Death Echo

wherever they were going without getting tagged by the state, county, city, or tribal speed teams that haunted the area.
    When he turned off the highway, Mac set the cruise control to equal the ridiculously low posted speed limit on the rez. Zero tolerance for outsiders was the rule. Just one more way of getting even.
    Or getting respect, depending on which side of the rez blanket you were born and raised.
    Mac turned off onto the rutted, overgrown dirt lane that led to Tommy’s trailer. The truck’s water pump was making the kind of unhappy mechanical noises that told him he’d be lucky to get homewithout a tow truck. He hoped everything would hold out until tomorrow, when the much-needed water pump would finally be in stock at the Rosario auto supply store.
    All around the truck, alder and big-leaf maple competed with cedar for a place in the wet earth. In the mixed forest, twilight was pretty much an all-day thing. He parked behind the old cedar stump, locked up, and walked deeper into the trees. When he reached the clearing, the trash fire and outhouse still flavored the air, telling him that Tommy was probably still around.
    â€œYo, Tommy! You there?” Mac called.
    â€œWho cares?” Tommy called back, opening the front door a crack and peering out.
    â€œHey, it’s me,” Mac said. Tommy looked a little wild-eyed, but it could just be a hangover.
    Hope it isn’t crank. He’s snake-mean on that poison.
    â€œThought you might like food and a beer, my treat,” Mac said. “We didn’t get much time to talk last night.”
    The broken screen leaned drunkenly, halfway covering the front door. Tommy kicked the bent frame out of the way.
    â€œLast night?” Tommy stared and shook himself hard, like a dog coming out of water. “You here last night?”
    â€œThat bourbon really tanked you.”
    Tommy blinked, rubbed the dense beard shadow on his face, and blinked again. His hazel eyes began to clear. With his chestnut hair, Tommy looked less Native American than Mac did. They used to joke about it.
    These days, Tommy didn’t have much sense of humor.
    â€œOh. Yeah. You were here.” Tommy cleared his throat. “Guess I had a little too much.” He looked behind Mac. “You alone?”
    Mac nodded and wondered why Tommy cared. He was giving off a deadly-edgy kind of vibe.
    â€œYou tweaking?” Mac asked.
    â€œNah. Got any more bourbon?”
    â€œThey have beer at the bowling alley.”
    â€œCan’t leave,” Tommy said roughly.
    â€œProblem with the town cops?”
    â€œNo. Just waiting. Got a job coming down. Supposed to be tomorrow, but could be sooner. Dude’s going to pick me up here. I have to be ready to roll.”
    â€œIt won’t be today.” Mac watched Tommy without seeming to. “ Blackbird is still being fitted out.”
    Tommy flinched and looked away. “What the hell you talking about?”
    â€œYour job. Blue Water Marine Group wants a boat moved. The boat’s name is Blackbird. ”
    â€œWho told you about that?” Tommy snarled, flushing. “They told me they’d beat the crap out of me if I—” He stopped abruptly. “They wanted it real quiet, you know? How’d you find out?”
    â€œI brought Blackbird from Seattle.”
    It wasn’t really an answer, but Tommy nodded.
    â€œYou want it quiet,” Mac said, “it’s quiet.”
    Tommy made a visible effort to calm himself. He dug a limp cigarette out of his T-shirt pocket, lit it with a match, and took a long draw.
    â€œQuiet. Yeah. Dead quiet.” He laughed wildly, then looked around the dark clearing as though expecting people to be listening behind every tree. “Let’s go inside. Better there.”
    Mac doubted it, but followed Tommy into the trailer. Mac didn’t know if the man’s paranoia was a side effect of tweaking or based in reality.
    â€œYou never used to worry about Stan,” Mac said easily.
    â€œScrew him.” Tommy slammed and locked the door. “It’s his buddy I worry about.”
    â€œHis cousin?”
    â€œThat pussy?” Tommy waved his cigarette in dismissal. “Nah.The other one. Temuri. At least I think that’s the bastard’s name. Blood brother to a shark.”
    Mac filed the name and went back to fishing for information. The instincts he had tried to leave behind in Afghanistan had taken a