"You better not try," Joe said, smiling. "And it wouldn't work for you. That would be kidnapping and you could be tried and convicted of that in Wyoming because you planned and carriedout a major felony on your way to commit the murder."
"So McCann's defense is that he didn't know the victims were there and hadn't planned to kill them when he went on his little hike, so what happened… happened. He just went on a little day hike armed to the teeth?"
Joe said, "That's what he claimed in his deposition. And that's what he said to the court in Yellowstone, where he served as his own lawyer."
"So the murder of four people isn't a crime?" Nate asked with a mixture of disgust and, Joe noted, a hint of admiration.
Joe said, "Oh, it's a crime. But it's a crime that can't be tried in any court because no one has the power to give him a proper trial. The only thing they can legitimately get him on is possessingfirearms in a national park, and they booked him for that and he was tried and convicted of it. But that's just a Class B misdemeanor, no more than six months or a fine of five thousanddollars, or both. So there's no jury trial and the Sixth Amendment doesn't apply."
"Jesus."
"They even tried to get him on a federal statute called ProjectSafe Neighborhoods that was set up to really nail guys who have a gun on federal property. That would have at least sent him to prison for ten years. But to qualify for that"-Joe dug a sheet out of the file and read from it-"McCann had to be a felon, a drug user, an illegal alien, under a restraining order, a fugitive, dishonorably discharged, or committed to a mental institution." Joe lowered the sheet and looked up at Nate. "McCann didn't qualify for any of those. Hell, he's a lawyer with no past criminal record at all."
Nate drained his cup and leaned back in his chair.
"I have a feeling he knew about the loophole," Nate said. "Maybe he just decided to go hunting."
Joe shrugged. "Could be. Or maybe there's some kind of connectionwith the victims, but nobody's been able to establish one. I want to get more information on him, and I want to talk to him."
Nate said, "I ought to just drive up there and blow his head off. Everybody would be happy. Hell, he's a murderer and a lawyer."
Joe smiled grimly. "That's not why I'm here."
"So, why are you here?" Nate asked, knowing the answer.
"I want to ask you if you'll help me out with this one."
"You didn't even need to ask."
Joe hesitated before he said, "I wanted to see if you were still on your game."
"Meaning what?" Nate asked, offended.
Joe sat back and gestured around Alisha Whiteplume's kitchen. "Meaning this."
Nate was in love.
Alisha Whiteplume taught third grade and coached at the high school on the reservation. She had a master's degree in electrical engineering and a minor in American history and had married a white golf pro she met in college. After working in Denver for six years and watching her marriage fade away as the golf pro toured and strayed, she divorced him and returned to the reservation to teach, saying she felt an obligation to give something back to her people. Nate met her while he was scoutingfor a lek of sage chickens for his falcons to hunt. When he first saw her she was on a long walk by herself through the knee-high sagebrush in the breaklands. She walked with purpose,talking to herself and gesticulating with her hands. She had no idea he was there. When he drove up she looked directly at him with surprise. Realizing how far she had come from the res, she asked him for a ride back to her house. He invited her to climb into his Jeep, and while he drove her home she told him she liked the idea of being back but was having trouble with reentry.
"How can you find balance in a place where the same boys who participate in a sundance where they seek a vision and pierce themselves are also obsessed with Grand Theft Auto on PlayStation Two?" she asked. Nate had no answer to that.
She said her struggle was made worse when her brother Bob intimated that he always knew she would come back since everybody did when they found out they couldn't hack it on the outside. She told Nate that during the walk she had been arguingwith herself about returning, weighing the frustration of day-to-day life on the reservation and dealing with Bobby against her desire to teach the children of her friends, relatives, and tribal members. Later, Nate showed her his birds and invitedher on a hunt. She went along and said she appreciated the combination of grace and savagery of falconry, and saw the same elements in him. He took it as a compliment. They went back to her house that night. That was three months ago. Now he spent at least three nights a week there, and it was Alisha's house where Joe located Nate.
Nate was still wanted for questioning by the FBI but thus far had eluded them. Apparently, the FBI had its hands full with more pressing matters. It had been months since Special Agent Tony Portenson had been in the area asking Joe if he'd seen his friend lately.
"What, you think I've been domesticated?" Nate asked, incredulous."You think I've lost my edge?"
Joe didn't answer. He had noticed how Nate's middle had gone soft as a result of Alisha's good cooking. Before Alisha, Nate had survived at his stone house on the banks of the river by hacking off cuts of antelope that hung in the meat cellar and grilling the steaks. Now, he sat down to real meals at least twice a day.
"I didn't say that."
"I'll never go back on my word," Nate said, in reference to the vow he'd made to help Joe when he asked or when he simplyneeded it whether or not he asked. Nate had made the promiseyears before when Joe proved his innocence after Nate had been charged with a murder he didn't commit.
"I'm leaving tomorrow," Joe said.
At that moment, the door opened and Alisha Whiteplume entered carrying two bags of groceries. Joe and Nate stood, and each took a bag and put it on the counter.
"Hello, Mr. Pickett," Alisha said cautiously. "It's good to see you again."
"Alisha."
She was slim and dark, with piercing, always amused eyes and a good figure. Joe could see why Nate was enchanted.
"Are you here to take my boy away?" she asked, arching her eyebrows.
"If he's willing," Joe said.
"Are you willing?" she asked Nate softly.
He hesitated, looking from Joe to Alisha.
Joe thought, He's got it bad. Don't tell me he's going to ask…
"What do you think?" Nate said to her.
She began to pull cans out of a sack and put them away in the cupboards. "I think Joe wouldn't ask for your help if he didn't think he needed it, and I'd be disappointed in you if you refused because you wouldn't be the man I know and love."
Nate said to Joe, "It'll take me a couple of days to finish up some business. Where will you be staying in the park?"
"I'm not sure yet," Joe said, choosing as always not to ask Nate what his business was. "It's about to close for the season. Either Mammoth, Old Faithful, or West Yellowstone. Those are the only places still open. I'll call when I know."
Nate nodded. "Come with me for a minute."
Alisha said good-bye to Joe and resumed putting groceries away. Joe followed Nate outside to Nate's Jeep.
"She's something," Joe said.
"Damned right," Nate answered, swinging up the back hatch and flipping open the lid on a large metal toolbox. He removed the tray of tools on top to reveal a stash of weapons underneath. Nate's.454 Casull, manufactured by Freedom Arms in Freedom,Wyoming, was a heavy five-shot revolver of incredible power and accuracy in Nate's hand. It was on top.
"What are you carrying up there?" Nate asked.
"My shotgun, I guess," Joe said. He hadn't given weapons any thought. "And I'm not even sure about that. It's illegal to have a firearm in the park, like I mentioned."
Nate's look of disdain was epic. "Fuck the Park Service," he said, digging into the box. "We're Americans last I looked. That's the only thing about this situation that causes me heart-burn:helping out the Feds."