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you're an Indian, Max. I think your name's really Abraham Stein, and you're
hiding here on the reservation from three previous wives in New Jersey."
"My father's name was Blum. Morris Blum. Ahh, but my mother was Mary
Toohoolzote Ling, a Coeur d'Alene, once removed. That's enough. An eighth, a
sixteenth, is enough. You've decimated us. The Jews don't need me; the tribe
does. Now, Marcella's a Tuscarora. Niagara Falls. Beautiful people."
"She is that."
Max Ling was a good six inches shorter than his wife, compact to the point of
squareness, muscled like a wrestler. Sam had no idea how old he was. He could
be anywhere from twenty to forty, and his hair was Indian black and fine in
startling contrast to the pale eyes. "A lot prettier than you are."
"Where's Danny?" Max would not allow him to change the subject again.
"Dead."
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Max screwed the top on the jar of solvent and did not speak for so long that
the word hung on the air, bounced around the room, and came back to Sam
full-blown. Finally, the little Indian looked up, his face quite bland but his
eyes darkening.
"Was that him? There was something on the radio this morning, but I only
caught part of itùsomething about some deputy who died up at Stehekin. I
figured it was somebody from Chelan County."
"That was him."
"He was O.K. I always liked him better than ... the rest of you."
"Everybody did."
"What happened?"
"I can tell you what I think happened, and I can tell you what the searchers
and the rangers and the Chelan County Sheriffs Office said happened, but I
don't believe that either version is completely accurate. I'm prejudiced in
favor of mine."
"So tell."
"What makes you think she's alive?" Ling's voice betrayed no doubt, only
listening.
"I've answered that before and nobody believed my reasoning."
"But what?"
"Some things I can explainùsome I can't. Danny was stabbed. I saw the wounds
before the coroner destroyed them. Joanne's gone, and so are her sleeping bag
and her backpack. And ... she's not alone. I found the piece of a shirt in a
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tree up there that wasn't hers and wasn't Danny's. Somebody's got her. There
was no damned bear, except in some fools' imaginations."
Ling looked thoughtful. "So what do you want with me?"
"Your sign says SEARCH. Danny said you could find things. And frankly, you're
about my last chance. Chelan County ran me out this morning on a rail. I'm
probably going to get canned here because I took off without permission.
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I'm what you call a person with very low credibility, and I am strictly
no-talent in the wilderness. I cannot find my way from Point A to Point B."
"I believe that."
"I want you to go with me."
"You got any money?"
Sam looked up sharply. "You don't strike me as a mercenary."
Ling laughed. "Look around you. Look at everything for sale and tell me I'm
not a mercenary."
"Are you?"
"In this case, no, but you just told me you are not exactly sanctioned by your
fellow piggies. That means that it's unlikely that any county is going to loan
you a helicopter or any other gear we might need. So have you got any money?"
"I've got about two thousand dollars in savings."
"You'll put that up?"
"Hell yes, I'll put that up."
"Do you believe that I can find her?"
"I'm not sure."
Ling slapped his hand on the table in front of Sam, the splat of it making Sam
jump back. "For that, I'm charging you my standard rate as an Indian guide,
$100 a day, payable when we find her. You know why my fee just went up?
Because if I don't charge you an arm and a leg, you're not gonna believe in
me. If you have to pay me, you'll think you got somebody exceptional."
Sam winced. "I believe in you."
"Too late. Doubting me cost you. You bet your ass you believe in me. Every
time you get all wishy-washy, my price goes up another $25 a day. Dragging you
along isn't going to be easy. You are not exactly what I call fit."
"I'll hack it. If I die going uphill, you can cover me with pine cones and
call the meat wagonùor the meat sled, or whatever. And sue my estate, you
little fucker, for your consulting fee."
"You can't drink up there."
"What makes you think I drink?"
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254
"When you came in you smelled like a week of firewater; now you smell like
stale booze, garlic, and oysters."
"That's so you won't keep trying to hug me."
"It's even possible you have a few cogs missing."
"Several."
"Marcella's not going to like it. She doesn't like to have me leave her."
"And you aren't going to like to leave her. Will she be safe here by herself?"
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