Adios Angel Read online

  “I’m staying right by your side, Del,” said Corita. “You are going to be better real soon. I can feel it in my bones.”

  Delbert did not move a muscle. Delbert could not move a muscle.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I’d say you have a lucky star shining over your head. Maybe even a guardian angel or two. For sure the Ga’an are keeping their eyes on you.”

  Eskadi Black Robes, tribal chairman of the San Carlos Apache Reservation, shut the door to Deputy Kate Steele’s office and wrapped his arms tenderly around her. The blunt truth of his comment about the Apache Gods keeping an eye on her sent a peaceful awareness through her. A flying brick had missed her head by inches. Broken pieces of brick had struck her face causing a small cut over her right eye. Her uniform had been splattered with dust and shattered bits of concrete and clay. Both she and Sheriff Hanks had only minor injuries.

  “You are right, Eskadi. Someone or some greater power was looking after me.”

  Josh Diamond was not quite so lucky. Now, almost two days after the explosion, Josh was fresh out of the hospital with three fractured ribs, a broken wrist and enough cuts and bruises to make him look like he had been sucker punched in a street fight. Doc Yackley had made him stay the extra day as he was concerned about possible internal bleeding and organ swelling. Deputy Funke, according to Doc Yackley, took a direct hit from a ten-inch brick to the base of the skull and has a skull fracture, a severe concussion and maybe worse.

  “You must have the luck o’ the Irish, eh, lassie?”

  Eskadi’s attempted Irish brogue left more than a little to the imagination.

  “I don’t know what it was, the Ga’an or leprechauns or…” Kate patted her left shirt pocket. Inside was her inherited good luck charm, a baseball card of Lefty Mathewson, the great New York Giants pitcher from the early 1900’s.

  “Whatever it was that saved you, I, for one, am awfully glad about it. What do you hear about Deputy Funke? Is he doing any better?”

  “The sheriff just called from the hospital. Delbert’s the same. Dr. Yackley didn’t give the sheriff any good news. Sheriff Hanks said Doc sounded uncertain as to any progress Delbert might make any time soon.”

  “How about the other guy? The one with the bloodhounds? What’s his name, Jim somebody?”

  “Josh Diamond.” Kate was sure Eskadi knew Josh’s name.

  “Josh Diamond,” cackled Eskadi. “Now there’s a White man’s name for you.”

  “Josh is okay. He just got released from the hospital according to Helen. I guess they wanted him to stay one more day, but he wouldn’t have it.”

  “Tough guy, eh?”

  “Independent might be a better word for it.”

  “He’s new around here, isn’t he?”

  “He’s an old border patrol friend of the sheriff’s. They worked hard to bring in some very bad people who were trafficking both humans and drugs across the border. You sound like you don’t like him?”

  “He’s just another White man living in Indian Territory as far as I’m concerned.”

  Kate knew it was time to change the subject.

  “Can we get down to business?”

  “What? It’s not good enough for me to come into town just to see you?” asked Eskadi. “We have to do some business together?”

  “What’s with you? You come in sounding like an Irishmen and the next thing I know you’re sounding like a Jewish banker.”

  “Good one, huh? I’m just getting in some practice for the Morenci Rodeo Days talent contest. I’m going to mimic as many different tribes of White people as possible,” laughed Eskadi.

  “You never let up do you?”

  “A guy has to have his shtick.”

  “Okay, funny man, let’s have a listen to the tape. I want to know if you recognize the voice. I know it’s a long shot, but everyone around here seems to think the person is at least part Mescalero.”

  Eskadi Black Robes stood silently staring out the window, hands clasped behind his firm muscular back, as Kate played the tape.

  “Play it again, please.”

  Kate admired Eskadi’s physique. His shiny, black hair traveled over his broad shoulders, stopping near his waist and firm buttocks. The sleeves of his black tee shirt stretched tightly over his upper arms exhibited perfectly formed triceps.

  “It’s definitely not the voice of a San Carlos Apache. The man does speak like a Mexican, excuse me, Hispanic, who spent more than a little time conversing with Apaches. He has stolen a little inflection from our dialect. I do have to say, he does have a Mescalero accent.”

  “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me you recognize the voice?”

  “I can’t help you with that. That is going to take real police work. That is the reason you make the big money and the rest of us just scratch out a living.”

  “You’re a laugh a minute,” chided Kate.

  “I’ll bet you anything he speaks Hispanic with a Mescalero accent, just like he does English,” said Eskadi.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” said Kate. “You also mentioned you might know something about the stolen cars?”

  “I’ve heard some talk that might interest you. It’s one of those little stories one person mentions to another and another until finally it passes through enough people it make its way to the tribal office. Sometimes I feel like I live in gossip central.”

  “That’s the way the whole world works. Please tell me what you have.”

  “By the time the story reached me it went like this. Eugene Topy was fishing for small mouth bass over at the big lake. He fell asleep and dreamed of wild animals. In his dream he heard a coyote howling. Naturally he woke up and looked around. After he realized it was a dream he noticed his rod and reel were missing. To hear him tell it, some big fish nabbed it and took it right to the bottom of the lake. Hannah Udom, his cousin, told me about it. She claims it serves him right because he was probably drunk anyway. I talked with Eugene. He says he only had two beers and was as sober as a White man at work.”

  The absurd human details of Eskadi’s stories were endearing to Kate.

  “It started to rain pretty hard and Eugene decided to go home in case a big storm was coming in. He moseyed over to his truck and took a back road home. He wasn’t in any particular hurry because his wife’s twin sister and her five kids were staying with them. He knew he would catch holy heck from the both of them when they found out he lost his fishing gear. Eugene had been bragging earlier about all the fish he was going to bring home. Now, not only was he empty-handed, he had to find a way to scrape together a few dollars to buy some new fishing equipment. His wife controls the money, and Eugene says she’s pretty tight with a buck.”

  Kate knew Eugene Topy. He and his wife ran a little burrito stand at community gatherings on the reservation. He was a big man, four hundred pounds and six and half feet tall. His wife, Melina, couldn’t have been five feet tall and was as thin as a reed in a dry lake.

  “When Eugene pulled up to the house, they figured out pretty quickly that he had been skunked at the lake. They put on an act like they were practically starving to death and ready to eat any old bottom fish he might have been able to drag up. Melina, her sister and all those kids were sitting there at the table with a knife in one hand and a fork in the other. They were pounding on the table, making a great big scene. When he told them he didn’t have any fish, they chased him out of the house. He said they were screaming that they were going to cut off his leg, cook it up with some sour greens and eat it for dinner. Poor old Eugene hopped back into his truck, rolled up the windows and locked the doors. He was sure they had gone crazy. He started honking the horn and shouting at them. Finally, he got up enough courage, opened the window just a crack and asked them if they had eaten locoweed. When those sisters heard that, they started laughing so hard they fell down on the ground and started rolling around. That’s when Melina noticed it.”

  “Noticed what?” asked Kate.

  “
When she was rolling around on the ground, she looked up and noticed the license plate on the truck was missing. Eugene bought the truck over in Tucson. He never bothered to get new plates when the old ones expired. Maybe he didn’t want to pay for them. Maybe his wife wouldn’t give him the money. Who knows? He never got arrested because he only drove the back roads from his house to the lake.”

  “But now without any plate at all, Melina figured he might get pulled over?” asked Kate.

  “Exactly,” said Eskadi. “I guess she scolded him so bad it didn’t take him long to make the decision to come into the tribal office and tell me about it.”

  “What did he think you were going to do?”

  “He figured if he told the tribal police he had been driving the truck for over three years without legitimate reservation plates, they might run him in. He asked me what to do. He wanted me to straighten out his mess for him.”

  “What did you tell him?” asked Kate.

  “I told him if he brought me the truck’s registration, I would help him get some valid plates. He didn’t have the registration card. I don’t think he even knew what it was. So we got the vehicle identification number off the truck and I called the motor vehicle department in Tucson. That was yesterday morning.”

  “What exactly is this leading to?”

  “You were telling me about all the stolen cars. It seemed ironic to me. Whites steal cars, Hispanics steal hubcaps and Indians just steal the license plates. Now that’s what I call progressive poverty.”

  “Is that part of your shtick for the talent show too?”

  “It wasn’t. But now that you mention it…”

  Kate rolled her eyes.

  “About the DMV?”

  “The DMV called me back this morning. They wanted to know who owned the truck. I explained all I wanted was to transfer the title. I told them since it was a reservation vehicle it was none of their damn business who owned it. Which, it isn’t. I was polite as punch. They demanded to know who owned the truck.”

  Kate shook her head.

  “I’ll just bet, knowing how much you like government officials, nothing they said sat too well with you…especially after how you tried to be so cooperative.”

  “When I wouldn’t kowtow to their jack boot style of questioning, they got all huffy. I hung up on them. All ghost skins want to do is make life miserable for the rest of us.”

  “Did you ever hear the old saying, ‘You attract more flies with honey than with vinegar’?”

  “Why should I be nice to them? When was the last time the government did anything to help America’s First People?”

  Kate knew Eskdai had a bit of a point. “Was that the end of it?” asked Kate.

  “Hell no. About two minutes later a detective with Arizona Highway Patrol called. He asked me a bunch of questions about the truck. According to him it wasn’t possible the plates had just been stolen. He claimed they were in the hands of the Tucson police and had been for over a week. The detective said the state was going to send an investigator down to talk to me. I’m sure they think it’s my truck.”

  “Did they explain why the police had the plates? Did they say what they wanted?”

  “Not exactly. They said they found them on a stolen car that had been abandoned at a wayside rest. They just said they were coming down to the reservation today to have a little chat with me.”

  “Today? When today?”

  “I imagine they’re out there waiting for me now.”

  “Are you purposely trying to put a bee in their bonnet?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  “You should show at least a modicum of respect.”

  “Why? Let them wait. We Apaches have been waiting for over a hundred years for any kind of satisfaction from those scoundrels who stole our land. Why should I go out of my way to make their life easier?”

  “It wasn’t the state highway department or the state police who stole Apache land. You know that.”

  “It’s close enough. Both of them work for the big White machine in Washington.”

  Kate found Eskadi’s incorrigible, anti-establishment behavior both charming and alarming. As tribal chairman he knew working cooperatively with the powers that be could prove beneficial. If he angered the wrong political people, the amount of hassle brought on the people of the San Carlos Reservation could be significant. Yet, when it came to dealing with the bureaucracies, he was as stubborn as a mule and as troublesome as a wild child.

  “What are you going to tell them?” she asked.

  “It depends on what they ask me.”

  “You’re going to be forthcoming with them, aren’t you?”

  Did you ever meet an Indian that wasn’t honest?”

  Eskadi raised his hand, mimicking and mocking the stereotypical pose of a cigar store Indian.

  “I swear, you are a little bit loco,” laughed Kate. “Promise me you’ll let me know what happens?”

  “Of course. Why do you think I’m here right now?”

  “I thought maybe you just wanted to see me,” replied Kate.

  “Then maybe after I talk with them, I’ll have a reason to come back and see you again. Or maybe you’ll have a reason to stop by and see me. It’s been a while since you’ve been up to the Rez.”

  Helen’s knock on the door interrupted what had become a far too infrequent personal moment between the pair.

  “Deputy Steele, Josh Diamond is here. He’s asking to talk with you.”

  “Tell him it will be just a minute.”

  “Official business, I presume?” asked Eskadi.

  “Don’t get jealous. He is a very good man, but not necessarily my type.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Besides, someone’s already got their designs on me...or so I’ve been led to believe.”

  Eskadi’s deep ebony eyes smiled as broadly as his lips.

  “I will call you.”

  Eskadi cast a stern expression in the direction of the ruggedly handsome Josh Diamond as they passed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Josh, have a seat.”

  “Thank you, Deputy Steele.”

  “Call me Kate, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Josh Diamond’s soft southern accent puzzled her. Sheriff Hanks had mentioned that Josh had moved to Safford from Bisbee, a small town near the Mexican border in central Arizona. The sheriff had also said they had served together as young men working for the border patrol. Before that, Josh had enlisted in the Marines and had served in Desert Storm, the first Iraqi war.

  In the few short months he had lived in town, rumors about his past were plentiful. He had allegedly been a member of the Special Forces in Iraq and Kuwait, a military operative behind enemy lines in Bosnia, and a Texas bounty hunter. Most of them were just that, rumors. The serenity and calmness in his face deeply contrasted with the image of a man possibly involved in such a vast array of human hunting endeavors.

  The truth, in fact, was that he had worked with bomb sniffing German Shepherds in combat and non-combat situations in Kuwait. He trained, handled and ultimately was deployed in the field with these dogs. He referred to himself as a military dog handler when asked by those close to him.

  “The county has arranged to take care of your hospital bills.” Kate slid an official form across the desk toward him. “Just sign on the dotted line. Press hard, it’s in triplicate.”

  “Thank you,” said Josh sliding the form back at Kate. “It’s not necessary. I have health insurance and I never get the chance to use it. I might as well get something for all those premiums I pay,” laughed Josh.

  “Are you certain? All I have to do is send this form over to the hospital and everything will be taken care of.”

  “I’m sure it will. But let’s keep the taxpayers from footing this bill.”

  “Then let me extend my official thank you from the sheriff’s department and the citizens of Graham County for helping us.”

  “For getting in the way
of flying debris?”

  The injured man raised the arm cast and beamed broadly.

  “And the broken bones,” added Kate, returning the smile.

  “Your thanks is officially noted and accepted,” said Josh.

  “Fair enough.”

  Sheriff Hanks walked past Deputy Steele’s office and stuck his head in the doorway, interrupting what was quickly becoming a flirtatious encounter.

  “How you feeling, Josh?” asked Zeb.

  “Doing all right,” replied Josh. “Even better now.”

  Zeb looked at his old friend, looked at his deputy and looked back at Josh.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Reporting a crime.”

  “You’ve only been out of the hospital for a couple of hours,” said Zeb. “What’s happened?”

  “While I was looking for bombs and getting patched up in the hospital, somebody broke into my store. Five handguns, a fair amount of ammunition, some merchandise and a personal item, a flak jacket, were stolen. I made a complete list of the missing items. The guns are all registered to the store. I need you to come check it out. I already left a message with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. They told me to talk to you. Here is the list of what is missing.”

  “The ATF was here yesterday looking at the bomb site at the grade school. They are still around. I imagine they will add the break-in at your store to their list of work to do.”

  Josh nodded and handed a meticulously typed note to the sheriff. He briefly studied the list, handed it to his deputy and glanced back at his friend. With his hand in the cast, he must have pecked the list out one key at a time. The stolen handguns included four .38’s and a .22. The ammunition included 24 boxes of one hundred count NyClad HP for the .38’s and one 250-count box of .22 cartridges. The holsters were a special type of military issue that each held two guns, shoulder variety. The flak jacket was standard police issue. The gun cleaning kit was top of the line, Otis Elite.

  “You have an alarm system. How did they bypass that?”