Eagle, Kathleen (32 page)

"Your
mother made a few improvements," Reese said, squatting behind his son's
shoulder this time, a little closer, a little more contact with both hands on
his shoulders. It was okay, Sidney realized. He was cool with it. Both guys in
the mirror were smiling, and maybe it was almost the same kind of smile.

"You've
got that nice forehead of hers," Reese pointed out, "and I don't
think your nose is gonna be quite as big as mine, but you've sure got Roy Blue
Sky's ears, man." He tugged on one, just a little.

"Yeah,
well, then so do you, man," Sidney said, tugging Reese's ear back.

"You've
got to come out to the place so I can show you this thing he made, this
miniature battlefield. You ever been to the Little Bighorn?" Reese asked,
getting kind of excited about it, and Sidney had to shake his head. "Aw,
we gotta go out there," Reese said with that quick little shoulder squeeze
of his. "You gotta see where we whooped Custer's ass, and I'll show you a
tape. They interviewed your grandfather on the History Channel. He knew all
about that stuff, and he could sure set those big college professors straight
on the Indian point of view."

"I
think I saw that. But I didn't know who he was."

"Well,
we'll watch it together, and I'll tell you who he was. I'm just beginning to
understand who he was myself."

***

They
shared their first supper together, looked at a few pictures, traded more than
a few stories. Helen sat back and pushed the pesky worries and might-have-beens
aside as she listened to them talk basketball. They liked each other already,
and why wouldn't they? They were cut from the same cloth. They kept stealing
looks at each other and at her, looks loaded with
Hey, this feels good.
After
Sidney went to bed, Helen and Reese cuddled on the sofa together, pictures on
top of the side table, large boots and small sandals shoved underneath,
National Public Radio playing late-night jazz. They were both thinking they'd
waited a long time for a moment like this, and by rights it should not have to
end.

He
said it first.

"I've
got another council meeting tomorrow. It would be kinda nice if Sid's dad could
spend the night with his mom."

She
looked up, smiled regretfully. It would be
very
nice, but it wasn't in
the cards. The ice was still much too thin.

"Damn,
I want to take you to bed
so bad,
and here we've got a kid in the
house." He drew her closer, as close as two people could get without
merging into one. "You think he's asleep?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe
not. He had a little trouble with the birds-and-bees part of our conversation,
so I guess we don't wanna push. He'd probably come after me with a bat."

She
nodded. She kept her mouth shut, because if she said anything, it might be
another "maybe," as in "Maybe if we were quiet." Lord, she
loved this man.

"I
remember hearing a noise across the hall one time, and I got up and..." He
glanced at the pictures on the table and chuckled. "Hell, I thought the
dog had gotten into the old man's room and was howling to get out. I opened the
door and, whoa! Not exactly the same as opening up a centerfold, if you know
what I mean. Man, I couldn't shut that door fast enough. The next day I tried
to tell him I thought it was the dog I heard. Well, he never let the dog in the
house, so he figured I was being a smart-ass."

"What
did he do?"

"Nothing.
He froze me out."

She
sat up a little, shocked, picturing little Reese shivering on the doorstep.
"Outside?"

"Jeez,
not that bad," he assured her with an affectionate squeeze. "No, he
just didn't talk to me for about a week. Not a word."

"Maybe
he was embarrassed."

"Maybe.
He never remarried, but he had girlfriends from time to time. We didn't talk
about any of that, but sometimes I wish we had. I wonder if he missed my
mother. I wonder if—" He smiled, gave a diffident shrug. "He used to
tell me stories. There was one about ol' Coyote making a fool of himself over a
younger woman when it was really the woman he'd lost that he wanted back. I
used to think, Is he just making this shit up?"

"He
showed me a shirt your mother had made for him. It was a Western shirt,
hand-embroidered with colorful flowers. We were talking about the people around
here who did the best beadwork, the best quilts—" She smiled too,
remembering the old man's animated delivery. "And yes, he was telling me
one of his stories about these two women who'd made a bet on who could bead the
best shirt. He brought that shirt out. It wasn't beaded, but he was so proud of
it, he handled it like an egg. It was almost new, except that it was
torn—"

"On
the sleeve." He was listening more intently than she'd realized, amazement
growing in his eyes. "I didn't know she'd made that for him. He never told
me."

"Did
you burn it?"

He
nodded, but the look in his eyes said maybe he would have saved that one, if he
had known. "We just couldn't..." He drew a deep breath as he glanced
toward the hallway where the two bedrooms were, where his son slept. "...
talk easily, you know? Maybe that's why he had to get Carter back. Maybe he
needed to start over clean."

"Carter
didn't replace you. I think your father was trying to do what he thought was right
for Carter." And that was what had scared her the most, that everybody had
his own idea of what was right for a child, and that maybe nobody was
completely right. Or completely wrong.

"Yeah,
why not?" He shrugged. "Sure, why not? I'd better not be too quick to
judge, now that it's my turn to take a crack at it. It's probably not fair
to..."

He
shifted his hips as he plunged his hand into the pocket of his jeans.
"Almost forgot. I found something interesting." He produced a small
round metal object, which he'd wrapped in a bit of cloth. "Found it in the
ditch, near where they killed my dad."

She
examined it. It looked like a small cap to something, some part of a vehicle.

"I
think it's out of a headlight," he told her. "I've got another piece,
too, a little bigger, plus a little glass. I've gone over that ground a hundred
times, and it was right there in plain sight. It's funny how the prairie holds
onto something for a while, and then one day she gives it up."

She
nodded. "Like a mother?"

"Like
a mother." He pocketed his find.

"What
will you do with it?"

"I'm
not sure yet. Show it to Dozer and see what he thinks." He put his arm
around her again. "Now, tell me what it was like when he was born."

She
was still staring at his pocket. "Do you think they can tell anything from
that?"

"We're
sure gonna find out," he promised. "Now, tell me about—"

"You
mean your ears weren't burning?" She smiled. "I do believe I heaped a
few curses on your head during that final stage of labor."

"I'm
sure I was in the gym feeling some kind of a strain. It was a hard year, but
nothing like..." He shifted toward her, sliding his hand over her belly.
"I should have been with you that day. Did you have anybody?"

"A
friend. Another teacher who'd had three babies and knew the ropes. I hadn't
even known her very long. I was very..." She put her hand over his,
pressed it to her. "I wasn't planning on a C-section, so it was a little
scary when they started talking about operating. I wanted everything to go
smoothly and naturally, and when it didn't, I really wanted someone..."

She'd
wanted
him.
She'd been angry and scared and suffering pain worse than
any she'd imagined, and she'd wanted him there. She remembered thinking he
should have known. He should have appeared at her bedside. He was the baby's
father, and he should have had a gut feeling, because she sure did, and they
should have been in it together.

But
they weren't. It had been she and her baby who shared the experience. She
smiled. "The moment Sidney was born, I wasn't alone anymore."

"There's
a scar here, isn't there?" He opened her slacks, asking permission with
his eyes as he unbuttoned, slowly unzipped. "I noticed it before, but I
stayed away from it because it bothered me a little that it didn't have
anything to do with me." His warm hand covered her skin, his thumb tracing
the scar. "Now it does."

"It
does."

"How
did you choose his name?"

"It's
my father's middle name. Sidney's middle name is Roy. I think those connections
give a sense of identity." Her choice of Reese's father's name clearly
surprised him. "I always intended to tell him about you when he was
older," she explained. "And to tell you about him."

He
took her at her word with a quick nod. "That one picture in the hospital,
he looks so little."

She
laughed. "He weighed in at nine pounds, six ounces."

"Is
that big?"

"You
try walking around with over nine pounds of baby sitting right on your
bladder."

"That's
big," he said with a smile, his hand still warming her belly. "Did he
cry much? When did he start talking and walking and all that good stuff?"

"His
first word was
no,
and he ran before he walked, and he was into
everything, and he strongly objected to being weaned, which was fine with me
because when I nursed him, I got to hold him. Otherwise he wanted to be exploring."

She
laid her head on his shoulder, put her hand on his chest, holding him as he
held her while she remembered for him.

"He
didn't exactly cry when he was hungry, but he let me know it was time. Once, we
were parked in the shade at the edge of a parking lot. A friend had gone into
the store, but I had to feed Sidney, so I stayed in the car. I had the windows
down, and I was nursing him when I felt someone standing over us. Usually I
would cover up, but it was summer, and I just opened my blouse a little..."

"Was
it a guy?"

"It
was an old woman. She had tears streaming down both cheeks. When I looked up,
she smiled, apologized for staring." She looked up, smiling wistfully,
almost the way the old woman had, feeling more akin to her now than she had then.
"She said she'd nursed ten babies, and the youngest was probably my age.
'Seeing you, I could feel the little mouth tugging and the surge of the milk,'
she said. 'It feels good to be needed, doesn't it?' And I thought, yes, it does
feel good, but to be needed so much, so completely..." She paused, putting
it all together in a new way. "I guess I was always afraid of that. Sidney
taught me that I could handle it."

He
nodded, swallowed hard. "I'm glad it wasn't some guy."

"Me,
too. I haven't had much time for guys."

"Me
neither." He smiled as his hand sneaked a little higher. "Not since
the Mavericks."

"But
I don't think I've spoiled him. He's not a mama's boy."

"No,
but I can see his point. I'd strongly object to being weaned from these,
too." He loosened the hook between her breasts as he whispered,
"Let's go out in the car. I'll bet we could bring tears to some old lady's
eyes."

"Are
you calling me an old lady?"

"I
already brought tears to your eyes, didn't I? I'm calling you
my
lady."
He grinned and tried again with a pause in the middle. "I'm calling you,
my lady."

She
laughed until he started teasing her nipple, which made her stop laughing, made
her tingle and ache for him and lift her face to his. He kissed her, his tongue
demanding intercourse with hers, and they both came away breathless, speaking
in heated whispers.

"Come
on, lady, let's go out in the car." He withdrew his hand. "Before we
get caught in the living room."

"Getting
caught in the car wouldn't be good, either."

"We'll
go somewhere," he said. "Crybaby's out in the yard. He can
babysit."

"You
have a meeting tomorrow?"

"Nine
o'clock Indian time."

"You
can sleep here."

"Mmmm..."

"But
it'll have to be on the sofa."

Reese
met Dozer and Titus below the
basketball hoop at sunup.

He
had left his child, his woman, and his dog asleep in a place that belonged to
none of them. Those facts—that he belonged with them, but not in that
apartment—had struck him as he'd stumbled around in the stingy gray light,
picking his way among borrowed furniture. He'd made countless early-morning
exits from rented rooms, but this one felt remarkably different. This time he
moved carefully, mindful of new ties, fragile cords he did not wish to trip
over and break.

Be
quiet, let them sleep, they are yours to care for.

So
strange, gloriously strange. He'd come home alone, and he'd found these three
who were part of him. Wonderfully strange, this feeling of not wanting to leave
them, even for a few hours. But he had work to do. And that fact struck him,
too. He had come home to say good-bye to his father, to give respect and
finally take his leave of Bad River. But Bad River wasn't finished with him,
and he had found more needs to tend to.

Reese
arrived first this time. He took the basketball and his favorite court shoes
out of the trunk and sat on a bench whose legs were anchored in asphalt. His
buddies were there before he had his shoes tied.

The
three longtime friends jump-started the morning with a three-man game of Around
the World, which loosened muscles and thoughts. Reese had two things on his
mind now—the council meeting and the evidence he'd found in the roadside grass.
He handed the scrap of metal to Dozer, then slugged down some bottled water as
he watched his friend put on his cop face.

"This
looks like a piece of the weapon, all right. Headlamp." Dozer used his
stretched-out T-shirt sleeve to wipe the sweat from his eyes. "I say we go
to the Feds with this directly."

"What
if it gets lost in their red tape?" Reese challenged, even though he knew
Dozer was right.

"No
choice, that's a chance we have to take." Dozer gave Titus a look at
Reese's find, but he wasn't going to give it up. "We need to go outside
with it, Blue. Listen, they've got Gene Brown convinced he didn't find
anything, wasn't even hardly at the scene, like maybe he dreamed it. I know
damn well he found something, and I know it got buried. Thing is, a broken
headlamp like this, there should have been more pieces. Hit-and-run drivers
generally don't stop to pick up evidence. I tell you, man, this thing's screwy
as hell."

"Maybe
I should talk to Gene myself." The early-morning sun glinted off the shred
of evidence. Reese watched it pass between two trusted hands. He didn't feel
much trust for the FBI. One of his cousins had been beaten to death a few years
back, and the Feds had never found the killer.

"Gene's
doing his damnedest not to cross anybody right now," Titus said.

"You
don't think he'd trust me? We used to be pretty tight, all of us,
remember?"

"Yeah,
but Gene's been on suspension a couple of times," Dozer explained,
"so he's on a pretty short leash."

"Suspension
for what?"

"Procedural
stuff. He can get a little hot sometimes."

Reese
chuckled. Gene was the kind of a guy who'd give a friend his last dime, but he
had a habit of opening his mouth at the wrong time, regularly getting himself
into trouble. Suspension had always been par for his course.

Dozer
laughed. "Hell, you don't want to get arrested by Gene on days when his
ol' lady's locked him out of the bedroom the night before."

"Or
on nights when he don't know where she is," Titus said.

"Ain't
love grand?" Dozer exchanged looks with Titus.

Reese
glanced away smiling, thinking these guys knew exactly where his mind was.
"Grand" was an understatement. At the same time, he was trying to imagine
putting a scare into big Gene, who never used to worry about who he crossed.
Except the feisty little woman who had become his wife.

"How
long have you been married now, Dozer?" Reese asked.

"Eleven
years, goin' on forever."

"You
think forever's possible?"

"I
can't think of it any other way. We've been through a lot, Genny and me."
Dozer studied the piece of metal, spoke quietly as he turned it over in his
palm. "We lost a baby a couple years back. We've got three kids, but that
was hard, losing that little baby. Genny's a lot stronger than I am." He
looked up, one eye squinting against the sun. "She's strong enough to make
forever possible."

Reese
nodded. Helen was like that, too. Strong enough to raise their son alone, which
was a good thing. But it made him feel extraneous, so he put the thought behind
him.

Strong
enough to make forever possible.
He liked that better.

"I
think Gene would tell me what he found out there."

He
eyed his friends, looking for encouragement. "You know, if I just asked
him."

"You're
not the team captain anymore, Blue. It's been a long time, and you've been a
lot of places guys like us will never see. This is all we've got, this little
island in the middle of South Dakota, these badges, these..." Dozer jerked
his chin in Titus's direction. "... these jobs with this casino that could
shut down next year. You go by past history, that's the way it figures to work
out."

"Blue
don't go by past history," Titus said proudly. "Indian ballplayers
don't make the pros. Hell, when we took the state tournament, we all talked
about how we could be playing pro ball, but the rest of us were just blowing
smoke. It's fun to blow smoke. For most people, that's all they really want to
do. You turn that dream into a reality, man, then it's not the easy dream
anymore."

Dozer
nodded. "That's right. Most of us are satisfied just to watch. You can't
blow the shot at the free-throw line when you're watching TV." He whacked
Reese's chest with the back of the hand still holding the scrap of headlamp.
"So you're our hero, man. You took the shot."

"What
did I have to lose?" Besides his life? The love of his life? His...

"The
dream," Titus said. "You put the dream on the line, Blue."

"Yeah,
you could've blown it, man. Then you'd be sayin'—" Dozer did a passable
Brando, droopy lip, sad eyes. " 'I coulda been a contendah.' "

"Well,
guess what. I ain't done dreamin'." Reese tapped a finger on the piece of
metal in Dozer's hand. "You find out what this came off of and who was
driving it."

"That's
a tall order."

"Blue's
a tall man," Titus said. "I got one for you, too. One of the dealers
over at Pair-a-Dice City just up and quit. He's only been here a few months,
pops up out of nowhere, claims to be part Indian. They hire him, he stays a
couple of months, then he airs out."

"Don't
they do some kind of background check?"

"Yeah,
but the paperwork jams up, so they hire on as temps," Titus said. "So
I'm saying, hey, you guys haven't hired any of our own people as dealers in a
while. Let's train more of our people. I mean, the last six, eight dealers
we've hired, including your lady—no offense, Blue, but you gotta admit—where
the hell are these people coming from? We've got people here who can do these
jobs."

"The
tribal gaming commission has to approve the applicants, right? That's you,
Titus."

"Well,
yeah," Titus agreed. "They'll give us a big list of people, and
there'll be some Indians and some non-Indians, and they'll tell us the people
we approve will be placed according to their skills and qualifications. But
see, the deal was—"

"Titus,
can you get hold of this dealer's personnel file before it disappears,
too?" Reese was gaining new respect for records. On the hunch that whoever
shot Crybaby was after his father's papers, he'd stashed the boxes in the trunk
of the car he had put on a lease contract. Like the dog, the papers were
staying with him.

Titus
grinned. "I'm already a step ahead of you there, man."

"Damn,
why am I not surprised?" He planned to ask Helen about the dealer, and he
thought the file might be helpful. "Could we manage the casinos
ourselves?"

"You
mean
now?"

"When
the contract is up with Ten Star. They're talking about expanding and taking on
more debt, but the way I see it, we don't need that right now. We need to get
control."

"They
own the machines. We lease from them."

"That's
our first mistake." Reese hiked his foot up on the bench and rested a hand
on his knee. "I've got a meeting to go to, and I haven't figured out
exactly what I'm gonna say yet when the gaming committee recommends that we act
on Ten Star's proposal for another contract with them."

Titus
laughed. "It's pretty obvious it ain't gonna be an affirmative."

"Tell
you what, these two casinos are definitely making money," Reese said.
"It's just that we're not seeing it. The trail to the bank is too long.
We're so used to the money leaking away before it gets to us that we think
that's the way it works. Well, it isn't. It's not supposed to be. I haven't yet
determined how or who, but I know what, and so do you. We're getting
screwed."

"That's
what your father said, pretty much, and people were starting to believe
him," Titus said.

Reese
wagged a finger. "Listen, if Rick Marino and his partners can come out
here and put up a casino and manage it themselves—hell, we're way ahead of
them. We were here. We've
been
here."

"Their
location is better."

"Yeah?
By rights that whole..." Reese reined in his sweeping gesture toward the
west, where, just down the road, the pale silhouette of the Black Hills
appeared like a mirage.
By rights
didn't mean by law. "We've gotta
go with what we've got."

"That's
what they're saying about Ten Star."

"They
who?"

"Sweeney
and them."

"Titus,
we haven't
got
Ten Star. Ten Star's got us. By the balls." Reese
glanced at Dozer. "Unless the last of the Bad River balls got lopped off
in that hit-and-run."

"No
way," Titus said.

"I
know I'm feeling a definite pinch, and I don't like it. I'm real fussy about
who grabs me there." Reese grinned slowly. "And I just figured out
what I'm gonna say."

Titus
looked at Dozer. "We got women on the council. You think that argument's
gonna go over with them?"

"Oh,
yeah." Dozer bounced the headlight fragment in his palm. "In a big
way."

***

The
council chambers consisted of a large meeting room by Bad River standards. It
was large enough to house the big meeting table, which was really several
tables, and to provide seating for tribal members who wanted to listen in on
the proceedings. The meeting started when everyone who was expected was there.
Darius Three Legs announced that Ada Yellow Earring wouldn't be coming because
she had to go out to Minneapolis with her mother-in-law, who was having that
kidney trouble again.

Reese
was sorry to hear about Ada's mother-in-law, but even sorrier to hear about
Ada. She'd backed him at the last meeting when he'd asked for more time to look
at competitive bids on the management contract. Or maybe he was the one backing
her. She'd been on the council for several years. He had to stop thinking of
himself as the play maker. He was changing a few minds, maybe taking advantage
of the novelty factor, but the others around the table had been at this for a
long time.
The ones who decide,
his father had called the council, a
traditional name.

Reese
had never considered himself to be a speaker, not like his dad was, but he
decided he wasn't half bad after listening to Bill Darnell's presentation.
Darnell's menacing delivery made a guy feel like punching him in the mouth and
getting it over with. He claimed that Bad River had two fine casinos because
Ten Star had come in and taken all the risks. Ten Star was a proven winner. As
promised, they were training Bad River people to come into the business. Carter
was sitting at Darnell's side as a prime example of Indian management. The
council should be happy. Most management companies brought in their own general
managers. Someday, Darnell said, the business would be Bad River-owned, Bad
River-managed, but until that day came, Pair-a-Dice City and its smaller sister
needed Ten Star.

When
it was Reese's turn to question the speaker, he quoted his father's letter to
the area superintendent of the BIA that complained about Ten Star's lease rate
on the slot machines. Reese asked about buying out the machines. Darnell said
they weren't for sale. Reese said he'd find some that were. Darnell kept
glancing at Chairman Sweeney each time he repeated his refrain "That would
not be a wise move."

Reese
declared that approving Ten Star's proposal for a new five-year contract would
be even less wise, a phrase that made him chuckle. "I hate to think we're
down to picking the best of the least unwise. Leastwise, that's too damn many
negatives for my blood."