Thumps left the cruiser in the loading zone, and the two of them walked down the street to the office.
“Woman makes a mean breakfast.”
“She does.”
“You google the tournament results?”
“No.” Thumps stepped over each line in the sidewalk. “We’ll hear soon enough.”
“My sister used to do that,” said Cruz. “Step over the lines. Had a jingle to go with it.”
“Step on a crack, break your mother’s back?” “
That’s the one.” Cruz stepped over a line. “I used to step on every one, just to annoy her.”
“We’re going to have to go back, talk to Gage again.” “
Let’s give her enough time to make up a convincing story.” “
You don’t trust her.”
Cruz smiled. “I don’t trust anyone.”
SHERIFF DUKE HOCKNEY was sitting behind his desk, looking as though he had never left. Deanna had rearranged the furniture. Now the computer and monitor were sitting on a separate desk against the far wall.
Howdy the dog was squatted down next to the file cabinet, staring up at the box of Dumbo’s doughnuts.
“Watch out,” said Deanna. “The mutt’s crazy for pastry.” “
Turns out,” said Duke, “he’s a real police dog.”
“Deputy Dawg,” said Deanna.
“Who is a cartoon character,” said Duke. “But points for being clever.”
“He ate one of Duke’s chocolate cakes,” said Deanna. “Right off the desk.”
“Better than snacking on detergent pods.”
Howdy whined, his body twitched, his tail beat against the floor.
“He’s getting ready to make another try,” said Deanna.
“Fourth time,” said Duke. “You think he’d learn.”
“We had to move the coffee pot.” Deanna took out her cellphone, aimed it at the cabinet. “His first try almost took it out.”
Howdy’s body began to quiver and shake, and then the dog exploded off the floor, hit the side of the filing cabinet, yelping, as he tried to claw his way up the side.
“America’s Funniest Home Videos,” said Deanna. “Howdy’s sure to make the finals.”
“Got one paw over the edge this time,” said Duke. “You got to admire his dedication.”
Cruz walked to the cabinet, opened the box. “If you were a human,” he said to the dog, “you wouldn’t have to jump.”
Duke waited a beat, waited until Cruz had the doughnut in hand. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Howdy didn’t waste any time. As soon as the doughnut cleared the box, the dog was on Cruz like a bun on a burger.
“Hey.”
Cruz was quick, but he wasn’t quick enough.
“He took my doughnut!”
Duke turned to Deanna. “Did you get that?”
“I did,” said Deanna. “And it’s better footage than the cabinet leap.”
Howdy quickly disappeared into the back area with his booty.
“Jesus.” Cruz shook his hand. “Dog snot!”
“Welcome to my world.” Duke swung around in the chair. “Hear we found your woman.”
“Not my woman,” said Cruz.
“Kidnapped, beat up, dropped by the side of the road?” Duke cocked his head. “All on your watch?”
“I got shot.”
“Right,” said the sheriff. “That too.”
“Point is, she wasn’t shot.”
Deanna took a file out of the drawer. “Nor was she dropped by the side of the road. She was left at the far end of the airport parking lot. Statement and photos.”
“Still on your watch,” said Duke.
Cruz went to the doughnut box. Stopped, looked around to make sure Howdy was not in the room.
“That it?” Cruz took a bite of the doughnut. “Statement and photos?”
“Okay, maybe this will help.” Deanna turned to the monitor. “Remember that list of names you wanted me to research?”
“You found something?”
“A bunch of somethings, actually.” Deanna ran her fingers over the keyboard. “First up, Sorin Dalca is dead.”
“Except he’s not,” said Cruz.
“George Banks, Sarah Croce, and José Martinez are also dead.” Deanna worked her way down the screen. “Jing-Quo Lee went back to China. Living in Hong Kong. Namis Chodosh is teaching at the University of Florida. Dano Kolar is in Los Angeles doing special effects for movies. And Connie Lansky bought a ranch in Arizona.”
“Good work.”
“Para Bellum and Porter Kincaide are a somewhat different story,” said Deanna. “Appears the company is doing poorly. They invested heavily in AI technology that isn’t working out as well as expected.”
“AI,” said Duke. “Assholes Incorporated.”
“Artificial intelligence,” said Deanna. “The wave of the future. But it seems that the wave they were hoping for hasn’t come ashore just yet.”
Thumps nodded. “And Kincaide?”
“Nothing definitive,” said Deanna, “but if I were a betting woman, I’d make book on his being sick.”
Cruz stopped eating the doughnut. “Sick?”
“Nothing definitive,” said Deanna. “Rumours. According to several articles, he’s been to the Institut Gustave Roussy in Paris and Sloan Kettering in Manhattan.”
“Hospitals?”
“Cancer centres,” said Deanna. “Also checked on Nora Gage and Cisco Cruz.”
“Wait.” Cruz put the doughnut to one side, licked his fingers. “You had her run a check on me?”
“I did,” said Thumps.
“First thing I would have done,” said Duke.
“It seems Mr. Cruz is a ghost,” said Deanna. “Motor vehicles, nada. Social Security, nada. Birth records, nada. I found more on Duncan Renaldo than I found on the ninja assassin.”
Duke frowned. “Duncan Renaldo?” “
He played the Cisco Kid in the TV series.”
“Oh, right.” “
So,” said Deanna, “we’re dealing with Cisco Nada.”
“I can’t believe you guys ran a check on me.” Cruz went back to the doughnut. “You need to leave this alone.”
“Or what?” said Thumps. “Extraordinary renditions? Offshore black sites? Santa’s naughty list?”
Duke sat up straight. “A tax audit would certainly have me curled up by the chimney with care.”
Cruz closed his eyes. Long, exasperated sigh. “Does anyone know what happened at the tournament?”
Deanna turned around in her chair. “Do you care?”
“Not in the slightest,” said Cruz.
“So, you just want to change the subject.”
“Please.”
“Wutty shot four under.”
Thumps waited.
“Unfortunately, the winning score was eight under. Wutty came in seventh.”
“That’s pretty good,” said Thumps.
“And there’s a big party for the conquering hero,” said Deanna. “Out at Moses’s place. This evening. Everyone is invited.”
“For a guy who finished seventh?” Cruz shoved his hands in his pockets. “What am I missing?”
“Community,” said Deanna. “You’re missing community.”
Thumps’s phone went off. There it was again. That sudden startle, as though someone had hit him with a defibrillator.
“DreadfulWater . . . Yeah . . . Great, when? No, not a problem. Yes, I’ll tell him.”
Thumps put the phone back in his jacket. It was barely mid- afternoon and he was ready for a nap. Maybe give the holding cell a try before someone else beat him to it. That is, if the dog wasn’t using it.
“That was Gina at the hospital.”
Cruz looked at the ceiling. “Don’t tell me. Gage?”
“Gage,” said Thumps.
“She get kidnapped again?” said Deanna.
“You know,” said Duke, “we might have to start giving her the sheriff’s discount for search and rescue.”
Deanna smiled. “We have a discount?”
“Let me guess,” said Cruz. “The minute we left, she took off.”
“Took a bit to find her clothes,” said Thumps. “Then she left.”
“And we don’t know where she went.”
“Au contraire,” said Thumps.
“That’s French,” said Duke, “for ‘on the contrary.’ ”
“This time,” said Thumps, “she was good enough to leave a forwarding address.”
Howdy wandered out of the back area, his tongue hanging out, his eyes limpid and sad.
“Don’t forget the party,” said Deanna. “Share in the glory.”
GAGE HAD LEFT word with Gina that she would be checking into the Tucker. Hot bath, clean clothes, room service, cable television.
“The Tucker?” Cruz made a disparaging noise. “Government sure as hell isn’t paying for that. If they were, I’d be staying there.”
The Tucker House was a Chinook landmark, a limestone structure that had once been the tallest building in the town. The hotel opened for business in 1876, about the same time that George Armstrong Custer attacked an encampment of Lakota, Cheyenne, and Arapaho along the Little Bighorn River.
There was no other connection between the hotel and the event other than the band that George Tucker hired for the grand opening, which contained the same number of musicians as Custer’s regimental band, who played “Garryowen” as the good general rode off into Montana history.
“You think she’s actually there?”
“Only one way to find out.”
“If I have to chase her down again,” said Cruz, “I might think of killing her myself.”
In 1890, the Tucker lost its top floor to fire. Through that winter, marked by the massacre of Big Foot’s band of Lakota at the hands of a revitalized and well-armed Seventh Calvary, the hotel remained vacant. But by the summer of the new year, the hotel opened with fanfare and two new floors.
After the First World War, the Tucker fell into disrepair. Over the next eighty plus years, it was a hospital, a general store and warehouse, a theatre, a library, and a roller-skating rink. Then in 2002, a conglomerate out of Dallas and Los Angeles bought the property. The limestone was blasted and coated with a sealant that helped bring out the veining. Brass railings, stone steps at the entrance, and a deep-red all-weather carpet were added, and the Tucker House was once again an upscale hotel.
“Did you have your deputy do a background check just to annoy me?”
“What aren’t you telling me about Black Ice and Nora Gage?”
“We going to spend the rest of the day accusing each other?”
“I’m the sheriff,” said Thumps, “so I get to do all the accusing I want.”
“You’re a photographer who is filling in for a man who lost his wife.”
Thumps stopped on the stone steps of the Tucker House. “And exactly what are you?”
“You going to let me read the incident report?”
Thumps handed Cruz the folder. “Report reminds me of you. Thin and vague.”
“Pendejo, I’m not thin. I’m wiry.”
THE YOUNG MAN at the front desk looked as though he had been detailed by a full-service salon. “Adrian,” according to the gold name tag. Every hair on his head was in place. His skin was glowing. His nails buffed and polished.
Thumps felt like workboots standing next to a pair of Ferragamo loafers. Even the man’s voice had a musical ring to it that only comes with practice.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Adrian smiled, so you could see all his teeth at once. “How may I be of service?”
“Nora Gage,” said Cruz.
“Ah, yes. Ms. Gage said she was expecting visitors.”
“We’re them,” said Thumps, and immediately regretted the grammar. Or was it the syntax?
“Names?”
“Why?”
“And your email addresses,” said Adrian. “If you don’t mind.”
Thumps kept his tone under control. “Why would you want our email addresses?”
“We’d like to send you a survey. So you can share your Tucker House experience.”
“Pass,” said Cruz.
“There’s a draw at the end of each month,” said Adrian. “Some very nice prizes.”
THE ELEVATORS HAD been renovated since the last time Thumps was at the Tucker. The dark wood interior had been replaced with western murals and a brass railing.
Cruz pressed the button for the third floor. “I’m still not used to guys with earrings.”
Thumps yawned. “I remember when long hair and miniskirts were an abomination unto the sight of god.”
“Were you ever tempted to get your ears pierced?”
“Nope.”
“Nose? How about tattoos?” Cruz leaned against the railing. “Is it me or was Adrian wearing eye makeup?”
ROOM 346 WAS AT the end of a long hall. There was a Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob.
Thumps gave the sign a tap, watched it swing back and forth. “I suppose you want to be bad cop?”
“Why don’t we both be bad cop,” said Cruz. “That always confuses the hell out of suspects.”
“And exactly what do we suspect Gage of doing?”
Cruz pressed the buzzer. “How about we start with lying to sworn officers of the law and go from there.”