Page 77 of Not This Night

A shake of the head. “No.”

She could feel herself growing irritated. A cold night zephyr ruffled the feathers in his headdress, casting long shadows across his weathered face. Yet, his gaze remained steady on her. "When were they stolen?" she asked, trying to keep the edge from her voice.

“Long time ago.”

Rachel could feel a knot of frustration forming in her stomach. Even the cool night air wasn't enough to quell the heat of anger that pulsed beneath her skin. "Does anyone else know about the tapes?"

Dawes shook his head. "Just us and the thief."

She took a moment to gather herself, inhaling the crisp air and letting it out slowly. The tension in her body started to ebb away as she refocused on the task at hand.

"Alright," she said, her tone firm, "What was on the tape?”

“I didn’t listen.”

“Bullshit.”

He shrugged.

“Did you call me here just to be vague and elusive? I could’ve had that over the phone.”

He shook his head. And then he reached behind his back, pulling out a manilla folder from the folds of his cloak. He extended it to her without a word. Dawes had never liked Rachel very much, and this continued to be apparent in his cold, detached demeanor. One might have interpreted his quiet as a form of stoicism, but she knew it was mostly dislike. But because he knew her aunt, and because he knew her family… He was here.

The only question remained, why?

“What is this?”

“Brothers. Both from the reservation. Both in your mother’s crew.”

Crew. Her mother had been involved in a crime… or so the story went. And her father and mother had been killed for double-crossing the thieves.

She didn’t buy it for a second. At least… not much of a second.

She took the folder, opened it, and read the two names.

John Red Bear. Joseph White Cloud. She stared at the names, their black ink seeping into her consciousness like a stain. Rachel closed the manilla folder and looked up at Dawes again.

"Why are you giving this to me now?"

Dawes simply shrugged, his old eyes reflecting moonlight and silence.

"You find them," was all he said.

Rachel tucked the folder under her arm. The weight of it felt heavier than just a few pieces of paper. Whatever was going on here, it wasn't as simple as a stolen tape.

“What do you have against them?”

A shrug. “They left. They’re no longer here.”

“Where’d they go.”

“Off-grid,” he said simply. “Find them.”

The folder crinkled in her tightening grip, and her eyes narrowed to slits. And then he turned, marching away from her without another word, leaving her standing alone in the moonlight with the only lead she had to her parents’ killers.

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