The Sin Eater

by Lee McIntyre

  Adam saw a woman staring at him as she came out of the store.

  The line was silent.

  “Steve, are you still there?” Adam lowered his voice. “What can you tell me about Emma?”

  “That it would be better for her if you came in.”

  “You’re the one who told me to leave Kate.”

  “I didn’t tell you to become a fugitive. There’s a warrant out for you now.”

  “In Portland?”

  “Statewide. Wherever you are, you’d better come in.”

  Adam dropped his voice to a whisper, but said the words firmly. “I’m not coming in. I’m going to find my daughter.”

  More silence.

  “Steve? Steve? Did you hang up?”

  A boy ran out of the store and jumped up on the plastic horse. “DAD! Can I go around just a couple of times? Please?”

  The father fished a couple of quarters out of his pocket, as the kid started bucking back and forth. “Yesssss!”

  “Sorry, I’m not your lawyer anymore.”

  Chapter 26

  The new cell phone had been dismantled and discarded ten hours ago. $17.07 left in cash. Adam sat on the curb next to the Wendy’s and looked out at the dimly lit parking lot.

  10:00 p.m.

  Had he misunderstood Tugg saying he’d meet him back here after dark? Or maybe something had happened?

  Adam had no one to call. Nothing to do but wait.

  One restaurant crew had already left and another had started a few hours ago, which was why Adam had decided to eat all of his meals at Wendy’s. At least they’d be less likely to kick him out of the parking lot.

  Once they closed at eleven that worry would disappear, but new ones might arise.

  Every passing set of lights gave Adam hope, until they either went through the drive-thru or parked. And since when did the shitload of blue trucks arrive in the world?

  “Sir? Sir?”

  Adam looked up and saw a teenage girl in a Wendy’s hat and uniform standing over him under the streetlamp, holding a small paper sack.

  “Yes?”

  “We took a pool and bought you a potato skin and a Frosty. We decided not to call the cops, but you’ve got to leave soon. You’re creeping everybody out. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

  Adam couldn’t quite make out her face, given the backlit halo of light.

  “So you drew the short straw?”

  “Huh?”

  Adam stood and took the bag. “Thanks.” There was no use explaining. In fact, the less he said at this point, the better. Adam was walking toward the street when he saw the headlights wink twice on the opposite side of the road.

  “Tugg, you’re hurt!”

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  Even in the dark cab, Adam could see that Tugg had cuts and bruises all over his face.

  “Move over. I’ll drive,” Adam said.

  Adam got in and eased the truck into traffic. After a couple blocks he looked over and saw that Tugg’s hands were swollen.

  “Tugg, what happened?”

  “Pull over.”

  “Huh?”

  “Just pull over.”

  Adam bounced the tires off the curb.

  Tugg opened the door and went around to the tailgate, where he gingerly stepped up and into the bed of the pickup.

  “Got to lay down,” he said through the rear window.

  “Tugg, are you okay?”

  “I will be. Can you make it?”

  “I don’t know the way back.”

  Tugg arranged the tarp, grabbed a couple of stuffed animals that had been too dirty to donate and lay down on them. “Doesn’t matter,” he groaned.

  “Should I take you to the hospital?”

  “No!”

  Adam pulled back into traffic. “Okay, but how will I get back to the clubhouse?”

  Tugg shook his head as he cuddled up to the spare tire.

  “Not going to the clubhouse. Head back to Ontario.”

  Chapter 27

  The morning sun was bright as Adam rattled down the bumpy pavement. The map showed this as a state highway, but on an Indian reservation maybe they got to choose how they used government funds.

  A string of hills stood shoulder to shoulder like monks on either side of the road. A small house or trailer appeared every five miles or so. If there hadn’t been any telephone poles, you’d swear it was uninhabited. Half an hour ago, Adam had seen a pack of wild horses bolting across the highway. One mustang reared up in front of him, as if he were on a Hollywood set. God, Emma would love to have seen that.

  More bumps.

  Tugg was still asleep, against all odds. After seven hours, Adam was getting pretty tired himself.

  Tugg hadn’t said much more last night than “Take the short way back, through the reservation. We’re cool now.” Then he promptly fell asleep.

  The air was getting hot. They’d have to stop soon for gas and water. But where?

  Adam had come to a couple of conclusions about Indian reservations over the last few hours.

  First, they were huge. Adam had no idea when he’d looked at state maps all his life that those big blocks of sacred territory were actually hundreds of miles across and barely developed. This must have been what Oregon looked like two hundred years ago.

  Second, there was almost nobody here. He didn’t know what the population was, but it was pretty clear that there was plenty of land to go around. If you did the math, there were probably a thousand acres for each inhabitant. Still, nobody seemed very rich.

  Third, you didn’t know poor until you’d seen rural poor. A couple of times Adam had seen a cluster of houses with seven or eight kids running around, chasing a dog or maybe just raising a cloud of dust. Didn’t they have parks or playgrounds? How far away were the schools? Was there even a town of some kind in the middle of all this?

  Adam remembered reading once that Indian reservations had their own laws, even their own police force and courts. This was a separate, sovereign nation, and it wasn’t subject to the same rules as the rest of the state or even the country. But how could that be true? If you had a money laundering operation or tried to build a bomb on Indian land, he’d bet that the FBI would be right on you and drag you back to Portland for trial. A serious crime was surely subject to prosecution anywhere in the state.

  But what about state gambling laws? Didn’t some tribes have their own casinos? They probably had a couple of loopholes like that, but Adam doubted anyone could get away with a serious crime here. Even sovereignty went only so far.

  Tugg hadn’t moved in the flat bed for hours. Another pickup truck passed going the opposite direction and the driver waved, so Adam waved back. Maybe a town was coming up.

  Adam saw the small hand-lettered sign for food and gas peeking out from a curve in the road up ahead.

  After they ate and gassed up, maybe Tugg would take a shift.

  “Is this a restaurant? Are you open for business?”

  “We don’t have any restaurants on the reservation, but I can feed you.”

  Adam looked at the tall, lanky man in the blue-checked shirt standing next to the stove. His smooth dark face and lean build suggested he could have been thirty, but the long grey braid snaking down his back betrayed him as closer to sixty.

  “You want to eat first or gas up?”

  “Let’s eat,” Tugg said, taking a seat at the single rickety table next to the window. An oscillating fan hummed in the silence.

  “I’m Edward White Robe. I can serve you breakfast. Eggs, toast, and coffee. That’s it. Okay with you?”

  “Great,” said Adam.

  Edward disappeared in the back as Adam turned to Tugg. Tugg’s face was swollen and looked awful.

  “Tugg, you want to tell me what —?”

  “Look, Adam, I still feel like shit, okay? I don’t feel like talking. We’ve got a long way to go yet. Wait till we’re back in the truck.”

  Edward reappeared with a carton
of eggs and a skillet. A fly circled the room aimlessly, never landing.

  “So, gas and food,” Adam said, turning back to Edward. “You must corner the market around here, with it being so desolate.” Adam winced before the words were even out of his mouth. This was going to be an awkward breakfast.

  “Not much of a market,” Edward said. “But if you need it, I’ve got it. Beer, magazines, belts, boots. Everything but meth. That’s out there.” He pointed out the window with his spatula as a pat of butter sizzled in the pan.

  Adam looked out the window while Edward continued.

  “When I was a kid, it was liquor. Still is, for most. But ever since I came back, the drugs are getting worse and worse. Especially for the kids. If you want something to drink, just go ahead and grab a can of Coke over there by the door.”

  Adam shook his head.

  Tugg’s eyes were half closed slits, which, with the swelling, gave his face the appearance of a pumpkin. Was he listening or sleeping?

  “So you left and came back?” Adam said.

  “Yes. Been back almost forty years. Left when I was a kid. One summer night I lay down in the grass with my mom and sisters, and the next morning I was in a room with four walls off the reservation. I didn’t know where I was. That was 1965. I thought it was a dream or a joke or something. But they kept me for twelve years. Put me in boarding school. I never saw my mom again.”

  Adam watched Edward stir the eggs in a big lazy circle. “Never?” Adam didn’t know what else to say.

  “She killed herself before I got back,” Edward said softly. “My sisters were still here and they told me what happened. I never could figure out why they took me and not them, but that’s what they did. They said my mother was an alcoholic. And they cut my hair. We don’t cut our hair unless there’s a death in the family, but when I got back I found out that’s exactly what had happened. Far as I’m concerned, they killed her. Killed a piece of me too. Since then, I’ve never left.”

  “That’s terrible.” Adam wanted to get up and shake the man’s hand. Do something for him. Say the perfect thing. “Did that happen to other India — err, I mean Native American — I mean, was that common for the time?”

  “It’s okay,” Edward said. “We call ourselves Indians mostly. Some don’t like it. But I feel like ‘Native American’ is a word that the government made up for us. Or you can say tribes. Just don’t say ‘redman’ or shit like that. We don’t like it.”

  Tugg was definitely asleep. The fly was crawling on his shirt and he hadn’t bothered to brush it away. If Adam did, it would wake him.

  Edward put the eggs on a plate, then disappeared in the back again, re-emerging a minute later with four slices of white bread, which he put in the pan.

  Edward kept his eyes on the pan and started talking again. “So to answer your question, yes. It was pretty common back then. Until the Indian Child Welfare Act got passed in 1978. Too late for me. That was when they stopped kidnapping Indian kids and started putting them with other Indian families. I’m not saying we never have any problems. Some kids need to be protected. But most weren’t taken away for abuse. It was ‘neglect,’ which is a pretty easy target if you take a look at what we’ve got around here. But the sad part is that today we’re almost back to where we were.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Edward turned to look at Adam, in the same way you’d be careful before putting your fingers in a cage to pet a ferret. Then he turned back to the pan and flipped the toast.

  The fly finally flew outside.

  “My friend Hinney has a daughter who left the reservation to study nursing in Bend. Then she came back and had twin boys. Two years ago the social workers came and did the same shit to them that they did to me. Said Hinney’s daughter had stolen some prescription drugs where she worked. That was a lie. So they took his beautiful grandsons and put them in a group home in Salem. He can’t get them back.”

  Adam wondered if he should confess his own difficulties with the foster care system. Show some solidarity. But he decided to remain silent.

  Edward flipped the toast onto the plate. “Now I’ll make the coffee.” He disappeared in back again and came out with an aluminum pot and coffee can.

  “It’s okay,” Adam said. “Skip the coffee. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

  Tugg stirred.

  “Okay. You’re right.” Edward slid some eggs and toast onto a second plate and brought it to the table.

  Tugg found a fork and said, “Please, join us. Have a seat.”

  Edward shrugged and pulled a stool over to the center of the floor, watching them as they ate.

  “Edward was just telling me a story about what happened to his friend’s grandsons,” Adam said to Tugg.

  “Yeah, I heard.” Tugg was halfway through his eggs already. “So the Tribal Court can’t help him?”

  “I wish they could, but I haven’t told you the worst part yet,” Edward said. “This is going on all over the reservation. It’s happening to other tribes too. We’ve got 700 people here on the reservation and they’ve already taken thirty of our kids. They’re kidnapping them. Between that and the meth, we’re losing a generation. It’s genocide.”

  Adam looked over at the Coke, but Edward was already off his stool. He cracked two cans and set them on the table in front of Adam and Tugg.

  “But why?” Adam said, taking a long swallow. “Why is this happening now?”

  The muscles on Edward’s jaw tensed. “We have our suspicions. We’ve talked about it at council. They’re bypassing our social workers and bringing state social workers in from Portland and Salem. That way they have no ties to the reservation, and they can put the kids in a group home. That’s how they make the real money.”

  “What?”

  Edward seemed surprised that they were surprised. “You guys are probably from the city. I guess it hasn’t made the papers. The government is making a living off our children. Indian kids make up half the children in foster care in Oregon, even though we’re only something like five percent of the population. It’s about money. The state gets thousands of dollars from the federal government for every child it takes into foster care. So far it’s something like fifty million dollars.”

  “Where does all that money go?” Tugg said.

  “To the state. Then the state’s supposed to pay it out to the foster families who take the kids. But most of the Indian kids don’t go to foster families. They go to a private group home in Salem. That’s where Hinney’s grandsons went. The Longlane Home. It’s the biggest foster care provider in Oregon, and they got a ten million dollar no-bid contract to take our kids. They’re getting rich off it. The twins alone made them something like $30,000.”

  “I wonder who else might be there?” Adam said, looking at Tugg.

  Adam set down his Coke and reached for his wallet.

  “When you’ve got a government that’s making money to put kids in foster care, what’s the incentive for keeping them out?” Edward said. He looked at Adam and shook his head. “No, no money. You can pay for gas, but the breakfast is free.”

  “Are you sure?” Adam said. He looked around the broken-down room and the proud man on the stool in the middle of it.

  “Sure. When you white guys aren’t around, we just give shit to each other. It’s the Indian way. Didn’t they ever teach you that in school?” For the first time, Adam saw Edward break into a grin.

  Chapter 28

  It was a long way over to Salem. Double back through the middle of Oregon, with no more direct route than Highway 20 all the way to Bend, then over the mountains for the rest of the way.

  Adam should have tried to sleep, but even with Tugg at the wheel he couldn’t drop off. The state capitol was in Salem. The Childrens’ Home was in Salem. If Emma was in protective custody, maybe that’s where she was too.

  He could sleep tonight. It was 7:00 p.m. and the kids would almost surely be inside for the rest of the day. Doors locked: dinner, then lights
out.

  Coming into the valley, the temperature had warmed and long shadows raced along the green landscape. They were in the homestretch. They’d had nine hours to hatch a plan.

  “Look I know they’ve got a snatch-and-grab protocol,” Adam said. “I’m not the first dad to think of this. We’ve got to play it smart and make sure she’s there first.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Tugg said. “Once we’ve seen her, we can figure out the rest.”

  “But we may only get one chance,” Adam said. “When we see her might be the best opportunity to –”

  “You want to get her, or do you want to get her and get away? There’s a difference.” Tugg rolled his window down and let the breeze roll through.

  “You know what I want.”

  “Yeah, I do. So let’s stake out a place where they can’t see us and wait till they take the kids outside.”

  “How do you know they’ll be outside?”

  “State law. Emma’s under five, right?”

  “She’s three.”

  “Then she’s got to have at least one hour of outdoor recess every day, unless the weather is for shit.”

  There was no use asking how Tugg knew this. From experience, Adam understood that when Tugg said something like this it was true. Adam rolled his window down too and let the cross currents whip his hair, giving him renewed energy despite his lack of sleep.

  “Sounds like tomorrow,” Adam said. “We’ll need daylight. But I’ve got to be close enough to see her.”

  Tugg looked over at him. “You remember all that surveillance equipment I had on my bike? You think I left that on the bike back in Ontario? It’s behind the seat here. Binoculars, taps, every kind of tracking device you’ve ever heard of. Most of it’s legal.”

  “And that won’t look funny. Two guys watching a bunch of kids with binoculars.”

  “It is what it is. We’ll make it or we won’t. But when the time comes and we get near Emma, you’ve got to control yourself. If she sees you and starts yelling ‘Daddy,’ we’re through.”

  Adam’s stomach was doing back flips Maybe this would work.

  Salem, next three exits.