The Cheyenne Nation nodded his head at Willie. “I am feeling lucky.” As the croupier dealt cards to the three of us, the Bear smiled at me. “And besides, both Vic and Cady left me messages this afternoon. They worry about you.”
—
We played a few more hands, and he explained. “Since I was already in Pine Ridge . . .” He gestured around him. “I decided to stop by.”
Willie interrupted, ready to unload a few more cards. “Five for the cowboy, king for the Ind— Native American, and a three for the house.”
Henry sipped his wine. “Why, if you do not mind my asking, are you here?”
I tapped the five and got another one. “Looking for a missing woman.” I tapped again and landed an eight. “Hold.” I pulled the photograph from my coat pocket and unfolded it on the table between us. “Roberta Payne—ring any bells?”
He studied it and then nodded his head toward the other room. “I would say she bears an uncanny resemblance to the woman with the man at the ATM machine over there.” The Bear pursed his lips at the dealer again and got a three. He lip-pointed once more and got an eight, smiled the razor smile, and passed his hand over the cards as a blessing. I turned to see a tall, bald man, muscular in build, holding on to said woman’s arm as she made a withdrawal.
I flipped my cards over. “That would be she.”
Willie threw himself a jack and then a six. He looked at Henry, who paid him no attention, and then turned over a ten. He sighed and scooped up the cards, once again depositing the Bear’s winnings in front of him. “You’re lucky tonight.”
The Cheyenne Nation stacked his chips. “Yes, I am.”
Willie stepped back and dusted his hands together. “Would either of you gentlemen mind if I ran to the bathroom? It’s right over there, and it’s been a long shift.”
We said nothing, just watched him go. Henry, speaking under his breath, turned back to me. “You do realize that he is going to warn this Roberta Payne and friend?”
I stood and reached for my coat, careful to reattach my holstered weapon, as he joined me in putting on his black leather duster. “I’m counting on it.” We watched as Willie slipped behind the cashier booth through a door beside the cash machines. With one quick look back at us, he spoke through the cage to the couple at the ATM, opened another door, and allowed them inside.
We hustled across the floor, only to find that the heavy security door was fashioned with a large metal keyboard. I leaned back and motioned toward the man in the cashier booth. “Hey, would you mind—”
There was a thunderous crash, and I looked back and saw that the Cheyenne Nation had decided not to wait for approval and had let himself in with a size-twelve Caterpillar chukka boot; he extended his hand. “After you?”
We two-at-a-timed it down the steps and were immediately confronted with a hall. “You go that way, and I’ll go this—first one to find something, sing out.”
He nodded and disappeared to the left—I moved quickly to the right, finding another door, which read WOMEN’S DRESSING ROOM. I turned the knob, but it was locked. I was about to do a Bear when a young woman in one of the waitress outfits opened it and then stepped back, her hand to her chest. “Oh, my God.”
“Excuse me.”
I started to go around her, but she held up her arm. “This is the women’s dressing room.”
“I know, and I’m looking for a woman. Roberta Payne?”
“Never heard of her.” The arm stayed on the door. “And you can’t come in here.”
I pulled out my badge wallet. “Yep, I can.” I pushed past her, and across the room, I could see another door hanging open and moving. I threw what my father had called my field voice over my shoulder. “Henry!”
Hoisting myself up the steps, I threw the door open into the snow-covered alley behind the casino which, with the proximity of the surrounding buildings and the thickness of the fog, felt claustrophobic. I cranked my hat down tight and looked at the ground, where three sets of tracks went to the left toward the middle of town.
I felt the breath of someone next to me. “They are together.”
“Yep.” I stepped back and let the expert take over the tracking duties, watching as his left shoulder humped up and his right hand hovered over the ground like it always did when he was bird-dogging, and he loped off down the alley. I tried to keep up but was at a disadvantage running with the leather soles of my cowboy boots in comparison with the Vibram ones of his boots—at least that’s what I told myself.
We tracked them two blocks, but then the Bear pulled up and stood at Lee Street, the snow already covering his raven-black hair like the mantle of silver on a grizzly. “They split up.”
“Why in the heck would they do that?”
The streetlight flared off the surfaces of his face. “Two cars. There are two major parking areas in town, one over by Deadwood Creek and the public parking garage on Wall Street. The croupier went toward the creek, and the couple went toward the garage.”
“She’s the one we want; we’ll find out about the dealer later.”
The Bear turned and was off again, trying to catch a glimpse of Roberta Payne in the freezing fog. “They are fast.” He shook his head as we hurried across the empty street, the snow now approaching lower midcalf. “Try and keep pace.”
Henry broke into a run, and I struggled to keep up as he took to the sidewalk—I just ran down the middle of the street. It was strange to see the usually busy little town like this, almost as if we were ghosts, haunting the place with our muffled, silent run. I saw Henry pause and then take a left on Wall toward the parking garage.
Sliding a good six feet on the smooth soles of my boots, I made the turn too, and lumbered after the Cheyenne Nation, almost running into him at the empty glass booth at the entrance. He stood, looking up, staring at the concrete ceiling and the floors above. “What?”
“Someone was trying to start a car.”
I looked at the two passageways on either end of the massive building that stretched most of the length of the town. “You take in and I’ll take out; working our way to the roof?”
He nodded and was off to the right as I moved left, looking at all the cars as I went, hoping to spot exhaust, movement, or the condensation that would tell me somebody was inside. There were more than a lot of vehicles—evidently guests from the surrounding hotels and employees who had given up the ghost had decided to just leave their vehicles in the safety of the garage for the night.
There was a Toyota pickup at the far end, sitting by itself with the motor running. Just to be on the safe side, I pulled my badge wallet from my rear pocket and held it open, placing my other hand on the .45 at my side as I approached the driver of the small truck and noticed that it was, ever so slightly, rocking.
I drew my coat back over my sidearm and walked a little forward where I could see a woman sitting on a man’s lap. I had just started to move back when the guy saw me and screamed, honestly, screamed. Then the woman started screaming, and I held up my hands.
She slid to the side, and the middle-aged man rolled down the window and started yelling at me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I put a finger to my lips. “Shhhhhhh . . .” I then held up my badge and whispered loudly, “Get a room.” The window went back up, and I was able to get past before he threw it in reverse.
I turned up the ramp leading to the second floor. At the top, I looked down the length of the building and sighed through chattering teeth.
I was cold, it was late, and I was really tired.
I started working both sides of the street, so to speak, and was halfway done when I saw Henry, skimming along like a black panther, stooped and crisscrossing the lane just as I was. I shook my head and thought about the best buddy I had in the world, a man ready to drop everything in his life and rush out into a blizzard to help me try and catch a missing woman.