Shadow Prey

a speaker phone.
    “I know about them.” There was a long pause, as Hart thought it over. “God damn. I might even have seen them once. They’re famous. Two old men, they travel around the country and up in Canada, organizing the Indian nations. They’ve been on the road all their lives. Aaron is powerful medicine. Sam is supposed to be brilliant . . . . Jesus, you know, it all fits. They’d be right.”
    “What was that on their names? Aaron?” Anderson asked.
    “Aaron and Sam. They supposedly come through the Cities a lot. It’s like their home base. They have a son here, you see him from time to time. I went to school with him, years ago. Shit, you might even see the Crows from time to time, but I wouldn’t know them . . . .”
    “What about the son?” asked Sloan.
    “The son is a freak. He has visions. He doesn’t know which one of the Crows is his father. They were both sleeping with his mother that winter . . . . That’s how he got his name, Shadow Love, love-in-the-shadows . . . it’s like an Indian joke, based on his mother’s last name. He’s supposed to have some of the power of Aaron . . . .”
    “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Lucas said. “Shadow Love?”
    “Yeah. Skinny guy . . .”
    “With tattoos. God damn.” Lucas slapped his forehead. He took the phone away from his mouth and spoke to Lily. “We got them. These are the right motherfuckers.” He went back to the phone. “Shadow Love’s the guy I saw with Yellow Hand, before Yellow Hand was killed. Sonofabitch. Shadow Love. And two guys named Crow?”
    “Yeah.” Hart sounded distant, almost pensive.
    “All right, listen,” Lucas said. He hesitated a moment, trying to remember each step of his brief encounter with Shadow Love. “All right: Shadow Love’s got a South Dakota driver’s license and it’s in his own name. I looked at it and that’s how I remember the name, because it was so strange. And I don’t know why, I can’t remember, but something he said made me think he’d done time in prison. Harmon, can you run that down? Check with the NCIC or whatever?”
    “I got it,” said Anderson.
    “We’ll get some guys on the way to that address, check it out,” Daniel said. “We ought to know something in an hour.”
    “Call us,” Lucas said. He gave them his room number. “We’ll get something to eat, then I’ll be in my room.”
    “Soon as we know,” Daniel promised. “This is fuckin’ great, you two. This is what we needed. We got those motherfuckers.”

CHAPTER
16
    Anderson got the location of the Crows’ apartment and a bonus—a phone number—from the 911 center, and ran them down to Daniel’s office.
    “I’ll start pulling guys,” Anderson said. “I can get Del and a couple of his Narcotics people down there in ten minutes. They can check the place out while we get the entry team together. We’ll stage at the Mobil station on Thirty-sixth.”
    “Don’t tell anyone but Del what we’re doing. Not until the last minute, when we have the place nailed down,” Daniel said. “I don’t want the feebs moving in.”
    “All the local feebs are out in Brookings,” Sloan said with an edge of sarcasm. “That fuckin’ Clay came in like the President of the Universe. Eight hundred guys running around with microphones in their ears . . .”
    “Okay, but still keep it under your hat,” Daniel said.
    Anderson hurried away to his office. “You guys stick around,” Daniel said to Hart and Sloan. “If this works out, you’ll want to be in on the kill.”
    Sloan nodded and glanced at Larry. “Want to walk down to the machines and get a bite? Could be our last chance for a while . . .”
    “I’ll catch you down there,” Larry said. “I gotta take a leak.”
     
    The Crows had mailed the press release on the Linstad killing earlier in the day, and Sam was rereading it as he tried to get comfortable on the battered couch. “I hope John sticks to it, the Indian Nation stuff,” he said. “Hope he doesn’t fall apart.”
    “He’s got Meadows covering him,” Aaron said. “Meadows is pretty good . . . .”
    “Fuckin’ wannabee,” Sam grunted.
    “John’s got his reasons to hold out. He ever tell you his hot-dog story?”
    Aaron was sitting at the kitchen table and Sam had to crank his head around to see him. “ ‘Hot dog’?”
     
    John Liss had been twelve, a weedy kid in an army shirt and jeans. His father had been gone for weeks, his mother