pine Ridge. Get some of the charity people and a few going down to the casino. Can’t think of anybody like you mention.” He took a drink of his soda and frowned.

“That’s all right, Bill. Just thought I’d stop by, see if you’d—”

“Wait, you say Rick Crow was with them?”

I nodded.

“Now that I think of it, Rick was here a while back. In some brand-new SUV. You don’t see too many of those around here. Don’t know if he was with anybody, but I asked him about the car. He said it wasn’t his.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Ah, can’t really remember. Shit, I’m trying to think.” His face creased as he searched his memory. “Wait, he may have said he was on his way to Valentine. Yeah, I think so. Valentine.”

Of course. Just ten miles across the state line from the rez. Small town in the heart of the Nebraska Sandhills, so there were loads of tourists who wanted to hunt, fish, and float down the dark river in a canoe. There were seven or eight motels in the town as well as several campgrounds. And the town was surrounded by farms, so there was a steady stream of agricultural workers moving in and out. Valentine was no Denver, but it was the best place in the area to hide out and blend in.

I thanked Bill and headed due south.

THE ROLLING HILLS OF SOUTH DAKOTA transformed into the flatter terrain of Nebraska during the short drive. Soon I hit the city limits of Valentine, being careful to slow my speed to twenty-five miles per hour so I wouldn’t be pulled over. My first stop would be the Derby Bar, where I used to know most of the bartenders and could ask some questions.

I was the only customer in the place, which surprised me, given that it was early afternoon. Behind the bar a large Native woman was hunched over her phone. I’d gone to high school with her about a million years ago, but couldn’t remember her name.

“You got Shasta?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Just Coke.” She filled up a glass with ice and poured some syrup out of the beverage gun, then went back to her cell phone.

“We went to school together, right?” I said. “Tell me your name again.”

“Sharlene. You’re, ah—”

“Virgil. Virgil Wounded Horse.”

“Oh yeah, I think we were in math class together. Who was that teacher?”

“Shit, I can’t remember. Too many dead brain cells. How you been doing?”

She set her phone down and poured herself a beer. “Same old, same old. You still in Mission?”

I took a drink of my Coke. “Yeah, lived in Rapid for a while, ended up back on the rez. What about you?”

“Got a place here in Valentine. Pretty cheap, get to stay close to my kids.”

“You got kids? Nice.”

“Two. Boy and a girl. Share custody with my ex. He’s a real asshole.”

“I know him?”

“Nope. Wasicu from Omaha. Hooked up with him after I left my mom’s house. Worst move I ever made.”

“Sorry to hear it.” I motioned toward my glass, and she filled it up again. I slipped a five-dollar bill on the bar.

“All good. I got two great kids out of the deal, more than I can say for others.”

“I hear you.” I took a sip of my Coke. “Hey, ask you a question? Wondering if you’ve seen some guys come in here lately—like five or six dudes, they maybe came with Rick Crow. You remember him from school?”

She shook her head. “Lot of people drink here. Don’t keep track.”

“You remember anyone with some fancy SUV?”

She shook her head again. “Unless they park right in front, I can’t see what people are driving.”

This was a dead end. “One more thing. If somebody was trying to hole up around here, you know, lay low, where would they stay?”

Now she looked interested. “What’s going on? These guys in trouble?”

“No. They might be able to help me with some stuff I got going on.”

She didn’t look convinced, but I hoped the beer had loosened her tongue.

“Well, I doubt someone trying to hole up would stay in the motels. They rent out mainly to the campers and the hunters. Rooms are pretty expensive; they don’t like any trouble. The Econo Lodge just kicked out some college kids that were drinking too much and being loud.”

I took another sip. “Anyplace else people might stay?”

“There’s a travel park across town, out by Highway 83. Pretty beat up, not many people camp there. I hear they got a few cabins, though. It’s called the Pay-E-Zee.”

I FOUND THE PLACE EASILY. There was a big sign advertising accommodations with nightly, weekly, or monthly rates. It was an old-fashioned campground, just like the bartender had said. Hookups for campers and RVs, a dilapidated building that probably housed the bathrooms and laundry facilities, and a small main office. I didn’t see any motor homes or campers, which made me wonder if the place was still open. I spotted a few cabins down the road. One of them looked occupied. There was a big vehicle parked in front, but I couldn’t identify the make or model from a distance. No sense in attracting attention, so I drove my car back through the entrance and pulled around to the rear of the travel park, where I was able to get closer to the cabin. I got out of my car and walked around the outskirts of the campground so I could get a better view of what was parked there. A shiny black Lincoln Navigator with Colorado plates.