CHAPTER 7
“Hello, Jimmy,” Alsop said into the phone. “What’s so urgent?”
“You mean you haven’t heard?”
Alsop’s heartbeat forced its way into his temples. “Heard what?”
“Your man dug up an Indian burial site, and the Cheyenne demanded an immediate stop to the digging. They’ve even stationed guards to keep everyone out. Afraid you’ll have to find a new site.”
Alsop’s temples pounded. “That won’t work. This whole thing’s already on thin ice. Any delay and Johnston will convince the council to quash the entire plan.”
“This is your baby, Calvin boy. I’m leaving town for the mayors’ conference, and I’m counting on you to straighten this out.”
Alsop slammed down the phone. This was all Johnston needed to ruin everything. Well, not if Alsop had anything to say about it. Johnston or no Johnston, Cheyenne or no Cheyenne, he was going to bury that damn car!
***
She had a pink angora sweater pulled tightly over her breasts, dark, rocking-horse eyes, and thick honey-blonde hair that spilled down her chest and shoulders.
Deputy Chief Harman gazed at his palm in Sylvia’s soft hand while she traced lines with her turquoise fingernail. “This signifies intuition,” she shouted over the sound of live rock and roll. Her finger slid to another line. “This wiggle means strong insight.”
Uncle Lewy’s silver-haired lady beer puller slid two Falstaff beers across the bar to them, froth oozing over the tops. It was their third. Sylvia wasn’t a guzzler, but she was persistent.
Harman hated the band. It had a wimpy name, and the singer looked like a fag in black-framed glasses. Buddy Holly and the Crickets.
“Strong insight, huh?” he said. “What about this one?” He pointed to a line across the middle of his palm. He didn’t believe any of this crap, but chicks dug it.
“That’s the head line, different than the life line. It shows adventure and enthusiasm for life. And this?” She traced a thin line under his little finger. “It’s the marriage line.”
“Uh-oh, what’s the verdict?” If marriage was imminent, no bueno. Anything else meant she was hot to trot.
She squinted at him through swirling cigarette smoke. “Aren’t you cute? Won’t happen anytime soon.”
Yahoo!
“However, these little lines right here.” She raised her finger high in the air, made a circling motion, and landed it near the middle of his palm. “They mean romance.”
“Call me Mister Romance.” Should he screw her in the backseat in the parking lot or drive over to old man Gustafson’s catfish pond? He put his hand on her thigh and nuzzled his nose deep among those wispy curls behind her ear.
A hand gripped his shoulder from behind, nearly squashing it like a ripe banana. “Party’s over, kids.”
Harman wrenched free, turned to see the chief, and gulped.
Parker tugged Harman’s coat off the back of his barstool and tossed it in his lap. He turned to Sylvia. “Sorry, miss, my deputy has business to attend to.”
Outside, Harman said, “What’s the matter, Chief? I’m off duty and on a date.”
“You’re now on duty with two dates.”
***
Alsop couldn’t reach Jessie to find out what the backhoe operator had unearthed, so he left word for him to call, then drove to the site.
He arrived at the courthouse lawn to see that lights had been set up and the dig area cordoned off. It smelled of freshly turned soil. A curious crowd of onlookers milled about. Two well-fed Indians with long hair sat on lawn chairs inside the ropes at opposite ends of the hole, each in western shirts and cowboy hats. The deputy chief stood nearby with a toothpick between his bent down lips.
By most accounts, Deputy Chief Raymond Harman was a competent officer. He had a pleasant personality when it suited him, and he gave a twice-yearly civics lesson to high school seniors. He’d put two years in the Army as a private--’45 to ’47. Too late to fight the war, he cooked for field artillery cadets at Fort Sill in Lawton, Oklahoma. At the time, he had no experience in law enforcement, but he did have an uncle named Chief Parker.
Alsop strode up to him. And he didn’t look happy. “What do you know about this, Ray?”
“Ah, they dug up some injun relic, is all.”
“Well, it’s good you’re here. Learn anything?”
“Heard they got some mucky-muck archeologist coming up from OU in Norman to take a look-see.”
“What’d they find exactly?”
The deputy chief pointed to one of the Indian guards. “Ask ponytail over there.”
Alsop stooped under the rope, and the man sprang from his chair. “Sir, stay outside the ropes.”
“Who sent you here?”
The man pointed a thick finger near Alsop’s chest. “Out.”
Alsop knocked his hand away. “I’m Councilman Alsop, and I asked you a question.”
He stared at Alsop, jaw tight. Finally, he said, “Dan Lightfeather Brown.”
Alsop thanked him, stepped outside the ropes, and left. With plenty of fight left, he knew just who to see.
***
He pulled into the Speedy Mart’s gravel parking lot to pick up some items, including Jo-Dee’s bottles of Squirt, and to talk to Tony, a young Indian clerk with almond eyes and the shading and bone structure of the Cheyenne. Tony would often pass along tribal gossip that Alsop often found interesting. If the information related to city business, he’d share it with the council. Tonight, Alsop wanted a line to Tony’s grandfather--Dan Lightfeather Brown. He grabbed a bag of charcoal near the hot soup and headed to the soda pop section. Two elderly women were talking about the Peeping Tom on the loose that everybody had heard of, but nobody had seen. He grabbed his Squirt bottles and went to the register.
“Tony, what’s the difference between a pickpocket and a Peeping Tom?”
Tony shrugged, and with his hands, flicked his thick black hair behind his shoulders.
“The pickpocket snatches watches. Give me a pack of Luckies.”
A smile played at a corner of Tony’s lips while he rang up the items. “Why do you always buy single packs, never cartons?”
“The wife wants me to quit. I will--someday. Thing is, nobody serious about quitting would take home a carton.” Alsop nodded toward a box of Havanas. “Throw in a couple o’ those.” He liked cigars but, in deference to Jo-Dee, only smoked them when he had serious thinking to do, and never inside the house. He laid three bucks on the counter and glanced around to ensure they were alone. “Your grandpa, Dan Lightfeather Brown. He’s your tribal chief chairman, right?”
“Ever since I can remember. Why?”
“Have you heard about an Indian burial site discovered today?”
Tony handed Alsop a fifty-cent piece and a nickel. “Where’s that?”
“The town is planning a big celebration of statehood that requires digging in front of the courthouse. And maybe, maybe, an Indian burial site has been discovered. If so, I can assure your grandfather, and every other Cheyenne, that as a city councilman, I will see that we respect your ancestors.”
“Want me to tell my grandfather that?”
“Just find out what was buried there. Also check with anyone else who might know.” Alsop pulled a ten-spot from his wallet and laid it on the counter. “Call me when you learn something.”
That evening, Alsop got a call from Jessie. “Two hours into digging, my backhoe operator dumped a bucket of dirt that included a bone the size his dog would’ve killed for. Naturally, I had to report it.”
“So that’s it. Sit tight until I get back to you.”
Alsop would take care of this, one way or another.