Star Gift

Chapter Five

As Blake's car entered the frontage road off highway 163 to Kayenta, Arizona, the afternoon light was slanting onto the buildings of the small town from the west. Pulling into the only gas station on the main road, a boy of seventeen or eighteen came out to serve him gas. He appeared surprised at seeing someone he did not recognize from the small town.

"Put in fifty," Blake said, knowing he would either be driving back to Farmington or beginning the long trek to San Diego on the West coast. It all depended on the information he wanted, which he knew in the end, might be too futile to ever find.

"Ok," the dark-skinned boy said. He was obviously Native American and living there on the Navajo teritory. "Where you guys headed?

"California! " Russel shouted emphatically from across the seat.

"Long drive," he responded, smiling. "Want me to check that oil? Tires or anything?"

"No. But thanks," Blake answered. "Just tell me where the sheriff can be found in town."

"You mean the Ranger?"

"Yeah. The Navajo Rangers. Right?"

"Yup. That's who takes care of things out here."

"Great. They got an office or something nearby?"

"Well . . . they pretty much work out of their homes. You got a serious problem or something?"

"Just need some . . . important information. And yeah, it's pretty serious."

"Well, if it is, I can call them. Ranger Dan can be here in a few minutes. He's probably around somewhere. You want that?" The boy reached into his pocket and held up what appeared to be a portable police radio.

Blake looked over at Russel for a reaction. His friend gave no obvious indication to accept the offer. But Blake could sense from his silence that his patience with the whole trip to Arizona was wearing thin.

"OK. Could you do that for us? That is . . . if he's around like you say."

"Yeah, hang on."

The boy pressed a few buttons on the phone and it squawked open, then hissed loudly. He put it close to his mouth.

"Dan? This is Robert over at the Shell. You copy?"

After several moments the hissing stopped, and a clear voice answered. "Go ahead Robbie. What's up? Over."

"Got some guys over here at the station. No emergency. But they say it's important. You in the area? Over."

"Yeah. On my way."

The boy closed the phone and nodded to Blake as he placed the gas nozzle back into the pump. "Give him a couple of minutes. He's here somewhere."

"Thanks," Blake said, handing the boy a fifty bill for the fuel.

"So . . . you two getting hassled by someone or something?"

"No. Nothing like that. Why? Does that happen out here?"

"There's crazies everywhere. We got our share, yeah. Usually it's about strangers. Sometimes our people get a little edgy with outsiders. You know . . . disrespecting the land with off-road vehicles. Or just looking for trouble in town. Boredom I guess."

Blake immediately thought of his father's alleged murder, somewhere in that desert months before. He was about to ask the boy if he knew anything about it when he saw a familiar dusty Ford Bronco speeding over and entering the gas station next to them.