Authors: James Buchanan
- Hard Fall (3 page)
"Fine." I had to steel myself something awful to keep from licking my lips. Lord Almighty, what that skin would taste like.
"You'll ride out with Ramon and me."
Another shrug was followed by a disinterested,
"Whatever." How hard did he have to study to manage that, I wonder?
Nadia clucked the roof of her mouth with her tongue.
"Fred, why don't you check in with your search and rescue team?" She spoke over her shoulder, heading back to the NPS
truck. "See if anyone else is on their way. I'll dig out the maps and EMS stuff from the back." For a second she paused and smiled back at us. "Haven't even had a chance to look over the gear I inherited."
Kabe glared at their backs as they all walked away. Once they were out of earshot, he turned on me. What I rated was only slightly less poisonous. "You let them walk all over you 22
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and just caved." His face was tight and sour. It made him look like a pouty kid.
"Who cares?" I mimicked his shrug and jammed my hands in my pockets. "It's all police procedure." Studying the sky gave me a chance to put the thoughts into words. "See, it doesn't matter if my badge number is above or below the date on the evidence bag. Or whether we use yellow or red stickers. So long as everything's logged, I'm fine. It's not worth a jurisdictional pissing match."
"Yeah, but you lost the first battle, they know now that you're a pushover." Hmm, now that was interesting.
Somehow I'd made the leap from the guy giving the hassle to the guy getting hassled. Maybe it was because they were all Feds and I was local law. 'Bout the only thing I could think of that might span that divide.
I grinned. Kabe hadn't been here long. Local politics, well it's a fine art. "Possession is nine-tenths of the law. You, of all people, should know that one."
"Huh?"
Since he seemed to be having fits with the concept, I laid it out for him. Slowly. "Fred can't climb," a jerk of my head toward the Ranger's truck, "none of the others know how,"
and then back indicating the mountains. "I go down to the body, then it's my scene. Don't matter who thinks they're in charge." The sight of his eyes going fish wide gave me chuckles. When it wound out of my system, I asked, "By the way, you have gear? I mean here?"
"Gear?" This boy was slow on the uptake sometimes.
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"Yep." I hoped it was just 'cause he was out of his element, not that he suffered stupid. Stupid could get you killed out on a face. "Climbing gear, I understand you know how. I wouldn't think that you'd come up into God's staircase without it." Figured I needed to clarify that we'd do this old school, traditional climbing, not freestyle stunts like the one that landed Kabe in the pen. "And, I'm talking trad gear, hot shot. This is S&R, not free sport solo."
"Yeah." He stared at me. "I got the medieval crap."
Like pulling taffy through a sieve. "Get it." It came out as more of a growled order than I would have liked. Not much to be done once the words were spoken, though.
"Why?"
Shaking my head, I went back over the not so fine details.
"Because Fred can't climb, the other two are damn near useless, none of the rest of the Search and Rescue team is available and I ain't stupid enough to go down a wall by myself." With the pressure of my thumb, I pushed my class-b Stetson, the dirty-white western style, back on my head.
While I might go summer weight with short sleeves and straw cowboy hat, I wouldn't be caught dead in the kelly green polo and baseball cap we could use as an alternate. No criminal in their right mind took you seriously if you looked like you were headed out for a round of golf.
"Actually, I can go down plenty easy, it's the coming back up, hauling a body, that takes two." 'Course I was probably going to have to strip down to my undershirt. I didn't like exposing it 'cause it's the temple garment with the tiny slashed symbols on my pecs. It's ugly as all sin, which I 24
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guess is its purpose ... promoting modesty and all. But my uniform shirt, besides looking like a renegade from a St.
Patrick's Day parade, had too many flaps and pins and patches to rest in a harness well. My tan pants would just have to do.
Kabe glared some more. Boy had enough piss in him for twenty. I kept it neutral, not letting him know how much the heat in those eyes got me going. I'd like nothing better than to tap into that restless passion, just to see how deep it went.
Instead, I prodded a different direction. "You gonna stand there with your finger up your butt," just 'cause I don't cuss don't mean I can't be crass, "or you gonna make yourself useful?" Long seconds of silence ticked off the clock and then Kabe turned on his heel and stalked back towards the main house. Well,
please
and
thank you
must've been in short supply 'round him.
A cough let me know Fred stood a pace or so back off my shoulder. "What are you doing, Deputy?" Sometimes I think Fred guessed at things others might just leave be. Not that I minded much. Fred might take a jab now and again, but he ain't never done it 'round anyone 'cept me and him.
I rolled my hip a bit so that I could look at him without really moving much. "What you on about?"
"Well, if I didn't know better, Joe," his grin cracked his face in a fair imitation of drought-parched clay as he ambled over.
"I'd say the country boy in you was up to something."
"Well, Fred, I wouldn't have to be up to something, if you hadn't mucked up your hand like a moron." My snort carried all the grief he'd gotten for weeks on how it happened. No 25
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glamorous yanking a kid off the rim or wrestling a coyote bare-handed, ... naw, Fred sprained it catching a regulatory manual as it dropped off a shelf. "Nobody else is in earshot."
Not that I'd radioed Noreen to check recently, but Fred didn't jump in and correct me. Sorta hoped that Fred found my dispatcher had struck out, since I didn't really want anyone else but Kabe to help. "Jack's got his hands full."
Crossing his arms, Fred joined me in holding up the front end of my car. "Uh-huh." Layers of syrup flowed off his drawl.
Uncomfortable with the predatory silence, I felt compelled to fill it up with excuses. "T asked me to keep an eye on the kid. I figure he should make himself useful." Same thing that got most suspects in hot water. Still, couldn't stop myself.
"Uh-huh." Fred scratched his free arm with the back of his brace.
"You know he's got a record." Small town, small ranger station ... everybody knew everything about anyone new within days. 'Cept maybe Ramon. People didn't much trust BLM. People didn't much trust Ramon; had a habit of shooting off his mouth, repeating everything that ever hit his ears. "Kid can climb though. Real adrenaline junkie stuff. Could put some of those sport climbers we have to pull off the hoodoos to shame."
He let me stew in my half-truths for a while. "Uh-huh."
"You know," I growled in the same tone I got when I thought people were leading me on, "that not quite word you keep using is really grating on my nerves."
"I just have to tuck a few burrs under your saddle now and again." He bumped my shoulder with his. "Can't let Deputy 26
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Joe Peterson get all high and mighty." With a grunt he stood and stretched. "And," I got a full dose of Fred's knowing too much smile, "that ex-con is long past kid. Don't you be fooling yourself there and making up justifications for your own mind." My mouth wasn't half open to deny it when Fred's black glare shot me down. "Never cared one way or another, never had cause to say nothing. There's a deep load of angry in there, Joe. I don't want to see you get hurt when it all comes boiling out." Reaching out, popping my shoulder with his fist, he took some of the sting out of his words. "Lot of people respect Deputy Joe. Hate to see that go down 'cause you couldn't resist playing with a silk-coat varmint."
The slam of the big front door jerked our attention. Kabe dropped down the front steps. A Mana harness, pretty much as stripped down as you could get and still be considered traditional climbing gear, dangled from one hand. Ropes, pack and much abused rock shoes were slung on his back. Kabe'd switched out of his jeans into a set of battered climbing shorts and high-tech sleeveless shirt. Damn stretch material didn't hide much. And with light-colored fabric across brown skin, every fine feathering of muscle stood out under the sun.
Lifting weights was one of the few pastimes granted to inmates and Kabe'd apparently used his time to hone his body to climbing perfection. There wasn't enough fat to keep a coyote warm on his frame.
Lord, maybe this was the king of all bad ideas.
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Ramon'd managed to shove enough junk aside for Kabe to squeeze in the back and me in the front. The man must carry his entire life around with him. There was hardly room for my feet under the dash. I shifted and slung my arm over the back of my seat. Kabe, knees slung out wide, elbow pitched on the open window, stared out at the passing meadows.
I took him in for a moment, indulged myself ... tortured myself. From my position, I had a straight shot right into his package. Those painted on climbing shorts didn't leave much to the imagination. Finally, I remembered why my bones were being shook apart in Ramon's dodgy four-wheel drive. "Why don't you tell me what happened?" Deputy Joe slid down onto my mind and told me to ignore how tight my own pants were.
Kabe rolled his head and gave me a blank-faced stare. I recognized that look from when I worked state corrections. It didn't say "I'm cooperating," but it didn't say "I ain't cooperating," neither. Mostly what it did say was "Don't get me beat."
"Starting when?"
For a second I thought about writing this down. With how the SUV pitched through the ruts, even if I managed to hit the paper with the pen, I wouldn't be able to decipher my hen scratch. "Let's start from when you first saw the Warners." I'd get a formal statement later. Right now I wanted a version so I could compare it to any other versions I might hear.
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With a shrug, Kabe returned to staring out the window.
"Well, two days ago, in the morning, pretty early, I ran into these two people on their mountain bikes." I had to strain a bit to hear him over the window noise. Ramon's truck didn't have air. "Not literally. But I was at the gas station near one of the campgrounds getting the cans filled for the four-wheeler. They pulled in to use the can and get some food.
The guy, Gunter, spoke pretty good English. His wife, Anya, not so much."
Kabe shifted again, resting his head on the doorframe, like he didn't have the energy to hold it up and look at me at the same time. "Anyway, I noticed they had some gear with them and we started talking climbing. They asked if I knew any good places to camp and hike. They're really more boulderers than actual climbers, you know." That brief moment he cracked a smug not-quite grin. Oh yeah, I knew that pride.
The pecking order of mountain jockeys. No gear and jumping from rock to rock rated less than no gear and hanging from your fingers off a 400-foot drop. "The chick was really into photographing stuff, she had a real nice camera set up. I told them, actually Gunter because Anya was taking photos all over the place, about some trails at the back end of the property."
"Okay."
Messing with the bottom of his shorts, running his fingers between fabric and skin, Kabe retreated from that one spark of interest into the flat I-don't-care guise. "So Gunter starts complaining about all the people at the campground they're at and that they really just wanted to be away, have a 29
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peaceful outdoors vacation. Seemed real, I don't know, adamant about it." He shook his head as if banishing the thought. "They're like every German I ever met on a wall; closet naturalists, you know? So, I told them I was going to go camping and do some soloing on one of the faces on T's property, to get away myself."
"Completely by yourself?" I shouldn't have pushed into the story. Good way to hink up someone's recollection. Still, a little part of me snapped up with worry. Guess I'm a little too cautious sometimes. "That's dicey."
"Done it a lot. No biggy." Didn't even get a shrug with that response. "And it's not a terrible pitch. More for getting back up to speed." His words minimized, his body didn't even react.
Maybe Frank was right. Could be Kabe was so broke, so angry he'd lost his reactions. Seen that happen in cons before. It knocked you flat, how quick institutionalization happened for some. Big words I learned working the joint: institutionalization, desensitization, poor impulse control.
Most just meant "convict" in fancy language. "Sorry, you were saying?"
"No problem." Again it was delivered flat. Well, maybe this was for the best. If there weren't nothing but eye-candy to Kabe, I'd be off the kick soon enough. "So he asks if maybe I can show him the place or if they could camp for a night just to be away. I mean, they said they'd paid for their spot, but one night completely in the wilderness, not a developed campsite. And I know T's said yes a couple times since I've been up here. So, I told them I thought it would be okay. I 30
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gave them directions and told them to meet me at the ranch yesterday morning."
While I did the mental filing routine, I mumbled, "I assume then they made it." A nothin' statement, just to break the words into smaller chunks of information.
"Yeah. Rode their mountain bikes in as I was loading up the ATV. Probably hit the place around tenish. Anya had the camera out the moment she got off her gold bike, taking pictures of everything." A fleeting, not much of anything, sidewise grin flashed over his face. "Me, the ranch house, flowers sprouting out of the gravel and shit. She showed me her set up. Digital SRS, nice professional-quality camera.