Vengeance In the Wind

By Judy Bruce

Merriam Press Wind Series Book 6: Following a trip to the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, Megan Docket, a young attorney, helps her friends plan and execute a haunted house. When a murder occurs there, she must expose the killer to protect the people who are falsely accused. When her mother and her law firm staff are held hostage by the killers, she uses her wits and moxie to stage a rescue.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Nov 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9780359863990

Book preview

Vengeance In the Wind

Vengeance In the Wind

by Judy Bruce

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First eBook Edition

Copyright © 2019 by Judy Bruce

Cover design by Joseph Gentzler

Additional material copyright of named contributors.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

The views expressed are solely those of the author.

ISBN 978-0-359-86399-0

This work was designed, produced, and published in the United States of America by the Merriam Press, 489 South Street, Hoosick Falls NY 12090.

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NOTE

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

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For Jeanne

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Other books by Judy Bruce

Death Steppe: A World War II Novel

Voices in the Wind

Alone in the Wind

Cries in the Wind

Fire in the Wind

Lies in the Wind

Game Six

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Chapter 1

I stood atop a grassy knoll, lashed by the wind, pretending to admire the September horizon, streaked in yellow and orange. In truth, my insides swirled in an acidic maelstrom of portent. What now? I shut my eyes, trying to focus, but the warning remained hazy. When gray clouds swallowed the western sun, I felt obligated to rejoin the group—members of the Lakota reservation preparing a cookout. They’d been so friendly to me and my husband Jay, but my legs turned to lead so I stood anchored to the ground.

Jackson Draper, our host and an elder on the Pine Ridge Reservation in southern South Dakota, silently, suddenly stepped next to me. Will it storm?

I smiled. I don’t really know how to read the clouds, but those dark ones to the south look ominous. Maybe we’re getting some rain back home.

"Wakinyan, thunderclouds, he said. Let us hope."

The small, wiry man with deep set wrinkles and wispy silver hair had given me the name, The Woman Who Feels. So his question didn’t surprise me.

Do you feel something?

Yes, but it’s so vague…I can’t get a bead on it. How could you tell? 

It’s hard to describe…but you looked so intense. Another elder, Alex, came to me. He was watching you, too.

I was also wondering if maybe it’s the place. The wind comes from the east and north, past Wounded Knee Creek.

Yes, past the graves of those slaughtered in the massacre. But you were looking west.

I smiled. With my eyes closed. I wanted anybody who noticed me to think I was looking at the horizon. But to the west are the Black Hills, sacred land of the Sioux, seized by the U.S. government.

He nodded. For now, let us go back. Maybe your feelings will become clear to you.

At the bottom of the hill, he took my arm and led me to his table, one of several picnic tables assembled for the occasion. As my hubby sat down next to me, I smiled at him then glanced at the others nearby, an assortment of short and tall, thick and thin, creamy brown-skinned people who laughed and kidded with each other as they corralled their kids. They were a proud people of great hardship—high rates of unemployment, poverty, alcoholism, abuse, and suicides. They were also lovers of horses, evidenced by the discussions regarding the Crow Fair, an August gathering hosted by the Crow Nation in Montana.

Man, they’ve got all sorts of stuff goin’ on, said Nate, a nephew of Jackson’s in his mid-twenties, with bull riding, saddle broncs that can send you into orbit…I tried it once, broke my hand and wrist, had surgery…and women’s calf roping, and sprint and long races. Hey, how long is that track race?

A scar on the inside of Nate’s wrist appeared to wrap around from under the thumb area onto the back of the hand. Despite his lean body and head, he had strong, broad hands.

Five furlongs, said a voice from down the table.

Nate looked back at me and Jay. And they’ve got this crazy race called the Indian Relay. You’ve got this rider and his buddies on the ground to catch and control the horses as the rider  goes around the track, jumping from one horse to the next racing other teams.

That does sound crazy, I said. How do they keep from falling or getting the horses tangled up with each other?

Oh, they do. But this was a good year…nobody got hurt really bad. One time I saw a horse fall and break its leg. They killed him right there on the track in front of everybody. Made me sick to see it.

Man alive, that sounds brutal, said Jay. I bet riders fall and get trampled sometimes.

It ain’t for wimps…that’s for sure. But it’s really cool when they pull it off.

I smiled and nodded. I liked this kid, well, guy, for at thirty, I was only a few years older. Jackson always called him his nephew, though he was probably the age of a great-nephew. I also knew a secret about him that even the other Lakota didn’t know—three years ago he’d played buyer for the FBI in a sting that captured two meth dealers, the Breeley brothers from western Cheyenne County. Then I wondered—did they know? Could they have learned that I alerted the FBI? No Lakota had been arrested, just the scum dealers I’d known since grade school, who now resided in a federal prison.

After the hamburgers, hot dogs, corn on the cob, cherry and apple pies were finished, the women began their cleanup while the men began to build a bonfire. I went to help the women, but was shooed away because I was a guest, so I joined Jay on a log by the fire. We heard more about the Crow Fair of mid-August and the huge encampment called the Teepee Capital of the World. As I sat with Jay and sipped iced tea, the roiling in my stomach returned. I scanned the area, but couldn’t pick out anything dangerous. A few women joined us. How was I to know if someone was a danger to me or to someone else? The rez was officially dry, so I hadn’t seen any signs of drinking; yet, the rez was known for its high rate of alcoholism. Maybe I was just feeling homesick. Lightning flashed to the distant south, as twilight deepened to night.

An elderly man with a round head and thick gray hair said, The Navajo say lightning is the spark of all creation.

Or a grass fire, said Jay. My house got hit by lightning once…burned up some shingles, killed our TV. I was just a kid, so it was kinda scary. There was this boom then it went dark.

Our community lost a barn and a church from a grass fire started by lightning, I added. It was too expensive for either to rebuild.

What happened to that farmer? And what about the people from that church? What did they do? asked Nate.

Well, Trent Maxwell sold his land, he owns a business in town, and the Evangelicals now share a church building with us. We have some great potlucks with the best desserts in the county.

That brought nods and smiles, for nothing was as universal as food. That started a debate on whose grandmother made the best desserts. Then the discussion turned to Nebraska football, which enjoyed a great deal of support from the rez.

Hey, you should show them the Ghost Rider, Jay said to me.

A chorus of approval followed, so I agreed.

Nate, go with them to help, said Jackson.

Our invitation had included our horses and a hint from Jackson, so I brought my gear. As the two men headed to the barn, I jogged down the street to Jackson’s house where we’d been staying. By the time I joined the men in the barn, Strider, my black stallion, was saddled and ready. In my black ensemble—equestrian boots, jeans, and hoodie—I double-checked the length of the stirrups. After I mounted my steed, I positioned my night vision goggles then nodded toward the side door.

Jay opened the side door then I directed Strider out into the darkness. As we skirted the barn, the door latched shut then Jay and Nate walked back toward the group. I rode down the street and cut between two yards so that I was on the backside of the group as they stared at the approaching men. Staying out of the light of the dwindling bonfire, I walked Strider back and forth. I tugged his mane—a special signal for him to be as quiet as possible.

Well, where are they? said a voice as Jay and Nate returned to the fire.

Jay shrugged. Who knows?

People started looking around, but the crowd blocked the light from the fire, so we were able to circle around them.

We’re right here, I said.

By the time the group turned to the sound of my voice, we had moved on from that spot. A flashlight clicked on, but found nothing in its beam. With night goggle vision, we were able to walk between the picnic tables. A few women at one table stopped talking.

They’re here! a woman called out.

But we were gone. The people at the fire were now on their feet, turning around in circles, trying to spot me. I called out once again then hurried Strider from the spot, as three flashlight beams missed us. I moved in closer to the group, which blocked the fire from shining off my boots or Strider’s silky coat. Finally, we moved in behind Jackson. I think he knew we were there, but he played along. I rode Strider right up to his back and Strider gave him a nudge.

Hey! Jackson called out.

The lights landed on him then on us. The group applauded and hollered.

When they quieted and spread out to look at us, I said, Those men who burned a cross on my land never saw us when they tried to do it again. And their bullets couldn’t find us either. I spurred Strider out of the light and back into the darkness.

We circled the group with the flashlights beams on us. Once, I stopped Strider and the lights continued on, losing us, till I said, They’re all in prison now.

When the lights found us again, I moved Strider away from the group.

Strider wants to show off. Watch this.

With the three beams on us, I stroked Strider’s neck twice and pulled on the reins. He reared back on his hind legs, kicking his front legs high in the air. I clung to the reins and saddle horn and hung on with all my strength. The group clapped and yelled. I dismounted and led him up to the group, who surrounded him, stroking his coat.

Those men were trying to scare James, my good friend, said Jackson to the group. A burning cross, as you know, is a terrible symbol of hatred and death to African Americans.

But Megan felt their next attack coming, summoned her posse and called the police, said Jay. He leaned forward. She shot off the leader’s balls with her gun on a running horse.

Faces stared at me. I let the goggles drop to my chest. Oh, I was aiming for his legs. Really, I was. And it was just one ball.

They didn’t seem convinced. I pulled off my hood to appear less threatening.

But then he started shooting at me…us. But Strider and I were long gone. He couldn’t even find us with his flashlight.

He was shooting at you…trying to kill you. You could have finished him, Jay said.

Nah, he was down. But then James later died of a stroke…so maybe I should have.

At least he’s locked away for a long time, said Jackson.

The staring faces now nodded and murmured assent. But my guts started to roil. A stocky young man with a big round head shaved close on the sides with a black mop of hair stepped to the front of the group and sneered at me. I turned away from him.

Judges and juries don’t like hate crimes, I said.

What about the crimes white people did against Indians? asked the big-headed, creepy man. You murdered us, took away our land, pushed us onto reservations then took more land.

Well, nobody consulted me about it.

A pause then laughter.

Oh, shut up, Rex, said a voice in the crowd.

White people don’t like to think about it, I said. We know our ancestors were cruel and wrong and we’ve never fixed the harm we did.

Quiet nods.

Jay walked up to the creepy man and said, Never argue with lawyers. They always win.

The creepy man Rex scowled as the crowd chuckled.

Do you lose? asked Nate with a smile.

We’re still newlyweds, ask me next year.

The crowd’s laughter was silenced by thunder and a flash of lightning. I led the twitching Strider toward the barn as the group dispersed. I was anxious to get Strider under cover, but more so, I wanted to get away from the creepy man who made my guts churn. Nate and Jay started back with me, but Jay stopped to talk to a group of men. I lost sight of the man called Rex.

Oh, I forgot my jacket, said Nate who jogged back toward the fire.

Unsure and uneasy, I hastened Strider back to the barn in the darkness.

Once inside, I flicked on the overhead lights, led him to his stall, shut the gate, and then looked back at the open doorway. Strider neighed and bobbed his head, annoyed that I hadn’t removed his saddle or brushed him. Meanwhile, my heart began to hammer inside my chest. Rohan, Jay’s palomino in the next stall, snorted.

The creepy man appeared in the opening of the side door. One hand was empty, the other, the right, was hidden behind him.

Shit. Where was Jay?

You’re pretty big stuff, lawyer, Rex said then he raised a pint of whiskey and took a big swig as he stepped into the barn. Big, big stuff.

Lose your coat somewhere? Why don’t you go find it?

He laughed. Creep. It wasn’t meant to be funny.

You’re drunk.

Yeah, that’s right, all us Injuns are drunks. He belched. See? He laughed as he kept approaching.

I think it’s time for you to leave.

He shook his head. He abruptly turned toward the big barn doors, pulled them shut, and then walked back toward me, rubbing his cock through his jeans. When he stopped to down the remainder of his whiskey, I slid my hand inside my saddlebag, which was hanging on the railing.

I think it’s time for you to be brought down to your scrawny size. Hell, are you a dwarf?

He laughed then smashed the end off his bottle over the railing.

I’m just the man who could do it.

He rushed toward me. As soon as he was within arm’s reach, I used my left arm to knock his right away just enough to slash my pocketknife across his chest. He stumbled to his hands and knees.

Aaah! You bitch!

He looked down at his bleeding chest. The barn doors opened behind him, but he seemed unaware. I jumped back as he swiped the busted bottle at me. The he rose back to his knees just as a kick landed on the side of his head. Rex fell against the gate then onto the floor. Nate landed another kick to his ribs, knocking him onto his back. 

I sucked in deep breaths, feeding my brain, making it work. Okay, enough, but thanks. Nate, go get Jackson, but nobody else. And bring a towel.

His chest heaving, Nate stared down at Rex.

Go!

Nate ran out the door. The rain started to fall as I called Jay on my cell.

I need you. I’m in the barn.

What? Oh, need someone to shovel your horse’s—

Now! And bring your gun and badge. I ended the call.

Now alone again with Rex, I decided he needed to stay down. I kicked him hard in the ribs. I reached down to take the broken bottle out of his hands then stopped. Evidence, think threat, others need to see it. Right. I tried to still my shaking hands as I backed away.

Jay came through the barn doors then broke into a run when he understood the scene.

What the hell happened here? he asked as he ran to my side.

Jay reeked of whiskey. He lunged at Rex’s arm when he saw the busted bottle in his hand. He yanked it from the down man’s hand.

Oh, I was just attacked…or almost attacked. Sorry to pull you away from your drinking buddies.

I asked what happened.

You mean beside the fact that you’re a cop drinking alcohol when you know this is a dry rez? When you should have been with me?

He stared at me, as thunder struck overhead. The rain hit fast and hard.

Come here, I said as I walked to the side door.

When he reached me, I gave him a push into the rain.

What did you do that for? he said as he stepped back inside.

You stink so bad you must’ve spilled some on yourself. You don’t smell as bad now. Jackson will be here in a minute. Try not to embarrass yourself. As I glared at Rex I muttered, My God, I’ve married another screw-up.

Nate returned with Jackson. I narrated the facts of the incident to the three men. Jay turned red with anger. I think he would have stomped on Rex’s face if Jackson hadn’t been there. Nate propped Rex up against the stall gate.

I’m not looking for trouble, I said. Can we keep this quiet?

You have a right to call the police, said Jackson.

Bending over Rex, I said, And you were going to bring me down to size.

As I stuck my knife under his chin, a trickle of blood ran down his neck. He hissed, afraid to move his mouth.

I’m not going to call the cops…but remember this, filth, I could slash open your throat. I still might, I said though I took several steps back.

What are you saying? asked Jay. Of course we’re getting the police.

You forget, Jay, this is out of your jurisdiction and it’s my call. He’s gotten his punishment. I looked to Jackson. He does need stitches, a bunch of them.

I’ll take him to the hospital, let me get my car.

We’ll just say he got into a fight, I said then looked back at Rex. Right?

He nodded.

And you’ll refuse to identify who you were fighting with.

He stared at me.

Right?

He nodded.

Jackson dashed out into the rain. I accepted Nate’s offer to tend to Strider.

Why aren’t you calling the cops? asked Jay.

To spare you the embarrassment. The drunken State Patrol trooper would’ve become the story. Don’t you get that?

I wasn’t drinking, Jay said. I stopped to talk with some guys and one guy got pushed into me and spilled his cup on my coat.

I didn’t turn to Jay, but said, I believe you, but you stink of it. Then I stepped up to him and looked into his face. Why didn’t you stay with me?

I was trying to be sociable. I didn’t know something was going to happen. I’m sorry.

Rex slumped over onto the dirt floor as he clutched the towel