Leaving Durant

Chapter 4

Denver, Part II

Okay, so I've wracked my fertile (you know, where there's a pony, there's…) brain trying to figure out a plausible reason for Walt to go rogue S3E10 . This is only one idea of many out there, and I am entrusting the show writers to make a plausible and acceptable (to the fandom) interpretation of what could drive a man whose oath and life's work is to enforce the law to make such a quantum shift to vigilante justice. I can't imagine anyone in their "right mind" choosing that path, so I struggle with what 'right mind' is, for the context of this story. A reviewer said she's disappointed with Vic, but I had to have a vehicle to get her out of Durant—fast. Hopefully the rest of the story will make up for it.

This story has evolved…well, hopefully you'll see in future chapters. I loved the S3 finale Tom & Huck corpse-filching scenes, aided by Omar and the hapless Colorado State Patrol Troopers (hey, those cops are just down the road from me!). Walt and Henry's misadventures as kids must have given the adults white hair.Add Vic to the mix…

I'm putting this up a little later than I thought, but hopefully it makes more sense, now. I'm sure there are still typos and loose ends, but I can make changes in it if you all see huge gaping craters…

Walt and Henry obligingly sat in the ubiquitous motel room conversation chairs while I ducked into the bathroom and threw on the clothes I planned to wear for the tour with Vogel later that afternoon. While I was trying to comb my hair, my phone buzzed. I picked it up to see Henry texting me from the next room.

Did not know Walt had phone. Bloomfield: PTSD – Ridges? Gilbert? aggravated by bruised rib/lung turned to pneumonia after Ridges fight.

Guilt upon guilt spiraled upon me. Those things made sense. I knew Walt hadn't been sleeping, staying up days at a time, at least since he had punched me. Even the punch might have either been from or sent him into PTSD, and the Ridges ambush had been earlier that same morning. I hadn't seen Walt much since we had retrieved David Ridges' body from the battlefield. He had looked stressed, harried, and unsettled the brief times we had passed at the office after that. I knew he'd been keeping me out of the field since Chance's, so we hadn't been able to talk, or process anything. I was pretty sure he thought he was protecting me, especially after he had punched me, but I was now pretty sure at what cost—his very sanity.

I had also known he wasn't well the day of the Connally shooting, but he was so damn driven to make things right, and so physically tough, that I knew it would take a combination plate of problems to fell him. The worst, most personal thing was that he evidently had fallen, and I hadn't been there to catch my friend as he fell, and stay with him until he pulled through. Instead, I had caved, bolted, and then had not done my damnedest to find him, but accepted the verdict and the censure of other people without a word from him. I should have stayed.

I emerged from the bathroom and thought I caught a flicker of appreciation in Walt's eyes. He didn't see me in dress slacks very often, maybe much less than a dress. These were gray, conservative, with a simple white blouse. Nothing to entice a man, they were instead simple professional interview clothes for a city job. To take me away from Durant…

I think his eyes understood the significance of the clothes, as appreciation turned stricken. I thought of the additional evidence of the voicemails and thought with some warmth, he did miss me.

I am sure my face was white and I wasn't cussing, hell, I was uncharacteristically quiet as the three of us walked together down the block to the restaurant. To my amazement, Walt tentatively enveloped my hand in his big square one. I almost yanked it back, didn't think it was a good idea, but the look on his face melted me.

"I missed you," was all he said, but along with his eyes, and putting my thoughts to words, it was more than enough, really. I'd forgotten, working again in a city how really big and genuine he was stacked against the city suits. His hand was reassuring, big and calloused from chopping wood and wielding a shovel at the barn, not from playing his game system every night.

It did make a weird kind of sense. Walt had asked me to stay, and here he was not Sheriff and so did not have to observe the proprieties of both boss and elected official.

Henry did not comment on that action, but I had always thought Henry was aware of a lot more than he let on to us.

"Last night, I really wished this place was the Bee." I tried to say something. At least I could be honest about that through the coils of guilt plaguing me every time I sneaked a look at him.

The three of us sat in a booth near the front window. I would have preferred one much further back, or near the kitchen, like the one we frequented at the Bee. Although most of our meals at the Bee included shop talk, I had never much liked the idea of airing my business for the entire community. Today, Walt seemed especially edgy about where we were sitting. I wondered if it was because of the personal nature of our business, or something else.

We ordered. Coffees and ice waters appeared at the table. I doctored my coffee with plenty of milk and sugar to Walt's gentle smile. It was a joke between us that never grew old. Henry refrained from comment on our beverage rapport. That, and the fact that we were touching shoulder to hip. Dorothy, we're not in Durant, anymore.

The three of us began to make circuitous conversations not touching on the real reasons why we were politely sitting in a restaurant in Denver. Our orders finally came.

Henry ate like a stevedore. Walt began to toy with his food, while I played with mine. It was as though the two of us were trying to bury the words that needed to be said in our food, but I was watching Walt in sneaking glances the entire time. I caught him watching me, too. He did not look like he should be in a strange city, much less at a restaurant, much less upright.

I noticed him scanning the street periodically, even as I studied his face, as though he was watching for something. It was curious behavior for him. He typically did not do that in our daily business in Durant, and after all, I had daily watched this man for over three years. But he was not here as sheriff…

I finally got up my courage as Henry finished. "Henry? Could you…give us a few minutes?"

Henry grunted an affirmative. "I will make a visit to the Cheyenne Warrior's room and check my email."

I knew I needed to supply Walt with an explanation. I took a deep breath: now or never, but before explanation, it just exploded out. "So why didn't Cady or Henry answer or return my calls? I just wanted to find out what happened, if you were okay…"

He exhaled, pressed his lips together. "I told them I had to talk to you in person. I don't think they could explain what happened." He exhaled again and looked at me. His eyes were agony. "Why did you leave me?"

Not, why did you quit, not why did you leave Durant, but the more personal, me…

"So," I asked, in the whispery voice which was my anger and nerves at a rolling boil, but sometimes seemed to reach him better than shouting, "What did happen?"

"Got sick. Why did you leave me?"

My heart sank, and already badly broken, spalled off into smaller pieces. I had left him when he was sick. But he had asked me a question…I took a deep breath before answering. My phone buzzed with a text and saved me. It was…Henry, again?

See if you can get him to take his medications. He may do it for you. I have not had much luck.

"You got meds?" I asked instead.

"After you answer."

I paused, my lips twisting. "Can you imagine how it felt to find out that you went off on a vendetta for someone deceased, thoroughly rejecting the living—Cady, Henry, me? I left Durant because I couldn't work for a man who asked me to stay, but had no place in his heart for me. That was the most humiliating thing of all, finding out that fucking Lizzie was right, after all…that it was still filled by only Martha...that you had to make it right for Martha…to the exclusion of the rest of us who care about you." I bit my lip as I trailed off, nothing left in me to lay out. I felt like I had opened a wound to drain it, and it was all exposed, now. Did I sound bitter, or even catty? Jealous of the dead, that was pretty bad.

The pain I saw in his eyes showed that just now, maybe, he was beginning to get a sense of how that might have felt. It was obvious he was struggling. Walt might always have to fight for that, trying find the right words with a woman. As partners, as friends, he could apparently function in some sort of comfort zone. I would always have him comfortable with me, even if it was only to stay as friends, as partners, and not more. It was the best part of being together the last few years.

"You have a place…inside me. I held you at the hospital…I asked you to stay. I made peace with Martha and scattered her ashes. I decided to change my answering machine. I want to look forward."

"You neglect to mention that you went out, intent to kill Jacob Nighthorse. Killing Jacob would trump all those other things, because you would leave all of us who care for you, forever. That was for Martha, not any of the rest of us."

"I…"

"And after all that, Martha is still gone, and now," I closed my eyes briefly, then opened them, holding his, "I'm down here." But as I said it, all brutal and fierce, with part of me probably trying to punish myself for leaving him as well as punishing him for Jacob, I knew that was not exactly true.

Durant still had its star pinned tight on me. Even a few months back, I would never have believed it, but I couldn't reveal the scope of that to anyone. I was too bruised and battered inside now to have coherent opinions on the matter. I stared into my cooling coffee, my thoughts wafting away with the steam into the void, empty and sad.

"I was sick, and Doc Bloomfield said it was likely reaction to the fight with Ridges, or maybe from shooting Chance, I don't know, they weren't too far apart. And pneumonia."

My head came up, he was trying to tell me himself what he didn't want Henry to pass along, and here I was living in my head, doing exactly what I always gave him a hard time for indulging in for the last three years.

"Yes..." I was thinking the PTSD might have started after Chance's…he had been no less shaken than I at the hospital. We were sort of mutually holding each other there, the more I thought about it.

Henry suddenly slid back into the booth, far sooner than I expected, and helped him out. "Double pneumonia. He is still on antibiotics, steroids, and a pretty stout cough syrup. He was out of his head for a couple of days, Vic."

I thought immediately how Walt had refused Ferg's backup and engaged Ridges, who had killed at least two people and apparently had nothing to lose. Walt likely still had issues after dueling Chance Gilbert, but he had wrapped me in bubble wrap with Ferg guarding me to try and keep me safe, and I had done...nothing. I thought how he had minimized the incident and the injury to his ear when he returned, had not even mentioned any rib injuries. I had been all judging and silent that day. Instead, I should have embraced and enveloped him as he had me at the hospital, talked it over, listened, as a good friend would have. I might have noticed his ribs and made him get checked out. I was just mad he had kept me back, kept Ferg and me from helping him. Guilt, guilt, guilt.

Then another thought intruded: That was just Walt, trying to protect those he had taken an oath to protect, or those he cared about, and I had seen it all before at work, and then with Cady, with Henry. And me…

"Bloomfield gave him antibiotics and Cady and I took turns. Because he wasn't lucid, Doc Bloomfield recommended sending him to Billings, to keep him away from Barlow until he had improved. Omar flew him up last week. Walt is still supposed to be in Billings."

The irony in Henry's voice was not lost to me. Durant Memorial had a phrase for extremely ill patients checking themselves out, as pulling a Longmire, because all attempts to keep Walt hospitalized had been chronically notorious failures. A notion had flitted by me when he was last in Billings in the hospital, while I was with him for a day there after his assault on Cloud Peak up above Tensleep.

Then, I was married and had to return to keep the station running while Henry relieved me. This time, I would have liked to have tried to modify the pulling a Longmire, since I had never personally tried keeping him in bed. Maybe it was hubris, but I thought I might have some marginal success that a hospital might not. In opposition to the seriousness of that moment, I grinned inwardly. I could always cuff him to the bed…

I also took note of Henry's phrasing that Walt was supposed to be in bed until completely lucid. The acronym PTSD…akin to Lucian's Bullet Fever…was also out there. Was Walt not completely lucid, now? Had he possessed it, or did he still have, Bullet Fever?

But back to the moment—I stared at Walt in guilt. He hadn't looked that bad in Durant, but I had relieved him of duty without even a token protest from him. I'd known he wasn't right even before that. I had just been mad about the arsenal in the Bronco, knew what he had been going to attempt, and left.

He had been displaying off-and-on symptoms later that evening, and I would not have called him completely lucid. And the phrase, to keep him away from Barlow, might also apply to keep him away from Jacob…

"I didn't know." But at some level of course I had. I had thought it had been a mental break, although not PTSD, and not physical like an infection. Good thing I wasn't a doctor, I'd be plagued with lawsuits. I would keep away from that line of work as my day job, as the guilt just kept coming.

"Henry said he left you a couple of messages. When I finally remembered most of what had happened, I got the phone from a girl at the hospital and left a bunch of messages. I hoped you'd come to Billings."

"Henry's message said you would be back on Monday." I held up my phone, showing all the messages. "Walt, I haven't listened to nameless or burner phone messages, since Gorski sent me like, 30 in one day. It's my first line of defense—between Gorski and Branch, I seem to have become a stalker magnet since the IA thing in Philly."

To Henry I said, "You should have called me again, or put Walt on."

"He made us promise not to, Vic. I did not know he had the phone until this morning, or I would have insisted on setting it up for him. I know he did not mean to shut you out. The fact that he got a phone speaks volumes."

Actually, the phone thing did speak loud and clear. I sniffed, about this far from losing it… "After learning you went after Jacob, Cady wanted me gone...no one would tell me anything, and I didn't hear from you…from any of you, I guess I played defense and just tuned out…" my voice thinned. "I was so… far out, I thought…I thought…Shit. Shit. Shit."

He laid a big hand on my shoulder. "It's not too late. What if…" Walt was speaking again. The man of few words was trying, I gave him that much.

I lifted my brows in question. My food was getting cold in front of me. I guessed a box would go home for dinner that evening. I absently signaled for the check, which was quickly laid in front of me. I asked for a box. I didn't mind paying, but he was still talking…

"…you came back, moved in with me. You don't have to work for me anymore, just stay with me. Maybe you could work for Henry if you don't want to work for me, anymore. Or do security somewhere and we'll find you a place if you want to live somewhere else. There will undoubtedly be another sheriff someday you could work for, or you could just run for sheriff yourself."

I looked at Henry, stricken. He looked as shocked as I, but quickly recovered. He acted as though he was an interpreter. "Vic, he said slowly, trying to catch my eye, "I believe he is saying he still misses you."

I couldn't say anything. Walt at full height in his hat and loose jacket broadening him as he towered over a suspect was menacing, but this earnest and intense humility from him—and words— was downright terrifying. I couldn't reply to that more frightening Walt-stream-of-consciousness, any of it. I wanted to say, "Fuck that!" but I knew the sacrifices he had made to even offer anything like that, and I could only stare.

All of that spew went against his moral codes, and he would still not have me for what made us work, every day on the calls. It was a noble set of offers despite the unlikely nature of them working out in any conceivable way, and I could not do it—to either of us. I would be discontent being a house-girlfriend? I had no idea what to call it, and he would be miserable because I would make him miserable. The whole notion was wrong. Or maybe he was slipping back into the pneumonia-fueled delusions…the whole idea was insupportable, but he was still speaking…

"Or…would you consider marrying me? I'd resign, if you just want to run for Sheriff."

"Walt, wait—" This was going from the realm of absurd, into the out-there La-La Walt in Fairyland, unbelievable...

Even Henry looked wary and disbelieving at that one. "Walt—" he tried, but Walt, like a lumbering freight train as the words poured out, was difficult to stop once you got him going.

"We could drive back up and do that at the clerk's office tomorrow."

"He is saying he really misses you." Henry was scrambling, now, and apparently having as much trouble as I with the discussion.

"Walt!" I almost said the fuck off but I finally reined it in and did a slightly more respectful thing. Holding one of his hands, I closed my eyes and huffed out a "No!" but laid my other hand on his forehead to soften the blow. That had to be the problem, I was pretty sure he still wasn't in that completely lucid department, yet. My hand fell away, scorched.

"You're burning up. Henry? Henry, he's burning up!" I hoped that would put an end to the conversation, for my concern was genuine.

"Your meds, Walt, they are in your pocket. I do not remember whether you took them while we were driving down. You are probably long overdue."

Another wave of guilt reminded me about Henry's text.

Walt began to fumble in his jacket pockets and pulled out two prescription bottles.

Henry said, "Doc Bloomfield gave them to me in case the hospital could not contain him, but did not tell Walt. He knew I would follow the sheriff around with the meds whenever he got to escaping, but hoped he could entice him to stay there a few more days."

Walt unscrewed the top of the larger bottle and poured two into his hand. His hand dwarfed what looked like horse pills.

I spun the bottle so I could read the instructions. "You should be taking them regularly, after meals, and also probably be taking fever meds, Sheriff." I dug for the bottle of tylenol in my purse, and held them up in question to the closest thing in the booth we had to a medicine man.

Henry nodded, adding, "And drink all the water."

"Do as the Indian says," I said in a husky voice that drew a brief smile from Walt, and I threw a thank-you look to Henry, who shrugged.

Walt washed down the horse pills and two extra-strength Tylenol, and finished off his water.

I wanted to say to Walt, This is all wrong. What we were headed for seemed right until you fucking went off the rails. You and Branch, you both need to learn you can't take back all your baggage in one sentence or apology. Branch is in therapy to try to undo his, but I suspect you would rather die than try that. Just so you know, it doesn't work this way, but I didn't say it. It wouldn't be fair. I was worried that if he had relapsed, he was worse off now than last week.

He looked up, his eyes feverish. He had gotten past the pity-party. He was now out on the proverbial limb, the pity-wagon. Last-ditch, one more try…

"I…could move here. To be with you."

Rocked, rocked, the world exploded and settled back a little on a shaky stone foundation.

"You what?" Now I was really afraid. He had to be sick beyond anything I had imagined.

At that, Henry's interpreter qualities having absolutely sputtered and failed, was also speechless.

"Vogel will take me on, if I want. He gave me his card, too."

He had passed the pity-wagon and moved on to the Extreme Relationship Specialty Division, championship medal event. The last thing I wanted was Walt to go for the medal. It wasn't time, for either of us to participate in that event. I finally passed the anger and the pain and settled into the compassion portion of the afternoon. I took one big hand between both of mine.

"No. Again. Consider it one of my Omar No-s, and you know how final they are. I appreciate the offers, but right now, we need to help you concentrate on recovering and keeping the department rolling. There's time for sorting any us things later."

"Vic—"

"I'll do whatever I can to help you until things straighten out." Did I just agree to return to Durant? Well, not really, and not permanently.

"Vic—"

"Now the other bottle," I directed him. Those pills turned out to be the brief course of steroids. I knew those sometimes caused sleep deprivation. Great, just what he needed for recovery, more extended periods without sleep.

The box mercifully arrived as he washed one of the small white pills down with water. I dumped my breakfast into the box, scooted out of the booth, snatched both box and check and went up front to pay.

I felt him moving behind me, heard Henry behind him. Walt laid cash on the counter before I could get my wallet out, took my elbow, and we were on the street, me carrying my box. He had not brought his. He had not eaten much, and he did not look well. Henry walked on my other side, and with two large men around me I felt like I was beneficiary of a security detail. The notion clicked into place, a security detail, and it made me twitchy.

About a block along, Henry made a noise that sounded like ten. Walt leaned over and whispered into my ear. "Smile. Laugh and say something, but don't look 10 o'clock. Henry and I both just saw Fales."

Fales? Vogel had assured me he was out-of-state. I had some doubt, but dread made me shiver. If Fales were here, he must be stalking us. As far as I knew, we were unarmed, without jurisdiction and at the moment, without backup on a quiet Denver street. I wondered briefly if Walt was maybe still hallucinating in the grips of the fever, but then I thought, Henry saw him and alerted Walt, and complied instantly. We'd hadn't worked together over three years for nothing, I knew beyond a doubt Walt had something pretty close to an eidetic memory for faces, and if Henry had seen him, too… Why was Fales not in Nebraska, more pertinently, why would he be anywhere near us?

"Don't you look handsome this morning." I tilted my head and kissed his gaunt and stubbled cheek, touching his arm as we walked along, as though we were openly fraternizing. His blush probably helped sell it. He leaned into my arm, and I suddenly realized it was no act, he was placing actual weight on me. I thought, not a blush, undoubtedly it was the fever. I ran my newly bold palm over his forehead. Still warm, it was moist, but not as bad, thank God. How had I missed that in all the…?

Of course I could make excuses given the volatile statements from Barlow and the nature and confusion of the crime scene. After a battle, defending friendly fire, the government would call it the fog of war. In my case, I had been beyond angry at Walt, feeling betrayed and lost, and not really connecting with him as I typically did.

No excuses, Victoria. You fucked up.

He steered me to a nearby truck. Oh, okay, I finally recognized it as Omar's huge black monster in a city parking space. But—I thought uneasily—why bring Omar's truck for testimony in a police matter? This was looking more than ever like one of their Tom and Huck misadventures. I had laughed for a long time after they had regaled us with the Miller Beck con-man exhumation story.

I looked at him questioningly and got the answer without words. It was like we were on the same page for the moment. He wasn't just here for testimony…he was somehow undercover, tracking. Henry, the best tracker, was here with him. But tracking whom?

Fales.

It had to be. Somehow he already had known Fales was here. Vogel's people? Or…did Walt have people?

Either way, he had put his health at risk to drive all this way, when the answer thudded in front of me... Shit. He was protecting me again. Still. More bubble wrap around me, but this time, because he still wasn't one hundred percent, he had enlisted Henry's help. I fervently wished for my Glock, but I didn't want to linger here and become a sitting target.

"I'll call Vogel." It was the least I could do, if the three of us were being singled out for attention by his former boss.

"Do that." He thumbed a remote and opened the door of the truck for me (apparently he did lock Omar's truck while in Denver) and I jumped up and slid into the middle. Henry jumped in on the passenger side, and Walt more slowly slid into the driver's seat. He was definitely not firing on all cylinders.

"I keep forgetting I don't need to open the doors if the thing's in my pocket," said Walt ruefully. He sounded more normal than he had earlier.

"Modern technology, Walt. You are the key."

Henry was often profound, but that could be taken more than one way.

I was autodialing Vogel, but I asked Walt, "Where are we going? Should you even be driving?"

"Wherever Vogel tells us. His guys can pack you up, return your car and bring your stuff to us. I'm just driving around here in town, because Henry drove all night from Durant. Well, from Billings, really. We stopped in Durant. We'll head back this afternoon. We may have to stop overnight, because, I don't know if any of us can make it back before a nap."

Instead of connecting the autodial, I stopped the phone. "Walt—wait, I left Durant."

His nostrils flared a moment, but he was watching traffic, staring ahead. His jaw clenched. "After this is over, if that's what you really want, okay. I know no one can ever make you do what you don't want to do, Vic." At least he sounded better, for the moment. Maybe the fever had spiked and was now receding.

His voice sounded a little thick, though, and I hoped I hadn't sent him back into his head. When I glanced over to Henry, it looked like he was trying to ignore us, on alert, scanning the streets for anything suspicious.

I led with the obvious. "Fales spent almost two years putting together his case which ultimately rested on Henry. He's not exactly the impulsive type."

I autodialed Vogel again, and this time, it started to ring.

"He was trying to make his mark in Vogel's department. He had to bring in a big one."

"Little did he know a rich white guy would be the big one," I said, my lips twisting. "Not the working-man Indian. He could have worked his magic on Barlow and had his case towards closing the injustice score in one felled swoop."

Henry gave a grimace which might have been a grin. "There is that," he said.

Vogel finally picked up. "What?" He sounded harried, like he was surrounded by children, and a woman spoke in the background. I thought, what I wouldn't give for a normal morning in a two-parent household, getting a couple of kids ready for school. There had been distant daydreams in which I wished Walt and I might someday have a family…

More noise in the background. My rosy opinion of the children dimmed slightly. I remembered the jumbled rackety confusion which surrounded my brothers. It explained much, and it sort of explained me, so I went ahead and reported.

"My guys haven't said anything," Vogel said after I had briefed him on the situation. He sounded unconvinced.

"Both Walt and his friend Henry saw him. They seemed to know he was around before they got to Denver. Tipped off, maybe."

"Stand by, just drive around until I call you back."

"Copy that."

So we drove, but I made Walt lie down in back, moved into the driver's seat and drove randomly for a couple of hours. One of the times I drove past I-25 signs, he was sitting up again in back, and Walt's desire to leave Denver and be headed north was palpable. Truthfully, I felt the same tug, but I'm not sure it was for the same reasons. I still thought Walt shouldn't be driving any more, and stay lying down. He was sweating a little, and maybe that was good. I drove along without comment. Henry dozed.

Vogel eventually called back about an hour later. I pulled into a parking lot and put the phone on speaker.

"I've verified that Fales left Omaha Friday night. My contacts didn't do their check until this morning."

"Okay…"

"We don't know if he's planning anything, but if he's tracking you, we should suspect that. He did have some sniper training as a young man. So for the moment, it's prudent to at least postpone the tour, the interview, and Walt's testimony. You and the sheriff may be targets."

"I'm not sure I'm a target," I said, but Walt and Henry might fucking be."

"Who is Henry?"

"Henry Standing Bear, the guy Fales blamed for Miller Beck's death."

"Yes, then, Standing Bear, too. "Is there a safe place the three of you can go?"

Over my head, Tom and Huck, er, Walt and Henry exchanged glances. "Yes," they both said in unison, and I gave up with a sigh of resignation.

"They say yes."

"I heard them. Then go to your safe place, and we will pursue Fales here from Denver. If we need to contact you, we will leave messages."

"Don't use this number." I gave them Walt's burner number. "We'll call out if there's any news."

"Anything else you need?"

"Could one of your guys get my stuff which is still in my rental car and motel, and pay the motel? Maybe meet us somewhere?"

"Sure. Just give me the information and where you want it."

I did, asking Walt where for them to meet us. He gave me some cross-streets and I passed them on before switching the phone off. Without my stuff, I felt helpless. Even my Glock was in the rental car. Then I had a precautionary idea.

"Henry, you and I should turn off our GPS, and our phones. And Omar's GPS on the dash. I should leave mine on a little longer, until we rendezvous with Vogel's guys."

"The GPS I understand, but…"

"Calls could be triangulated, even with GPS off," finished Walt, a rumble from the back seat. He hung his arms over the center of the seat. It was good to be at least a little in sync again with him.

"Meaning, Walt's burner phone will be our only phone. How many minutes do you have on that, Walt?"

"Minutes?" he asked. "Uh…."

"Give it to me," Henry said. "I can figure it out." He pursed his lips, "although we may not have service on this phone's network where we are going."

I looked over to him as Walt handed Henry the phone without comment. "So, where are we going?"

"The Rez," they said in unison.

The Rez. As close to Durant as you could get.

I exhaled and my lips bunched in anger at the both of them. "I hope you are both happy. My job offer is toast, and if we don't connect with Vogel's guy, I won't have my sidearm or even a fucking toothbrush on the Rez. And how did you even know Fales was here?"

Walt's face was pinched tight, Henry's impassive.

I took my right hand off the wheel, swiveled it back, and felt Walt's forehead again. Much cooler. That, at least, was something. He looked etched with exhaustion, but I had seen him that way, before. The crazy stuff like proposing out of nowhere, that was something else. I wouldn't mind hearing words like that someday, but from a lucid mind.

Walt exhaled a long breath and finally hung his head over the seat. The name was a harsh exhalation. "Gorski."