Whitehorse Part 13

The interview on the local news with her father did not help. He gloated over the fact that Johnny had publicly insinuated that the senator was involved in corruption of the reservation casinos-and here he was obviously involved in drugs. The public could be a.s.sured that the senator would be encouraging an all-out investigation of Mr. Whitehorse. When asked what he thought of his daughter's relationship with Whitehorse, the senator looked directly into the camera, and replied: "I adamantly deny that my daughter is involved with Johnny Whitehorse. They are acquaintances. Nothing more. My daughter and I have an incredibly close relationship. She would never a.s.sociate with a man like Whitehorse, especially knowing how he has publicly ma.s.sacred my reputation the last few months."

By Sunday afternoon Leah had called Johnny's house no less than a dozen times, always getting his answering service. The first few times she left a message: Urgent. Call Leah. Urgent. Call Leah. Later, her frustration mounting, she'd simply hung up in the service's ear. Later, her frustration mounting, she'd simply hung up in the service's ear.

"Why don't you just get in the truck and go see him?" Shamika asked.

"I don't want to seem pushy."

"Since when were you ever concerned about that?"

"He must be going through incredible worry."

"Maybe he needs a shoulder to lean on."

"Considering what my father's been saying, I'm probably the last last person he'd want to lean on." person he'd want to lean on."

"Might be nice to a.s.sure him that your father doesn't speak for you. As I recall, he never did."

"What if he rejects me, Shamika?"

"He might. But I doubt it. Go, girl. You're not going to have a moment's peace until you do."

Leah made the drive over to Johnny's house in less than two minutes. The front iron gates were shut and locked against the curious and concerned fans milling around the entrance, hoping to get a glance of Johnny. The dozen bodyguards positioned along the entry and the stretch of fence lining the highway made certain that the women's attempts to shimmy over the barricade were unsuccessful. Engine idling, her fingers tapping the steering wheel as she collected her thoughts and watched a guard tackle an enthusiastic fan who attempted to climb the gates, Leah a.s.sessed the situation until a truck pulled up behind her and blasted its horn.

She drove south down the highway until she came to a barely visible track between a cl.u.s.ter of pines. By the looks of the weeds growing amid the tire marks, a few years had pa.s.sed since the road had been used. No telling what she might run into along the way.

Leah eased the truck off the highway and onto the sandy track. As brush sc.r.a.ped along the undercarriage, the truck bounced like a buckboard wagon into and out of the old ruts.

The forest closed in around her, a wall of pines and cedars and wild berry bushes. The air became tangy with their scents, rousing memories of lazy picnics in pine-needle-covered hiding places, her mind drowsy with love, desire, and warm red wine. She and Johnny had discussed building a home in these trees, hidden away, wrapped up in nature and thumbing their noses at the hectic, prejudiced world.

She almost missed the fence opening. Over the years weeds and bushes had almost swallowed it. Leaving the truck, Leah waded through the overgrowth, jimmied with the gate latch that had become rusty over the years, and finally gave it a hard kick that sent the corroded metal flying through the air in two pieces. She was forced to pick up the gate end and shove it through the high gra.s.s to make room for the truck to pa.s.s through, onto Whitehorse Farm property.

The trail leading back to the house had long since grown over. Following the fence line, her memory leading the way, Leah wove through the rises and gullies that she had once ridden horseback over-long before she had fallen in love with Johnny Whitehorse-back when her world was made up of make-believe, her companions those only in her imagination. Her mother had been alive then, and sometimes joined her. They would spend hours exploring their domain. Her mother would take dozens of photographs and return home to paint them on canvas, selling them in shops that specialized in supporting local artists.

Topping a hill, Leah hit the brakes. Before her stretched the compound, glistening like a scattering of polished white stones under the afternoon sun: the house, the barns, the offices. The mile-long exercise track formed an oval of rich brown dirt, starting gates at one end, observation booth at the other where Johnny's father would wait, stopwatch in hand, for her father's horses to streak across the finish line. She had never been able to judge Jefferson Whitehorse's thoughts by his expressions-whether he was pleased or unhappy over a horse's running time. That was simply the way it was with the Apache. Only their eyes gave away their thoughts and feelings. They either embraced you, or cut you to the bone.

She drove to the house, parking beside Johnny's truck near a bench under a tree. There were several cars scattered along the drive: a BMW, a Jaguar XJS with the convertible top down, a Jeep Cherokee.

The door opened at her knock. A tall man with broad shoulders and no hair, wearing an extremely well-cut and expensive suit, peered down at her through his John Lennon-style gla.s.ses.

"How the h.e.l.l did you get in here?" he demanded. "Jeez, where is that security?" He stepped around her, onto the porch, searching the grounds. Leah slipped into the house and was halfway across the foyer before the man turned and shouted, "Hey, come back here. Dammit! Where is security?"

"I'm a friend of Johnny's," she said without looking back. There were voices coming from the study. She headed there.

A collection of suited men sat in chairs, a couple smoking cigars that clouded the room in a dingy haze. Leah knew immediately that Johnny would not be among them. He did not allow smoking in his company. In fact, had he been anywhere on the premises, the cigars would be tucked away in the men's briefcases.

Their talk came to an abrupt stop as they stared at her. The bald man she'd left at the front door moved up behind her. "We have company, gentlemen. Does anyone know where security has gone? What am I paying those sons-of-b.i.t.c.hes for?"

"Where is Johnny?" Leah asked, making eye contact with an older gentleman who did not seem so perturbed by her entrance.

"I hoped you could tell us, Ms. Foster. Foster. Sorry. I meant Mrs. Starr." He rolled the cigar between his lips before adding, "Gentlemen, this is Senator Foster's daughter. The young lady in the paper dancing with Johnny? I believe they're old friends." Sorry. I meant Mrs. Starr." He rolled the cigar between his lips before adding, "Gentlemen, this is Senator Foster's daughter. The young lady in the paper dancing with Johnny? I believe they're old friends."

"Jesus," the bald man muttered, stepping around her. "That's all we need."

"I a.s.sure you, gentlemen, I'm here strictly on my behalf. Not my father's. I haven't heard from Johnny since the accident. He hasn't returned my phone calls. I'm concerned."

"That makes four of us." The man with no hair adjusted his gla.s.ses. "I'm Edwin Fullerman. Johnny's agent. We were just discussing you. We'd hoped you might have spoken with Johnny."

"No." She shook her head.

The gentleman she'd addressed first left his chair and extended one hand. "I'm Robert Anderson, Johnny's legal advisor. This gentleman over here is Roger Darnalli, Johnny's business manager, and this is Jack Hall, public relations advisor. We all flew in last night, for whatever good it's done us. No one seems to know where the h.e.l.l our client is."

"Not even Roy Moon?"

Edwin rolled his eyes. "Trying to get anything out of that that man is impossible." man is impossible."

"He'll talk to me."

Johnny's agent dropped onto a leather sofa and crossed his legs. "Great. Terrific. Go to it. You might tell him to pa.s.s on to my client that his silence and sudden disappearance are not exactly going to endear him to the advertisers who have spent millions on ad campaigns plastered with his face and body. Jesus!" He leaped from the sofa, arms thrown open as he stared at the ceiling and yelled, "We're talking frigging ten million dollars in endors.e.m.e.nts here!"

"Not to mention the impact this will have on his own companies," Darnalli interjected as he flipped open a file and ran his finger down a compilation of numbers. "Whitehorse Jeans had the third highest sales profits for jeans for the first quarter of this year, both in this country and j.a.pan. Christ." He shook his head. "Johnny's bigger than Buddha in j.a.pan. One hint of scandal and he's cooked."

"You can imagine how my conversation went with Craig Morris at the Celebrities for a Drug-Free America this morning. Just last week we finalized a deal with NBC and the National Football League to air a thirty-second commercial of Johnny's anti-drug rhetoric during the next Super Bowl. Johnny would have made the cover of Newsweek Newsweek again. Oh, and did I fail to mention what that little coup would have meant if we got around to negotiating the Costner-Redford deal? We're talking fifteen million easy." again. Oh, and did I fail to mention what that little coup would have meant if we got around to negotiating the Costner-Redford deal? We're talking fifteen million easy."

Jack Hall studied the tip of his cigar. "We'll simply get him into Betty Ford-explain that the pressures of his success became too much-I'll point out to Craig Morris that this slip of Johnny's could make one h.e.l.l of a point. See what disasters befall you when you succ.u.mb to drugs..." He grinned. "Brilliant. Think about it. All this publicity. Rainwater's death-his beloved fiancee-I'll call the Enquirer, Enquirer, promise them an exclusive if they really make an issue of Johnny's grief. I'll slip them a few photos of the funeral-" promise them an exclusive if they really make an issue of Johnny's grief. I'll slip them a few photos of the funeral-"

"Great." Ed shook his head. "While you're at it, slip them a few photos of Johnny in prison for manslaughter and possession. He's hardly going to be able to do the Costner-Redford deal when he's serving ten to twenty, is he?"

"He should have thought about that-"

"Wait a minute," Leah shouted, causing the men to shut up and look at her as if forgetting she had been there in the first place. "You're all talking about Johnny as if he's already been tried and found guilty of something. Listen to yourselves. Not one of you has shown any concern whatsoever for anything other than what this may or may not do to his ability to make money-excuse me, make you you money. Have you stopped to consider money. Have you stopped to consider his his feelings? What he must be suffering, and I don't mean because he might lose an endors.e.m.e.nt or won't get his picture on the front of feelings? What he must be suffering, and I don't mean because he might lose an endors.e.m.e.nt or won't get his picture on the front of Newsweek Newsweek again. Dolores Rainwater is dead, and if any of you jerks had ever taken the time to get to know Johnny, you'd realize that he must be dealing with incredible guilt, not to mention his sorrow over losing a friend." again. Dolores Rainwater is dead, and if any of you jerks had ever taken the time to get to know Johnny, you'd realize that he must be dealing with incredible guilt, not to mention his sorrow over losing a friend."

They stared.

Fullerman sat on the desk edge and crossed his arms. "His up and disappearing doesn't exactly paint a positive picture, Miss Foster."

"The name is Starr, Mr. Fullerman. And if your reference to my maiden name is somehow a means of linking me with my father, then you can stuff it. What problems may exist between Johnny and my father have absolutely nothing to do with me. I have no intention of taking sides on their issues."

"You may be forced to," Anderson said. "As Johnny's legal counsel I must say that the allegations your father is publicly making about Johnny border on slander ... if Johnny is found to be clear of drugs, of course. Should Johnny decide to sue, I suspect your father will be hard-pressed to collect enough money to satisfy us, much less finance his upcoming election."

"Is that a threat?" she said through her teeth.

"Simply a fact, Mrs. ... Starr. If you have any influence with your father whatsoever, I suggest that you relay this little conversation to him, pointing out that a lawsuit slapped on a man of his prominence will have major consequences down the line ... should he ever decide to run for a higher office."

Leah backed toward the door, shaking her head. "You're all a lot of hyenas."

"Just businessmen, Mrs. Starr," Hall said, tapping cigar ashes into a container the shape of the state of New Mexico. "With a very lucrative commodity at stake. Johnny Whitehorse is worth a cool hundred million in endors.e.m.e.nts and television and movie projects, not to mention Whitehorse, Inc., revenue. In short, should Johnny decide to, he has the financial capability of squashing your father's bank account like a c.o.c.kroach."

Turning on her heels, Leah left the room, stalked from the house, and stood beneath the tree near her truck, doing her best to control her anger before getting behind the wheel.

Leah pulled the truck onto the highway shoulder and shut off the engine. Ahead of her, on the side of the road, were two cars, windows rolled down as the occupants focused their long-lens cameras on the crash site and snapped away. Souvenirs of death. Leah wondered if the photos would take their place inside someone's picture alb.u.m or find their way to the tabloids, for a hefty reward, of course. Obviously, anything to do with Johnny was worth a tidy sum, even if it depicted tragedy-especially if it depicted tragedy. if it depicted tragedy.

A half-dozen or so flower wreaths had been placed amid the blackened and scarred earth where Dolores's car had collided with the ground and burst into flames. There was evidence of the police investigation. Strips of yellow ribbon fluttered from charred tree trunks, their lower limbs, stripped of their needles, looking skeletal. The gra.s.s-what had been spared from the inferno-had been flattened by numerous car tracks.

Finally, the cars pulled away.

Leah left the truck and stood on the hot asphalt, feeling the heat of the day seep up through the soles of her boots as she scanned the area. A stench of gasoline and ashes hung in the air, as did the unusual and discomfiting silence.

A double stretch of black rubber lay imprinted along the road's surface, stretching perhaps fifty feet before disappearing off the shoulder. Leah followed the tire marks, toe to heel, balancing on the strip as if she were a tightrope walker until coming to the end, where the marks took an abrupt jag to the right-almost a perfect ninety-degree angle. Very odd. Hands on her hips, she stared down the embankment, to the place where the car had hit first, rolling back the earth, then again, further, where it had come to rest, wheels up.

Where, she wondered, had Johnny fallen? Had he witnessed the horrible explosion, knowing that Dolores was still strapped in the car, knowing there was no way of helping her? Or had he been unconscious?

Please, G.o.d, let him have been unconscious.

A crow cawed from above, circling the clearing, floating on outstretched black wings before diving into the trees. Cupping her hand over her eyes, Leah searched the treeline beyond the accident site. Some niggling disquietude tapped at her, as if there were something there she should be seeing, but couldn't. Sort of like the Where's Waldo Where's Waldo pictures that always made her crazy with frustration. She knew it was there, laid out for her to recognize, though what pictures that always made her crazy with frustration. She knew it was there, laid out for her to recognize, though what it it was was a total mystery. was was a total mystery.

This particular bend in the road had been a major source of despondency for a number of people through the years. During her senior year in high school the curve had claimed three lives, each going too fast to make the curve safely. How many times had she and Johnny so foolishly pushed the limits of safety in his father's old truck, racing ninety to nothing to get her home and back in bed before sunup-before her father realized that she'd spent the night making love to an Indian. Funny, but she'd never been frightened of the drive with Johnny. He'd handled the bends in the road as gracefully and competently as he made love-a man in total control of his actions.

The place where the car had come to rest was a flat hollow some fifty yards from the road. There were shreds of metal strewn over the ground. The larger rocks scattered around the clearing showed evidence of metallic blue paint.

What was she doing here? Leah thought. She was feeling a lot like a rubbernecker at a particularly grisly accident, slowing down to catch a glimpse of gore.

"I wondered how long it would take you to come here," came a voice near the treeline. She spun around, her heart pounding. Roy Moon stepped from the shadows. "You're looking for Johnny?"

She nodded.

"You won't find him here," Roy said.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"I am here for Johnny. Searching."

"For what?"

Roy stepped over a rotting tree branch, his footsteps cautious and silent. His cowboy hat had been replaced by a bandanna tied around his wide, brown brow. He wore knee-high moccasins instead of boots. By the looks of his sweat-damp shirt he had been nosing around the site for some time.

It became apparent that Roy had no intention of answering her question, so she did not bother asking again. "Will you tell me where Johnny is?"

"What good will you do him?" he replied, stopping beside her.

"He shouldn't be alone, Roy."

"It is his choice, I think."

"But do you think it's wise, considering what you told me at the hospital?"

He studied the area with sharp eyes.

"He must be suffering," she said.

Roy nodded. "If I take you there, you must promise to keep his secret."

"I swear."

"I risk his trust by doing so."

"He'll be glad I've come."

Without another word, Roy turned back to the forest. Leah fell in behind him.

They walked a long while until coming out on a dirt road where Roy had parked his truck-well hidden from view from the highway. Leah climbed in and they made the ride in silence through the trees, finally coming out on a blacktop road that wound north toward the reservation.

After a half-hour's ride, Roy pulled up in front of a tiny adobe hut. An old man sat in a ladderback chair on the porch, fanning himself in the heat. The engine still running, Roy looked over at Leah. "You know Johnny's grandfather."

She nodded, feeling a flutter of nervousness in her stomach. The old man had been totally opposed to his grandson's relationship with Leah those many years ago. Like Johnny's father, he looked at her as one more object to lure Johnny's loyalties away from his people. She was very certain they had celebrated her and Johnny's breakup with much pleasure.

Killing the engine, Roy left the truck. "Wait here. I'll speak to the old man alone. It will be up to him whether you see Johnny."

She nodded and watched as Roy mounted the porch and sat on an overturned crate next to Johnny's grandfather. As Roy spoke too softly for Leah to hear, the old man stared out at her, his expression inscrutable.

G.o.d, it was hot. The first really hot day of the summer. The sun beat down on the line of hovels, shimmered in waves off the roofs and weed-thatched gardens, reflected off the barren ground so the glare made Leah squint.

Closing her eyes and doing her best to ignore the sweat forming under her clothes, Leah leaned her head back against the seat, allowing memories to rise like threads of hazy smoke in her mind.

The first time she'd ever noticed Johnny Whitehorse had been the spring of her soph.o.m.ore year in high school. She supposed that he'd been around for nearly a year, since his father had come to work at the farm, but she'd been too wrapped up in cheerleading, student council, and keeping her grades up to realize there was actually a life around her own house. Her steady at the time had been the quarterback for the football team-blond, blue-eyed Larry Norman. He drove a black Corvette convertible and lived in the second-finest house in Ruidoso, hers having been the finest, of course. Larry was dumb as a box of rocks, but it didn't matter, not with his throwing arm. Half the colleges in the country were trying to lure Larry Norman with scholarships. She'd always thought it rather sad that someone with his father's money could get his education paid for entirely just because he could throw a football.

Larry had brought her home from school one day after cheerleading and football practice. Gunning the 'Vette up the drive, he'd come within feet of plowing into Johnny and the horse he was riding. The animal reared straight up on its back legs, yet Johnny handled the situation with all the adeptness of his ancestors, whispering to the horse in Apache, his expression saying nothing of what he was really thinking.

Larry laid into his horn and shouted, "Hey, Geronimo, wanna watch where you're goin'?"

Leah slapped him on the arm. "Dingbat. Watch where you're you're going, why don't you?" going, why don't you?"

As Larry eased the car by the skittish horse, she looked up into Johnny's eyes, and smiled. "Sorry," she called. He did not reply, just watched her, perhaps hypnotizing her a little, causing her existence to hone to a pinpoint that made her heart ache. It had been all she could do to turn away from him, and for the remainder of the night she'd tossed and turned in her bed, thinking of the Indian with haunting eyes.

TWELVE.

May, 1985