7 – Feeling The Losses
"What do you mean, she's gone? How could she be gone? What about last night's party? What happened?" Cady paused and lowered her voice in accusation. "What did you do?"
She stared at Henry in disbelief while sitting at the bar on his first day back to the Red Pony. Julia had become a big and important part of his life in the past year, and as far as Cady was concerned, they were perfect together. Okay, yes, there had been tension the evening before, but she figured it was just from his experience in jail, you know, first day out. Julia would help him through it. She was good at that.
Henry angrily shifted some glasses on the counter, slapping one down just a bit too hard, avoiding eye contact. This was going to be tough enough. He didn't need the questions, but it played right into the plan. Cady just didn't know it. Besides, he needed to get back to work as soon as possible; start sorting through his life and figuring out what could be done to salvage it. Dealing with past events – Malachi Strand, Martha's murder, Denver – that was all part of it. And, the quicker it was done, the quicker Julia could come home.
"We fought. That is all. She tries too hard to help. I do not want or need her help."
Cady shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe this. I can't believe she would just up and leave. Where did she go?"
"She has gone back east." He raised his head, glancing around to see who else may have been listening. After his experience, he had strong suspicions that Malachi had his tentacles out, still reaching into the community. Four years earlier, he had helped Walt arrest the Tribal Police Chief on extortion charges, one of several infractions the Federal authorities had laid against him. Walt was only too happy to make the arrest, with Henry as temporary deputy, but it had caused a lot of mistrust and further tension between the two police departments, and definitely resentment from Malachi. "Mathias escorted her off the Rez this morning. Now, if there is nothing more, I have work to do." He stalked away and down to the end of the counter with the glasses in hand.
Shaking her head, she turned to him for the last word. "You had Mathias escort her off the Rez? Oh, Henry. That was cruel."
Henry's jaw tightened as he turned back. He had hated doing it but it had been Julia's idea, stronger impact, she'd said. "I wanted to make sure she was gone."
xxxxxxx
Malachi Strand was dressed in a bright orange, Tri-County Jail jumpsuit, his hands cuffed and loosely folded on his lap as he sat at the cold, metal table in the prison visitors' room. He was calm, like a man in complete control of his situation regardless of his present incarceration. The man across from him, though slightly hunched, easily stood at six four weighing over two hundred pounds, his long black hair neatly braided and hanging down his wide back. The former Tribal Police Chief sat stock-still and confident, waiting, as the man spoke of what had transpired since their last communication.
"And, you're sure she's left town?" he calmly asked, a godfather overseeing his domain while away.
"Yes." The younger man nodded. "She was followed off the Rez this morning." He sneered. "Made a couple of stops in town then was followed out. She was last seen on the I-90 heading east. We tracked her to South Dakota."
"And…?"
"That's the last call I received. From what I hear, she left him to go back to her job in New York."
Malachi's lips turned up, pleased. "So, Hank has lost his freedom, lost his money, and now lost his woman. Not a loss, I think. She should have been Indian." He paused for a moment, relishing the power that he had. "I wonder what else Hank will lose?"
xxxxxxx
Henry snarled and sulked all day. Kelly had done an excellent job of maintaining the bar in his absence, and although he growled it, he thanked her for her efforts. He was short tempered and feeling utterly empty.
He did what needed to be done, he justified. Now, he had to focus on getting himself back on track. He didn't need the distraction…but, he sighed heavily, leaning both hands on the smooth polish of the wooden counter, he did need her.
Damn, he was angry.
He hit the top of the bar with his fist, drawing the attention of those around him, patrons and staff alike, stormed to his office, and slammed the door. He was in no condition to face customers; he scrubbed his face with both hands as he paced the small space. Maybe it was too soon to come back to work.
Walt entered through the swinging saloon gate by the entrance as the office door slammed, and he spared a glance to the young, Cheyenne waitress coming out of the kitchen with a tray of burgers and fries. She shrugged dismissively and returned to her customers, carefully placing the loaded plates on the table. It seemed to be business as usual. The same lunch crowd. The same hustle and bustle. But, he could feel the static in the air, the uncomfortable feeling that something was wrong. He strode through the restaurant, and pushed the office door open without knocking.
"Bad day?" he asked to Henry's glower, then took a seat in the ancient, wooden chair opposite his friend who was leaning his backside against the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest. "Julia came to see me on her way out." He paused to gauge his friend's reaction. Henry's jaw tightened. "You know she's better off away from here."
"Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?" Henry unemotionally gazed at Walt.
Walt smiled uncomfortably, pausing, trying to figure how to say what was next. "I'm gonna have Ferg come and check the place out," he flatly stated. He didn't trust Malachi and, after what Julia had said in his office, felt that Henry's might be bugged.
"For?"
"Just being careful. Don't know who's listening?" Walt rose to leave, pausing by the door. "A wise man once gave me some good advice. He said, everyone has a path to follow and we must meet the challenges on that path bravely but with care and caution." His lips twitched up slightly as he slipped out.
Henry's eyes followed his friend out. "I was not talking about me," he muttered to himself.
By mid-afternoon, with the lunch crowd gone and the restaurant calm, Henry took the opportunity to do something he had been itching to do - get out and feel the sun on his skin. He wanted to walk, but the weight of the GPS tracking monitor around his ankle irritated him. He knew he was relegated to a one-mile radius but just where those boundaries were, he didn't know. Pulling the bar rag from his back pocket, he slapped it onto the counter and told Kelly he was going out. She nodded to his back as he left, placing a fresh beer in front of a large Indian sitting in the last seat at the end of the bar.
Henry strode down the road, the warm, June sun on his face. He tipped his head up to meet it, willing it to wash away the heavy feeling that weighed him down.
It's a beautiful day at the Red Pony and continual soiree, he snorted as his bar's tag line came to mind. The sun may be shining and the weather pleasant, but his world was falling apart. He needed to find a way to repay those who supported him. He needed to find a way to save all he had built from being destroyed. He needed to help Walt find out who killed his wife. He needed to find a way to clear this entire mess up so that Julia could come home. Her birthday was coming up. She'd been away last year, too. So much to do... he thought, his mind reeling as he stooped to pile some rocks at the point where the GPS beeped and the light turned red. Stepping back, he checked the light again, green, changed direction, and continued to walk.
After about an hour, he had stacked more than eight small markers for his perimeter. And, as he was turning to a new direction, a Sheriff's car pulled up beside him, the windows rolled down, the driver trying to get his attention.
"Henry," the deputy called, leaning toward the passenger side of the vehicle.
Not a person Henry liked all that much. He kept walking.
The car pulled a little ahead, and the driver called again making Henry stop and turn.
"You can't be wandering just anywhere," Branch informed him. "Get in."
Henry glowered. "My people have walked this land for three hundred years. What is the problem?"
"The problem is the monitor goes off when you step out of bounds. The Corrections Center gets a call thinking one of its parolees is on the run and they call us. Get in."
Henry thought to refuse, but then huffed, reluctantly swinging the passenger door open and climbing into the front seat. He intended to never sit in the back of a police car again.
"I always stepped back when the light went off," he clarified.
"Maybe so," Branch said, pulling away from the curb and back onto the road. "But, they don't know that."
As Branch drove Henry back to the Red Pony, the conversation was brief, but Henry learned just who had paid his bail. Branch. Henry could feel the pressure rise again.
Could this day possibly get any worse?
xxxxxxx
It was nearing midnight, and Julia had been driving for almost fourteen hours. Her run from Durant had been carefully planned for Henry's sake, but up until a few hours ago, she didn't know exactly where she would run to. She had no intention of going far, certainly not this far, and was glad to be stopping soon. She'd get the help she needed, she was sure of that. This could be her turning point depending...
Her eyes strained against the darkness trying to read the street signs in the dimly lit neighborhood in Belton, Missouri. You'd think that putting a lamppost on the corner above a street name would make sense but, no… she'd already made two wrong turns only to come out a short way down the same street she'd originally turned off of. A lot of the streets were circular or crescent. It was very frustrating. And worse…every house pretty much looked like the next. Track housing. Pre-fab style bungalows. Front door in same place. Windows in the same places. Garage on the same side. Even down to the single maple tree on the left corner of each lawn. No creativity! Maybe it would look different in daylight… and after a few hours' sleep.
She huffed. And now, she was talking to herself. Sugar wasn't even listening anymore. She'd curled up on the back seat and gone to sleep. Lucky dog…
When Julia finally came upon Richards Avenue, she let out a sigh of exhausted relief and turned left off Westover Road. Taking the curve slowly, the car crept up the dark path looking for house numbers. Now, it was after midnight, and like all respectable neighborhoods, everyone was asleep, so… house lights were off, no numbers were lit…except one. She smiled, feeling a newfound rush, and crept a little faster to the simple house on the left. Ignoring traffic rules, she crossed in the opposite direction and pulled up in front of a low, single dwelling, stopping at the curb. Sugar's head suddenly popped up, awake and alert.
Pushing the driver's door open, every muscle from shoulders to knees creaked as Julia got out. Limping heavily, she quietly moved to the rear and let Sugar out next. It had been a long day.
Just up ahead, slowly approaching from the walkway, a dark figure silently appeared: straight back, broad shoulders that could carry the weight of the world. She knew the posture well. Someone she could rely on. Someone she could trust. Her lips curled in a tired smile.
"Hello, Tom."
