Black Hills
Page 65
“They’d do fine,” Gull told him. “That Jake? He’s been coming around every year for the six years I’ve been working the outfit with your grandpa. He knows what he’s doing.”
“They’re going to get shit-faced tonight.”
“Yah,” Gull said, mimicking their accent. “You betcha. Anyhow, we could use more groups like that.” Gull watched their progress from under the brim of his battered brown hat. “We’ll be getting them now that it’s coming on spring.”
“It may be coming on spring, but those boys are going to freeze their dicks off tonight pissing out that beer.”
Gull grinned. “Well, yeah. Hope it thaws out for the groom before the honeymoon. So, boss, I got that guided in another hour. Family trail ride. The pa runs a good two-eighty. I was going to put him up on Sasquash.”
“He’s good to go. Do you have any plans for tonight, Gull?”
“Can’t say I do.” Gull’s grin widened with his wink. “You asking me on a date, boss?”
“I’m too shy,” Coop said, and it made Gull guffaw. “Lil’s had some trouble over at her place.”
“I heard about it.”
“She could use some help, if a man didn’t mind freezing his dick off.”
Gull gave his crotch a subtle pat. “South Dakota peckers don’t freeze so easy as a drunk’s from Fargo.”
“Must be from all the jerking off,” Coop mused, and put Gull in stitches again. “Can you take a turn at guard duty over there tonight? Say two to six?”
“Sure, boss, I can do that. Need anybody else?”
No hesitation, Coop thought. No complaint. “I could use two more men who you trust not to shoot themselves, or anybody else.”
“I’ll see what I can do about that. I’ll think on it. I guess I’ll go see about getting those box lunches for this guided.”
“I’ll check them in when they get here.”
When they parted ways, Coop went to the storefront. The old desk faced the window and gave him a view of Deadwood that wasn’t quite what he imagined Calamity Jane and Wild Bill had seen in their day. Still, it maintained its Western flavor, with its awnings and architecture and old-timey lampposts. Its feel, he supposed, as the town spread and climbed its way up the hills. Cowboys mixed with the tourists; saloons cozied up to souvenir shops.
And a man could find a game of poker or blackjack day or night if he wanted to gamble. But the proprietors weren’t likely to murder a man in the back room and feed him to the pigs.
Progress.
He dealt with the paperwork, the forms and waivers, so he could move the family group along when they arrived. And so he could carve some time for his own devices.
He pulled a ginger ale out of the cold box, since he’d buzzed his blood on coffee that morning. People passed by, and some likely glanced in. They’d see a man going about his business, keyboarding on a computer that, to Coop’s mind, desperately needed replacing.
He opened Lil’s file. He might not be an investigator anymore, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten how to investigate. He’d have preferred being sure her list of staff, interns, and volunteers was complete. But he had enough to keep him busy. The staff, past and current, hadn’t netted him a thing. He probably knew more about all of them now than some would be comfortable with, but he knew more about a lot of people than most were comfortable with.
Though Jean-Paul had not technically been staff, Coop had done a run on him. Broken relationships were petri dishes waiting to brew trouble. He knew the French guy had been married and divorced in his early twenties. It was likely Lil had that information, and since it didn’t seem to be relevant, Coop simply filed it away. He found no criminal, and a current address in Los Angeles.
Stay there, Coop thought.
He’d uncovered a few criminal brushes on staff, but nothing more violent than the vet having a scuffle during a protest on animal testing fifteen years earlier.
The former interns comprised a bigger chunk. They were a diverse group, economically, geographically, academically. He followed some through college, grad school, into careers. A quick scan showed Coop that a high percentage of interns Lil had trained pursued careers somewhere in the field.
He found some scrapes with the law as he picked his way through. Drugs, DUIs, a couple of assaults and/or destruction of property-usually connected to drugs or alcohol.
Those would earn a closer look.
He did the same with the volunteers-any whose names actually made it into the files, he thought, annoyed.
He culled out any who’d lived in or moved to the Dakotas. Proximity could be a factor, and he believed whoever was harassing Lil knew the hills as well as she did.
In the tedious way it demanded, he cross-referenced the assaults, the drug busts, the DUIs with geography, and got a single hit.
Ethan Richard Howe, age thirty-one. A trespassing hit in Sturgis, and that was close, when he’d been twenty, charges dropped. Carrying a concealed weapon-.22 revolver-without a license two years later in Wyoming. And an assault that looked like a bar fight and had put him inside for a year and a half in Montana at the ripe old age of twenty-five.
Early release, time off for good behavior. And, thought the former cop, to move inmates out as others moved in.
Three hits, Coop mused, one for being where he didn’t belong, one for a weapon, and the last for violence. He’d give Howe a closer look.
He started to move on, then had to break as the Dobsons arrived-Tom, Sherry, and their two teenage daughters-for check-in.
He knew his job and it was more than getting forms signed, more than making sure the customers could actually sit a horse. He chatted with the father, gave little back stories on each of the horses. Took time as if he had an endless supply of it in his pockets.
“It’s a good, easy trail,” he assured Sherry, who seemed more nervous than excited. “There’s nothing like seeing the hills on horseback.”
“But we’ll be back well before dark.”
“Gull will have you back by four.”
“You hear about people getting lost.”
“Now, Sherry,” Tom began.
“Gull grew up here,” Coop assured her. “He knows the trails, and so do the horses. You couldn’t be in better hands.”
“I haven’t been on horseback in ten years.” Sherry stepped onto the mounting block Coop provided. “I’m going to ache in places I forgot I had.”
“They’re going to get shit-faced tonight.”
“Yah,” Gull said, mimicking their accent. “You betcha. Anyhow, we could use more groups like that.” Gull watched their progress from under the brim of his battered brown hat. “We’ll be getting them now that it’s coming on spring.”
“It may be coming on spring, but those boys are going to freeze their dicks off tonight pissing out that beer.”
Gull grinned. “Well, yeah. Hope it thaws out for the groom before the honeymoon. So, boss, I got that guided in another hour. Family trail ride. The pa runs a good two-eighty. I was going to put him up on Sasquash.”
“He’s good to go. Do you have any plans for tonight, Gull?”
“Can’t say I do.” Gull’s grin widened with his wink. “You asking me on a date, boss?”
“I’m too shy,” Coop said, and it made Gull guffaw. “Lil’s had some trouble over at her place.”
“I heard about it.”
“She could use some help, if a man didn’t mind freezing his dick off.”
Gull gave his crotch a subtle pat. “South Dakota peckers don’t freeze so easy as a drunk’s from Fargo.”
“Must be from all the jerking off,” Coop mused, and put Gull in stitches again. “Can you take a turn at guard duty over there tonight? Say two to six?”
“Sure, boss, I can do that. Need anybody else?”
No hesitation, Coop thought. No complaint. “I could use two more men who you trust not to shoot themselves, or anybody else.”
“I’ll see what I can do about that. I’ll think on it. I guess I’ll go see about getting those box lunches for this guided.”
“I’ll check them in when they get here.”
When they parted ways, Coop went to the storefront. The old desk faced the window and gave him a view of Deadwood that wasn’t quite what he imagined Calamity Jane and Wild Bill had seen in their day. Still, it maintained its Western flavor, with its awnings and architecture and old-timey lampposts. Its feel, he supposed, as the town spread and climbed its way up the hills. Cowboys mixed with the tourists; saloons cozied up to souvenir shops.
And a man could find a game of poker or blackjack day or night if he wanted to gamble. But the proprietors weren’t likely to murder a man in the back room and feed him to the pigs.
Progress.
He dealt with the paperwork, the forms and waivers, so he could move the family group along when they arrived. And so he could carve some time for his own devices.
He pulled a ginger ale out of the cold box, since he’d buzzed his blood on coffee that morning. People passed by, and some likely glanced in. They’d see a man going about his business, keyboarding on a computer that, to Coop’s mind, desperately needed replacing.
He opened Lil’s file. He might not be an investigator anymore, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten how to investigate. He’d have preferred being sure her list of staff, interns, and volunteers was complete. But he had enough to keep him busy. The staff, past and current, hadn’t netted him a thing. He probably knew more about all of them now than some would be comfortable with, but he knew more about a lot of people than most were comfortable with.
Though Jean-Paul had not technically been staff, Coop had done a run on him. Broken relationships were petri dishes waiting to brew trouble. He knew the French guy had been married and divorced in his early twenties. It was likely Lil had that information, and since it didn’t seem to be relevant, Coop simply filed it away. He found no criminal, and a current address in Los Angeles.
Stay there, Coop thought.
He’d uncovered a few criminal brushes on staff, but nothing more violent than the vet having a scuffle during a protest on animal testing fifteen years earlier.
The former interns comprised a bigger chunk. They were a diverse group, economically, geographically, academically. He followed some through college, grad school, into careers. A quick scan showed Coop that a high percentage of interns Lil had trained pursued careers somewhere in the field.
He found some scrapes with the law as he picked his way through. Drugs, DUIs, a couple of assaults and/or destruction of property-usually connected to drugs or alcohol.
Those would earn a closer look.
He did the same with the volunteers-any whose names actually made it into the files, he thought, annoyed.
He culled out any who’d lived in or moved to the Dakotas. Proximity could be a factor, and he believed whoever was harassing Lil knew the hills as well as she did.
In the tedious way it demanded, he cross-referenced the assaults, the drug busts, the DUIs with geography, and got a single hit.
Ethan Richard Howe, age thirty-one. A trespassing hit in Sturgis, and that was close, when he’d been twenty, charges dropped. Carrying a concealed weapon-.22 revolver-without a license two years later in Wyoming. And an assault that looked like a bar fight and had put him inside for a year and a half in Montana at the ripe old age of twenty-five.
Early release, time off for good behavior. And, thought the former cop, to move inmates out as others moved in.
Three hits, Coop mused, one for being where he didn’t belong, one for a weapon, and the last for violence. He’d give Howe a closer look.
He started to move on, then had to break as the Dobsons arrived-Tom, Sherry, and their two teenage daughters-for check-in.
He knew his job and it was more than getting forms signed, more than making sure the customers could actually sit a horse. He chatted with the father, gave little back stories on each of the horses. Took time as if he had an endless supply of it in his pockets.
“It’s a good, easy trail,” he assured Sherry, who seemed more nervous than excited. “There’s nothing like seeing the hills on horseback.”
“But we’ll be back well before dark.”
“Gull will have you back by four.”
“You hear about people getting lost.”
“Now, Sherry,” Tom began.
“Gull grew up here,” Coop assured her. “He knows the trails, and so do the horses. You couldn’t be in better hands.”
“I haven’t been on horseback in ten years.” Sherry stepped onto the mounting block Coop provided. “I’m going to ache in places I forgot I had.”
