Free Force of Nature by C. J. Box Page A

tribe for some bear-proof garbage cans for months, and they keep saying they’ll bring some, but here we are and I still got damn bears.” He patted the rifle. “I’m gonna smoke one if I catch him and make me a bearskin rug.”
    Bad Bob was Alisha’s brother. Nate hadn’t seen him since her death.
    “I’m sorry about your sister, Bob,” Nate said.
    Bad Bob lowered the rifle and lowered his voice. “Yeah, she was always too good to be true, you know.”
    Nate didn’t respond to that. Bob was Alisha’s older brother, and they’d had a strained relationship and rarely spoke to each other. Alisha had left the reservation after high school, got a degree, married, and moved comfortably in Denver social circles. After her divorce, she’d returned to the res on a mission to try and help the students move up and out. She believed in entrepreneurship and individualism, and fought against a group mentality. Bob, on the other hand, rarely ventured off the res and gave talks encouraging the tribes to secede from the union. But he never mailed back a government check, either. The convenience store had been passed down from an uncle who died of cancer, and it had become Bob’s headquarters. The sign in front lured white tourists into the store so Bob could insult them face-to-face.
    Bob said, “I heard that the couple of guys who did it are taking the dirt nap.”
    “They are,” Nate said.
    Bad Bob nodded with satisfaction. “So what are you doing here, man? I thought you left the country.”
    “I’m passing through,” Nate said. “Just using your phone before I leave.”
    “Why don’t you come in? I got some coffee on, and there’s some wine getting passed around in there.”
    “No, thanks,” Nate said. “I’ve got to go. But I’ve got one question for you.”
    Bob leaned the rifle against the brick wall of his store and walked forward and slumped against Nate’s Jeep and looked down at his shoes. “You want to know when you’ll be getting some of that loan back, I know. But times have been really tough around here. When there’s all that unemployment out there outside the res, you can imagine what it’s like inside. Shit, I run credit accounts for all these mooks until government check day and then I just
hope
they’ll come in and pay off their tabs.”
    “It’s not that,” Nate said. “I was wondering if you or any of your friends have seen a guy.” He described “Bob White.”
    Bad Bob took a long time answering. “I think he might have got gas last week,” he said. “At least it sort of sounds like him, man. All you white people look alike to me.” Bob grinned.
    “Not now,” Nate said impatiently. “Was it him?”
    “Maybe. I don’t know. He pulled out front, gassed up his rig, and left. We didn’t have a conversation, really. Oh—he asked how to get to the school.”
    Nate nodded. It would have been the same day the man met Alice Thunder.
    “What was he driving?”
    Bob rubbed his chin. “I’m trying to remember. Oh, yeah, It was a nice rig, one of these crossovers; part luxury car and part SUV. An Audi Q7. First one I’ve seen on the res. It was dark gray or blue.”
    “Plates?”
    “I don’t remember, but I think if they was out-of-state I would have noticed. But maybe not.”
    “Anybody with him?”
    “Naw,” Bob said. “He was alone. But I do remember he had a bunch of shit piled in the backseat. Gear bags or luggage or something. Nobody could have sat back there because there wasn’t room.”
    Nate asked, “How did he pay?”
    “Cash,” Bob said. “That I remember. Not many people pay in cash these days, they all use cards. But he peeled some twenties off a roll and I gave him change. That I remember.”
    Nate nodded. Then, “Bob, we didn’t have this talk. You never saw me tonight.”
    Bob looked over, wanting to hear more.
    “That’s all. Forget I was here.”
    “All right,” Bob said with hesitation.
    “And forget about the loan,” Nate said,