Tribal Law. Jenna Kernan

Two

      Gabe Cosen watched Selena go and then returned to the tracks. The snow had started again and he knew that this was his best chance to get a good read. Like all of the men in his family, he had learned to read sign, which meant he could interpret the tracks of animals and men. He was adequate for an Apache, but his younger brothers, Kino and Clay, were much better.

      The prints were from a large individual wearing moccasins. That was not unheard of, but most folks wore their tribe’s traditional foot gear only for hunting, ceremonies and dance competitions. The rest of the time they wore boots. He crouched beside the tracks and guessed at the person’s weight—less than two hundred pounds—from the place where the person had slipped en route to the front of the truck. Who had been in the cab with Selena and why didn’t that person want him to know?

      His first thought was that Selena had found someone else. The white-hot fury at that prospect surprised him enough that he lost his balance and had to put a hand down to keep from toppling over. His break in concentration left the mark of his glove in the snow.

      He’d know, wouldn’t he? If she had a date or was dating? The community was small and he kept closer tabs on Selena’s movements than he cared for her to know.

      The second possibility for her unknown passenger broke through the mental fog he always felt around Selena and struck him like a rock slide. He stood and spun. The road was empty now. She had a good head start. He ran back to his unit. How long after the anklet alarm was triggered would he be notified? Someone from the Department of Corrections would have to call. They were monitoring her father, Frasco Dosela, or they were supposed to be.

      He reached his unit as his phone rang. He would have sent the call to voice mail, but he saw from the caller ID that his uncle was calling. Luke Forrest was his father’s half brother, an FBI field agent and he was also Black Mountain Apache.

      Gabe wondered if his uncle’s call was personal or business. He climbed into his unit. His wiper blades beat intermittently against the fine, powdery snow that continued to float down onto the windshield like confectioners’ sugar. Gabe swiped his finger over the screen, taking the call.

      “Dagot’ee, Uncle,” Gabe said, using the Apache greeting. “What’s up?” Gabe flipped the phone call to his unit so he could talk while driving. Then he took off after Selena.

      “Chief,” said his uncle, using his title instead of his first name. That meant this was a business call. Gabe didn’t have a lot of interaction with the Feds. Mostly he dealt with state police and occasionally the district attorney. But these were troubled times, and he had more business than he and his twelve-man force could handle.

      His uncle sounded rushed. “Field Agent Walker and I are seeking permission to enter the rez.”

      “You mean your new partner?” Gabe searched for Selena’s box truck. She must be speeding, because she’d vanished like smoke.

      “That’s right. But I don’t think she will be my partner for long. That one is a firecracker. She’ll be in DC by June.”

      Uncle Luke was a tribe member and needed no permission. As a Black Mountain Apache, his uncle could come and go as he wished. But his partner, Cassidy Walker, was not Apache. A white woman, from the Midwest he recalled. Federal agencies needed approval from the tribal council before conducting business on the rez.

      “I’ll need a reason.” Gabe reached the fork to Wolf Canyon. He knew that Selena lived with her family up a side road that veered to the left.

      Had she headed home or somewhere else? He didn’t know, but he followed his hunch and made the turn toward her house. If her father was the passenger, that would be their likely move.

      “I’ll fax you the official request. In the meantime, I have information on the crystal meth cooks you’ve been chasing.”

      For several years the Mexican cartels had been storing product on the rez to avoid federal jurisdiction. Last fall, Gabe and his men had taken out a mobile meth lab, thanks to the help of Clay. But there were plenty of places to hide on twelve thousand acres.

      “Any information that would help narrow the search?”

      “Some. Tessay wants a deal.”

      Arnold Tessay had been a member of the Black Mountain Tribal Council until they’d discovered that he’d had been tipping off the meth cooks whenever the authorities got close. That made Gabe sick, and so did his suspicion that there were other insiders working with the cartels, beyond the Wolf Posse, which was the tribal gang that sold and distributed drugs on their reservation, acted as muscle and took on other distasteful jobs.

      “According to Tessay’s attorney, the raw product is still on the rez. That syncs with our intel.”

      “Good,” said Gabe. “What am I looking for?”

      “Fifty-gallon barrels of liquid. The kind that your brothers Kino and Clay saw down on the border when they were working with the Shadow Wolves and ICE. Ask them to describe them to you. Water station barrels.”

      “The blue ones?”

      “Exactly. We don’t know how many. They might be moving them or planning another setup on our reservation.”

      Gabe tamped down his anger at that second possibility. He couldn’t understand how an Apache could ever work with criminals. Scarce jobs or not, there was never a reason to help the drug traffickers use Indian land like some kind of home base. Though his own father had done it. But that was another story.

      “The barrel contents, can they freeze?” Gabe asked.

      “Yeah. Somewhere below zero, I think. Why?”

      “Limits the places they can store them.”

      “Hmm. I’ll find out for sure and get back to you.”

      “Anything else?” asked Gabe.

      “That’s it. Except we’d love to find those barrels.”

      “I’m on it.”

      Gabe gave a traditional farewell and punched the disconnect button on his steering wheel. He glanced toward the leaden sky. The snow had stopped for now, but he wondered if there would be more. They’d gotten another coating overnight, just enough to make driving interesting, as it always was in January on the rez. Especially for the tourists out of Phoenix who knew next to nothing about driving in snow.

      Gabe reached the Doselas’ home. He didn’t need to head up the drive to see that Selena’s box truck was not among the personal vehicles.

      After her father’s arrest, Selena had taken her father’s one box truck and doubled the business in his absence. With both her and her younger sister Mia driving, they managed two routes. When Selena purchased an older box truck, Mia took over her father’s truck and a longer route down to Phoenix and back. One year ago Selena had taken a loan for a used flatbed trailer and six-year-old 18-wheeler that the twins, Carla and Paula, took on longer runs. All three trucks were currently missing.

      He cursed in Apache, did a one-eighty and headed back toward the town of Black Mountain.

      As he drove, he radioed dispatch. Jasmine Grados responded, her smoker’s voice better in the afternoon.

      “Yes, Chief.”

      “Anything on the Dosela release?” Maybe he should have stopped to see if Frasco was home, as he should be under the terms of his early release. “Send the closest man to the Doselas’ to verify Frasco’s return.”

      “Roger that.”

      “And all eyes looking for a box truck.”

      Jasmine picked up on his line of thinking. “You mean Selena’s truck or Mia’s?”

      “Selena’s. Mia should be in Phoenix. Anything from DOC?”

      Frasco Dosela had been returned to the reservation with the escort