CHAPTER 26

The American flag blew above the courthouse in a stiff breeze under a sky the color of black ink. Minutes earlier, slate-colored mountains had been the color of lavender and plum.

While the mayor led in the Pledge of Allegiance, Bucky sat perched on the bus bench and scanned the crowd. He estimated the crowd to be around a hundred-fifty Cheyenne and probably double that number in Caddos, all wearing Tomahawk arm patches.

A Caddo cried out, “You’re all hypocrites!” Two swift-moving Edmond officers whisked him off his feet. His sign, Liberty and Justice for All Is a Lie, lay trampled beneath a herd of shoes and boots.

As the cold air mixed with the air of anticipation, Alsop approached the microphone dressed in a topcoat, dark two-piece suit with wool tweed jacket, and a splashy red, white, and blue tie. He flashed a warm smile at the crowd and the CBS News cameras.

“Governor Wishbone.” Alsop tipped his hat. “Thank you for coming. And to everyone, Mayor Collins, members of the City Council, distinguished guests, and all you wonderful citizens of Defiance, I wish you a hearty welcome to this historic event.”

Bucky swung his camera around and fired off shots of the thunderous crowd, then hopped off the bench for close-ups: hand clappers, flag wavers, whistle blowers, and a frail white man dressed like Father Time, whose sign read, The End Is Near.

While Alsop continued his speech, Bucky scanned the grandstand and caught Bart sitting behind the governor, whispering in his ear. A minute later, someone tugged Bucky’s sleeve. Willow. Her face, luscious as whipped cream, caused a hotspot near his spine. Her eyelashes flashed a come-hither wave, and she sauntered off, crooking a finger behind her back. He glanced around, then hopped from the bench and sidled up to her.

She continued strolling, as if in a park, until they were on the fringes of the crowd, then stopped and turned to him. People shuffled around them. “There’s something I want you to know.” She rummaged inside her purse and came up with a cigarette, which she brought to her lips, and a lighter, which she handed to Bucky.

As he lit her cigarette, he caught sight of an Indian woman in front of Seaborne’s drugstore across the street. She stood bent over with a gray shawl across her heavy shoulders. His gaze fixed on the woman. “What do you want me to know?” Something about the woman wasn’t right.

“I want to talk to you about the damaged car. Bart--” Willow followed Bucky’s stare. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing. What about the car?” Something definitely wasn’t right.

“What’s so interesting about that woman?”

“Notice how she’s holding her cigarette.”

Willow looked again. “Okay. What about it?”

“Now check out how you’re holding yours.”

Willow peered down at the cigarette she held between her first and second finger, then glimpsed back at the woman.

“See what I mean? She’s cupping it like a man does, between her thumb and first finger.”

“You think she’s a man?”

The woman glanced at her watch, then flicked her cigarette halfway across the street. The chief had said to keep an eye out for suspicious people. And she was definitely suspicious. “I’ve gotta get going. Nice seeing you.”

“Wait.” Willow grabbed his arm. “I wanted to tell you that Bart talked to your boss. He’s going to pay for the damaged car.”

“That’s great. Uh-oh.”

The woman was on the move.

“And now, ladies and gentleman,” came Alsop’s voice booming over the loudspeaker, “the moment we’ve all been waiting for.” Right on cue, the band kicked in, church bells rang, and the crowd beat their hands together. Ten thousand volts of wild energy.

The Indian woman moved swiftly toward the grandstand. Bucky kept even with her--or him--from across the street. He got a shot before the high school marching band blocked his view. Then his suspect was gone.

He darted through the crowd, hoping to spot her before she reached the grandstand and got completely lost in the mob. He angled across the street, his pulse pounding in his ears, eyes searching. Shit! Where’d she go? Maybe up the grassy knoll to light the fuse in the tree.

The crane holding the car high in the sky growled to life, and Alsop’s voice continued over the loudspeaker. “It gives me great pleasure...”

Bucky made it onto the grass but got tangled in the crowd. “We can’t see past your filthy signs,” screeched a blue-haired woman poking her umbrella into a Caddo’s back.

The teenager whirled and grabbed the umbrella. “I should run this through your throat, granny.” He snapped the umbrella over his knee like a spear, and the woman screamed.

Bucky couldn’t break clear from the uneven waves of shoving. The woman! There she is, going into an outhouse. Something sharp slammed into his back, and he hit the frigid ground. A boot scraped across his forehead. Ignoring the blood and searing pain, he scrambled to his feet and spotted Chief Parker talking to Chief Trigger. His dogs growled with bared teeth and tugged at their leashes.

A muffled gunshot from a rooftop. White smoke. Bucky’s eyes burned from sputtering tear gas. What was going on?

People scattered. Children cried. A woman wailed, “Lucy, where are you?”

Bucky’s world spun. He wiped blood from his eyes. A gunshot rang out--then another. Through the tear gas he made out Chief Trigger’s broad back and red suspenders. He held a gun at his side. Smoke oozed from its barrel.

At the chief’s feet lay one of his dogs, its head half gone. The other dog, red flesh hanging from its mouth, had collapsed on top of a lifeless Chief Parker.