12 - Pursuit

 

 

Dan's hands sweated. The sun had shifted as he rode into it, the flap of his hat shielding his eyes. Mountains rose up before them, dirty brown mountains without snow caps or sense of grace. Signs for Indian country popped up at intervals with the dull black and white warnings against trespass.

 "I don't like it," Dan said, stirring Mike awake from a slumped sleep against the passenger door-- Marie sprawled across him with arms spread and bright red nails dug into the fabric of his denim jacket.

 "What don't you like?" Mike asked, squinting at Dan across the cab.

 "All of it. This route. The cop Demetre if that's who really is behind us. I've got an ugly feeling about why she chose this way."

 "Me, too," Mike said, lips pursed as they passed another warning sign posting Indian country. "This region's called Four Corners. Its disputed. Lots of trouble between mining companies and the local tribes."

 "Which means?"

 Mike shrugged. "This part of the country is particularly sacred to some tribes," he said. "Up in those mountains somewhere there's a lake. A holy place for the Pueblo Indians. Though the Navahos claim it, too. I've seen it once. A long time ago. Covered with beer cans and dead deer. Careless white hunters come and go in and out of season. A few don't make it home from time to time."

 "Oh wonderful!" Dan moaned. "As if we didn't have enough trouble."

 "Oh, don't worry. We probably won't come within miles of it. Though I'd really like to see it again. I remember the water looking turquoise from a distance. Like a jewel carved right out of the tip of a mountain."

 Mike's gaze frosted over in some dream of his own. Dan didn't disturb it, reaching into his shirt for another cigarette. A Winston! Yuk. But it was all the station had. And stale. Yet it helped curb the constant pang deep in his throat and lungs, killing the urge to cough.

 Chris stirred in the rear, pushing herself free of the others on the bed. She stumbled to the seat behind Dan.

 "How's it going?" she asked.

 "Considering I don't know where I'm going, I guess okay."

 "Are we still being followed?"

 Dan glanced into the driver's side mirror. A dark sedan floated behind them. "Yes," he said.

 "It won't be there long," Chris said. "Not with the ways I have planned."

 Dan's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "Let's not make a big thing out of it," he said. "This van won't handle rough country."

 "It'll do fine, Dan," Chris assured him with a pat on his shoulder. "We'll just have to climb a little. That's all."

 "Climb where?" Lance asked, appearing beside Chris, his face wrinkled from using one of the sleeping bags as a pillow.

 "Up there," Chris pointed. Lance stared, eyes growing wide with the vision.

 "Into the mountains? I thought we were through with them."

 "Hardly," Dan said. "But they're not as high along route 10. We might not make it."

 "Where, Chris?" Mike asked. "What part of those mountains did you have in mind?"

 Some note in Mike's voice made Dan look over, the tight flat face seemed angry.

 "Back roads," Chris said. "Roads only the Indians know."

 "Chris!" Mike growled and turned in the seat to face her. "What exactly are you up to?"

 "Up to? Why do I have to be up to anything?"

 "Because I know you," Mike said. "And all this has the elaborate makings of some scheme of yours."

 "Scheme?" Chris roared. "And I suppose I've made up the car behind us, too?"

 Mike squinted back through the rear window, his face tight and mouth grim. Dan had seen the expression before in New York after their failed heroin deal. "You didn't have to invent them. We brought them with us from Colorado."

 "We're not sure about that, Mike," Dan put in. "We thought we lost them after Raton."

 "Maybe we did, and maybe they found us again. All that makes more sense than this talk about Demetre."

 "But it's true, Michael!" Chris protested. "Demetre was at the house."

 "So, you say."

  Chris sagged. "You never give up, do you, Michael? You push and push until you break people. I'm not making up any stories. I was stuck at that house. You saw me."

 "It could have been an act."

 "For who? I didn't even know you people were coming until you showed up!"

 Mike pondered this for a moment, then nodded. "All right. Let's just say for argument it's all true. Demetre doesn't give up on things. He wouldn't have let us come and go without a damned good reason."

 "I know," Chris said.

 "And if he was following us, we sure wouldn't know about it," Mike went on. "He's slick. Slicker than these people have been."

 "Agreed."

 "And still, you want to take us through a fucking reservation to lose them?"

 "Yes."

 "Why?"

 "Because maybe they aren't the only ones following us," Chris said. "Maybe there is a Demetre behind us somewhere, watching us to see what develops."

  Mike sighed. "Let me go look," he said, pushing the sleeping Marie up as he struggled over the back of the seat. "What highway is this?"

 "Route 40," Chris said. "It runs between Albuquerque and Flagstaff."

 Mike crawled onto the bed and peeked out the rear window. "Which car is it?"

 "The silver Ford," Dan said. "A late model, a `69 or `70. It's hard to see it’s been staying back a-ways."

 "I got it," Mike said. "Dented right fender?"

 Sharp, Dan thought. "Right."

 Chris crawled back beside Mike, waking Lance and Sarah in the process.

 "There's two people in the car," Chris said.

 "There were three," Dan said. "One must be sleeping in the back seat. I saw his head earlier."

 "Damn," Mike mumbled.

 "Is it the cops?" Chris asked.

 "Can't tell," Mike said, crawling forward again. "But it doesn't feel like Demetre.

 "So, what do I do?" Dan asked.

 "How far are we from Gallup?" Chris asked.

 "Ten miles, maybe," Dan said. He'd seen a sign a few miles back which had said twelve.

 "When we get to Gallup, there'll be a highway south. Take it. Route 32."

 "Right through the heart of the Navaho Reservation," Mike said, meeting Dan's knowing glance in the rear-view mirror.

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