Free Deadly Detail by Don Porter

around Bethel may be over half the Eskimos, but they do not socialize with the Inuit to the north or the Aleuts south of them. It’s only been a hundred years since the borders were armed and raiding parties hunted each other like wild animals.
    I tried a more acceptable response than my thought. “Yeah, Reginald really impressed the Eskimos. I’m sure they’re in the bag.”
    “You’re just visiting for a few days?” Dave asked.
    “Yep, our busy season starts in a couple of weeks when the Kuskokwim starts to freeze. We get swamped from the time villagers can’t use boats until they can use snow machines. Meantime, it’s a nice change to see mountains and trees instead of flat tundra, and it’s a chance to visit old friends.”
    Dave was inscrutable. I couldn’t tell if the old friends remark registered or not, but I had the feeling that I was playing poker with a pro. Tension was in the air, and the more I studied Dave’s eyes, the more they looked like wolverine.
    “Care to join us for an aperitif?” Reginald invited.
    “I’d love to, but I have dinner plans with friends.” I checked my watch and winced. “In fact, I’m late. Nice to have met you.” I aimed that remark at Dave. He nodded.
    “See you at the polls.” Reginald dismissed me with a casual gesture and I hiked for the Dodge.

Chapter Eight
    The airport provides a couple of pay phones on a post at the exit from the general aviation area. Itinerant pilots can call taxis without having to hoof a half-mile to the terminal. That’s a little old fashioned by most standards, and if you live in Anchorage or Fairbanks, you might have a cell phone, but those don’t work in the bush. In the villages everyone has a CB radio, and there’s one in every airplane, but when you visit a city, it’s good old-fashioned pay phones. I hid the Dodge between two hangers and jogged to the phones to call Angie.
    “Hi, Alex, what’s up?” I could hear Seinfeld in the background, George Costanza whining about something.
    “Probably nothing, but I may be late. You go ahead and have dinner. Be a good girl, order room service, and be damned sure the waiter is from the restaurant before you open the door.”
    “Yes, mother, I’ll be fine. Are you in danger?”
    “No, or not yet. Don’t worry, pistol in belt, keen insights and lightning reflexes honed. I’ll either join you at dinner or be a little late. Give my love to Elaine.”
    “Huh? Oh, sure. Be careful, Alex.”
    “That’s my middle name.” I hung up the phone and ducked back to the Dodge.
    The first car to leave Interior was the Cadillac, and the driver was Dave, the campaign manager. I let him go three blocks down Airport Road and followed him.
    We turned left down Cushman Street into town, but kept going across the river on the Cushman Street Bridge. He turned right on College Road, then left on the Steese Highway. I pulled into the service station at the corner and waited. When you’re following a car you don’t want too much traffic, but you also don’t want too little, and his was the only car on the Steese.
    Just before I was going to have to pull out and follow, he turned left into the parking lot at the Rendezvous. I gave him three minutes and raced to the club, but drove the Dodge around back and parked beside the bartender’s Lincoln. Five minutes later, four guys jammed into the cab of a pickup came weaving down the highway. They slued into the lot and staggered toward the door. I was right behind them when they entered. They trooped toward the bar. I turned right, followed the wall past tables, and sat down in the darkest corner.
    Several tables around me were occupied, most with a B-girl and a victim. Laughter, giggles, a general hubbub of horseplay and ice tinkling in glasses almost drowned out Jack’s piano. Hunkered down behind my table I felt inconspicuous enough.
    Dave was at the bar with his back to me, and earnestly discussing something with two men. The two were dressed