THE FERAL STRUT

Chapter 16

"He's lying," Ginger said, looking out the window of the yurt.

"Why would he lie about that?" Mary looked at her through the steam rising from a coffee mug. The stove hadn't warmed things up, yet. "You're shivering," she said. Get back in your bag."

"I think the Don— or someone like that— beat him up. He cooked up the whole thing about the robber to cover. When I went to visit him he had that look on his face— you can tell when he's lying. Or at least I can."

"What are you going to do?"

"What can I do? Go to the cops and tell them my father's totally full of shit? That he got beat up by a guy who's been dead for months?"

"Missing— not dead. We saw him."

"The Sheriff told me I was hallucinating. Lay off the dope."

"And the picture they showed me was really bad— I wonder if that was on purpose."

"You mean, like, the cops are in on it? Isn't that sort of paranoid?"

"Maybe. But I think I'll hit the library and go through the newpaper files."

She parked outside the Sheriff's Office, trying to screw up her courage. Bullivant had been all over the papers for the last couple years, shaking hands, presenting certificates, hosting events. He was definitely the man she'd seen. Ginger's dad and mother showed up in several of the photos, and Krista's mom in a few. They all knew one another, the rich.

And the rich people controlled the cops. She remembered how Slim avoided busting rich kids for weed. If it'd been a bunch of Mexicans, they'd have gone to jail.

Same way in Rock Springs, she thought. The cops would see the shiny new car, then look at the drivers license and recognize the name. Some kids got popped over and over and always got off with a warning.

Just as she'd convinced herself not to go in, Slim walked to her car and stood, waiting for her to roll down her window. It squeaked in the cold.

"What's up?" His face was carefully blank.

"Need to talk about some things."

He walked to the other door and got in.

"Drive," he said.

She told him about what Ginger said: her dad was lying. She didn't say that Ginger believed he'd been roughed up by Bullivant. Nor that she'd figured out that he was the guy she saw that night, before Gin's mom washed down three or four handfuls of pills with 100-proof vodka. She wanted to say enough that Slim would react, and maybe tell her something.

But he didn't, the shit. He just sat there, stonefaced, acting like a cop on a TV series. So she drove back to the Sheriff's Office and parked.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

He puffed out a breath, exasperated. "Look— this isn't my business. In fact the Sheriff told —ordered— me to stay away from anything to do with this. Rozier, Bullivant, the whole damn mess. He said there were things I didn't understand— that he'd handle it, personally."

"And you're going to sit still for that?"

"He's my boss. No, I don't like it."

"But you're not going to help us."

"I'd like to, but— Look, I thought you wanted to talk about the other night. About us."

"Us? As opposed to plain old you and me?"

"Did I do something? Or are you this way, period?"

He got out and slammed the door.

She drove off in a huff and was halfway to Wilson before she noticed she was still in third gear. Shit!

Just past the river junction it occurred to her that Slim had told her something she hadn't known: Rozier, Bullivant, the whole damn mess. That's what he said.

But she hadn't mentioned Bullivant. The cops were onto something.

She couldn't wait to tell Gin. Would that get her to talk?

Then she remembered the look on Slim's face: disappointed, hurt.

I was a shit, she thought. Mean. But it's better to warn him off now than to have things get sticky. I need to keep my mind on music, the band.

Besides, how would it look for me to be dating a cop?