The Triggerman Dance

Can disconnected people be free? When the U.S. Government wanted to solve the 'Indian problem' in the west, they made tribal language, custom and religion illegal. The idea was to destroy the tribes without killing off all of the individuals. Without the tribal connections the Indians were defenseless. In place of the tribe, the white man offered the concepts of private property, agriculture, Christianity and the importance of individual freedoms. Once the unity of the tribes was ruined, so were the individuals within them.

John flipped back a few pages and read again:

More cops make more nuts and more nuts make more cops. No end to the widening spiral until we find a common enemy. Oklahoma City only the iceberg tip. If I could only have Patrick back I could look into the dark future and see some light. There he would be, my eyes, my seed, my pride and my love going forward into the days. When Pat died it was like losing two futures— his and mine. What to do? Valerie is all that's left, but will she want Liberty Ridge as her own, or will she need to separate, follow a husband, and begin her own life somewhere?

Under the legal pads John finds a small stack of medical bills. They are all from M.D. Anderson Clinic in Houston, and none are stamped or cancelled by the Post Office. Carried home personally, John thinks: why? He can't make much sense of the billings codes or charges, but recognizes the scans: X-Ray, CT, MRI and PET.

Must make some decisions before the last good nap.

He realizes what nobody seems to know, or at least what nobody has bothered to tell him: Holt is dying. Yes, he thinks. Holt brought the bills home himself so Valerie, or Fargo, or whomever, wouldn't find them in the mail. They don't know. Josh doesn't know. Does anyone?

He arranges the billing statements, open, in a loose square, then shoots them with this penlight camera. Then he replaces the bills, the pads and the cards very carefully, in the same order he found them. He checks his watch and looks out the window for a moment.

The bathroom is spare and clean. Hoping for a clue to Holt's ailment, he opens the medicine cabinet, but finds nothing but over-the-counter remedies, shave gear and ChapStick.

The last room is a kitchen, which appears only partially stocked at best. In the frig, is some fruit, milk, soda and a full ice-maker bucket. There is, of course, a container of fresh-squeezed orange juice. There are crackers and a half-used loaf of bread on the counter, beside the toaster. The cabinets contain the usual condiments and spices, and, much to John's surprise a box of peanut-butter flavored Cap'n Crunch cereal. He can hardly picture Holt sitting down to a breakfast of this kind. A liquor cabinet has two fifths of Scotch and several bottles of old California wine—Zinfandels, Carignanes, Cabernets. John stands in the kitchen for a long moment, trying to acquire a sense of the man who, at least on some mornings, begins his day here. He wonders, given Carolyn's condition, does Holt make love with her?

Ten minutes later he sits at his own dining table in the cottage, watching through the big picture window as Valerie and her dog come across the meadow toward him. She is dressed in hiking boots and shorts, a blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and her red wool cap. The springers twist with patternles logic out in front of her, noses to the ground for birds. She wears a holster and pistol on her hip, slung down low like a gunfighter He decides that Valerie Anne Holt is one of the oddest women he's ever met.

John's heart leaps, then plummets. It aches. It aches to soar. It aches for company other than the dead, their murderers and their memories.

There she is, he thinks, a woman I can deny, mislead and betray.

There she is, a tool I can use.

There she is, a beautiful young woman coming to see me.