Flight of Death - Richard Hoyt Page 0,7
need help with a surveillance. I’m not sure where Willie’s off to. He’s got some relatives who live just off Deadman Pass on the Umatilla Reservation, but he could be headed for Spokane possibly, or even Portland. Most of the Indians in the Northwest believe Willie’s a shaman.”
Her eyes widened. “He is? Really? A shaman?”
“That’s what they say. Take a drive over to Warm Springs sometime or the Yakima Reservation and ask them about Willie Prettybird. Not bad for a private eye to have someone to check in on the spirit world from time to time.”
“Does he talk to the animal people and all that?”
“Willie’s an intuitive. Other people say he’s a shaman, not Willie. He has a remarkable sense of anticipation which he says is because he talks to the animal people. If he says a particular hunch was passed on by Elk or Crow or Coyote, who am I to complain?”
“He’s always right, then? Dead on the money?”
I laughed. “Oh, hell no. He screws up too.”
“But better than average.”
“I wouldn’t even say that. The two of us are probably about equal, for whatever that matters. There’s a rub you have to understand. This particular talent of his can sometimes backfire.”
“A rub?”
“The way Willie explains it is that these spirits could set him straight a hundred percent of the time if they wanted to, but they just don’t feel like it. Every once in a while they amuse themselves by playing a little trick on him.”
“A trick?”
“They’ll feed him bullshit or throw him a red herring. He says he does his best to stay on their good side, but that doesn’t always work.”
“Amazing!”
“That’s what I say.”
Chapter Five — All About Adonis
The next morning over breakfast in the Cascade Café, I decided there was something I had to know for sure. To hell with more talk about spotted owls and Willie Prettybird; I had to know if this dimpled night-riding witch was free from encumbrances.
The auburn hair. The face. The green eyes. The intelligence. The passion. The sense of humor. I ground my teeth, took a deep breath and exhaled, and led with my brains, if not my heart.
“Now you gotta tell me about your old man, Jenny. There has to be one.”
Jenny MacIvar looked as though she’d suddenly remembered she’d forgotten to buy mayonnaise at the grocery store or maybe locked herself out of her car. “What’s that?”
I said, “You might as well tell me about your husband or boyfriend and get it over with.”
She blinked. “My old man?”
“Ronald, or Douglas, or whatever his name is.”
“Oh. Him. His name is Adonis!”
I thought she was joking. Adonis. But no, I could tell by her face she meant it. “Adonis?” I said stupidly.
“Adonis. It’s the truth. His mother was a classics major in college, and when he was born, she insisted he be called Adonis. He was adorable, she says, just adorable. If his father had had his way, he would have been Ralph. Which would you take, Ralph or Adonis? Think about it.”
She had a point, I guess.
“Adonis and I have been living together fourteen months now.”
“That’s wonderful,” I lied. “Fourteen months!” Big strong Adonis. Shit. I hated everything about the bastard without ever having met him. I also wondered why she had it down to the month. Why not “more than a year” or something?
“I love him,” she said — gushed is probably more accurate — aware that the news of Adonis had a cooling effect on my high spirits. It was difficult to tell whether she was trying to convince herself or me with her passionate declaration.
“Oh, well, sure.” I don’t know what the hell else I could have said. I mimicked her inside my head: I love him. So big deal, lady. Go ahead and love him, but leave me alone.
I must have sat there in the booth of the Cascade Café looking like the most disappointed stupe on the planet, because the beautiful, intelligent Jenny saw fit to explain to me — in what I thought was nothing short of excessive detail — her great love for Adonis.
Of course I couldn’t blame anybody but myself. I was the one who had brought up the subject. It was me who had pushed for the jolly full load. I just had to know, couldn’t let it go.
“I love him,” she said. “I truly do.”
She loved him. Okay, so I believed her. But did I want to hear it? Shit, oh dear. I hated the words as they came