by E B Corbin
“They’ve done this before?” Sam asked.
“Not to this extent, but they’ll come in every few weeks and intimidate the baristas and the other customers. They always manage to leave before we can call the cops.” Nina sighed. “Of course, there’s probably little the cops can do anyway. Being a bully isn’t exactly against the law.”
“Throwing hot coffee at you is assault,” Henry said as he stopped at a red light.
“Yes, that’s the first time they’ve been so bold.” Nina straightened to look out the windshield. “Turn right here, cross a small bridge a few blocks up, then turn left at the first intersection.”
“You’ll have to be careful if they come back,” Sam said. “Can you transfer to another store?”
“I’m lucky to hang on to this job,” she said. “There aren’t many opportunities for a middle-aged Native American.”
Sam had no answer to that. She knew that Native Americans were often overlooked by the government and big business. She also knew unemployment was a big problem for them, but she hoped that casinos and their revenue might provide jobs and income to help pull the first inhabitants of the land into the twenty-first century.
Except Nina didn’t live on a reservation. The closest one was two hours away.
Growing up as she did in New Mexico, Sam had contact with many Apaches and Navajos during her teenage years. Some went to her school, and a few even graduated in her class. She remembered trying to make friends with one Apache girl, who was valedictorian of her class. Sonsee-array was her Apache name, but the teachers insisted on calling her Susan.
Sonsee, as Sam liked to think of her, never seemed to mind the forced name change, but a few years after graduation, Sam heard that she had committed suicide. Sam always wondered if it was “Susan” or “Sonsee” who swallowed the pills.
She never felt close to her American Indian classmates the way she did her other girlfriends. A certain cautious attitude always made the Native Americans who chose to be at least partially assimilated into popular culture seem a bit aloof. Nina gave off the same vibe upon first impression.
Nina directed Henry through a warren of streets, the homes becoming smaller and dilapidated with each block they traveled along Southeast Division Street. When they turned onto 145th Avenue, they came to a small pale-green ranch home surrounded by a chain-link fence. Most homes in the area had driveways, but this one had just a broken concrete slab with an old Datsun parked on it.
“Thank you for bringing me home. Do you know how to get back to where you’re going?” Nina opened her door then paused.
“We’ll wait for you,” Sam said. “We can take you back.”
“No need, really. I can catch a bus at the corner.”
“We’ll wait,” Sam repeated. She refused to lose this opportunity to get to know the woman.
Nina huffed out a breath. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“It’s no problem. We don’t have any plans for today.” Sam twisted in her seat to look Nina in the eye. “Please let us do this for you.”
Nina appeared ready to protest again, but she sighed. “All right. I’ll be quick.”
“Take as much time as you need. We’ll be here.”
Henry watched Nina walk up to the white steel security door, a checkerboard of safety. “Don’t you think we’re being a bit pushy?”
“Probably. But I couldn’t get her to agree any other way. I grew up with Native Americans in my school, and I know they won’t give an inch unless you practically force them.”
“I think they like to consider themselves resilient.” Henry punched the button to put the car into Park and settled his head against the headrest to wait.
“I consider them stubborn.”
“Talk about stubborn. You should tell her the truth, now, before things get really awkward.” Henry pivoted his head to take in Sam’s reaction.
“You know that’s not how I operate.” Sam’s eyebrows rose creating a wrinkle in her forehead “Why do you always insist on me telling the truth before I even know what the person is like?”
“Because it’s the best way.” Henry let out a long sigh. He was tired of this disagreement. She’d hired him to be her assistant as well as a bodyguard, but she never listened.
As one of the recipients of the recovered money, he felt he had a reasonable point of view. Sam had her opinion and didn’t want to hear otherwise. She should have learned her lesson from when she first contacted him.
Angry and without a job after he left the SEALs, Henry did not trust her or his sister. He confronted them both, holding Vicki at gunpoint before he was convinced they were not trying to cut him out of his share. The whole ordeal left a bad taste in his mouth.
When Sam realized she needed assistance trying to return her father’s purloined funds, she asked for Henry’s help. Since she felt responsible for screwing up her first attempt to return the money, she tried to make up for it by offering him a job.
It wasn’t charity, because she truly needed someone on her side. When her father learned his money had disappeared while he was in jail, he ordered a hit on the person responsible. After Sam found out, she decided she needed the right person to not only support her in returning the money to its rightful owners, but also to watch her back. Henry could fulfill both requirements.
In Portland, he proved more than helpful during their attempt with the first victim. Even though thirty years had passed since her father fleeced the real estate agent, the man and his family never fully recovered.
Henry felt Sam should have told the man the truth from the start, but Sam wanted to learn more about him first. Sam didn’t want to hand over money to someone who didn’t deserve it. Norman Bledsoe, the realtor in question, was skeptical when she finally told him about her father and almost threw them out of his office. But when Sam learned that the man was accused of murdering his terminally ill wife for a million-dollar insurance payout, she set out to find the truth whether Norman wanted her to or not.
Henry didn’t want her to make the same mistake she’d made with her previous attempts to return the money. He wanted this over as quickly as possible and with less subterfuge. He had a strong desire to get out of Portland. Maybe then that damned buzzing, which seemed almost constant lately, would ease up.
The sound in his head was coming back as he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a man approaching the driver’s side of the car, oblivious to the traffic whizzing by on the busy street. When the man reached his window, Henry recognized him: he had claimed to be a job foreman at the first place they stayed in Portland.
Before Henry could reach for his gun, the man tapped at the window with a revolver.
Sam looked over. “What the hell?”
“It’s my friend from that Stay Andrew place.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“I have an idea, but I guess we’ll find out for sure.” Henry pushed the button to lower the window. “You want something?”
“Yeah, shithead. I want that little lady there.” The man’s mouth slid into a sneer. He needed a shave, and his dirty brown hair fell over his reptilian eyes. “Don’t cause any trouble and you can walk away from this. She comes with me.”
From her seated position, Sam had no chance to make a move for her gun without getting Henry shot. “I don’t think I want to go with you.”
“You don’t have a choice unless you want your boyfriend to suffer the consequences,” he said, poking the gun closer to the door. A driver then honked his horn and sped past close enough to cause the man to flinch.
Henry used the slight distraction to unfasten his seat belt with one hand. Sam pulled her .44 and pointed it at the man. “You shoot Henry and you’re a dead, too.”
The man laughed. “You don’t scare me, pretty lady.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a beater pickup truck slowed down next to them—two men in the front seat and two in the bed. As the man turned his head to glance at this new turn of
events, Henry rammed his door into the guy’s chest, causing him to lose his footing and stagger backward before he fell to the ground, his revolver flying across the paved road.
The men in the pickup laughed as Henry scrambled out to grab the man on the ground.
Then Sam noticed the muzzle of an Uzi rise above the rusted side of the truck. “Look out!”
Henry barely had time to jump back in and slam the door before a burst of bullets peppered the side and front of the SUV. The second man in the bed had a pistol pointed in their direction, and three bullets in rapid succession penetrated the windshield.
“Get down!” Henry shouted as the pickup sped away.
The man on the street, miraculously unharmed, jumped up and tried to cross the street to retrieve his gun. But the light at the corner had turned green and a steady stream of traffic blocked his access. Instead, he did an about-face and ran for his vehicle.
As he pealed out, Nina rushed out of her house, tucking a clean white shirt into black pants. “What happened? I thought I heard gunshots.”
“You did,” Sam yelled. “Go back in the house and call 911.”
Nina shrugged and continued toward the car in no hurry to reach them. “No use. It will take the cops at least thirty minutes to show up. Who fired the gun?”
“Do you have any tissues?” Henry asked Sam before she could respond to Nina.
“I usually have a pack in my purse.” Sam dug around and came up with a small travel pack. “Why?”
“I need to pick up his gun,” Henry said. “Don’t want my fingerprints all over it.”
When the light turned red, temporarily causing a lull in the street traffic, he jumped out and ran across to retrieve the abandoned revolver. His left ankle almost gave out, reminding him he wasn’t completely healed from the sprain he’d received two weeks ago, when a different truck almost ran him over.
He limped back with the revolver in hand, spun the cylinder until all the bullets popped out, and tossed it into the glove compartment. For the time being, he stuck the bullets in the cup holder.
Nina slid onto the back seat. “Who was shooting at you?”
“Well…” Sam began, but Henry cut her off.
“Those idiots from the coffee shop were in a pickup with a fourth guy who had an Uzi. They know where you live.”
Nina glanced around. “I am not surprised. They are part of a gang—some kind of militia, I think they like to call themselves. They take pride in being obnoxious when they come into the coffee shop and claim that since they all bought drinks, they should be able to sit and enjoy them. They push a bunch of tables together and hang around long enough to frighten all the other customers away.
“My girls working the counter are scared to death of them. I think they are a bunch of idiots and a nuisance. But ever since that incident back East—Baltimore or somewhere, when they tried to have two innocent black guys arrested for hanging around—the powers that be are reluctant to throw out customers.”
Sam twisted to face Nina. “I remember that. I can understand why. The owners got in a lot of trouble and had to do damage control.”
“It makes it most difficult for me. I have to walk a thin line.” Nina shrugged. “I can’t understand why they dropped that gun today, though. You’d think they’d be more careful with their weapons.”
“It wasn’t them,” Henry said.
“Someone else was out here with a gun?” Nina zipped her purse closed. “Probably a friend of theirs.”
“I don’t think so,” Sam said slowly. “We’ve run into this guy before.”
“Someone is after you? Who are you people?” She looked at Sam. “I know you carry a gun; I saw it at the coffee shop… and I wouldn’t be surprised if he does, too.” Nina indicated Henry.
He smiled. “But we’re the good guys,” he said to her in the rearview mirror.
“Humph… maybe.” Nina slouched in her seat.
“I’m worried that they know where you live,” Sam said.
“Not a big deal. They do not scare me. If they try anything, I have friends and neighbors who will not let them get away with it. We take care of each other.” Nina reopened her purse and rustled through it. “Maybe now you will let me catch the bus back to work. I am truly sorry you became involved in this.”
“I don’t think I can drive like this.” Henry pointed to an indicator light on the dashboard. “The left front tire looks as if it took a bullet, too. It’s slowly going flat.”
“Then you’ll have to join me on the bus.”
“I have a better idea,” Sam said and turned to Henry. “Call White Cloud.”
Chapter Three
The taxi driver arrived within ten minutes and spent a little time inspecting the disabled SUV. “Looks like you need a new ride.
“It’ll be the third vehicle we’ve had since we arrived. This is getting old.” Henry glanced at Sam.
“Hey! It’s not my fault.”
Henry wanted to point out that they would not be in this predicament if Sam had listened to him, but he caught himself in time, avoiding questions from Nina and another argument with his boss.
“I can call a towing service if you’d like.” White Cloud stepped away from their car.
“No, it’s a rental. I’ll call Enterprise and have them pick it up here.” Sam pulled out her phone, then hesitated and turned to Henry. “Did you put this on your credit card?”
“I did. I guess I should make the call. I hope I took the extra insurance.”
While they were fussing over the car, Nina began to walk away.
White Cloud noticed first. “Where’s she going?”
“Nina!” Sam called. “What are you doing? White Cloud will take you back to work.”
“No need. I can catch a bus,” Nina shouted over her shoulder. “I must be on my way.”
“Let’s go then,” Henry said. “We can take care of the car later.”
Nina hesitated but turned around and joined them, casting White Cloud a wary look before she slid across the back seat, leaving some room for Sam.
Henry climbed in the front passenger seat, and Nina gave White Cloud the address for Starbucks.
He spoke to Nina as he pulled away. “Your people are not from around here.”
“No.”
The one-word answer did not deter the taxi driver. “Where are you from?”
“North Dakota,” said Nina in a clipped tone.
“Do you like it in Portland?”
“I have been here for more than twenty-five years. I guess I like it.”
“You came here as a child?” White Cloud sounded surprised.
Nina smiled. “I came here as a young bride.”
“Ahh, then your husband’s people are from one of the Confederated Tribes.”
“My husband was a white man.”
“Oh, I see. Then you do not follow the rules of your people.”
“On the contrary. I volunteer at NAYA every week.”
White Cloud nodded as he swung around a slow Walmart truck. “That is good. The youth and family center is trying hard to help those in need.”
“Yes.” Nina turned to look out her window. “We are almost there. I should pay my share of this ride.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said. “We’ll take care of it.”
“It is not your problem. Why do you insist on being involved?” Nina threw Sam a look full of disbelief and distrust.
“Well, um, well, because we kind of created the problem.” Sam ignored the snort from Henry as she fumbled with an answer.
Nina opened the door before White Cloud came to a complete stop in front of the coffee shop. “You did not… but thank you for the ride. I am sorry about your car.”
“It was good talking to you,” White Cloud said. “We will meet again.”
“I don’t think so.” Nina stepped onto the sidewalk then leaned into the taxi. “I never use taxis. Buses work well for me.”
White Cloud ignored her co
mment as he nodded and repeated, “We will meet again.”
Nina hurried to the entrance but paused to look back at the people in the cab. She lifted her hand in a half-hearted wave like it was an afterthought, her conscience telling her to be nice to these people for their help.
White Cloud weaved into traffic, then executed a perfect U-turn. “You are going back to the hotel.”
“We are,” Sam said. “We have to find a new rental and have the one we abandoned picked up.”
“Perhaps you should give up on renting something else while you are in town. You seem to have bad luck with that.”
Henry laughed. “That’s true. But we can’t keep monopolizing your taxi. We wouldn’t want you to lose any of your regular customers because of us. We’ll be leaving town in a week or two.”
“I am aware,” the taxi driver said. “I do not have regular customers, as you call them. Most of the young people who live here use bicycles or skateboards, and the older ones have their own cars. Like Nina, my people cannot afford taxis. Mostly I cater to tourists and the occasional drunk.”
Sam spoke up from the back seat: “Then you work late into the night?”
“It is necessary. I do not have much of a choice.”
“When do you sleep?”
“Whenever I have an opportunity. Last call is two thirty a.m. at the bars, so I can rest between three and nine in the morning. Tourists don’t usually come out much before nine or ten.”
Sam never thought about what it’d be like to drive a cab for a living. She vowed to never call White Cloud too early in the morning if they could help it. “Thank you for coming to our rescue once more.”
“It is my duty. My spirit guide has brought you to me for my assistance. I cannot ignore it or I would bring much unhappiness upon myself.”
When the taxi turned the next corner, Henry saw the canopy for their hotel on the next block, but traffic was heavy and they would not make the green light. Knowing White Cloud, Henry had the feeling that this conversation could become uncomfortable in a heartbeat. He cleared his throat. “You can let us out here.”