Brass and Aguirre got out of the Jeep and walked casually to the front door, just two guys getting out of an official tribal police vehicle and going in for some butts. Inside, pink neon script identified a cigar room off to the left. On the right, the door into the solid section on the other side was unmarked.

When Aguirre pushed the front door open, an electronic tone sounded. A Native American woman tossed them a friendly look from behind the sales counter. She wore a black Western-style shirt with embroidered cigarettes on it, smoke wafting up her shoulders in ornate curlicues. "Hi there, welcome to Grey Rock Tobacco," she said. "If there's anything I can help you find, just let me know."

Aguirre snatched his straw cowboy hat off and tilted his head toward the unmarked door. "We'll be in there," he said.

The woman's welcoming expression vanished. "I'm sorry, that's -"

Aguirre tapped the badge on his chest and made for the door. As he reached it, a buzzing noise sounded, the young lady at the desk passing them through without further argument. Aguirre yanked the door open, and a cloud of smoke welled out. Brass quickly sucked in a deep breath of clean air and waded into the miasma.

He had entered a stockroom, lined with steel shelving units holding cardboard cartons of tobacco products. Most of them had familiar printed logos, but there were also brand names Brass didn't know and others that weren't identified at all.

In the middle of the room were a table and chairs and beyond them a separate seating area with a plush sofa and a couple more chairs, arranged around a low table. Ashtrays were everywhere, most of them full to overflowing.

Half a dozen Native American men glared at the doorway as the two cops entered. They were older than the men Brass had seen at Torres's house, strands of silver icing their black hair in places, lined faces frowning. Brass noticed a lot of jewelry, most of it silver and turquoise but some also featuring accents of red coral, bone, and other materials.

"This is a private area, Richie," one of them said. Deep furrows ran from the sides of his nose to the corners of his mouth, as if sliced there by a carving knife. "You know that. You have a warrant?"

"We're looking for Ruben Solis and Shep Moran," Aguirre said. "Trying to help them dodge some trouble. Don't need a warrant for that."

The man shrugged. "You see 'em here?"

Aguirre made a show of looking around. "No, I sure don't. So maybe you can tell me where they are."

"I run into 'em, I'll tell them you're looking. Maybe they'll give you a call."

"That would be good," Aguirre said. "There's a lot of bad stuff going down around here, Russell. You know I don't have to tell you."

"I know a great man was killed," Russell said. The other men murmured agreement. Most of them didn't look directly at Brass, but he knew he was being sized up just the same.

"And we're trying to find out who killed him," Aguirre said. "I know you all were close to Robert, and I'm sorry for what happened to him. You can be sure nobody's taking it sitting down." He then said something else that Brass couldn't understand. Brass assumed he was speaking in the Paiute tongue. The men acknowledged his words with glances and gestures, and a couple said something back, something that was equally unintelligible to Brass's ears.

"Look, just track down Ruben and Shep, and tell them to get in touch with me," Aguirre said. "I'm not trying to jam anybody up over this – just trying to keep a lid on things so they don't boil over. Okay?"

"We'll spread the word, Richie."

"That's exactly what I need, thanks."

Aguirre gave Brass a look and a nod, and they retreated from the smoke. On the way out the shop's front door, Brass asked him, "You think they'll really help us find Solis and Moran?"

"Not a chance," Aguirre said. "But I wish I had taps on all their phones, 'cause I bet you one of them is calling those guys right now."

"Warning them?"

Aguirre chuckled dryly. "Yeah. They'll already know we're looking for them, so that's not going to make any difference in the long run. We'll just keep going till we find them, or we don't. I'm hoping we do."

"That makes two of us," Brass said. "And maybe half a reservation who hope we don't. I'd hate to see the odds against us on the screen at a sports book."

"So what's the deal with you guys and tobacco?" Brass asked. "I mean, I know you can sell it at lower prices than off-reservation retailers because of the tax thing. But it seems like there's more to it than that."

"Indians never used tobacco casually," Aguirre told him. "And we were using it long before you Europeans showed up here and started throwing up strip malls everywhere. We used it in ceremonies, for spiritual purposes or political ones, even medicinal. Shamans used to smoke larger amounts of it to get high. One cigarette won't do much, but try a pack or two at a time, and see what happens to you. Of course, it wasn't just about getting wasted; there was a ritual element to it. Tobacco was a part of Indian life. When the Europeans came and created a big new market for it, it became important to us commercially."

"And it looks like it's stayed that way."

"Yeah. There's a downside, though. Some researchers think that early prevalence in Indian society set us up for greater susceptibility than the white population. Lots of Indians smoke, and lots of them are addicted to tobacco. That and alcohol are both big problems in our communities. At least some of it comes from the way we used it in pre-contact days."

Brass was about to say something else when his phone rang. He flipped it open. "I gotta take this," he said.

"Go ahead." Aguirre said. "That's one thing I'm not addicted to. When I'm not on the job, I like to be miles from the nearest telephone."

'What's up, Nicky?" said Brass.

Nick was driving fast, on unfamiliar roads, not the best conditions for making a phone call. At least he wasn't texting, but that didn't mean some other driver wasn't. "I just got off the phone with Ray."

"And?" Brass asked.

"He's heading out here. But on the way, he stopped to talk to his friend who's married to a Grey Rock woman."

"What did his friend say?"

Nick twisted the wheel right for a sharp turn, then cranked it left as he headed into an S-curve.

"It's not good. He said the tribal police might take sides. I guess Domingo treated them pretty well, made sure they were taken care of. In turn, they watched out for his interests. Now, if the powder keg blows, he thinks most of them will back whoever Domingo's likely successor is, trying to maintain the status quo."

Brass hesitated before answering. Nick could tell from the background noises that he was in a vehicle and probably had Rico Aguirre right beside him. "Okay, thanks. That's something to keep in mind."

"That's what I thought."

"And Nick?"

"Yeah?"

"The fuse has already been lit. And it's burning fast."