His eyes fell upon the glittering diamond hanging around Rebecca’s neck. For the first ten years of his marriage, Valentine had tried to buy a diamond like that for his wife, and never been able to scrape the money together. He saw Rebecca avert her eyes in shame. Had her husband bought the diamond for her with his jackpot winnings?

“How’s it going?” Valentine asked.

Rebecca stared at the table like he wasn’t there. The uniform looked at Valentine, and shook his head. Valentine got the picture. Rebecca had talked herself out.

“May I speak with your son?” he asked.

Rebecca lifted her gaze. “You’re not going to upset him, are you?”

“No, ma’am. I’ll be as gentle as a lamb.”

“Go ahead.”

The uniform said, “Down the hall, first door on the left.”

Valentine nosed around the counter for candy or something he could take the boy. He settled on an apple, and walked to the bedroom holding it in his hand. Knocking softly, he cracked the door, and saw a small room illuminated by a nightlight, Karl Junior fast asleep in a bed carved to look like a race car. He entered and sat down on the edge of the bed. The boy did not stir, the covers pulled up protectively beneath his chin.

“Hey,” Valentine said softly.

The boy’s lips moved, and Valentine realized he was talking in his dreams. He placed the apple beside a Mickey Mouse clock and rose from the bed. As he started to leave, he picked up Karl Junior’s clothes from the floor and draped them over a chair. In the pocket of Karl Junior’s shirt he spied several crumpled bills, and out of curiosity pulled them out. Three hundred dollar bills.

He stared at the money. Had Bronco given it to the boy in a moment of weakness? It was the only logical explanation, and he stuffed the bills into Karl Junior’s shirt, and again sat on the edge of the bed. Karl Junior stirred, and his eyelids snapped open.

“Hi. My name’s Tony. I need to talk to you. Your mom said it was okay.”

The boy nodded but said nothing. He looked scared.

Valentine leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Some night, huh?”

Karl Junior lowered the sheet a few inches. “It was scary.”

“But you’re okay now.”

“I guess.” The boy hesitated. “Is my mommy in trouble?”

Valentine blew out his cheeks. “Yes, she is. But you can help her.”

“How.”

“Tell me about the man who bought you the ice cream cone.”

“Okay.”

“You gave him your dirt bike. You must have liked him.”

“He was okay. I didn’t like the way he drove mommy’s car.”

Me neither, Valentine nearly said. “Did he say anything to you? Like where he was going? Try to remember. It’s really important.”

The sheet came down further. Karl Junior scrunched up his face in thought.

“He said he had a bore to settle,” the boy said.

“A what?”

“A bore.”

“Do you mean a score? Did he say he had a score to settle?”

Karl Junior stared at the apple on the night table. Valentine gave it to him, and the boy took a big bite, causing juice to run down his cheek. “Yeah,” he said.

“He said he had a score to settle.”

“Uh-huh.”

Valentine thought back to the ugly exchange between Kyle Garrow and Bronco in the police interrogation room. Bronco had known his lawyer had sold him down the river, and he’d decided he was going to pay him back. Valentine rose from the bed.

“I’ve got to go. Thanks for your help.”

“What’s going to happen?” Karl Junior asked.

Valentine hesitated. The boy was asking about his parents. He knew something bad had happened, and also knew there would be consequences. Even at his age, he knew the difference between right and wrong.

“It will all work out,” Valentine told him.

Karl Junior did not look so sure. He took another bite of apple and watched him leave.

Chapter 41

Running Bear escorted Mabel to her car in the parking lot. As Mabel fished her keys from her purse, she noticed that her car had shrunk by several inches.

“Oh no,” she said.

Her tires had been slashed. Running Bear inspected the damage with an unhappy look on his face. He said the casino would pay to have them replaced, then pointed at a truck parked nearby. It was a Chevy pick-up with bumpers so dented they looked deformed. “Let me give you a lift,” he said.

Within minutes they were speeding south on 275 toward Mabel’s home in Palm Harbor. Mabel didn’t know what to make of Running Bear. The chief was responsible for native Americans getting casinos on their reservations — he’d taken it to the Supreme Court, and won — and had raised the standard of living for hundreds of tribes, including his own. Yet, none of that showed in the things he owned, or the clothes he wore.

“Who do you think slashed my tires?” she asked.

“Our crooked dealer has several relatives employed by the casino,” Running Bear replied. “It was probably one of them.”

“Am I safe?”

Running Bear grimaced. “I will protect you, if that’s what you mean.”

He drove with one eye in his mirror. Mabel tried a couple of stabs at polite conversation and got nowhere . It was like they’d run out of things to discuss.

She found herself staring at the chief’s hands resting on the wheel. They were covered with hair and quite gnarly. The right one was missing its third finger.

“Did you lose your finger in Vietnam?”

“Gator,” he said, getting off I-275 and heading west on Highway 60.

“An alligator bit it off?”

“Yes. I was wrestling an alligator for some tourists about thirty years ago, and a woman in the crowd yells out, ‘Smile for the camera, will you?’ I lifted my head like a jackass, and the next thing you know, my finger gets bitten off.”

“That must have hurt.”

“Only for a couple of days. I wore it around my neck for a while.”

Mabel turned sideways in her seat. “Wore whataround your neck?”

He glanced her way, smiled.

“Not the gator?” she asked.

Running Bear grinned like it was the funniest thing anyone had ever said to him. “Gator was twelve feet long and weighed three hundred pounds.”

“So, what did you wear?”

“My finger.”

She started to bring her hand to her mouth, then caught herself in the act.

“Why, pray tell, did you do that?”

“That’s a good question,” he said. “I was a dang fool back then. I think I was also trying to impress a girl I liked.”

“Did she fall for it?”

“No, she ran like hell.”

Mabel’s street in Palm Harbor was lined with New England-style clapboard houses that looked the same as they had a half-century ago. Running Bear eased the truck up the gravel driveway and killed the engine. They listened to the engine sputter and whirr. Then the chief climbed out.

“I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared around the side of the house. Mabel rolled her window down, and listened to his footsteps. He was about six-four and easily weighed two hundred and thirty pounds, yet his feet were as light as a squirrel’s. If she ever got to know him better, she was going to ask him how he did that.

Running Bear returned a minute later and got behind the wheel. The only light was coming off a corner streetlight, and Mabel looked at his profile and tried to read his thoughts. “All safe?” she asked.

“All safe. Do you have any protection inside your house?”

“I have a gun, which Tony has taught me how to use,” Mabel said. “He takes me to a gun range twice a week, and makes me practice.”

“Tony is a wise man.”

“Yes, he is.”

Running Bear watched a car pass on the street. Only when it was gone did he get out of the car, and escort Mabel to her front door. Going inside, Mabel turned several house lights on, then returned to the stoop.

“Thank you for driving me home.”