Winter Counts(72)

Nathan had an expression on his face that suggested we were the oldest and most ridiculous people in the world. “No worries. I can handle it.”

“All right,” said Dennis, “let’s do a test, check the sound quality.” He took the phone from Nathan and clicked on it. “I turned on the app, so you’re in record mode now. You got the transmitter? Cool. Go in the other room and say some words. Virgil and I’ll go out to my unit, see how it sounds.”

Dennis and I walked out to his unmarked police car and got in. There was a small black console on the seat. He flipped on a switch and turned a knob, presumably the volume.

“All right, let’s test her out.”

He and I waited. All I heard was a faint electrical hum and the sound of the birds chattering to each other. We sat there for about thirty seconds. It felt like hours.

We waited some more. Still nothing.

“Shit,” Dennis said, and started to open his door. Then some sound came from the device, surprisingly clear.

“Ah, testing, testing, test, test. Can you guys hear me? I don’t know what to say, I feel kind of stupid, but I guess—”

Dennis clicked a knob on the console. “We’re good.”

We went back inside. Nathan came out of the bedroom with a curious look on his face. “Could you guys hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” said Dennis. “When you meet with them, be sure to hold your phone that way.”

Nathan nodded.

“Okay, we’re locked and loaded. We’ll be in the tech car, listening to your conversation and recording it. Your uncle will be there with us. There’ll be another vehicle there—the follow car—watching you directly.” Dennis looked at his phone, then turned back to Nathan. “Buy the drugs and come right back to the house, don’t go anywhere else. I’ll need to snap some pics of the dope and take your statement. We won’t arrest them right away—that’d be a dead giveaway you set ’em up. We’ll probably put the arm on them later today or tomorrow. Game-time decision. You ready? Kickoff in thirty minutes.”

Nathan rolled his eyes at me when Dennis wasn’t looking. The football references. Nathan hated football, thought it was stupid and violent.

“All right,” Dennis said. “Head on out to the school. Any problems, call me and say the code. Like I said, the ghost car will have eyes on you.”

Ten minutes after Nathan left, Dennis and I drove to the school and parked a few blocks away. “You sure we’re not too far to hear him?” I asked.

Dennis was making some adjustments on the recording device. “Should be fine. Range is about a quarter mile. We don’t get good sound, we’ll move in closer.”

We sat in silence, waiting for something to happen. After a while, the console began to make a scratchy sound. It sounded like a transmission from the moon landing. I realized I could hear the sounds from my car, the one Nathan was driving. I could tell he had the radio on, tuned to KOYA, the rez station, which was playing some powwow music. His phone was picking up the car’s radio and sending the transmission to us. The song ended, and I could hear the DJ talking. “Hey KOYA land, coming up by request is ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow,’ the ukulele version, going out to little Robin Two Crow, who turns four today. Happy birthday, Robin, from your Unci Charlene!”

“I think that’s the radio in my car. Are we hearing that from his cell?” I asked.

“Yep,” said Dennis. “He probably has the phone on the seat by the car’s speaker. Or maybe not. Device is pretty sensitive.”

The music continued for another few minutes, then stopped. We heard some rattling, the sound of a door slam, and then nothing.

“He put the phone in his pocket,” said Dennis. “He needs to hold it in his hand when the guys show up. I hope he remembers.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll do it.”

“Hope so. Otherwise, we have to go through all this again. Let me call Mike. He’s in the ghost over by the school.”

Dennis made the call. “It’s me. You got eyes on him?” He paused, listening to the cop. I listened in, trying to make out what he was saying.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, right. Call if they move.”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“He spotted Nathan and another male. They’re walking to the back of the school near the picnic tables.”

“Is he with one of the dealers?”

“No, they’re waiting for them. Probably another friend looking to buy dope. Don’t know which of the gang will bring the stuff—hope it’s Rick Crow, but it could be one of the younger guys. I doubt Loco will come, he usually stays at the house, sends the younger dudes out for the deliveries.”

We waited about twenty minutes. Occasionally we’d hear little bursts of sound from the console, but nothing I could make out. I tried to be calm, but my agitation felt like jolts of direct-current electricity coursing under my skin. Finally Dennis’s cell phone rang.

“Yeah?” He stopped and listened, then gave a few more uh-huhs and okays.

“What’s happening?” I said.

“The Denver guys are there. Three of them, one we think is called Manuel, the other we’re not sure. And good news. Your buddy Rick Crow’s there.”