“Just a beer. I only take a fifteen-minute break.”
“Is this your place?”
Bryson shook his head. “I wish it were. Like the casino and most everything else on the reservation, it’s owned by Native Americans. This is one of Littlewolf’s places, along with that gas station across the street.”
“That’s Dan Littlewolf,” Karen clarified. “He has an interest in the casino, too.”
Leopold’s strip steak arrived, a bit rarer than he liked it, but the potatoes were good and he ate without comment. Sammy Bryson finished the beer and went back to his piano. When Karen Wein left them alone to visit the ladies’ room, Silverspur said to Leopold, “I can give you a better price on drugs than Rosco could.”
“Is that so?”
“You come to the res to buy drugs, you deal with me, not a fraud like Rosco. He’s no Indian.”
“I’ll remember that,” Leopold promised. “This time I’d better stick with him. I don’t want trouble. But next time it’ll be you.”
Silverspur grunted as Karen returned to the table. Leopold could almost read his mind. He was thinking that this old guy with his health problems wouldn’t last till next time.
“Here comes my brother now,” she said as she took her seat. Leopold looked up to see a slender man with a black goatee who looked nothing like any Native American he’d ever seen. Though he was recognizable from the photos Fletcher had supplied, the goatee was certainly not Native American. It was little wonder that Silverspur rejected the guy, while remaining cozy with his sister.
“Are you Mr. Leopold, the one Karen told me about?” he asked. He sat down next to his sister.
“That’s me.”
Rosco Wein’s eyes seemed to bore into Leopold’s head. “You got some form of ID?”
“I’m not a cop, if that’s what you think. I brought along my passport in case I had to cross the border.”
Wein examined the passport and handed it back. “Can’t be too careful. What is it you want?”
Leopold repeated the story of his supposed illness. “I bought some pot at a clinic in California and that seemed to help the pain. But now I’m back here and I can’t get it.”
Wein nodded as if he’d heard the story before. “I can give you what you need, and more besides. In addition to pot, I have a small amount of coke and some Ecstasy pills. Ever tried ‘em?”
“No. I’ve read about them.”
“They’re well named. You’ll forget all your troubles.”
“All right,” Leopold agreed. “How much for all three?”
“Depends what you’ve got to spend. Suppose we go out to my car and talk it over.”
“Fine by me.” He was relieved to get away from Wein’s sister and Silverspur’s insistent sales pitch.
Wein’s car was a black SUV with an American flag decal on the window next to one for St. Lawrence Indian Nation. Leopold slid into the front passenger seat and took out an envelope full of currency that Fletcher had given him to make the buy. Before he said a word, Wein ran his hands over Leopold’s back and sides. “I have to make sure you’re not wearing a wire.”
“A what?” Leopold asked in all innocence.
“I don’t want you recording our conversation. Understand?”
“Sure.”
“How much cash is in there?”
“Enough.”
The bearded man sighed. “Look, I have to know what we’re talking about. A thousand dollars?”
“More, if you’ve got what I need.”
“I can supply what you need.”
“I have ten thousand,” Leopold said softly, as if hesitant to speak the sum aloud.
“Say, I think you must have some sick friends back home besides yourself.” He chuckled a bit, jotted down some figures on a pad, and tore off the sheet for Leopold. “This is what I can supply for ten grand. How’s that sound?”
“Good.”
“Let me have a look at the money.”
Leopold opened the envelope and fanned out the bills for a quick inspection. “Satisfied?”
“Sure. Don’t worry, I’m not going to steal it. I’ll have the goods tomorrow morning and we can close the deal then.”
“Where? What time?”
“I have to cross over to the other side for some of it. I can meet you in this parking lot at nine.”
“Will the Homestead be open then?”
“No. They don’t open till lunchtime.”
Leopold wanted a busier place, where the state police could be close-by without attracting attention. “What about the casino parking lot?”
“I’m not on the best of terms with Dan Littlewolf. If his security men spotted me there they’d probably run me off. He doesn’t bother with this place so much.”
“All right, it’ll have to be here, then. Nine tomorrow morning.”
They shook hands and Rosco Wein said, “See you then. Bring your money.”
Leopold went back to his motel and phoned Captain Fletcher. “I’ve made contact,” he said. “Wein liked the color of our money. He’s making the delivery at nine tomorrow morning, in the parking lot of the Homestead restaurant. I tried to shift him to the casino but it was no-go.”
“Good work,” Fletcher told him. “I have to contact Lieutenant Oaken of the tribal police and tell him, off the record, what we’re doing. The state police will be ready to move in, too.”
“Some of these tribal police could be on Wein’s payroll,” Leopold pointed out. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Fletcher sighed. “That’s a chance we’ll have to take. Are you armed?”
“Ankle holster, if I have time to reach it.”
“Be careful, for God’s sake! If anything happens to you, Molly would never forgive me.”
“Neither would I.”
Leopold phoned his wife next. “How’s the trial going?”
“Wrapping up,” she said, sounding tired. “I miss you.”
“I’ll be home tomorrow night if all goes well.”
He slept soundly but woke early, well before the seven o’clock alarm he’d set. He showered and dressed, thankful that it wasn’t snowing. April weather in northern New York could be uncertain and the morning’s gray clouds promised nothing but trouble. But this Tuesday was different. By the time he’d grabbed a quick breakfast and headed for the meeting with Rosco Wein, the sun was trying to break through.
The Homestead parking lot was empty when he pulled in at ten to nine. A half-hour later Wein still hadn’t appeared and he was beginning to feel uneasy. At ten o’clock he phoned Fletcher. “He’s a no-show.”
“You think he smelled a rat?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sit tight. I’ll phone Lieutenant Oaken and get back to you.”
Leopold waited another half-hour before his cell phone rang. “Oaken just called me back,” Fletcher said. “He’s located Wein’s SUV in the casino parking lot. You’d better get over there.”
“Right,” Leopold said. Something had gone wrong, but he didn’t know what.
At the casino he spotted the tribal police vehicle parked by one of the rows of cars. A uniformed officer stood talking to a white-haired man in a business suit. Both were Native Americans. The officer’s uniform had lieutenant’s bars on the shoulders. He turned as Leopold approached. “You’re Mr. Leopold?”
“That’s right. Lieutenant Oaken?”
“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending his hand. “This is Dan Littlewolf, the casino owner.”
Littlewolf was a short, stocky man, probably past fifty. He looked unhappy as he said, “I don’t know what this is all about. If Rosco Wein is involved in anything illegal, I know nothing about it.”
“Have you found him?” Leopold asked.
“Mr. Littlewolf has his security people searching the casino right now,” Oaken said. “If he’s in there, they’ll find him.”