Turning off the main street, he moved by a parking lot jammed with Native American men, women, and children, all idling under whatever shade they could find, fanning themselves with anything that might provide them a breeze. There were young men with dark, angry faces, old men with haggard expressions, and women who stared blankly out over the countryside, ignoring the crying children who tugged on their skirts that were as faded of color as the GOING OUT OF BUSINESS banners.
The sign posted on the employment office behind them read: Closed until Further Notice By Order of the United States Government.
"The … government felt that since there really are no jobs to provide these people it would do no good to staff the office. So the office was closed four months ago. These people congregate here waiting for the occasional contractor or builder to come looking for a worker for a few hours or a few days.
"The old men work cheap, usually half of minimum wage. Anything to put food on the table, but the work is hard on them, so the builders are forced to hire the younger men who demand a higher wage. The women will scrub floors and toilets for food for their children. Some of the restaurants in the area will bring them in after closing and pay them with food that was left over from the day's business.
"Two years ago these people looked very different. Their faces weren't hollow and their eyes were bright. The children laughed instead of cried. Two years ago you would not have found these people loitering around parking lots. They had jobs then, working for the businesses that are now closed."
He directed the truck north, following the highway into the hills, through expanses of towering trees where the heat became a cool, dim relief. As the air conditioner hummed and the tires droned, Val's eyes closed and his head nodded. Only then did Leah look directly at Johnny, who stared straight ahead, one wrist hooked over the steering wheel, one hand lying on Val's knee.
Upon exiting the tunnel of trees, Johnny slowed the truck and pulled off the road, onto a vast empty parking lot that wrapped around an expanse of partially constructed buildings, their frames and beams fast being overtaken by wildflowers, weeds, and thistle trees.
Johnny stopped the truck and killed the engine. Without looking at Leah, he reached for the door and said, "Get out."
Leah did not get out. It had occurred to her as she'd studied the weary faces of the unemployed Mescaleros just what Johnny was getting at; the point he would try to make concerning the welfare of his people and their future. A sickness settled in her stomach. The greasy French fries in the sack on Val's lap didn't help, any more than the vision of the Mescalero dream gone bad. The corroding steel ribs of the buildings rising up behind weeds as tall as a man resembled a dinosaur graveyard.
Johnny walked around the truck and opened the door. He offered his hand.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked in a dry voice.
"What are you afraid of?"
"I have no intention of listening to you character-bash my father."
"I don't intend to. I simply intend to show you what a people's failed dream looks like."
She left the truck, easing the door closed so as not to disturb Val. Johnny walked away from her, toward the stretches of partially constructed walls made all the more bleak by the flocks of birds that rose up in a cloud of caws and popping wings from the stark steel structures high over Johnny's head. Shivering, Leah hugged herself and glanced at the dark blue sky with its feathering of thin clouds, and the conversation she had shared that morning with Shamika came back to her. No matter how much she wanted to ignore or deny that there were problems between Johnny and her father, the evidence sprawled out before her now was a reminder that there were more reasons than Johnny's career to avoid any talk of marriage.
A fallen billboard lay on the ground. "Future Home of Apache Casino and Resort. Financing by Formation Media."
"What do you think, Leah? This is all that's left of the people's dream."
Johnny jumped onto a pile of rubble, spread his arms and slowly turned. "The casino alone would have offered twenty-five hundred slot machines and two hundred tables, roulette, blackjack, big six, poker. Six restaurants would have offered guests everything from Native American fare to French cuisine—open twenty-four hours a day."
He pointed to an arch of steel beams some distance away. "That was to be the theater where major concerts and gaming tournaments would have been held. It could have seated fifteen thousand. There would have been forty shops selling everything from pottery, baskets, and beadwork, all made by the New Mexico tribes, to designer originals from Paris. The hotel would have had fifteen hundred rooms. An eighteen-hole golf course was planned, as well as a riding stable, a theme park for kids, and an outdoor theater where the People would perform their dances in a setting that represented the different Apache villages of a hundred years ago."
Turning his face into the breeze, Johnny looked down on the crystal-clear lake in the valley below. Sun danced upon the surface like silver glitter. "The lake would have offered swimming, boating, fishing, water skiing. And in the winter we would have provided trams to the slopes for a day of snow skiing."
He remained silent after that, lost in thought, his dark hair reflecting the sun. Finally, he turned back to Leah and jumped from his perch. Almost angrily, he swept his hand toward the stretch of highway that disappeared around a sharp bend in the road. "By the year 2020 this area would have rivaled
Branson
,
Missouri
,
Atlantic City
, or Vegas with casinos, hotels, and theaters. Every family residing on this reservation would have known employment and financial stability for themselves and their children, and their children's children."
Finally, he met Leah's eyes. "Sixty percent of the financing for this initial casino and hotel project was to come from the Apache Consortium, not just the Mescalero but from all the
New Mexico
tribes. Therefore they would hold the majority control of the running of the business. They mortgaged their homes and businesses. They took what little life savings they had and invested in this dream. Formation Media would invest the other forty percent, plus act as the private money lender to those who mortgaged their homes and businesses or used their homes, businesses, or personal effects as collateral. If, for some reason, the majority failed, one hundred percent of the control and ownership reverted to Formation Media.
"Had everything gone as planned, the building of the resort would have been completed last year. By now this place would have been filled with tourists gambling, enjoying the theme park, swimming, browsing the shops for souvenirs that
weren't
made in
Taiwan
. Instead of loitering on parking lots hoping for some white man to toss a few coins their way, the People would be here, employed, productive, proud of their accomplishments and, most of all, realizing their dreams of prosperity for the first time since they were corralled on this land like cattle and forced to become something they aren't.
"In 1995 the governor signed gambling compacts allowing the tribes to begin the construction of the resort. What you see here is how far the construction got before your father brought it to the attention of the state and federal courts that the compacts the governor signed were void because he did not get approval for the gambling from the legislature. Under federal Indian gaming law, a tribe cannot legally run a casino without an agreement with the state legislature."
"You can't fault my father for following the law, Johnny."
"I don't fault your father for following the law, Leah. I fault him for continually thwarting our attempts to get the legislature to alter the state's gambling laws. He fought us on every avenue, pointing out how gambling will introduce corruption, exacerbate alcoholism, weaken the Apaches' character further by allowing them an opportunity to gamble away what little money they have, therefore disintegrating the dignity of an already diminished people. He pointed out that the People, as a whole, are lacking the education necessary to successfully manage and maintain such a broad endeavor as we proposed in the building of this casino and resort."
Leah turned away, shaking her head. "You're not making sense, Johnny. My father eventually compromised on the issue and the state, not six months ago, negotiated new compacts allowing gambling—"
"Better late than never?" He shook his head. "Not in this case, Leah. Not when the ownership of the casino and resort reverted to Formation Media when the People could not make their payments when due. Formation now owns this resort, lock, stock, and barrel. They can either build it or walk away and leave it to the coyotes and jackrabbits. If they build they are under no obligation to employ a Native American anywhere on the premises and most likely won't. They'll move in their employees from other resorts and casinos, as they've done in the past."
As Leah frowned and started to speak, Johnny cut her off. "Formation Media is owned by a group of international investors. We're not certain who they are. They go by numbers, not names. They've developed some of the largest and most successful hotel casinos in the world. Most recently they built the Shanghai Vista in
Reno
. It takes up twenty complete city blocks."
"I've read about the Shanghai Vista, that there's no other casino hotel like it in the world, and to visit is like actually visiting
Shanghai
in person; every minute detail is authentic. I had no idea it was developed by Formation."
"It's authentic all right, down to the Fuzhau Road that's lined with book shops, gift shops and the Xin Hua Bakery, to Zhongshan'dong Avenue, which looks out over a manmade reproduction of the Huangpu River. There are the same number of slot machines as there are rooms in the hotel. Five thousand. The only thing missing is the mosquitoes and the monsoons."
"So what are you insinuating, Johnny? That my father manipulated this entire fiasco so that Formation could get their hands on this project? My God, this is small potatoes compared to the Shanghai Vista."
"Not if you look at the big picture, Leah. The only thing that kept
Branson
,
Missouri
, from hurting Vegas or
Atlantic City
was the fact that they don't have gambling."
"And what, exactly, would my father get out of it?"
"That's pretty damn obvious, isn't it? Money. Lots of it. Enough to finance his next campaign. Or maybe he simply wants a bite of the action."
As usual, the senator had acquired the best table La Hacienda had to offer. Situated on a private balcony, it offered a panoramic view of the entire valley and the river that reflected the sky and clouds like a flawless mirror. There had been times during her childhood when the three of them—her mother, father, and herself—had come here to celebrate certain occasions. Her birthday, Mother's Day, graduation. She always ordered Enchiladas Mexicana. Her mother varied: Tacos el Carbon, fajitas, sometimes nothing but a vodka and tonic, depending on how the conversation had gone in the car on the way over.