Winter Counts(45)
Maybe I’d found them, but I needed to be sure. There were plenty of tourists and hunters from Colorado who passed through Nebraska with their fancy trucks and SUVs. I went back to my car and settled in for some surveillance. My view wasn’t perfect, but I could see if anyone entered or left the cabin. It was pretty deserted, but if somebody came by, my cover story would be that I’d pulled off to make some calls.
The minutes passed slowly while I staked out the place. I couldn’t see any movement inside the cabin, but I had time to kill. While I waited, I called Marie and updated her on my status. She said she couldn’t talk long because she was headed out to the indigi-chef’s cooking class. I felt the blood in my veins begin to throb, but kept my mouth shut and told her to have a good time. For the next few hours, visions of Marie and Chef Longhair crowded into my mind, despite my best efforts to focus solely on the cabin.
After what seemed like an eternity, there was finally some action. A man opened the door, went behind the cabin, and urinated in the dirt. Couldn’t see him well, but he looked to be young, with short black hair. Half an hour later, another man did the same thing. This time, I was ready and got a better look at him. Definitely wasn’t white. Dark hair, shorter guy, dressed in jeans and a plaid Western shirt.
Why didn’t they go to the main restroom at the campgrounds? Maybe they were drinking or lazy. Over the next hour, three more men pissed in the back. Now I was pretty sure they were boozing in there, a fact I could use to my advantage if I needed to enter. Of course, I didn’t know anything about their weaponry or how many more were inside. For that matter, I still didn’t know if these were gang members or farm workers. I decided to continue the surveillance.
About an hour later, a beat-up Ford truck pulled in. By now it was pretty dark, so I couldn’t see well, although there was some moonlight. One man came out of the passenger door. From what I could see, he looked to be a little older, maybe in his forties, and carried several duffel bags. Another man came out of the driver’s side, carrying what looked like sacks of fast food. The driver was dressed in an old denim jacket and had long black hair. I shifted in my seat to get a better view. It took me a moment, but I realized I knew him.
Rick Crow.
So it was true. Son of a bitch.
FOR A MOMENT I flashed back to middle school, when Rick had given me the most grief. I remembered one time when his friends had held me down while he pounded my face. I’d tried to fight back, but it was no use. For some reason, Rick had it in for me more than any other kid. Maybe because he knew I had no older brothers or cousins to stick up for me, maybe he just hated me. An old familiar anger flowed through me, and I started to get out of the car.
But I came to my senses and began to control my adrenaline so I could think this through. It looked like there were seven or eight men in the house, most of them likely drunk. I’d have the advantages of surprise and sobriety if I stormed in, but I didn’t have any weapons beyond my Spyder knife and a little Smith & Wesson revolver with a five-round cylinder. If they were armed—and they almost certainly were—it would be a suicide mission.
I felt physical pain as I realized there was no way to get Rick tonight. I’d have to get more guns and ammo, stake out the place again, and wait for the right moment. Tonight I’d regroup and map out a strategy. But tomorrow would be the day.
The day I finally got my revenge on Rick Crow.
18
The next morning, my cell phone rang, awakening me from a deep sleep.
“Virgil? Charley Leader Charge. Are you free? Some new information about Nathan’s case has come in that I need to discuss with you.”
It took a moment to extricate myself from my dreams. “Yeah, I can talk. Go ahead.”
“Better if we do it in person. Can you make it to my office today? I’ll clear out my schedule.”
“I’ll leave right now.”
I drove without stopping to Rapid City, wondering what the new info could be. Maybe more drugs were found in Nathan’s locker? Or perhaps they’d agreed to drop the charges? As much as I wanted to go back to the gang cabin, I needed to find out what was going on first.
Charley’s assistant escorted me directly to his office. The lawyer looked as spotless as before in a gray double-breasted suit and green tie.
“Thanks for coming in,” he said, motioning me to sit down. “Here’s what’s happening. I got a call from the federal prosecutor on a couple of issues. First, it looks like Nathan’s involved—tangentially—with something big. The DEA and other agencies have got some investigations going. You know about this?”
I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat. “Uh, not really. Do you mean the cop in Denver?”
The lawyer didn’t look happy. “Yes, the Colorado and New Mexico investigations, apparently a task force led by the DEA, from what I can dig up. You didn’t tell me you’d been in contact with the police down there.”
“That was before Nathan’s arrest. Before all this went down. I was going to tell you, honest. Called and left a message for you just yesterday.”
Charley tapped his pen on the desk. “You need to tell me everything—and I mean everything—if I’m going to help Nathan. Everything, not bits and pieces. Remember, what you say is privileged, so you don’t have to hold back. Let’s hear it.”