Tribal Law Page 2

  “Any information that would help narrow the search?”

  “Some. Tessay wants a deal.”

  Arnold Tessay had been a member of the Black Mountain Tribal Council until they’d discovered that he’d had been tipping off the meth cooks whenever the authorities got close. That made Gabe sick, and so did his suspicion that there were other insiders working with the cartels, beyond the Wolf Posse, which was the tribal gang that sold and distributed drugs on their reservation, acted as muscle and took on other distasteful jobs.

  “According to Tessay’s attorney, the raw product is still on the rez. That syncs with our intel.”

  “Good,” said Gabe. “What am I looking for?”

  “Fifty-gallon barrels of liquid. The kind that your brothers Kino and Clay saw down on the border when they were working with the Shadow Wolves and ICE. Ask them to describe them to you. Water station barrels.”

  “The blue ones?”

  “Exactly. We don’t know how many. They might be moving them or planning another setup on our reservation.”

  Gabe tamped down his anger at that second possibility. He couldn’t understand how an Apache could ever work with criminals. Scarce jobs or not, there was never a reason to help the drug traffickers use Indian land like some kind of home base. Though his own father had done it. But that was another story.

  “The barrel contents, can they freeze?” Gabe asked.

  “Yeah. Somewhere below zero, I think. Why?”

  “Limits the places they can store them.”

  “Hmm. I’ll find out for sure and get back to you.”

  “Anything else?” asked Gabe.

  “That’s it. Except we’d love to find those barrels.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Gabe gave a traditional farewell and punched the disconnect button on his steering wheel. He glanced toward the leaden sky. The snow had stopped for now, but he wondered if there would be more. They’d gotten another coating overnight, just enough to make driving interesting, as it always was in January on the rez. Especially for the tourists out of Phoenix who knew next to nothing about driving in snow.

  Gabe reached the Doselas’ home. He didn’t need to head up the drive to see that Selena’s box truck was not among the personal vehicles.

  After her father’s arrest, Selena had taken her father’s one box truck and doubled the business in his absence. With both her and her younger sister Mia driving, they managed two routes. When Selena purchased an older box truck, Mia took over her father’s truck and a longer route down to Phoenix and back. One year ago Selena had taken a loan for a used flatbed trailer and six-year-old 18-wheeler that the twins, Carla and Paula, took on longer runs. All three trucks were currently missing.

  He cursed in Apache, did a one-eighty and headed back toward the town of Black Mountain.

  As he drove, he radioed dispatch. Jasmine Grados responded, her smoker’s voice better in the afternoon.

  “Yes, Chief.”

  “Anything on the Dosela release?” Maybe he should have stopped to see if Frasco was home, as he should be under the terms of his early release. “Send the closest man to the Doselas’ to verify Frasco’s return.”

  “Roger that.”

  “And all eyes looking for a box truck.”

  Jasmine picked up on his line of thinking. “You mean Selena’s truck or Mia’s?”

  “Selena’s. Mia should be in Phoenix. Anything from DOC?”

  Frasco Dosela had been returned to the reservation with the escort of one of Gabe’s men, his parole officer and a representative from the Department of Corrections who had fitted him with a radio anklet to monitor his movements.

  “Not since Officer Cienega escorted Mr. Dryer off the rez.”

  “When was that?”

  “About ten. Um...logged at ten eighteen, Chief.”

  He glanced at the dash. It was past noon. Frasco Dosela had better be home on house arrest.

  Gabe was already hitting the gas.

  “Anything going on?” he asked, checking on the day’s activities.

  “One thing. Officer Chee isn’t in yet.”

  His patrolman had been on the force for less than a year, was green as grass, inexperienced, lacked confidence but he was punctual.

  Gabe lifted the radio. “You call him?”

  “Yes, Chief. Home and mobile. No answer.”

  “Send a unit.”

  “Ten-four.”

  “Anything else?” Gabe asked.

  “Pretty quiet.”

  “All right. Keep me posted on Chee. Out.”

  Wouldn’t be the first time someone missed a shift. Still, it wasn’t like him, and Gabe had that uncomfortable sensation that often preceded bad news. It sort of felt like there was a cold spot in his gut. He had that numbness now, though whether over his officer’s absence or Selena’s little mystery passenger he was not sure.

  Gabe knew Selena’s route as well as he knew his own. The delivery of fresh baked goods took her around the entire 113-mile loop through the reservation and usually before ten in the morning.

  She should have been done and home by now.

  “Where you going, Selena?”

  Chapter Three

  “Who are we meeting?” Selena asked her father as she hunched over the wheel of her box truck, her eyes flashing to the side mirrors as she periodically searched for Gabe.

  “Escalanti’s men. They’re at the meth lab with a small delivery. Dryer, too.”

  Matthew Dryer was the man from the Department of Corrections who was supposed to have put a tamper-proof anklet on her father. Instead, Dryer had given him the easy-on, easy-off model. Not standard issue.

  Her father continued with the plan as Selena kept one hand on the wheel and the other clenched in her hair. How could this be happening?

  “Eventually they need a regular run. Bring a few barrels of chemicals to the meth lab each week for production. Then transport the finished product from the lab down to Phoenix.”

  “We can’t transport off the rez.”

  The moment they rolled one tire off the reservation, they both lost their protected status as members of the Black Mountain Apache Tribe. Any crime they committed could be tried in state or federal court instead of in their own tribal judicial courts.

  “Escalanti doesn’t give a damn about our protected status. Only his.”

  Escalanti, the new leader of the Wolf Posse, had a reputation for never leaving the reservation. In fact, he rarely left the shabby house they called headquarters.

  “So that guy from the Department of Corrections is Raggar’s man?”

  Her father hesitated. “Yup.”

  Her dad was an excellent liar, but he had that little tell, the hesitation before answering. Selena released her hair and put both hands on the wheel. So, who was Dryer really?

  “Don’t you think, with Gabe Cosen sniffing around, we should try this another time?”

  “It’s all arranged. And it’s a big reservation. Besides, he won’t follow off the reservation.”

  “He might. Or he might be waiting for us when we come back.”

  “You can drop me. You’ll be alone. Stop worrying. You’re like an old woman.”

  This just got better and better. She knew that her father had been approached in prison by the leader of the Raggar crime family, who was managing the business nicely from federal prison. Better access to criminals, she supposed.

  “And what happens if we turn around, find Gabe and tell him everything?”

  “Gabe arrests me and probably you. Escalanti tells his people down across the border that we can’t deliver the product and they send killers to our home. Plus Raggar won’t get the delivery and he’ll be after us, too.”

  Selena
had had this pressed-to-the-wall feeling since her father returned home this morning. It felt as if someone was kneeling on her chest.

  “Where are we going, exactly?”

  Her father directed her to Sammy Leekela’s junkyard off Route 60, just shy of the border of their sovereign land.

  Sammy Leekela had a part for everything stockpiled on his four-acre lot that was ringed by rusting fencing to keep out the scavengers of the animal and human variety.

  “Here? They’re cooking meth here?” she asked.

  “Perfect place. Off the beaten path but close to Route 60. Lots of land. Fenced. Nothing to kill with the fumes.”

  “I thought it was a mobile meth lab,” she said.

  She paused at the rusty gate. Usually, if she needed a part, she went to the office. But today the gate receded the instant she pulled into the drive. Because they were expected.

  She shivered with dread. Right now her father had broken parole and she had helped him. But if she continued, she’d be a drug trafficker, just like her father.

  If she didn’t, they’d kill her family.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  She touched the gas and they lurched forward. Her father shot her an impatient look as they rolled in. Sammy gave them a friendly wave and closed the gate, then retreated to his office. Her father directed her to a series of abandoned tractor trailer beds. Some were rusty and dented. But now she noticed one that had an unusual addition—a stovepipe. The trailer in question sat tucked between several others, further hiding it from detection. The only other clue was the number of footprints and tire tracks in the snow. That trailer was getting a lot of foot traffic.

  She couldn’t believe it.

  “I bought our used flatbed here. I still owe Sammy almost nine thousand dollars,” said Selena, her indignation rising.

  “You want me to ask for a discount?” asked her father.

  “No. I do not. I want to go home.”

  “And we will, right after we drive to Phoenix and back.”

  “That’s six hours, you know?”

  Frasco shrugged. “I brought sandwiches.”

  As her father had warned, Department of Corrections officer Matt Dryer was there to meet them. He was the only one they saw. He left the center trailer carrying a blue plastic tub in two hands.

  “That’s it?” asked Selena. “You don’t need a truck for that.”

  “First run. Only a few hundred thousand.”

  “Dollars?” she squeaked looking at the innocuous plastic storage tub.

  Selena wondered how many years in prison that would translate to. Her father had enlisted Selena to make the runs because it was too dangerous for him to be out of the house so much and because she refused to involve Mia in this.

  “You know there’s no end to it,” Selena said. “Once we start, they won’t let us quit.”

  “Hush up now,” said her father and climbed out to greet the crooked DOC officer. He wasn’t even supposed to be on the reservation without an escort. No federal official was. Gabe had taught her that.

  “You all set?” asked Dryer.

  Frasco grabbed one side of the tub and the two disappeared from sight. Selena heard the truck doors open, close and lock. The drugs were now in her truck. She thought she might throw up.

  Her father climbed in and moved to the center seat to make room for her new copilot. How much was Dryer getting to mix them up in this?

  She thought of her siblings and put the truck in gear. They pulled out and had not gone a quarter mile when some idiot roared out of a blind drive right in front of them.

  Selena’s heart rate doubled as she hit the brakes and narrowly missed broadsiding the other vehicle. The original color of the pickup before her was impossible to determine, as it had been rebuilt entirely of salvage, making it look like the Frankenstein of trucks.

  Her initial blast of adrenaline receded, to be replaced by a prickling warning as her brain reengaged, signaling her that this was not coincidence. That truck had cut her off on purpose.

  Their passenger must have reached the same conclusion because he shouted.

  “Reverse it,” yelled Dryer and pulled a pistol from beneath his coat.

  She reached for the gearshift as she gaped at this new threat and saw that the driver of the pickup was wearing a mask so that he looked like a man with a dark goatee, glasses and a black rubber hat.

  The masked man was out of his truck. He pressed the rifle stock to his shoulder and aimed the business end at Dryer.

  Selena had the truck in Reverse and moved her foot to the gas, but a second truck blocked her escape, pulling up fast and skidding to a halt at an angle behind her.

  “Out!” yelled the masked gunman now advancing past his pickup to her right front fender and pointing his rifle at Dryer as he advanced.

  Dryer threw open the door and used it as a brace to take aim with a pistol. Their attacker and Dryer both fired their weapons. Her passenger’s side window exploded and Dryer dropped to the ground in a shower of shattered glass. Selena glanced to the side mirrors and saw a second gunman approaching from the rear along her side of the truck as the masked gunman continued forward at a trot toward the place where Dryer had disappeared.

  Her father lifted his hands in surrender.

  “Out!” ordered the masked gunman, who now stood beside the open passenger door. Selena stared at the face that was not masked. She didn’t know which was more frightening, his rifle, aimed at her or the fact that he did not try to hide his identity. She had seen him before but did not know him.

  A glance across the wide seat showed that Dryer was nowhere in sight.

  Frasco slid across the seat and dropped to the ground as the masked attacker retreated a step. Selena heard the crunch of glass as she followed her father, sliding away from the unmasked attacker, across the warm vinyl and out into the cold air.

  Dryer lay in a heap amid the shards of glass, looking as if he was just sleeping. Where was the blood?

  “Move away from the truck,” the masked man said.

  Something about his voice sounded familiar. She looked at his hands as they gripped the rifle, brown finger ready on the trigger. His skin was the same color as hers. Then she looked past the mask to the only thing she could see. His dark brown eyes. Also familiar. She glanced back to the yard of Leekela’s place. Sammy had a younger brother who had a build just like this and he was rumored to be an addict. Jason Leekela, she thought.

  He came forward, rifle barrel swinging from her to her father. Her dad dropped and reached for Dryer’s pistol.

  “No!” she shouted, drawing the man’s attention for just a second.

  Then he swung the rifle around and struck her father with the wooden stock. Her father dropped on top of Dryer. Dryer’s pistol skittered on the icy pavement to within inches of her boot.

  She did not make a move to touch it.

  “Smart girl. Always were smart, Selena,” said the masked gunman.

  Did he know her, too?

  The second gunman had vanished. Was he waiting at the rear of the truck?

  The masked gunman pointed the rifle barrel at the pistol at her feet.

  “Kick that over here.”

  She did and he retrieved it, tucking the weapon in the pocket of his ragged army-green jacket. She was sure now. She’d seen him in that jacket in town, looking gaunt, and his eyes had been bloodshot then, too. His brother’s dark double, the family’s cross to bear. She’d even felt sorry for him, but that was before he pointed a gun at her.

  “Now, open the truck.” He motioned her to walk before him. Would he shoot her?

  The fifty-foot walk was the longest of her life.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” she asked.

  “Do you?” he replied.


  “Jason, what is Sammy going to say when he finds out his own brother is robbing his shipment?”

  She heard him halt and turned to glance back at him. The rifle barrel dipped.

  “How did you...? Never mind. He won’t find out.” His shoulders heaved as he released a whine. “Damn it, Selena. I didn’t want to have to kill you.”

  Chapter Four

  Selena’s skin went cold. Not from the snow that pelted her in tiny stinging droplets, but from deep inside as she realized that Jason was just sick and wounded and crazy enough to kill her.

  “Why don’t we go see your brother?”

  “No!” he shouted. “He’s never going to know about this. He can’t. Now get going.”

  They reached the loading doors where the second gunman waited. She remembered seeing him at Sammy’s junkyard but could not recall his name. So Sammy’s brother and employee had decided to steal from him, but off grounds. Did they really think Sammy would not figure this out?

  “Hurry up,” said the junkyard man, adding a second rifle to Jason’s, and this one was aimed at her face.

  “Open the truck,” ordered Jason.

  Her mind grasped and rejected several ideas as she stepped up onto the fender, but instead of an escape plan it provided the name of the second gunman. Oscar Hill. Selena lifted the latch that released the lock. Maybe they would just take the tub and leave her. She opened one door. Maybe they would kill her the minute they had the shipment.

  Jason peered inside. “Where is it?”

  That’s when Selena saw it, a white SUV, no lights, closing fast.

  Gabe.

  * * *

  GABE CRESTED THE rise and spotted a battered pickup parked close to the rear of Selena’s box truck. The side door of her truck was open and something lay on the ground on the passenger side. A second pickup had the box truck pinned from the front. Selena was in the process of opening one of the two hind doors as he closed the distance. Between her and the pickup, stood two armed men.

  In emergencies Gabe sank into a kind of animal brain, acting and flowing with the situation. But not this time. This time his heart thumped and his skin tingled with a feeling close to panic, because the men pointed their weapons at Selena.