Shallow Grave-J Collins 3 (15 page)

I half-dozed. My front door opened. I didn’t get up; I knew my visitor was Martinez.

When Martinez started staying overnight with me frequently, his bodyguards had insisted on installing a security system. I thought it was a bunch of bullshit, but I knew better than to argue with four 250 pound armed gorillas.

My alternative was to have his security team parked in my house every time Martinez showed up. Restricting our amorous activities to the bedroom would put a serious crimp in our sex life. Plus, I didn’t know if I could even
have
an orgasm with No-neck in the next room.

Beep
beep
echoed as he reset the alarm.

Leather creaked as he removed his jacket and his vest. His boots hit the fl oor. A jangle of chains chinked on the coff ee table. He’d divested himself of his wallet and his keys.
Th

ud
. His knife. Louder thud. His gun. Another series of beeps and he’d shut off both his cell phones.

He yanked back the blanket and crawled on top of me.

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“Hey!”

“Scoot over. It’s damn cold out there.” Martinez burrowed in behind me until his back molded into the cushions.

After covering us up with the quilt, he twined his arms and legs around me and kissed the top of my head.

It surprised me tough guy Martinez was so . . . dare I say, cuddly? Personal space wasn’t an issue when we were together because I had none.

I didn’t have the energy to be churlish. I was glad he’d shown up. “You okay?” I murmured.

“Tired. Can’t believe how fucking tired I am today.”

It was unusual for him to acknowledge the smallest fallacy to me. I kissed his chin. “So take a nap.”

“Maybe just a short one.”

He fell asleep right after the words left his mouth.

I closed my eyes, curled into him, and let the events of the day disappear.

M M M

Martinez woke up a couple hours later feeling refreshed.

Very
refreshed. While I picked up my scattered clothes and put them back on, he rattled around in the kitchen.

After he fi nished his snack, he didn’t look very relaxed and was staring at me oddly.

“What?”

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“What did you do today?”

I blinked. What the hell? Martinez and I never swapped “How-was-your-day-today-dear?” stories. Something was defi nitely up with him. I doubted he’d tell me so I played it cool. “Worked on a case.”

“Anything interesting?”

By the way his black eyes bored into me I knew his wasn’t a casual question. But I’d promised the sheriff I’d keep the bone discovery confi dential and frankly, I had no desire to rehash that nasty business anyway.

“Nah. Same old, same old.” I studied his face.

“What about you? What did
you
do today?”

Pause. “Same shit, diff erent day.”

Th

e way emotion bled from his eyes indicated he was either hiding something or fl at-out lying.

“Yeah? Th

ings working with Jackal? He was an ass-

hole the other day.”

“Jackal is Jackal.”

I counted to ten. Twenty. He stayed mute. “I’m going to bed.”

He scowled at me. “Now? It’s early.”

“Maybe in the bar business 11:00 is early. I have to be to work by eight.”

“You’d better get used to the late hours. You’re bartending at Bare Assets tomorrow night, remember?”

I’d completely forgotten. “What time?”

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“Crystal needs you there at six.”

“Fine. I’m still going to bed.”

After a short pit stop in the bathroom, I wandered to my bedroom. I stripped. Peeled the quilt back and saw Martinez lounging against the doorjamb. “What?”

“Th

at felt like a dismissal, blondie.”

“It was if you plan on leaving.”

“And if I want to stay?”

“You won’t. You fuck and run. And since we’re done with the fi rst one . . .”

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Darkness hid the blush staining my cheeks. I crept between the sheets and willed sleep to come quickly.

Th

e bed shifted. Th

e covers lifted. Th

en his hot,

naked body rocked against mine.

I scooted to the far edge of the bed.

Martinez chuckled confi dently in my ear. Th en he

put his hands and his mouth and his sexual whammy on me and I was putty.

Pathetic.

Later, as I drifted to sleep, I murmured, “Stay with me tonight, Tony. Don’t leave.”

But I woke early the next morning alone.

I rarely asked Martinez for anything. Whenever he’d asked me to stay with him, I had, every time, without questions, without parameters, because I knew if 165

he’d asked, then he’d needed me.

It stung my pride to fi nd out my needs weren’t important to him. But mostly, it hurt.

So instead of my usual method of lashing out, I reversed course and pulled inward—a turtle retreating to the safety of that hard shell. And I’d be damned if Martinez would get a chance to crack it again.

M M M

An hour later, after I’d parked in the offi ce parking lot,

a rusty green extended cab van pulled up next to me, blocking me in. Th

e driver’s side door opened and a big

Indian guy/Sumo wrestler scrambled for my truck and rapped on the window.

Fear lanced me like a spear. I said, “Yes?” through the glass.

Th

e Lakota giant grinned. “He wants to speak to you.”

I scanned his bare arms. No bloody dagger tattoo, so the summons wasn’t from Martinez. “He who?”

“Marlon.”

Yikes. “Where is he?”

“In the van. Come on. I’ll take you to him.”

I hit the door lock button.

Lakota/Sumo guy laughed. “A little paranoid, eh?”

“Do you really think I’m stupid enough to get in a 166

van with two strange men?”

His jocularity fl ed. “Marlon Blue Legs is a Lakota Holy man. An honored member of the Sihasapa tribe and a decorated Vietnam veteran.”

“Yeah, well, bully for him. But I’ve only got your word that it’s actually him chilling in the Mystery Machine.”

“Don’t you know Marlon?”

“No. Just his name.”

He frowned and muttered, “
Ah-chay
?” Th en it

dawned on him and he grinned again. “Hang on. I will get him.”

Lakota/Sumo guy lumbered to the sliding van door.

A mechanized fl at silver platform swung out from the side and dropped parallel to the open door.

Th

en a man in a wheelchair slowly rolled onto the platform.

My jaw dropped. Marlon Blue Legs had
no
legs.

Now I felt like a complete heel. I waited until his wheelchair was on the ground before I exited my truck.

Marlon off ered his hand. “Julie Collins?”

“Yes.” I clasped his cool dry hand in both of mine.

“Sorry about making you get out. But I’ve had some run-ins in the past with guys who weren’t so nice. And

‘talk to you’ is a euphemism for ‘beat you up’.”

“Ah. I have no intention of beating you up. But I would like to speak to you, if you’ve got time.”

167

“I’ll make time.”

His smile landed squarely between charming and threatening. Something inside me screamed a warning.

“Shall we have this discussion over pigs-in-a-blanket at Tally’s?”

I nodded.

Lakota/Sumo guy wheeled Marlon down the sidewalk and I trooped along behind.

Once we were seated at a handicapped accessible table in the back room, and we’d ordered our breakfast, I studied the mysterious Marlon Blue Legs.

I guessed his age to be middle-sixties. He could’ve been sent from a Hollywood casting agent. From the waist up his appearance gelled perfectly with my mental depiction of an Indian Holy man. Burnished red skin.

Th

e lines on his thin face were jagged and deeply grooved beside his high cheekbones. Th

ose lines continued up

across his narrow forehead. Long gray hair was plaited into two braids, which hung to his sternum.

He gazed at me with clear wise eyes the color of shale.

Yeah, I blushed. Big time. I’d been fl at-out sizing him up. It didn’t seem to bother him because he fl ashed me his mostly toothless grin again.

“Is good to know the face of your enemies as well as your friends, eh?”

I wouldn’t want this guy for an enemy. I sensed 168

aggression beneath the benign smile. “I suppose. So, which are you?”

He didn’t answer, merely gawked at me.

“I’ll warn you, I’ve got plenty of enemies. So, I’m hoping we’re friends since in the last couple of days I learned you were friends with my brother, Ben Standing Elk.”

“Yes, Ben was a friend of mine. And a pupil.”

Pupil? “You’re a teacher?”

“Among other things.”

Great. Another round of secret bullshit. “I heard you met Ben when you worked together for the tribe?”

“My friendship with Ben went beyond a working relationship. But, yes, that’s initially why the tribe hired me. I’m afraid I didn’t last long as an employee.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, several reasons.”

God. Th

is was like pulling teeth—if he had any.

“Such as?”

“Because I lost respect for the tribal council who sold our souls for games of chance and nickel slot machines.”

“But didn’t you know what you were supposed to be doing when you took the job?”

Our food arrived. Steaming plates of fl uff y pan-cakes, drenched in butter, wrapped around a thick link 169

of buff alo sausage. Lakota/Sumo guy dumped his whole pitcher of syrup on his stack. And then he grabbed mine.

And Marlon’s. Th

e poor waitress should’ve just brought

the maple tree.

Breakfast was a silent, serious aff air.

After I forced myself to eat, my nicotine habit made me jittery. I hoped Marlon would get to the point so I could satisfy my Marlboro craving, because so far, this visit was totally pointless.

Fresh coff ee, full bellies. What was he waiting for?

I sighed.

Marlon gave me a tolerant smile, which set my teeth on edge.

“You have questions.”

“Well, yeah. Th

is pupil-student-working friend sit-

uation might’ve happened years ago for you, but it’s news to me. Okay, so you hated the tribal council, but liked my brother. Where did Roland Hawk fi t in?”

An expression of distaste fl itted across his craggy face. “As much as I didn’t like Roland or his tactics, his attitude served my purpose as well.”

“Which was?”

“To know the face of my enemy.”

Snap.
I’d hit the end of my patience. I set my elbows on the sticky table. “I’m tired of the cryptic Lakota wise man crap, Marlon. Tell me something new about 170

my brother, and what he was doing with you, or I’m out of here.”

Lakota/Sumo guy growled. I growled back.

“Spirituality is a private thing, Julie. I owed Ben his privacy even in death.”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Ben and I stayed in contact after we were fi red.

When Ben was in Arizona, the Hopi people showed him a better, simpler way of living. He returned here brimming with plans and ideas on how to keep Bear Butte a Holy place, where all people could fi nd themselves and not lose an arm and a leg to the addition of gambling—

pardon the pun. As expected, he met with resistance from the tribe, his friends, and his family. It was a frustrating time for him.

“He had no place to go so I took him in. With my help, Ben reconnected to the spiritual course he’d begun in Arizona. But in order to thrive, he cut himself off from everyone.”

“And somebody cut his throat.”

Marlon fl inched.

Time to go on the off ensive. “Why was he killed?”

He didn’t have a wiseass answer for that.

“Do you know who killed him?”

“No.”

“Got any good guesses?”

171

He shook his head. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Revenge is never as sweet as people claim it is.”

Wrong. “Th

en why did you track me down, Marlon?”

“Because Darrell Pretty Horses asked me to.”

“Out of guilt for Ben?”

“No. I’m not here for Ben,
kola
, I’m here for you.”

Again that
woo woo
shiver trickled down my spine. I had a fl ashback to another Lakota Holy man who’d temporarily soothed my soul . . . only to wind up dead. “Are you trying to convert me?”

Marlon chuckled. “I would if I could, but by the skeptical look in your eye it’d be a waste of my breath.

So, I’m here to give you some free advice.”

I tapped my fi ngers on the paper placemat. “Which is?”

“Let it go. Drop this crusade to fi nd out the ‘why’ that ended Ben’s life, and be content with the knowledge that the last few months of your brother’s life were happy.”

Happy? Maybe that’s what burned my ass; I hadn’t been part of Ben’s life at all for those happy months. “Was part of Ben’s newfound happiness because of Abita?”

Th

at shocked ol’ Marlon. “He told you about her?”

I smiled. Meanly. Two could play his game. “Th anks

for the advice, but on this matter, I will keep my own counsel, as I have done for the last few years.”

“It will end badly for you.”

Another round of icy fi ngers danced up my spine.

172

Th

is guy could give Stephen King a run for his money for the spookiness factor. “Believe it or not, Marlon, I’m used to everything in my life ending badly.”

He circled his hand around my wrist. “I’m not joking. If you pursue this, you’ll lose something important.”

“Your advice sounds suspiciously like a threat.”

“No, but it is a warning.”

“Ah. So, in addition to your holiness status, you also have the gift of second sight? Did you have a vision about me or something?”