CHAPTER SIX

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Rainhorse parked across the street from the diner and sat patiently, waiting for Tony Apollo and Hank Rattling Thunder to arrive. The number of patrons coming and going disturbed him a little.  The diner may have been run down and the menu may have been atrocious but the food was cheap, and business seemed good.

Tony Apollo arrived first.  He recognized him from a picture Neha Littlebird had sent him.  Rainhorse also noticed his first big problem—Apollo brought bodyguards, two of them.

Apollo was taller than Rainhorse imagined he’d be from the picture he’d seen. He was just over six-feet tall, with a medium frame except for the paunch around the middle. He wore white pants with a white blazer that appeared to have not seen a dry cleaner since Obama was in office. His black shirt was unbuttoned to the center of his chest, highlighting a gold medallion hanging from his neck. The medallion was framed by a mat of thick brown chest hair. His beard and hair were bushy and unkempt.

Rainhorse watched closely as Apollo looked around, then began speaking to his bodyguards, undoubtedly offering instructions.  He went inside, leaving his men standing by the door.

Five minutes later Hank Rattling Thunder arrived with two bodyguards of his own in tow.  With him was a young Sioux woman, perhaps thirty or so. She was of a medium build and pleasant looking enough. She wore jeans and a cowboy hat and walked with a confident stride. Her overall body language did not suggest a manner of deference to HRT. She seemed too young to be his wife. A business associate, perhaps? Daughter? HRT’s two body guards exchanged fist-bumps to each of Apollo’s bodyguards—they were obviously familiar with each other.

More problems, Rainhorse thought. He hadn't counted on the bodyguards and he didn't anticipate a woman coming along. It could mean more collateral damage he was not anticipating.

Through the window, Rainhorse saw that Apollo sat exactly where he thought he’d sit.  The big Cheyenne thought it through one last time. If he wanted to go through with his original plan, he’d have to neutralize four extra men when Apollo and HRT left the diner, kill HRT and capture Apollo alive, and figure out what to do with the woman, all within a matter of seconds and all with twice the amount of witnesses he originally anticipated.

He was on the clock, there was no doubt. Every day that went without him having Apollo as his captive was a huge risk, but this . . . this was no good. Rainhorse’s final decision was made easier when a group of young Lakota males opened the back gate of an ancient Ford pickup and used the gate as a seat. They began drinking beer and smoking cigarettes in the parking lot, just hanging out. They would be witnesses as well as potential collateral damage.

Rainhorse slammed his steering wheel in anger, trying to figure some way to pull off the plan, but could not. He would have to think of another way. He started his vehicle and shifted into gear.  As he pulled away from the diner, he made no note of the green Jeep Wrangler that drove past him and pulled into the diner parking lot.

Gill had told Lindsay everything about his encounter with Jackson at the bar, including who he believed that the big Cheyenne was trying to find and what he thought was going to happen. Lindsay, on the other hand, told Gill only partial truths. She did not share Jackson’s real name or verify he was a killer-for-hire, only that he had once saved her life and had been seriously hurt trying to protect her. She told Gill one complete truth—that she’d been trying to find him for two years.

Gill and Lindsay got out of the Jeep and headed to the door. She heard the Lakota and Sioux men whistling at her almost immediately. It appeared the baggy sweatshirt, dirty hat and cheap sunglasses did not accomplish its goal, she thought.

“Ignore it and keep moving,” Gill said. She heard cat calls as they opened the door to go inside.  Gill noticed an open booth near the door and directed Lindsay to it quickly.

Lindsay surveyed the diner, “I don’t see him,” she whispered.

“I don’t either,” Gill whispered back, “but I do see Apollo and HRT.”

“Who is the woman with them?” Lindsay inquired.

“That’s Rose Rattling Thunder,” he replied. “She’s HRT’s daughter. She is his heir-apparent. Right now, she runs his illegal gambling ventures, but word has it he is grooming her for bigger things.”

“She looks kind of wicked,” Lindsay noted.

“Yep, she’s a chip off the old block,” Gill agreed. “The apple does not fall far from the tree.  Quit looking at them, Lindsay.  This whole scene—it’s not good. I should have never brought you here.  I think we should leave.”

“No,” she replied. “Jackson will be here. I’m not leaving.”

“Shit!” he whispered. “They’ve seen us.”

Apollo, HRT and his daughter Rose kept looking their way, then whispering amongst themselves. Other men in the diner were also stealing glances Lindsay’s way. Gill began to perspire. He moved his hand under his jacket to his belt-line releasing the safety on his firearm.

“This is worse than I thought,” Gill said. “Outside of Rose, there’s not another woman in the place. Let’s bag this and leave now, while we can.”

“No,” she insisted. “I’m staying. This is my only chance to find Jackson.”

“You’re kind of pig-headed, you know that?” Gill responded.

“That may have been mentioned once or twice in my past,” she admitted.

Gill could feel every eye in the diner on them. Ska, the Sioux waitress who had served Rainhorse the previous afternoon approached them holding menus. Lindsay noticed her gaunt appearance and the dark bags under her eyes.

She looked at Lindsay and then glanced around the room.

She sat two water glasses on the table. Lindsay immediately noticed that the water was slightly cloudy and the glasses smudged.

Ska leaned over to Lindsay, “This is not a good place for you to be,” she whispered.

“Tell me about it . . . Ska,” Gill replied, reading from her name badge.

“Why are you here?” Ska asked.

“I am looking for a Cheyenne who may have been in here yesterday,” Lindsay replied. “He would have been alone.”

“Who is he to you?” Ska asked.

“He’s my uncle on my father’s side,” Lindsay said. “We were supposed to meet him here an hour ago but we’re running late. We think we may have missed him.”

“If he’s your uncle, can’t you just call him?” Ska asked.

She held up her phone, “No cell service.”

“Are you on AT&T?” she asked.

Lindsay shook her head, no.

“Mobile One,” she said, rolling the dice that it was the right answer.

“That’s the problem,” Ska replied. “I’ve never heard of Mobile One. AT&T is the only cell service that works on the res.”

“So, have you seen him?” Gill asked.

Ska nodded, “Not today, but there was a lone warrior here yesterday afternoon, about this same time.”

Casing the joint, Gill thought.

“I was wondering why a white girl would come in here,” Ska continued. “Your uncle, was he tall, maybe fifty, built like The Rock, with a scar across his face?”

“That’s him,” Lindsay replied.

“Handsome man, your uncle. He was here for a long while—ordered food but didn’t eat. Tipped well, though.”

“Has he been in today?” Lindsay asked.

“No.”

“I must have gotten the time wrong,” Lindsay said. “We’ll just wait. He’ll probably be along any minute.”

Ska looked around, then turned back to Lindsay and Gill and whispered, “Look, I should probably just keep my mouth shut, but if I were you I wouldn’t hang around here. It’s not safe.”

Gill scanned the diner. He saw several men glancing their way. He had been so focused on Apollo and HRT he hadn’t noticed others looking his way.

“I think she’s right, Lindsay,” Gill said. “How can we best get out of here?”

“I’ll pretend to show Lindsay to the bathroom,” Ska said. ‘There’s a back exit. Get into your Jeep and pull it around to the back and pick her up. That’s what I’d do.”

“Just a few more minutes,” Lindsay insisted. “Uncle Jackson will be here.”

“Not a good idea,” Ska said. “Look around. The two men and the woman in the booth across the diner—those are very bad people.  Trust me when I tell you, you do not want to be around them. It can be very bad for your health. You need to leave . . .”

“Ska,” a male voice interrupted. “You’re needed in the kitchen.”

The voice came from Hank Rattling Thunder, now standing behind Ska, just a few feet away. He was an ominous presence, Lindsay noted. He was nearly as tall as Jackson but perhaps ten years older, barrel chested with long, damaged gray hair, thinning at the crown. He had a rugged, weathered face.

“Yes, Hank, thank you,” Ska replied, timidly. She scurried off.

HRT turned back to his table, “Rose, we’re done here. You can go ahead and take off. I’m going to hang here with Apollo for a while.”

Rose stood and left the diner.  She grinned at Lindsay before she left—it gave her chills.

HRT smiled at Lindsay, revealing a crooked set of yellowed teeth. He turned to Gill, “Don’t I know you?”

Gill shook his head, “Don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Hmm, that’s strange,” he said. “I know I’ve seen you. Now, what brings you in here with such a beautiful young girl?”

“We’re just passing through,” Gill said. “Thought we’d stop off for a bite.”

“You have Sheridan County plates. The res a pretty funny place to be . . . just passing through,” HRT noted. “Where are you two headed?”

“No offense,” Gill responded, “but we just came in for a quick meal and then we’ll be back on the road. We have a time table and we aren’t here to socialize.”

“My partner just asked you a friendly question,” another male voice said. The voice was growly. It belonged to Tony Apollo. Lindsay did her best to suppress a squelch as the man in the white pants and black blazer slid into the booth next to her. Apollo smiled at her as he bumped her to the side. His smile was dark, evil-looking, revealing a set of large capped teeth that were bleached totally white. His breath was foul and his hair unkempt.

“Look,” Gill said, “we’ll just leave now and get out of your hair.”

“No way,” Apollo replied, his grin widening. “This party is just getting started.”

He reached over and pulled off Lindsay’s baseball cap, allowing her long, beautiful hair to fall down her back. Apollo whistled.

“Hubba, Hubba,” Apollo called out. “Would you look at this, HRT? It’s like she fell right out of Vogue.”

“Woooo-eeeee!” HRT cried, looking at Lindsay. “You are just about the prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen. What’s your name, sugar?”

“Leave her alone,” Gill demanded.

“Shut up, Vern!” Apollo answered. “That’s right, I know you.”

Gill froze, wide-eyed.

“I recognize you from the Blue Buffalo,” Apollo continued.  “You have ten seconds to tell me what you and Hollywood Barbi Doll are doing here.”

The rest of the diner’s patrons all looked toward the direction of the shouting.

“Everyone out!” screamed HRT. “Now!”

All the patrons began to scamper toward the door. HRT’s body guard came inside, “What’s up boss?” he asked.

“No one else comes in,” he barked. “Get the rest of the customers out of here. We’re gonna have a little conversation with old Vern and little Miss Barbi Doll here.”

“Got it, boss,” he nodded.

HRT slid into the booth beside Gill.

Apollo wrapped his arm around Lindsay. She tried to jerk away but he was too strong. He pulled her into him. Gill lunged forward but HRT grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked him back into his seat.

“Ok now, where were we?” Apollo asked. “Oh yeah. You two were just about to tell me what the fuck you’re doing here.”

*****

In the kitchen, Ska scampered for her jacket.

“What the hell is going on out there?” asked one of the cooks, a nineteen-year-old named Nightwing.

“Apollo and Rattling Thunder have cornered a white girl and some old white guy, probably her dad,” Ska replied. “HRT demanded we all leave. Get out before bullets start flying.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Nightwing barked back, untying his apron.

“Where’s Eli?” Ska asked.

“He’s in the head,” Nightwing responded grabbing his hat and keys.

“Well, go get him?” Ska demanded.

“Kiss my ass!” he screamed. “He’s on his own. You go get him.”

“Wait for me. You are my ride.”

“I’m not waiting,” he announced. “Come right now or I’ll leave you behind.”

“You asshole.”

Ska let out a sigh of exasperation and began running down the hall.

“Stop!” she heard a male voice yell. Ska turned to see HRT’s body guard standing at the end of the hall. His name was Frank Standing Bear. He sometimes supplied her meth, in exchange for sex in the men’s bathroom.

“Ska,” he continued. “Didn’t you hear me. Out! Now!”

“My friend Eli . . . he’s in the bathroom,” she said.

“You go,” he demanded. “I’ll get him.”

“Standing Bear, I need a hit,” she said. “I need one bad.”

“Not now,” he replied. “Last chance, get out now.”

Ska nodded and ran toward the back door. She opened it and ran outside, but slammed into a large man. It felt as though she had run into a brick wall. She crumbled to the floor, landing on her backside.

“Please do not hurt me,” she begged.

“I will not hurt you,” the man replied. “I did not see you in time to move, that’s all. Stand up.”

Ska looked up. It was the large Cheyenne who she had served the day before—the one the white girl and man were asking about.

The big man helped her to her feet, “I am looking for the owner of the Jeep parked out front. I was driving by and saw his Jeep. It looked like there was trouble inside. Is he in there? He is a man, perhaps sixty-five, gray hair—calls himself Vernon Gill.”

“Yes, he is inside with your niece,” Ska replied. “You mustn’t go in. Apollo and Rattling Thunder are in there with four heavily armed body guards.”

“Slow down. What do you mean, my niece?” Rainhorse demanded. “You mean Gill’s niece?”

“No, the white girl said she was looking for her uncle,” Ska said. “She described you perfectly.”

“What did this white girl look like?” he asked.

“She was young, under twenty, pretty and thin.”

“Did you hear her name?”

“The white man called her . . . uh . . . Linda, I think.”

“Lindsay?”

She nodded, “Yes, that was it—Lindsay.”

Rainhorse took in a deep breath and sighed.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“Have they hurt her?”

“Not yet—not that I know of. Now, let me go. We have to get out of here.”

“Where are they sitting?” Rainhorse asked.

“To the left of the door,” Ska replied, “third booth by the window.”

“How many bodyguards are inside with HRT and Apollo?”

“Two inside. Two more are standing just outside the diner—a white guy.”

“Take off, Ska,” Rainhorse said. “Run home as fast as you can.”

“Can you drive me?” she asked. “I rode in with the fry cook. He just left without me.”

“I can’t drive you.”

“Why are you going inside? Are you crazy? That’s suicide.”

“Just go.”

“You are one crazy Indian,” she spat. She began running.

Rainhorse pulled his weapon and opened the door. He peeked inside, seeing nothing but a long hallway. He began walking softly down the hallway through the kitchen, toward the front of the diner. When he got to the opening where the cooks passed food to the servers, he ducked under the window, moving to the far side. He raised his head slowly and peeked into the dining room.

And there she was . . . Lindsay Vanderbilt, sitting in a diner booth with Tony Apollo’s arm wrapped around her. He paused for the briefest moment as a wave of annoyance enveloped him. What the hell was she doing here? How did she get herself into this? He wanted to choke her, but he knew if he had the chance, all he would do is hug her and hold her close. Damn that girl, he thought to himself. He should just walk away and leave her to the mess she’d gotten herself into.

“Who am I kidding?” he whispered softly to himself.  He looked at her again—so innocent, so vulnerable.  She looked scared to death, a look he had grown accustomed to seeing in the days when he first met her. Across the table from her was Hank Rattling Thunder, sitting next to Vern Gill. He saw two bodyguards, both Sioux from the looks of them. He saw only one bodyguard standing outside. He expected to see two, but the second was nowhere in sight.

He took another minute to decide what to do.  He sighed heavily, realizing he had little time, and decided to improvise. He burst into the diner, gun held with both hands in a pointed position. He eyed all three men, instantly evaluating the threats. The first shot he took was at the armed man standing outside. He shot the man through the plate glass window. He saw the bodyguard slump to the ground. A second later, he shot both Sioux bodyguards, positioned inside. They crumbled to the floor. He saw no fourth man.

He swiftly took aim at Tony Apollo’s head, “Don’t make a move,” Rainhorse demanded.

“Jackson! Thank god,” Lindsay screamed out.

Rattling Thunder stood and went for his gun. Rainhorse fired—the bullet went through his hand. HRT howled in pain and fell to one knee. Apollo used the distraction to draw his firearm and pull Lindsay in closer to him. He gouged the barrel of the pistol in her ribs. She shrieked in pain.

“Let her go, Apollo,” Rainhorse demanded.

“That’s funny,” Apollo answered, flashing his capped teeth in a sneer. “You know me and I don’t know you.”

He looked at Rattling Thunder, “Do you know this man, HRT?”

HRT shook his head, no, still grimacing and holding his wounded hand.

“Get off the ground and sit in the booth, HRT,” Apollo demanded. “You sitting there on your knees . . . it’s not dignified.” HRT struggled to stand but did so and sat back in the booth.

Apollo looked back at Rainhorse. He gave a soft shrug without moving his weapon and looked up at the big Cheyenne, “We don’t know you. Who are you, friend?”

“The man who is going to end your life if you do not let her go,” Rainhorse replied.

The smile disappeared from Apollo’s face. He bent his face slightly downward and leered at the big stranger. His expression was positively evil, “Beware of empty threats my friend. I still have my gun trained on your . . . niece, is it? The barrel is resting right about where her liver is. My gun is cocked and ready to fire. From this angle I could probably hit her liver and her spleen. I don’t know for sure. I flunked anatomy. I do know it would be very messy.”

Rainhorse thought about shooting Apollo in the head. He knew just where to place a bullet that would flip him off like a light switch. He couldn’t risk it, though—too dangerous. Apollo's gun could very easily go off and kill Lindsay.

Apollo cocked his head and smiled at Rainhorse, “I see those wheels turning in your head, friend. Trust me. You shoot me—she dies. Now why don’t you put that pistol down and we’ll talk about it.”

“It’s not going to happen, Apollo,” Rainhorse barked.

“Oh no?” Apollo replied, jamming the gun into Lindsay’s side harder. She screamed and jerked.

Gill reached for his own gun and pulled it. Apollo pulled his gun away from Lindsay’s side and turned toward Gill, preparing to take aim at the tavern owner. Rainhorse could not get off a shot at Apollo for fear of hitting Lindsay. He dropped his gun and dove toward Apollo, knocking the gun from his hand.

Gill tried to swing his pistol toward Rattling Thunder. HRT used his good arm to strike Gill across the face with his elbow. Gill fell back with his arms raised. A shot went off, sending a bullet through the ceiling. HRT grabbed the bar owner’s shooting arm and slammed it on the table. Gill dropped the weapon onto the table, his nose now gushing with blood.

Gill tried to fend off HRT while Apollo and Rainhorse struggled. The Cheyenne gained a quick advantage, grabbing Apollo’s neck in a choke hold and squeezed tightly. Apollo’s face began to turn red as he started to choke. Lindsay shrieked and pressed herself at the far edge of the bench seat.

The fourth bodyguard came in through the broken glass.

Apollo managed to pull Rainhorse’s hands away from his throat, "Chester! Get this big son-of-a-bitch off me."

Apollo managed to get one punch in to Rainhorse’s jaw, which slowed him temporarily, but the big Cheyenne still remained positioned on top of the drug warlord in the booth. He saw Chester raising his weapon.

“Don’t shoot him, dumbass,” Apollo screamed at the bodyguard. “You might hit me.” The drug kingpin tried to punch Rainhorse again but the former Ranger blocked his punch and delivered a blow of his own to Apollo’s cheek.

Apollo wailed in pain.

“Jackson, watch out,” Lindsay screamed in warning, but it was too late. The fourth bodyguard had slammed a wooden table chair across Rainhorse’s back, breaking it into a dozen pieces. The big Cheyenne slumped to his knees in front of the booth, then collapsed on his back, his brain swimming near the edge of unconsciousness. Apollo sat up quickly, holding his neck, choking, gasping for air.

HRT tried to reach Gill’s pistol, still laying on the table, but the bar owner recovered well enough to knock it toward Lindsay. The gun fell on her lap. She shrieked again, and shrank away, as if a rabid racoon had landed on her.

HRT elbowed Gill on his temple. The older man’s head fell limply to the table—he was unconscious.

Apollo slid out of the booth and stood on shaky legs. He looked at his bodyguard, “Don’t just stand there like an idiot. Shoot that big Indian, will ya?”

Rainhorse blinked as the bodyguard pulled a pistol from his beltline. He raised his bootheel and slammed it into Chester's knee. He bellowed in pain and dropped to the floor. Rainhorse struggled to sit up, but Apollo kicked him in the face, sending him back to a prone position on the floor. He was still conscious but just barely.

"Dammit, he's a strong bastard," huffed Apollo, coughing and rubbing his neck. "The son-of-a-bitch has a grip like a vise."

"We need to move," HRT said. "Too many witnesses. Someone must have called the tribal police."

“You're right. Let’s get the hell out of here,” Apollo responded. HRT began to move away. Apollo helped his bodyguard to his feet.

“Want me to pop him, boss?” Chester asked, taking aim at Rainhorse on the ground, still trying to shake the cobwebs and retain consciousness.

“No!” he screamed. “I’ve changed my mind. I want answers first. I want to know who he is and why he is here. Bring him with you, and bring the little bitch, too.”

“What about the old guy?” Chester asked.

“Him you can pop,” Apollo said.

Apollo and HRT ran out of the door as the bodyguard raised his weapon and pointed it at Rainhorse’s head.

“I’m going to take pleasure in killing you later,” he said. “Now get on your feet.”

Rainhorse looked down the barrel of the weapon and he heard a loud gun blast. The big Cheyenne winced, though it was not he who had been shot. He saw Chester fall to the floor, blood pouring out of his head.

The former Ranger looked at Lindsay, who was still holding the gun.

“Oh my god,” Lindsay screamed. “I just shot a man. I just killed someone.”

“Lindsay,” Rainhorse called, struggling to sit up. He saw her drop Gill’s pistol and slide out of the booth.

“Jackson, you’re all right, thank goodness,” she said, crying louder. “I almost got you killed.”

Rainhorse sat up. She fell to her knees and hugged him. He placed his hand on the back of her head and pulled her to him, kissing her forehead. He drew in deep breaths as he considered how close he had come to losing her forever. He squeezed her tightly as she wept, rocking back and forth ever so subtly.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she repeated, the tears and cries showing no signs of slowing. “I hired a private investigator to find you . . . I had to come . . .”

“Shhh,” Rainhorse admonished, touching her lips with his forefinger, “I do not care about that right now. We will talk about this later. We have got to get Gill and get out of here. In case it has not sunk in, you and I have both shot men to death. We cannot afford to let the tribal police find us anymore than Apollo can. Help me up.”

Lindsay wiped away tears and helped the big Cheyenne to his feet. He picked up a glass of water from another table and splashed it on Gill’s face. The bar owner jumped up and began blinking. He raised his hand to touch the lump forming on his head where he’d been hit.

“What the hell happened?” Gill asked. “Where’d they go?”

“Never mind that right now,” Rainhorse replied. “Can you drive?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I just need a minute.”

“We do not have a minute,” came the reply. “Apollo and Rattling Thunder know who you are. You need to get home, collect your wife and a few essential belongings and get out. Do you have someplace you can go?”

“Yeah, we have a cabin on the southeast side of Medicine Lake,” Gill said. “It’s about a ninety-minute drive.”

“Does anyone know about this cabin?” Rainhorse asked.

“No, just my wife and my kids. My kids are in Omaha.”

“Good. Go lock your bar down,” Rainhorse said. “Call your wife and have her pack. Tell her whatever you have to tell her, just get out of town tonight. You should be safe. I think they will be focused on finding out who I am in the short run, but make no mistake about it, they will come after you.”

“Roger that,” Gill said.

“My car,” Lindsay chimed in. “My car is still parked at your diner.”

“Give me the keys,” Gill said. “I’ll move it to my cabin until you come back for it.”

“It’s a damn good thing for you I don’t have time to get into this right now, Gill,” Rainhorse said, threateningly. “What the hell were you thinking bringing an eighteen-year-old white girl to a truck stop diner on the res?”

“Ask her,” Gill said.

“Trust me, I will, but later,” he replied. “Give me your cell number. I’ll call you when it’s all clear.”

Gill told him his number.

“We need to move,” Rainhorse said. “Lindsay, you’re with me.”