Thumps got to Al’s early the next morning to find the café virtually deserted. Al was wiping down the napkin dispensers.
“Glad to see someone remembers me.”
Wutty and Russell and Jimmy weren’t in their usual places across from the grill. Nor were the other regulars. The only people in the café were three men at the end of the counter.
Thumps stood in the doorway for a moment. “Where is everyone?”
“Shadow Ranch.” Al made each word sound like a complaint. “Evidently, they’re having a Team Wutty breakfast in anticipation of this weekend’s tournament.”
“Why didn’t they have it here?”
“Not upscale enough for the golfing crowd would be my bet,” said Al.
“Maybe not enough space.”
“Maybe that too.”
“Well, I’m here,” said Thumps. “And I’m hungry.”
Al tossed the dishcloth over her shoulder. “Do you want breakfast before or after you finish your business?”
Thumps moved down the counter to his favourite stool. Al followed him with the coffee pot at the ready.
“What business?”
“With those three gentlemen,” said Al. “They’ve been waiting for you.”
The younger of the three men got off his stool.
“You Sheriff DreadfulWater?”
“Deputy sheriff,” said Thumps. “Temporary.”
“I’m Brian Little Horse,” said the man. “Cooley said I might find you here.”
It took Thumps a moment to place the name.
“From Harlowton? The two old guys are my uncles, Elmer and Elroy.”
“Think horse thieves,” whispered Al.
“Not really,” said Brian. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Your uncles are the ones who have been stea . . . taking cars?”
“Yeah,” said Brian. “About that . . . Do you have uncles?”
Eugene DreadfulWater had had a brother and two sisters. But when his father walked out of his life, all of his relations on that side of the family disappeared as well.
“Elmer and Elroy more or less raised me and my sisters after our parents died. It’s their garage.”
“So, they know cars.”
“Inside and out,” said Brian. “Now I run it.”
Thumps sipped his coffee. Black and hot.
“They were raised on horse-stealing stories,” said Brian. “Their grandfather, my great-grandfather, actually did some of that stuff, and I think they figured that stealing horses was part of a family tradition. You know the story of White Quiver?”
There were clouds of steam rising off the grill. Thumps could smell potatoes on the fry.
“Old people get stuff in their heads, and it’s hard to get it out.”
“How many horses did they get?”
“Twenty or so,” said Brian. “They had me working overtime. Fixing the cars they took, cleaning them up, dropping them off so their owners could find them.”
“Chinook is a ways from Harlowton.”
“Not so much,” said Brian. “Evidently, some of the stories that Naas told, we’d go all the way to Minnesota for a good horse.”
“So, they’re still stea—”
“No,” said Brian quickly. “We had a long talk about jail and the time I was spending on the cars and the cost of the parts. I would have had that rental car back, but then there was the you-know-what in the you-know-where.”
“So, you called Cooley.”
“Yeah,” said Brian, “I called Cooley.”
Al came down the counter with breakfast.
“You boys having a good time?”
“You make a really good breakfast, Mrs. Al,” said Brian. “Uncle Elroy wanted me to ask you if you were married.”
“Now that’s sweet,” said Al.
“He has a wife,” said Brian. “But Auntie can’t cook as well as you.”
Al headed back to the grill. “Well, you tell your uncle he can come by any time, have breakfast, admire me from afar.”
Brian turned to Thumps. “Let me tell you, that rental was a mess. Oil hadn’t been changed since it came off the assembly line. And filthy? You should have seen the front seat. Burger wrappers, coffee cups, box of stale doughnuts. And the side windows? Looked like someone squeegeed them with lard. Really disgusting.”
“So, no more horse stealing.”
“Hand to god,” said Brian. “There’s a video game called Rustler. It’s sort of medieval, but you get to steal horses. I’m going to try to get them hooked on that.”
Thumps smiled.
“They’re all I got left of the old people,” said Brian. “Figure I should try to keep them safe.”
“I got a deputy who wishes your uncles had gotten hold of her car.”
Brian motioned to his uncles. “Tell her to bring the car over to the garage. On the house.”
Elroy and Elmer got off their stools, filed past Thumps, smiling and patting him on the shoulder as they went.
Al swung back around with the coffee pot. “Couple of sweeties.”
“For horse thieves.”
“Wouldn’t mind having uncles like that in my life.” Al put the pot on the counter. “Hear Duke has a dog.”
“No comment.”
“You take any photographs of the blessed event?”
Thumps cut his sausage into pieces.
“Hear the sofa was a work of art,” said Al. “School of Deconstruction.”
“They’ve come to an understanding.”
“Claire off to Canada?”
“I guess.”
“That’s it?” Al pursed her lips. “You know, conversations are supposed to be two-sided. I tell you things. You tell me things.”
“How about you cook, I eat.”
“That’s not a conversation,” said Al. “That’s just a division of effort.”
Thumps lowered his head, leaned over his food.
“In the end,” said Al, “the critical question is, who does the dishes?”
THUMPS PARKED BEHIND the sheriff’s office, sat there and watched clouds form, listened to the wind whistle in off the eastern face of the mountains in the distance.
He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t realized it sooner. Claire had not left a contact number. She and Ivory were gone, and he had no way to reach them. Surely, she would have left a number with someone. Roxanne, Moses, Scoop.
Just not him.
DUKE WAS BEHIND the desk. Howdy was sprawled out on a blanket.
“That the quilt from the holding cell? The one that Cooley bought?”
“It was,” said Duke. “Now it’s the mutt’s porta-potty.”
Thumps looked at the dog. “I don’t think you mean porta-potty.”
Duke leaned forward, smiled. “Give it a sniff.”
Thumps turned toward the back room and the holding cell. “Cooley come in yet?”
“Haven’t seen him. Deanna is doing the career-day thing at the community college. It’s just you and Howdy.”
As soon as the dog heard his name, he was on his feet, turning slow circles on the blanket.
“ ’Cause I’m not taking him home with me,” said Duke. “I’ve already lost a sofa, two chairs, a run of baseboards, and part of a table.”
“Duke . . .”
“You got two cats, so you won’t even notice another animal.”
Thumps took off his badge, slipped his pistol out of the holster, put everything on the desk. “Then I quit.”
“You can’t quit.”
“Sure I can.”
Howdy had worked his way to Duke, started licking the sheriff’s fingers.
“Besides,” said Thumps, “he loves you.”
Duke pulled his hand away. “You know how many times I have to wash my hands? When he’s not chewing my shoes or destroying the house, he slobbers on everything.”
Howdy stopped licking, put his head on Duke’s lap, just as the phone rang. It rang again, and then a third time.
“You going to answer that?”
“I quit, remember.”
“Oh, for the love of . . .” Duke grabbed the phone. “Sheriff’s office.”
Howdy left Duke, wandered over to Thumps, sat down beside him, looked up at him, his eyes filled with love and longing.
“Don’t worry. We’re not going to take you to the shelter.”
Duke made a clicking sound with his mouth, held the phone out. “It’s for you,” he said. “Appears our Mr. Cruz has been shot.”
“Shot?”
Duke stood up. “You see this?” The front of the sheriff’s uniform pants was wet and sticky with slobber. “The mutt’s a biohazard.”
“What about Cruz?”
“He’s at the hospital,” said Duke. “I’d send you, but you just quit.”
Thumps scooped the badge and gun off the desk. “I’d better see Howdy on his blanket when I get back.”
WHEN HE WAS a cop on the Northern California coast, he constantly found himself in and out of hospitals. He had never come to terms with them, and the years and distance had not softened his attitude. Overdoses, accidents, altercations, domestic abuse. Anything that bled or cried out in pain wound up in a hospital.
Thumps understood that hospitals weren’t a reflection of humanity, but neither were they a recommendation.
COOLEY WAS WAITING for him when Thumps got to the emergency room. “Hey boss, we got a problem.”
“How is he?”
“Well,” said Cooley, “he got shot.”
“How serious?”
“In the leg,” said Cooley. “Doctor says it’s a flesh wound.”
“What happened?”
“I went to the Ranch, just like you told me,” said Cooley. “Had a speech all worked up. You know, ‘You’re under arrest. Anything you say may—’ ”
Thumps held up a hand. “You found him?”
“Nope,” said Cooley. “When I got to the Ranch, he wasn’t there.”
Thumps waited. “Because . . . ?”
“He was here at the hospital. You know Gina Tucci?”
“Yes, I know Gina Tucci.”
“Gina recognized Cruz from the night that Greeley did his runner. She put two and two together, figured his getting shot had something to do with police business and called me.”
“She called you?”
“Gina’s married to my cousin,” said Cooley. “So, we’re family.”
Thumps knew there was solid logic somewhere in the explanation. “You talk to him yet?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, where is he?”
Cooley rocked on his heels. “That’s the problem.”
THUMPS AND COOLEY caught up with Dr. Caitlin Taran in the cafeteria. She was a large-boned woman, a natural blonde with glacial eyes, who looked as though she could be an Olympic athlete in a sport that favoured brute strength over speed and agility.
Thumps showed her his badge. “Deputy Sheriff Thumps DreadfulWater and Deputy Cooley Small Elk.”
“Do you gentlemen like coffee?”
“You bet,” said Cooley.
“Then don’t drink it here.”
Thumps considered getting a cup, just to compare it with the coffee that Duke made. But there seemed little value in knowing which was worse.
“You treated a gunshot victim. Cisco Cruz.”
Dr. Taran poked at her salad with a fork. “And don’t order the soup.”
“Cisco Cruz?”
“Interesting gentleman,” said Taran. “Gunshot to the thigh. Didn’t hit bone. Not all that serious.”
“I’ll need the bullet.”
Taran shrugged. “Don’t have it.”
“It’s still in him?”
“No,” said Taran. “I removed the bullet, cleaned the wound, dressed it. Went back to the desk to get the forms we have to fill out for a gunshot, and when I got back, Mr. Cruz was gone.”
Thumps knew the answer to the question before he asked it. “And the bullet?”
“It was in a pan next to the bed,” said Dr. Taran. “It appears Mr. Cruz took it with him.”
COOLEY WALKED THUMPS back to his car. “What do we do now, boss?”
“You go back to the office. Tell Duke what’s happened.”
“You know where Cruz is going?”
“And if Duke tries to take the dog to the pound, lock him up in the holding cell until I get back.”
“The dog or Duke?”
Thumps thought about that for a moment, smiled. “Use your best judgment.”