Winter of the Wolf Moon by Steve Hamilton Page A

Be an Indian when it suits you and then turn it right back off. God forbid you’d let your tribe help you when you’re sitting in jail. Or even know you’re there.”
    “Is that what this is about, Alex? You’re mad at me because you thought you had to come bail me out? You want your thousand dollars back? I’ll give it to you. It’ll be on your doorstep tomorrow morning.”
    “Goddamn you,” I said. I grabbed the steering wheel like I meant to tear it right off. “I should have left you there. I thought I was just trying to be your friend. But I guess I
can’t
be your friend, right? I’ll always be an outsider to you.”
    He didn’t say anything else. Neither did I. Not until we got to Paradise and I pulled into the Glasgow Inn parking lot. “I’m gonna get something to eat,” I said. “You coming in?” It was as close to a peace offering as he was to going to get from me.
    “No, thanks,” he said. “I’ll walk home.”
    “It’s a long walk,” I said.
    “Not for me,” he said.
    “Another Indian thing.”
    “Go fuck yourself.”
    “Have a nice night,” I said. I got out of the truck and watched him walk up the main road toward his cabin. A good two miles in heavy snow. I shook my head and went into the place.
    I sat at the bar by myself and had some dinner and a couple of cold Canadians. Jackie knew by the look on my face that it was a night to leave me alone. So did a couple guys from my regular poker game who were sitting by the fire.
    I thought about what had happened in the past twenty-four hours. I didn’t like anything I had done. I was stupid enough to leave her alone in the cabin. Then I spent the whole day chasing my own tail, and wondering why everybody was acting strange around me.
    The reason they were acting strange, Alex, is because you were making a fool of yourself. They were right and you were wrong, and they even tried to tell you that. Brandow said it in his own way, and Maven laid it out straight. Go home and leave it to the real cops.
    There was nothing else I could do. I saw that. Finally, sitting there at the bar, having my third Canadian after I had pushed the plate away. For once in my life, I had to just accept that something bad had happened and there was nothing in the world I could do about it. Bruckman and Dorothy were probably a thousand miles away by now.
    And the business with Vinnie, maybe he was right,too. What right did I have to judge the Parrishes’ reactions? How could I know what they were really feeling? Or what they had been through with their daughter in the years leading up to that point?
    I needed to talk to him. And then I needed to go to bed. I threw a twenty on the bar and went back out into the unending snowfall. The snow had gotten lighter at least. Maybe we wouldn’t be totally buried by the next day.
    I fired up the truck again, went up the main road to my access road. Vinnie walked this whole way, I said to myself, in this snow.
    I put the plow down and pushed my way down the access road. The snow was powder but deep enough to make me work at it. I struggled to keep the plow straight. When I came to Vinnie’s cabin, I saw him outside with a shovel in his hand. He had just started shoveling, and had a long night ahead of him if he was planning on clearing his driveway.
    I stopped and rolled down my window. “Get out of the way,” I said.
    He didn’t say anything. He kept shoveling. He had taken his coat off and hung it over the mailbox. He must have had a good sweat going already.
    “Vinnie, get out of the way,” I said. “So I can plow your fucking driveway.”
    Nothing. He didn’t even look up at me.
    “Vinnie, come on,” I said. “Talk to me.”
    He kept shoveling.
    I looked at him for a long time. There was only the sound of his shovel scraping against the ground. The shovel wasn’t long enough. A couple hours ofworking with that shovel would give him one hell of a sore back.
    “Fine,” I said. “The hell with you.”
    I