Nantan was exhausted. Running around like a chicken was simply a part of his life —seeding, picking, deliveries, picking up things for the hydroponics or other segments of the farm, or for the teens. He refereed fights, separating the combatants. He worked with Inola and Henry to be sure all the teens circulated through all of their tasks, making it as routine as possible, with a little “beep-beep” on the cell phone signifying the next task. He got great joy out of watching them grow.

Alo was absolutely amazing; Nantan would hold onto that young man with both claws. Alo loved turning what Nantan grew in the hydroponics barn, into feed. He’d perfected horse feed, and went on to perfect rabbit food. They ate lettuce and carrots, of course, but Alo wanted them to have a well-balanced diet.

Alpacas were a little tougher; he had to perfect his Spanish which was primarily Western Spanish. Talking to South American vets on Skype proposed a challenge. They spoke differently, and he had to learn vet speak. Alo stuck with plant-eating animals; he didn’t want to have to grind up chickens to make dog food.

Alo gave a cut of his profits to Nantan for growing the food, then he sold his feed. He started making serious money. After getting his GED, Alo decided upon horticulture, and started taking his “baby” courses online —Math, English, Spanish, World History, and Biology.

Nantan talked to Henry; Alo moved into one of the vacant apartments at the “sorting house.” It was what they called the place where they cut and packaged the food for distribution and delivery. He got free room and board, and some spending money, in exchange for continuing to work his shifts in the hydroponics barn. Alo did this gladly.

A scruffy, angry boy named Van showed up to take his place. Ajai showed him the ropes, and Alo helped him start to study. Van would simply sit and glower at everyone for days at a time. He did the work, just not willingly or well. Henry told him to shape up or he would be sent back to his res. He did so, with even more glowers, because he had nothing to go back to. His mother was dead, his father long gone, and he had been sleeping on friends’ couches.

Nantan told his sons and the other teens that his counseling would eventually work to get at the root of his problems, which was primarily neglect and anger over losing his mom. He told them to treat him with sunny smiles and love, which would drive him crazy. It worked; they acted as if he were sunny, loving, and helpful, thanking him when he actually helped, and ignoring him when he didn’t. This confused Van so much that he began helping. When he finally laughed at game night, everyone stopped for a moment to marvel at the sound. Ajai and Alo were proud; they kept the other teens from killing Van until he changed.

Henry suggested Nantan and Alo create an online horticulture course. So, they partnered with Susan Chalgar, a botanist at UNLV, to create a hydroponics course. So, now Nantan and Alo were recorded by the teens as they explained all the equipment, the plants from seeds to harvest, and how to keep up with the massive growing operation.

Two other reservations had set up their own hydroponics plants with either grants or casino money, and periodically they would buy entire “rugs” of the seed-treated cloth in order to have the dazzling array of heirloom plants. The ones Nantan sported. He also had a brisk trade in rare heirloom seeds; Lily had gotten the packets printed and they came out beautifully. Since Nantan had brought in the original seeds, he could sell any he liked, and the profits went into a retirement account Lily set up for him. Including an account for the boys’ education and for their day-to-day needs, as well as paying off his horse that much quicker.

He had no plans to leave, but the cash was needed on the farm. The teen Wolfpack ate like… well, wolves. Despite an entire walk-in closet attached to the sorting room, one devoted to clothes that no longer fit the fast-growing teens, they went through shoes at an alarming rate.

Nantan grew little limes and tangerines and was working on lemons, but couldn’t keep up with the juice needs of growing teens, either, let alone the chicken, beef, and pork. Horses and ponies were rescued and sold to good homes for the cost of feed, vets, and boarding, and some money was left over for the next rescue. However, there was never enough money for that, either. The vet bills alone were astronomical. Nantan was proud that they were able to grow their own horse feed.

Nantan missed Juan; his gentle demeanor, his laugh, his kiss, his touch. He got it, he really did. He didn’t have enough hours in the day to do what he did, and now he had two growing boys. They fought like alley cats, but if anyone dissed the other one, they both came out like porcupines, ready to defend the other. Nico was especially sensitive to perceived —most often misperceived, slights against his brother Tam. Nantan patiently explained that Tam had to learn to stand up for himself, and that Nico’s protectiveness of his brother, while admirable, needed to be dialed down.

Nico loved to read and to play ball; the teens became a steady stream of pitchers and catchers so he could learn to both catch and hit the ball. Tam was painfully shy and quiet. Ajai helped him with his schoolwork. Both boys were behind at least two grades, but they leapt forward with food, sleep, academic help, and love dumped on their heads at every opportunity.

Nantan was lonely. He was surrounded by people, and had to take long rides on a horse or a Harley to get away. All he wanted was a man in his bed, someone to share his life with. Someone who could add hands and heart to such an insane, busy life.

A few weeks before Thanksgiving, the boys went away with half the teens to a coding “hackathon,” where they locked themselves in a computer center in a hotel for three days to create a company, complete with adult proctors. Relieved, Nantan slipped away in a rented four-by-four to go to Arizona. He met the Apache-Sioux Council that oversaw the boys at a steakhouse near the Hon-Dah casino.

Little Bill, Keyan, and a third man rose to meet them. “Chayton, this is Nantan,” said Keyan. “Chayton is my brother.” The new man had Keyan’s nose and eyes, but fuller lips, and a waterfall of iron-straight black hair that went down to his waist. Nantan shook their hands, and they sat.

“How was your trip?” asked Little Bill, in his gravelly voice.

“I had the intelligence to rent a Jeep, so the snowfall did not cause me any trouble,” said Nantan. “I see the ski resort is doing well.”

Little Bill nodded. “We are having an excellent ski season so far, with early snow.” They ordered coffee, steaks, baked potato soup, and vegetables. “So, how are the boys?”

Nantan pulled up the latest pictures on his cell phone, including those of them learning both Sioux and Apache. He handed it over for them to see.

“I was able to order some Sioux books, and we did some YouTube videos, but I would like for us all to learn better Sioux. My mother and grandmother taught me Sioux, and my father and grandfather, Apache. We should not lose any of our languages.”

“That is excellent,” said Chayton. “We also have an Apache grandmother. I can help you teach both. I hear you are writing a computer program?”

Nantan nodded. “We started with Apache, because I know that one best, but I would like to get the Sioux program done as well.”

“I think I can help you with that,” said Chayton. “I will go to Las Vegas, and I will help you with both. I can live on the res, or I can pay room and board, if you have a room available.” He smiled. “I began teaching Sioux on the res in South Dakota. I taught Sioux, then I learned Mandarin and went to China. I got a master’s degree in education there, then I got a job teaching Apache here. I just got replaced by an Apache woman.” He smiled. “It’s okay, she’s from here. She gets first choice. Anyway, I need a job. I can teach Mandarin online in Vegas, and work on this computer program.”

Nantan smiled. All four men sipped their coffee for a while when it came, reveling in the warmth, after doctoring it with sugar or cream, as they liked it.

“I would welcome such a generous offer,” said Nantan. “Perhaps, if we work well together, we can add you to the non-profit my friend Lily set up for me. We can make native study materials.”

Chayton tapped his finger on his lips. “I agree,” he said. “That could be an excellent business. The Navajo have their own university program. We need more language immersion schools. But, a lot of res kids live in remote areas where it is hard for them to go to any school. My degree is in curriculum design, so that would be a fun project for me.” Their soup came, and they ate hungrily.

“You do realize,” said Nantan, “that this is a non-profit, and that a salary may not be forthcoming. Perhaps we can get a grant from the wealthier nations with casinos.” He cut his eye over to Little Bill, who laughed.

“Well,” he said, “I can ask the council. You’ve got a lot of the Apache done. So, that would be good. I heard you told Bodaway you were Sioux. Why?”

Nantan nodded. “I wanted him to hear his language, know that he was with his own people. I hoped to calm him.”

“We knew you would not kill him,” said Little Bill. “I was pleased that you were released from custody so soon.”

“We were all in California on a ride at the time he was murdered,” said Nantan. “It was foolish to arrest me without first determining where I was at the time of the murder.”

“You take the boys on rides?” asked Chayton.

“Nantan here is a Nighthawk,” said Little Bill, cutting up more of his steak.

“I have a Harley,” said Chayton. “Very impractical in the mountains. I am an Iron Knight.”

Oh wow, thought Nantan. Iron Knights are mostly police and ex-military. “Excellent,” said Nantan. “Perhaps you might want to become a Nighthawk.”

“Perhaps,” said Chayton.

“The adoption is almost final,” said Keyan. “I will push it through. You should have all the tribal paperwork in three days. Will you stay here tonight?”

“I can stay the full three days,” said Nantan. “The boys are at a coding marathon.”

Chayton’s eyes lit up. “Excellent!” he said. “They can help. They will learn more by teaching it to others.”

Nantan laughed. “We have many coders. They can all help.”

“So,” said Keyan, nudging his brother, “we can get the paperwork to you, and go down to the court. Is there someone you can call to get a court date?”

Nantan wiped his fingers on his napkin, whipped out his cell phone, and made four texts. He put the phone away.

“I’ll be given a date when the court calendar can be accessed,” he said.

“How soon do you think?” asked Keyan.

Chayton laughed. “Let him get a text answered, brother,” he said, in Apache, except for the word “text,” which was translated as “message.”

He laughed, and said in Sioux, “You know I am too fast. Always the runner.”

“I remember running faster than you on many occasions,” Chayton said. “I was the wind, and you only a breeze.”

Keyan punched his brother lightly on the arm. “You were faster, but I was better,” he said. He switched back to English. “We both got All State.”

“Third,” said Chayton. “I was first.”

“Only because you are a year younger.”

Chayton snorted. Nantan’s pocket buzzed. He took out his phone. “I have one week,” he said. “Wraith pushed just a little, but the judge and the social worker are both eager to finish this as well.”

“Then, let’s celebrate,” said Little Bill. “Then, you can bring the boys up here to ski.”

“Bunny slopes,” said Nantan. “I have never tried to ski, but I can snowshoe. I want them to learn both.”

“They will want to snowboard,” said Little Bill. “And, they won’t want to leave the slopes when they get on.”

“Then I must learn to snowboard,” said Nantan. He pulled out his phone and looked up his account information. Then, he looked up the prices for a ski package for multiple kids. “How much for twelve kids and two adults?” He sighed. “Three adults at least.”

“Well, we’ll figure that out,” said Little Bill. He took out his phone and sent a text. “The Paiute are our friends. Surely we can come up with something.”

“Good,” said Nantan, and he finished his steak.

* * *

Nantan checked into his hotel room. His pocket vibrated. “Court date moved up. Five days.”

“Excellent,” he replied. “Thank you, Wraith.”

“Nothing but the best for our Nighthawk friends,” replied Wraith. “Besides, both Judge Tyers and your social worker want this stuff off their plates. The boys are fine and healthy, and both the Apache and Sioux are happy, so whatever.”

“I love you,” he sent, with a little kissy face. He got an emoticon back of a laughing coyote. He thought that was appropriate. He sent a text to Little Bill and Keyan, with the good news, then fell into an exhausted sleep.

Keyan and Chayton met him at the snowboarding hill for his first lesson, with a rented board, snowshoes, snowboard pants, coat, gloves, helmet, and a visor, that Keyan carefully chose.

“The idea is to crouch,” said Keyan.

“The idea is to not fall down,” said Chayton, correcting his brother. “It is about balance and speed. We’ll go on a small hill, you’ll fall in the snow a few times, then you’ll get the hang of it.”

“Let’s get this falling over with,” said Nantan.

They taught him to turn his snowboard perpendicular to the slope, to lean back, and to put the weight on his rear foot. As well as go slow, and to turn his body. It actually gave him quite a thrill to move, and to learn to turn.

He wiped out a few times, but he soon learned how to redistribute his weight and make turns with both his heel and the edge of his toe. It took him a while to learn how to stop and start. Finally, he was no longer falling into snow. He didn’t move quickly, but he could get down the snowboard “bunny hill” with no problem.

“You ready for the ski lift?” asked Chayton, with laughter in his eyes.

“Yes,” he said, “I will be the wind,” he said in Apache, making Chayton chuff with laughter, just like a puma.

Chayton walked like one, graceful even with snow boots, coat, and pants on. They caught a lift, and Chayton got Nantan settled before swinging himself up with him. They plopped down, getting the straps on the boots, as Keyan dropped down next to them, putting on his own board. They went down; Keyan first, laughing into the icy wind, as Chayton and Nantan went down more slowly.

“You are the wind,” said Chayton, laughing at his slow pace.

“I never said I was a fast wind,” said Nantan.

Chayton laughed again. “Breeze,” he said.

“Zephyr,” said Nantan.

They went back up for another run, then another. Nantan felt soreness. Some of the muscles he would use while riding a horse, others while riding a bike, especially leaning into a curve. But, he knew he would certainly be sore and achy because he was using his muscles differently. So, when they made it to the bottom of the run, he made the universal symbol for time out, touching his palm to his upright other hand.

“Go ahead,” said Chayton. “Keyan and I want to race. I have been with a slowpoke too long.”

Nantan made a rude gesture, and they laughed at him, took off their snowboards, and hiked toward the lift. He took off his snowboard, and trudged back to the rental to turn his considerable amount of equipment back in.

He went back to the hotel, showered in lobster-hot water, and realized he’d had more fun that afternoon than in a long while. He went to the restaurant, got coffee and hot soup, and ate it by the fire in the lobby. He finished his soup, and they came and took it away. They brought him a carafe of coffee, and he read a book on his cell phone, something he hadn’t had time to do for ages.

He actually got to the third chapter before Chayton and Keyan showed up, laughing. The waiter quietly brought two more cups and another carafe.

“I suggest the baked potato soup,” Nantan said.

“Excellent choice,” said Chayton. They ordered soup —Keyan had the tomato basil with a grilled cheese sandwich —and relaxed. Keyan went up to shower, then Chayton.

Chayton came down again, hair dry and in a clip. He was wearing a thick, blue sweater and deep-blue jeans, which set off the soft red of his skin. He sat down next to Nantan, took out his phone, and they read quietly together. The waiter came by to replace the carafes, and brought jewel-toned blankets for their legs. They doctored their coffee, and read in companionable silence.

“I’m hungry again,” said Chayton, in Sioux.

“Let us eat,” said Nantan, in Apache.

There was a seafood buffet, and they filled their plates. “I love crab,” said Chayton. “I love anything from the sea. I tried Los Angeles, but I prefer the res sometimes.”

“Have you been to Vegas before?” asked Nantan.

“Once,” he said, “I like it. Busy, noisy. Not my thing all the time, but okay in small doses.”

Nantan laughed. “Not my thing. I love the ranch. Henry apparently started out with his father’s spread, and slowly bought more and more land. He’s added trails, the paddock, and now we’ve built two more barns and expanded the first one. We have taken two, entire, over-one-hundred-year-old barns and redone the insides. Inola rescues horses and she and Jeffrey retrain them. Henry, David, and I, we raise twelve teens. Vu —she’s one of our Owls. Bella and our friends rescued some older people from a nursing home. The kids —we help them get caught up and get their GEDs to get them out of high school. They are trained with me, Inola, and our friend Tito, who does construction. The kids rotate, and learn several trades, or they can get scholarships and get certificates, or degrees.”

“That is excellent,” said Chayton. “It sounds like you’re very busy.”

Nantan laughed ruefully. “I barely have time to breathe.”

Chayton said, “I’m sorry. I will bring more work with me.”

“In the beginning, it will be,” said Nantan, “then, once Henry and the teens get involved, they will get the job done. The boys will learn more, and the long, ugly, editing process begins.”

“I excel at long, ugly, editing processes. I have a few screens that I can have up, and I’m great at splicing video.”

“That’s fantastic,” he said. “Do you need help getting your Harley to the ranch?”

“I’ve got a four-by-four and a trailer hitch. Are you sure you want me on the farm?”

“We have a guest room downstairs next to where we get the vegetables ready for sale. The kids earn extra money. They may whine, but they like the money just fine.”

“What do they do with it?” asked Chayton.

“Most of it goes in the bank for when they go. They get some of it for spending money. Part of it is learning how to spend money responsibly.”

Chayton laughed. “Not something they tend to teach on the res.”

“No,” said Nantan. “They should, but they don’t.”

“Thank you for letting me stay,” said Chayton.

“Some room and board in exchange for getting a computer program up and running?” asked Nantan.

“And a piece of the non-profit,” said Chayton.

“Non-profits inherently don’t make any money,” said Nantan.

“Maybe I can draw a little salary,” said Chayton.

“And,” said Nantan, “it might be helpful to have an Iron Knight around.”

“Picked up on that one, didn’t you?” asked Chayton.

“I assume there’s things you can’t tell me,” said Nantan. “Just don’t ever put my children, or anyone at that ranch, in danger.”

“I won’t,” said Chayton. “Thank you for understanding.”

“I’ll introduce you to Wraith,” said Nantan. “You may have some things in common.”

Chayton smiled. “Valkyrie,” he said. “A fine woman.”

Nantan didn’t know how to ask, so he decided not to. “She sent me a text. I told her I loved her. She sent me back a laughing face.”

“She thought you were kidding?”

“She knew I was. Her man’s name is Saber.”

Chayton raised his eyebrows. “I’ve heard the name.”

“Also, I prefer men,” said Nantan.

Chayton looked right into Nantan’s eyes. “That’s interesting,” he said. “So do I.” He took a deep breath, then said clearly, “One more thing. I was born female.”

Nantan took a sip of his coffee. “It’s good you discovered who you are.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” asked Chayton.

“With what?” asked Nantan. “Would you prefer to not be who you are?”

Chayton shook his head. “I must be who I am.”

“Then,” said Nantan, “There is no problem. I must be Apache, and Sioux. Some wanted me to be one, some another. But, I am both.”

“As am I,” said Chayton. He smiled. “Dual nature.”

“We all have them,” said Nantan. “Male, female, Apache, Sioux. The important thing is to find balance, and to be who you are.” He smiled. “Would you like more drawn butter?”

Chayton smiled. “Yes, thank you,” he said.

They lingered over slices of key lime and chocolate silk pie, and decaf. “What would you like to do tomorrow?” asked Nantan.

“Well,” said Chayton. “Want to learn to ski?”

Nantan laughed. “Bunny slopes again?”

Chayton smiled. “I can teach you. If I can teach English in China, then I can teach you to go down a bunny slope without falling on your ass.”

“Actually,” said Nantan, “I’d like to do more snowboarding. Less chance of falling on my ass.” Chayton laughed.

After dinner, they sat in the lobby, drank honey tea, and read in the lobby, occasionally laughing at what they read. Nantan read a mystery, Chayton a so-called “beach read.” It was about a woman, a brother, and a dog. They read little bits to each other.

Nantan smiled at Chayton. “I’ve got an early morning, it would seem.”

Chayton stood. “I do, too. Let’s go to bed.”

He stood, and raised his eyebrows. “Separately or together?”

Chayton laughed. “Not so fast.” He leaned forward, and gave Nantan a feather-light kiss on the lips. “One day at a time, one moment at a time.” It was a quote from the book he had been reading.

“One moment at a time,” Nantan said in Apache. Chayton laughed, and they walked toward the elevator.

Nantan took off his boots and the rest of his clothes, and got into his soft yoga pants and long-sleeved Apache shirt, keeping on his warm blue socks. He slid into the bed. He was shocked, stunned, and sore. He winced, and laughed at himself. Chayton was right. He could barely have survived more than a single kiss between himself and Chayton, with all his soreness. He considered getting off the bed and getting some ice, and he laughed ruefully at himself. He felt like an old man. He saw Chayton’s face in his mind, and he slipped into sleep.

The boys sent snippets of their code. Nantan read it in the morning, and was surprised that he could understand what they were doing. It was a specialized e-reader program for textbooks that included links and multimedia. He then stumbled into the shower, pounding himself with hot water. He shaved, then took the elevator downstairs to breakfast.

As he suspected. Keyan and Chayton were already there. He grunted at them, and they smiled at him. He ordered coffee, and swallowed some ibuprofen with it. Chayton openly laughed. Nantan pretended to glare daggers at him. The brothers laughed at him again. He snorted, ordered bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese, and a biscuit with butter and honey. He ate like a horse, while Keyan and Chayton joked with each other about childhood running, bad teachers, and long, over-involved games they used to play until the sun went down over the mountains.

Finally, Nantan’s eyes were open. “Let’s go snowboarding,” he said.

Keyan laughed. “I’m going skiing. With a partner. And she’s here.”

A gorgeous Apache woman strode into the coffee shop, all legs and jeans, with long hair and a fierce stride, flashing eyes and a mouth full of laughter.

“You did well,” said Nantan.

“I know,” said Keyan. “Bly,” said Keyan in Apache, “this is Nantan.”

“The grower of heritage plants,” said Bly. She leaned over and kissed Keyan. “I have ordered some of your plant packets.” She looked at Keyan. “Mmm, skiing,” she said. Keyan laughed, threw bills on the table, and let her drag him away.

“Wow,” said Nantan.

“I know!” said Chayton. “My brother has always attracted the ladies. Sometimes, more than one at the same time. And, they all know about each other, and they don’t mind.”

“So, he’s poly,” said Nantan.

“I do not know this word,” said Chayton. “Many?”

“Polyamorous. Many lovers.”

Chayton laughed. “Yes. He has been this way since high school.”

“Well,” said Nantan, snagging another piece of bacon. “People are what they are.”

“I grew up on the res,” said Chayton, “With my amorous brother. I was born female. But, I knew, and so did my brother, that I was male.”

“Yes,” said Nantan. “I have heard it is sometimes like that.”

“So, I went to learn to be a teacher. First, our mother died very early from cancer. I tested positive for the BRCA1 gene. So, it was easy to get my breasts and ovaries removed. Then, I went to China, and in between contracts I changed my body while I taught in Thailand. Then, more China, and back to the res. I only had a temporary job, so now I can explore my second love, coding educational books.”

Nantan finished his coffee. “My story is very boring. I was born on the res, got a scholarship, took a degree in horticulture, decided to specialize in hydroponic farming, and now I am doing well.” He put some money down for the check, and so did Chayton. “Let’s go snowboarding, shall we?” He downed his coffee and smiled.

Chayton stood. “If you can stand it. You are walking like an old man, Nantan,” he said. Nantan growled at him, and Chayton threw his head back and laughed.

Moving On

Skuld met Ghost, Killa, and Bruiser at the condo. It was on the second floor just three streets over from Ghost and Killa’s place. The wind whipped down off the mountain, and everyone except Ghost had their leather jackets on tight. They went in a locked door, with a code. Skuld approved of that. He took them up an elevator; Skuld liked that too.

“Shit,” said Killa. “That be good.” They went down a hallway, and there was another code to get into the door.

There were broken windows, torn-up beds, broken chairs, holes in the walls. The smell of alcohol and more than a whiff of pot was strong.

“Dem threw some wild party,” said Ghost. Skuld and Bruiser both took out their weapons, and gestured for Ghost and Killa to be silent.

Ghost got out her little knife, and Killa her bigger one. Skuld took the right, Bruiser the left, in that eye-speaking military language that people tended to have. They burst into the bedroom, and Killa and Ghost heard a high-pitched groan that topped off in a scream.

Killa and Ghost strode forward. A junkie was laying on the torn-up bed, needle still in the vein. He was a thin guy, with a sandy beard and wild eyes. Killa, Ghost, Skuld, and Bruiser all holstered their weapons.

“Who are you?” asked Bruiser, his voice ice-dangerous.

“Bruno. M—M-Mark’s friend. He g-g-gave me the code, man. We used to party.”

“How did you get in?” asked Bruiser.

“He g-g-gave me his code. To bring him stuff.”

“My brother died, in the other bedroom, doing the shit you’re doing right now. You wanna explain one more time what you’re doing in MY DEAD BROTHER’S HOUSE?”

Bruno tried to come out of his nod. His wild eyes were terrified; his brown eyes eaten up by black pupils. “I… we used to…”

Bruiser reached down, grabbed Bruno’s ear, and dragged Bruno out of the bed, then out the door. Bruno’s high-pitched whining was like a siren.

He threw him out, then said, “You will never come here again. Ever. And get fucking clean. There’s a Salvation Army place on the bus line. Go.” Bruno laid there; shaking, sobbing, the needle still in his arm. It fell out as he laid, confused.

“Get up,” said Bruiser, his voice a menacing whisper. “And take your needle with you.” It took three tries, but Bruno managed to grab the needle and put it into his pocket. He grabbed a wall, and lurched toward the elevator.

Bruiser changed the door code once he was sure Bruno was gone. “Sorry, ladies,” he said, to Killa and Ghost.

“He not member this when he get to the bottom flo,” said Killa. “He be dead in a yeeah.”

Bruiser’s face was a mask of anger and grief. “I know. Once they fall a certain way, no one can get in and get them clean except themselves.”

“I get it,” said Killa. “Yo body want da hit, yo brain want da hit, you know it stupid, but you get anudda hit.” She sighed. “My sista, my mama. Brudda got out, he in da Marines.”

Ghost patted Killa’s back. “When he come back, we sho’nuff show him de house. Now, we get two houses. He be so happy for ya.”

Bruiser’s stone face softened. “I am so sorry you saw that,” he said. “Addiction doesn’t care who you are. Can take anyone. My brother was doing real-good. This place was nice. I helped him get it. He worked his ass off for it. Got it paid off.”

He sighed. “I need to get rid of this. Something great went horribly wrong. He fell. He could have been killed in the fall. Some dumb fuck hit him with a two-by-four when they were on the second floor. Sued, got money, paid this place off. Had surgeries on his back. He…” Bruiser looked around the holes in the walls, and the beer-soaked floor. “He would have wanted to die in the fall, I think, rather than the hell he went through later.”

Killa rubbed his back. “Ya been through too damn much.”

“Word,” said Ghost.

Skuld nodded. “We all have our own addictions. Some kill faster than others.”

Killa nodded. “Word.”

Bruiser wiped his hand over his face. “Let’s get this done,” he said. “Damn thing’s paid for, just want to unload it.”

“Give you ten thousand,” said Ghost. “Have it now. Give you mo’ at the end o’ da month. Another ten.”

“Worth more than that,” said Skuld. “Be fair to the man.”

“You want da hundred thousand, ya gotta get ten a month fo’ ten months.”

Bruiser waved his hand. “Twenty thousand will get me a new bike.”

Killa and Ghost looked at each other. “Whatcha want?” asked Ghost. “We build ‘em from kits, put together what ya want most.”

For the first time, Bruiser smiled. It was a hint of one, but a smile nonetheless. “I’ll e-mail you the specs. Got a sweet ride planned.” He took a sticky note out of his pocket, and wrote down both the outer and condo door codes. “Witness, Valkyrie,” he said.

“Bruiser gets a top of the line Harley from a kit, built to as close to his specifications as they can get. In exchange, Killa and Ghost will take this condo. Do you all agree?”

“Yeah,” said Killa and Ghost, together.

“Absolutely,” said Bruiser.

“Shake,” said Skuld, holding in her hand. They all shook, including Skuld. “Have to go to the courthouse, sign the paperwork, pay a dollar. Did this already with a Valkyrie this year. Let’s go; I’ve got a ride tomorrow.”

Killa and Ghost quickly looked at the two mangled bedrooms, with headboards smashed into the walls. The two baths, needing lots of glass replaced. The kitchen, with its fairly new appliances. They hadn’t thought to destroy that.

“Tito gonna be busy,” said Killa.

“Word,” said Ghost. They went out, and the door shut tight behind them.

The lock engaged, and sang a little tune. It wasn’t until they were out of the elevator that Killa and Ghost recognized Macy Gray’s, I Try. They went out into the cold sunshine, and Skuld let the way.

* * *

Tito surveyed the scene with Skuld. Ghost was making her miniatures in order to pay him, and Killa was ordering the kit that would turn Bruiser’s dreams of a touring bike into reality. And, Skuld knew the story.

“The punch list is long, but it isn’t as bad as it looks. Repair the walls, take out all the destroyed furniture, rip up the carpets.” He pulled up a section. “What I suspected. Good hardwood under here. Idiots. Anyway, punch list. Lights replaced. Check for more damage. Throw out most of the furniture; there are really good consignment shops we can shop in, for nice stuff for you two.”

Willow and Ajai looked around. “Furniture is shit, ‘Early American Boy,’” said Ajai. “We’ll start looking at the consignment shops.”

“It’s a rental; Ghost and Killa will fund the furniture shopping. Just don’t go crazy,” Skuld informed them.

Willow peered into both bedrooms. “I call the one on the right. The one on the left good with you?”

“Why you want the smaller one?” asked Ajai.

“More light,” said Willow.

“Okay,” said Ajai. She paced the wide living room. “Plenty of space for projects.”

“We can make the parts for Ghost’s stuff here, and deliver it in boxes. She can concentrate on putting them together and painting them. She’s about to pop, so the more we take off her plate, the better,” said Willow.

“Hidden depths,” said Skuld. “Grasshopper teaches the teacher.”

“Who is Grasshopper?” said Willow.

“A student. From an old TV show called Kung Fu,” said Ajai. Skuld smiled, amused.

“We can do her stuff in exchange for rent,” said Willow.

“Let’s stay with what we have and pay her back,” said Ajai. “We’ll probably pay less in rent than twenty percent of the take. When she’s in the hospital, we’ll be putting her stuff together for her. Ask for a discount then.”

Skuld smiled as Tito looked in all the cabinets, measured the holes in the walls, and made notations. “Valkyries,” she said. The girls turned to her. “I’m proud of you.”

Both beamed at her. “We don’t have motorcycles yet,” said Willow. “Can’t afford a Harley right now.”

Skuld laughed. “Well, I know one person selling his, and it’s a low-rider, but we need to find a second one. You have a test to study for, and you have to take the All-Day Saturday Riding Course to get your license.”

“Can we have Killa help us paint the bikes the way we want?” asked Willow.

“I know that one,” said Ajai. “No, we have to give her the bikes, and they have to take the bike apart, send the stuff we want painted out, and ship it back. It’s a pain in the butt, but it makes for a much better paint job. It’s also not cheap, so we gotta work our asses off to pay for it.”

“As if we weren’t busy already,” said Willow.

Tito came back out of the second bedroom. “We’ll start right now. Let’s put on gloves and fill up the truck with this wrecked furniture. Someone may need some firewood.” The girls grabbed the broken chairs, and Skuld and Tito wrestled the beer-soaked mattresses and the broken headboards into the elevator; the frames seemed okay. They filled up the truck bed. Nantan swung by and picked up the teens, and they were off to finish their night deliveries.

“I’ll follow you to help unload,” Skuld said to Tito.

“Thanks,” he said.

They drove to a recycling place and dropped off the stuff. “Timeline?” asked Skuld.

“A week or two, actually,” he said. “Winter’s slow. Be glad for the work.”

“I don’t see it happening, but if Ghost or Killa are slow with the funds, or don’t have enough, get hold of me and I’ll pay.”

“Good,” said Tito. “Love being part of the Nighthawks. Get winter work that way.”

“You flipping anything?” she asked.

“Two condos. Gotta keep people busy in winter. Lot of ‘em go to Florida. South Dakota’s busy in summer. People with kids that wanna stay here, I keep ‘em busy.”

“Good,” said Skuld. “I want a nice townhome, but I have specifications. I play in a band; I play loud music.”

“Need a lot of soundproofing. Or, you need to live in a musicians-only building.”

She laughed. “Wish there was one in Vegas.”

“How about a duplex? You could have the other person be a musician.”

“Lots of those in the Valkyries,” she said. “And the Iron Knights.”

“Have two I’m looking at. Either I can buy it, fix it up, then sell it to you. Or, you can buy it and I can fix it up.”

“I’ll buy it,” she said. “Rota’s damn particular about what she wants; and what she wants, she gets.”

“Let’s do it,” said Tito.

He showed her the two listings, and then Skuld called the realtor and went to each. Both were in pretty good neighborhoods, but rough didn’t bother Skuld. One was bland, vanilla, and boring. The other had been inhabited by an Indian couple on one side, so the walls were painted wonderful colors of sand and red and blue. The other side had been completely trashed by druggies.

“I’ll take this one,” she said to the startled realtor. “I’ll get the money in escrow as soon as we agree on a price. The second half of this duplex needs a complete rehab.”

“I’ll get the price down,” said the realtor.

“Make an offer,” said Skuld. “My woman will love it.”

The offer was made. Skuld brought Rota by to see it. Rota pulled on the braid closest to her ear, a sure sign of excitement.

“Which side do you like best?” asked Skuld, opening the door to the Indian side first.

“Loving the colors,” she said, stroking the walls of the Indian half of the duplex. “Arches. They painted them when there weren’t any. Kitchen needs slight updating; replacing the cabinet doors will do, and the drawer pulls. Shouldn’t cost much.”

Skuld took her tablet out and made notes. “What else?”

“Love the hardwood,” she said. “This side stays the way it is, for now.” She went out the door into the winter sun, and walked next door. “Desert landscaping, of course.”

“Of course,” said Skuld.

“Besides, if we have intruders, having them limp over spiny cactus in the dark is kinda fun.”

Skuld grinned. “That’s my girl.”

They used the code and got into the other side. “God,” she said. “Holes in walls, this sand color looks like vomit, the carpet has to go, kitchen needs a new counter.”

“Granite like your eyes?” asked Skuld.

“Of course,” said Rota. “Black. With little flecks of mica. Keep the colors pale —pale yellow in the bathrooms and the kitchen, pale blue in the living room, white in the bedrooms. Easier to paint over if they want to. We can even pay for the cans, or have Tito’s people do it.”

“Looking ahead. I like it.”

“Duh,” said Rota. “Gotta see ahead on the road, or you get flattened by a semi in the wrong lane.”

“True,” said Skuld.

They had all had problems with trucks wandering out of their lanes, especially at night. Truckers often drove for many hours straight, and didn’t always get the sleep they needed. And, some were assholes, but most weren’t.

“Okay. What else?”

Rota gave her a long list. She sent the list to Tito. “Let’s go sign for this, shall we?” They walked out the door, made sure the electronic lock engaged, and got on their bikes for a ride to the realtor’s office.

After signing a pile of papers, they went back and changed the door codes. Then, they went to their jobs. Rota was a climbing trail guide. Even in winter, in the wind, some people couldn’t resist the rock faces. She combined hiking and climbing, switching shoes and gear. It gave hikers the confidence to handle rough terrain, and climbers the ability to find the best rock faces. She liked helping people push themselves to their limits.

Her class was awaiting her at Red Rock. She had them check each other’s gear, then she checked it as well. Then, they went up a rock face to a more gentle climb, before they switched to another rock face. They made good time, and sat on the top, eating sandwiches and fruit and handfuls of nuts. They went back, and kept a good pace to keep from making a night descent. That, she got extra tips for doing.

Skuld went to teach DEA people how to fight dirty with what tools were available —sand and rocks on the ground, pencils and pens, or even furniture. Some law enforcement officers ended up in situations alone, with backup too far behind to make a difference. She had groups of them rush single agents. She also taught them things to say, and words in various languages guaranteed to start or stop a fight.

She explained how to keep their cover intact while still defending themselves. She taught barrio fighting. Although a blonde, Skuld had grown up in a nasty neighborhood and had learned to fight other girls in street fights, to stay alive. All without drugs, selling her body, or being beaten into a gang.

Afterward, she worked out, pushing her muscles in weights combined with balance, standing on one foot while lifting the smaller weights, twisting and bending in very precise poses. Some FBI Valkyries came in the middle of her workout and warmed up, and she talked them through the poses. They laughed as they lost balance, holding in their abs, or stumbling on the mats like drunks. Some of them wanted to do some throws, so she got them throwing each other on the thick tumbling mats.

Skuld got a shower and talked very dirty trash with the Valkyries. Then, she went to get sweaty again, beating on some drums at the studio she owned with another Valkyrie woman named Kara. She had a wild fall of black curls and could play a mean guitar and sitar, and mix with the best. Skuld worked as a session drummer and guitarist, occasionally bass. She could also code and mix. She did the track, a crashing mix of drums and cymbals, for a death metal band. They banged it out, with the lead singer screaming into the microphone about death and destruction. It was exhilarating.

She ate Sonic when the band ordered it, chewed on cheese sticks and downed a lime drink. She mixed for a while, then went in for another drumming session with the same band. She showered —they had a tiny suite at the studio. Then, she went home to find a moving van at the tiny apartment, and starving students carrying out her stuff in carefully labeled boxes.

“Shit,” she said, going in to see Rota. “When the fuck did you have time for this? You went rock climbing today!”

“Gave Nantan the door code and let the Wolfpack in to pack. There was at least one Valkyrie here at all times, I promise. Didn’t take that long.” It wouldn’t; they loved the road. It was mostly climbing and workout gear, and Skuld’s drum set, guitars, amps, and the numerous cords.

“Mostly full truck. Grab something and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Skuld did as Rota desired, and carried boxes out. They got the van only three-quarters full, even with their bed, sofa, and kitchen tables and chairs.

“Oops,” said Rota, “paid for too much truck.”

“Easier to unload,” said Skuld, kissing her forehead. “Final check, and let’s get out of here.”

They both ran around, looking for anything they missed. Two Wolfpack members were already scrubbing the bathroom.

“Cleanup service, too,” said Skuld. “Well, at least we get our deposit back.”

They headed out, little things in their saddlebags, like Rota’s rock collection. She collected tiny, interesting rocks from her hikes and climbs, and Skuld’s silver jewelry for her ears, throat, and belly button.

Unloading didn’t take that long. Rota paid the guys. Skuld was stunned to find that the kitchen cabinet doors and pulls were already replaced.

“I see the hand of Tito,” Skuld said.

“Keeps his people busy in the winter,” she said. “They were next door most of the day, from what I hear.”

“We have cash flow,” said Skuld. The studio was making money, bands booked solid. Winter was when they liked to write and record.

The law enforcement gym also kept her in clients. They loved the road, and had few real expenses. Rota was paid a lot of money, especially in winter and high summer.

Skuld looked serious for a moment. “But this is a big drop.” Nearly all their savings were gone with buying the duplex and repairing the other side, except for their rainy-day investments Lily was making for them.

“Well, then, you’re going to have to rock,” said Rota. “I climb, you play.”

Skuld smiled. “I can do my other job.” She grinned wickedly. “Been a while since I’ve had some fun.” She sent a text.

She got one nearly immediately from Wraith. “Need you to be my very angry girlfriend for the night. Drummer persona. Club Crimsonale.”

“On it,” Skuld texted back. She looked at Rota. “You’ve got this?” she said, gesturing at the boxes.

“Part of the Starving Students’ job. Not just unload, unpack too.”

“Wicked,” said Skuld. She grabbed drumsticks, not her favorite pair, and put on some dark red lip gloss and some crimson eye shadow. “I’m off to pretend to love Wraith.”

“You do love Wraith,” said Rota.

Skuld gave a suggestive smile. “Not that way, dear heart. Her door doesn’t swing that way.” Rota burst out laughing. They touched foreheads, and Skuld was out the door.

The club was hot, sweaty, and jumping. Crimsonale was a place to see and be seen, with the walls painted black and silver. There were women dancing in cages overhead, and the DJ spilling out sick beats. People didn’t wear much, even with the cold outside, because it was an oven inside with all the gyrating bodies. Skuld locked up both her helmet and her leather jacket, wearing only her leather pants in black, and a red bustier. Silver chains and feathers fell from her ears. She pushed past the front of the line, held up her drumsticks, and was let in.

Wraith was in one wild-ass getup, leather edged with chrome. She looked like a human touring bike. She gyrated on the floor. Skuld went straight to her, grabbed the back of her neck, kissed her hard, and grabbed her waist. They danced together, pulses pounding in time with the music.

A black man with absolutely no body hair, dressed in black leather on the bottom and nothing on top, gestured to Wraith. She grabbed Skuld’s wrist, and dragged her toward the man.

“Stamp,” said the man.

Wraith held out a hand, a C-note clenched in it. He simultaneously gave her the stamp and made the note disappear. Wraith sighed, and palmed a hundred from her tiny pant pocket. She held out her hand, and it was stamped with invisible ink, the C-note melting away.

Wraith kept hold of Skuld’s wrist, and they were led down a hallway by a woman in a silver dress. The kind that did nothing to hide any of her assets. In the back, was a VIP room; there were men with women in the same silver dresses sitting on their laps. There were lines of coke on mirrors and bowls of candy, laced with meth on the tables.

There was one table of all women. Skuld knew the Valkyries, and they were not them. They were Mexican, Dominican, Jamaican, one Thai. They all had hard eyes. They did not wear the silver dresses. Instead, they wore silken tops; in gold, silver, or crimson, with palazzo pants in black. I feel so underdressed, thought Skuld.

Wraith went to the women’s table, and stood in front of them, a wicked smile on her face. She did a half-bow, and Skuld did the same.

“You have twenty seconds,” said the Dominican woman, a beauty with a flat nose, a diamond nose ring, and hair dyed silver. She wore silver everywhere, including the rings and bracelets, and loops in her ears.

“Drummer. Hard rockers. Need everything,” said Wraith. Skuld held out her drumsticks, and did a complicated beat on the table before putting them away.

“You can pay?” the Dominican asked, inclining her head like a queen.

“Hundred thousand to start. Visiting bands, here and gone, need a connection.” Skuld wondered when Wraith was going to run out of pithy sentences.

“Why a mix?” asked the woman.

Skuld answered; she’d been in the scene for years. “Different effects. Blow makes you go all night, heroin brings you down, meth —in careful doses, lets you play for days. Ecstasy brings you sex in your music, some like that.” She gave an ice-cold smile. “Some of the new pills, supposed to make your brain run faster… that stuff, they pay, and pay… and pay for.”

The woman brought out a silver lacquer bowl. She put in a marble that looked like a white pearl. She passed it down, and the people put in jet or white marbles. They passed it back to her. There were only two jet marbles in it.

“Motion carried,” she said. “Money?”

“Cash or wire transfer?” asked Wraith.

The woman laughed, a full-bodied one, full of joy with a hint of menace. “I like this one. A hundred thousand, twice a month. You’ll get your mix.” Wraith and Skuld both smiled with feral glee.

The woman waved her hand, and another man with no body hair (this time a Dominican man) in red leather pants and no shirt, came up. He had a briefcase in his hand. He popped it open. There was blow, crystal meth, meth candy, pills in a rainbow of colors, and heroin with syringes included.

“Nice,” said Skuld. “Sell like ice cream in summer. Gone in a day.”

Two men in the other section started arguing over the girls. “You stole my woman!” one said, in a roar. Skuld kept her face impassive; she recognized that voice as a DEA agent she’d thrown around on the mat that very morning.

Wraith slipped out a cell phone and said, “Account number?” The woman took the phone away from her and punched in the number. As she handed back the phone, Wraith cuffed the woman. “DEA. You’re under arrest.”

Rather than stand around doing nothing, Skuld leapt toward the back door she knew was there, despite it being painted black like the wall. She slid the last meter, and blocked the door. The Thai woman knew muay thai, but Skuld knew dirty street fighting. She had the woman down on the ground, out like a light, with a well-timed punch to the jaw. She laid the woman against the door, conveniently blocking it. She fended off both the Mexican women. They had strong arms, but she fought dirty, breaking one’s ribs and the other one’s ankle.

The Jamaican moved like a dancer, launching herself in an aerial attack. Skuld leapt and grabbed the woman by the throat with one hand; her outstretched claw-hand helping to steady her. She threw the woman off her, but the attacker kept coming, raining blows. Skuld blocked, deflected, then used the door to push herself off it. She landed on the woman, and pulled her hand up behind her back.

Wraith took a flying leap, and put a twist tie on the woman. They wrestled her other arm up, and put the other one in the tie and pulled it tight. The woman howled, a long sound full of rage. Skuld pulled her upright, and howled back in her face. The woman’s eyes were still full of hate, but they held something else… fear.

“Tom,” said Wraith, calling over the DEA agent Skuld had thrown around that morning. “Please take out the trash.”

Wraith bled, from scratches on her shoulder across her clavicle, and her right cheek began to swell. Skuld had bruises on both arms, and her lip was bleeding. Her right wrist was tender.

“Should have brought my vambraces,” said Skuld, working to steady her breathing.

“That was awesome,” said Tom. “Talk about using what’s in your environment!” He took the Jamaican away.

They ignored him, grabbing each other’s necks, and touching foreheads. “With your shield,” said Wraith.

“Or on it,” said Skuld.

Wraith turned with a slight limp. “Ice,” she said.

“Should be some around here somewhere,” said Skuld. They laughed.

“A real friend will help you see the truth even if you refuse to see it.”