After a few songs, she turned down the stereo and glanced over at me. “So, I’ve been waiting to talk about this. Seems like now’s a good time.”
I came out of my trance instantly. “Yeah?”
“Well, I want to know more about the plan.”
“The plan?”
“When we find Rick. What are you going to do—”
“I’m going to kick his ass and make him stop selling drugs on the rez.”
“Come on, you can’t be serious,” she said. “Are you going to kick all their asses? I told you, he’s with the Aztec Kingz. Don’t know how many of them there are, but you can’t take them all on. Not by yourself.”
“I’ll figure that out when we get there. Not worried about them—they sound like a bunch of kids.”
She stared straight ahead. “You don’t understand. This is a real gang, not like the wannabes we have on the rez.” She paused for a second and looked outside the window. “I remember Rick didn’t like going to their place, he wouldn’t tell me why. He said they were scary guys.”
I’d taken care of plenty of scary people. I wasn’t worried about some Denver gangbangers. But my beef was with Rick Crow, not them. “Like I said, I’ll handle Rick. Don’t know anything about the gang, but I’ll teach him a lesson. Catch him alone if I need to. He won’t sell dope on the rez anymore, not when I’m done with him.”
Marie looked over at me. “Is this revenge for what happened to Nathan, or something else? Maybe this is payback. For how Rick treated you in school.”
I thought about what she’d said. I’d been telling myself I wanted to find Rick because of Nathan’s overdose. But maybe that wasn’t the whole story. It was true, Rick had tormented me in school. He’d been the ringleader of all the bullies who had made life a living hell for me and the other sad sacks at the bottom of the ladder. Maybe it was about vengeance. And what was wrong with that? I wasn’t the goddamn savior of the Lakota people, but I could make Rick Crow pay for what he’d done to me and the other half-breeds.
Marie continued, “The goal here is to make sure there are no more hard drugs on the rez. That’s the purpose, right? You can save the vengeance for another time.”
I didn’t understand why she was trying to convince me not to kick the shit out of Rick. “One way or the other, I need to stop that asshole,” I said. “Got to be honest, I don’t see why you’re so concerned about him.”
She was quiet again, and I watched the road rushing by us through the window. Finally, she spoke. “All right, I’ll tell you the story. But just let me say it, okay? No judgment.”
I nodded.
“So, I was with Rick for about three months.”
My gut tightened.
“It’s not like we were serious or anything. I just wanted to have some fun, I don’t know, maybe I was rebelling against my parents a little. They always pounded it into us—we had to be smarter than everyone, do well in school, not drink, be good daughters. I guess I wanted to do my own thing for once. And I was still angry at you.”
I had to ask. “Did your parents know you were with him?”
“No,” she said. “Not at first. But I got into a fight with my mom and told her. To shock her. Let her know I was my own person, and she couldn’t tell me what to do.”
“What did she say?”
“She didn’t know who he was. But she told my dad, and he was furious; he said I needed to stay away from Rick. He threatened to disown me, everything.”
Her parents obviously didn’t like Marie’s choice of boyfriends. I couldn’t say I blamed them in Rick’s case.
“Like I said, Rick and I weren’t together long. I don’t think you’d even say we were dating. Mainly we just had drinks at the Depot. But I heard him talk on the phone a lot. You know, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help listening. So, here’s the thing.” She stopped for a second. “I knew he was bringing marijuana to the rez. I knew it, okay! And I didn’t say anything. I thought, it’s just pot, what’s the harm?”
She held the steering wheel so tightly I thought she might break it.
“But it was wrong. I knew it in my heart. The whole point of the Red Road is to get our people away from that stuff: weed, booze, whatever. I should have done something, said something, but I didn’t. Didn’t do a freaking thing. Who knows how many kids messed up their lives with Rick’s weed? Because of me.”
“Hey,” I said, “pot is not exactly a dangerous drug—”
“That’s not the point! People can get addicted to it, and it’s illegal in our state. I should have told Rick what he was doing was wrong. But I won’t screw up again. This time, I’ll get him to do the right thing.”
Now I understood why Marie had insisted on coming with me to Denver. She believed that you could reason with thugs, get them to change their ways with words. I knew better.
“I’ve known Rick a long time,” I said quietly, “and I know he’ll do what’s best for him, no matter who gets hurt, unless someone stops him. By force.”
“Make you a deal.” She took her hands off the steering wheel to emphasize her words, and I wondered if we were going to crash.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll tell you where Rick stays in Denver, but I talk to him first. Alone. Before any violence, okay? Let me see if I can get him to stop bringing that stuff to the rez. I think I can convince him.”
“Uh-huh. And how will you do that?”
“There’s something Rick really doesn’t want people to know, something that’d hurt his reputation if it got out. Don’t ask me what it is. I know he’ll listen to me.” Her face started to tremble a little. “This whole thing is my fault. The heroin, I mean. He started selling pot and then moved on to harder drugs. Shit.”
“None of this is your fault, it’s on him,” I said. “He made his choices. And he needs to pay the price.”
“Look, I know you don’t like Rick, but there might be some good left in him, okay?”
The image of Nathan with his blue-gray face flew into my mind, and I struggled to keep my temper. “If he’s such a good guy, why is he bringing that crap to our people?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But if I talk to him, he’ll—”
“What makes you think he’ll change his ways? Your threat to expose him? He’s a punk; he’s always cared more about hustling cash than anything else. And what about your safety? I’m not leaving you on your own with him.”
“I can take care of myself.”
The blood was rushing in my veins. “I’m not letting you alone with that asshole.”
“That’s the deal,” she said coolly. “You agree that I get to talk with him first, then I’ll tell you where to find him. If our conversation doesn’t work, you try your way.”
I pondered my options. There was no chance that I’d let her out of my sight if she met with Rick Crow. But there was no need to tell her that now.
“All right, it’s a deal.”
THE SKYLINE OF DENVER appeared before us, the Rocky Mountains visible to the west, the skyscrapers presenting a synthetic counterpoint to the jagged peaks in the distance. I’d spent some time in Denver years ago but heard it had massively changed, as young people fled the high costs of living on both coasts in search of something less artificial and more real. And the legal marijuana in Colorado served as a beacon for a different sort of pioneer.
We drove down Colfax Avenue near Broadway, which I remembered as a pleasantly seedy boulevard with an abundance of street people, punk rockers, and vagrants. I was surprised to find that the seediness had been replaced with boutiques, bicycle shops, restaurants with strange names, and beer breweries. Where was the White Spot? I’d nursed many late-night cups of coffee there years ago.
After a few miles, we saw what looked like a budget motel, the Getaway Motor Lodge. The name suited me, as did the prices. The clerk asked whether we wanted a smoking or nonsmoking room. I realized we hadn’t discussed the sleeping situation—one room or two. I start
ed to ask Marie what she wanted to do, but she said, “Two rooms, nonsmoking.” I guess that was settled.
After I brought my bag inside, I called Tommy back at the rez. He answered right away.
“Yo Virg, where you at?”
“Just got into Denver, we drove through Pine Ridge and Nebraska. Made good time, just stopped once. Hey, you ever seen that Carhenge thing? In Alliance?”
“Yeah, saw that mofo a while back. Some crazy-ass shit. Them cars freaked my head out, I was trippin’ for sure. What you think?”
I paused. “We didn’t stay long,” I said. “It was pretty weird.”
“Aight,” he said. “So, I hear Marie came along?”
“She kind of insisted.”
He chuckled. “You two gonna light the campfire again? Damn straight.”
“Nothing is gonna happen with us. I’m here to find that asshole Rick Crow.”
“I know she moved her shit out of the tipi—Indian divorce—but there ain’t no rule that she can’t move back in, know what I’m saying?”
“That ended a long time ago,” I said. “She’s probably going off to medical school in a few months anyway. Look, I’m calling about something else. I need you to go out and check on Nathan at my auntie’s place. Make sure he’s not doing nothing wrong, see if he needs anything. You do that for me?”
“I’m your boy! Head out there tomorrow, check him out. All my relations, right?”
“Call me if you see anything strange. Thanks, man, I owe you.”
“Toksa, homes.”
THE NEXT MORNING, Marie and I grabbed some coffee in the motel’s lobby and discussed our plan for the day, then she took a break to call her dad. I wondered how much Ben was telling her, whether he was keeping silent about the fact that he was the one who’d hired me. In any case, before we made any contact with Rick Crow, I needed to get as much intel as I could. I decided to check out Martin Angel and the Wellness Relief Center, see what I could find out there. I asked Marie if Rick had ever mentioned it, but she said no. Still, I needed to visit the place, ask some questions.
Marie and I drove down Colfax Avenue to Federal Boulevard, watching the neighborhood change from little shops and breweries to taquerias, Mexican grocery stores, and, surprisingly, Vietnamese restaurants. I figured out from the signs that pho was a Vietnamese soup and apparently very popular here, as there were at least twenty cafés selling it in a six-block area. Pho Noodle House, Pho 77, Pho Chim U’ng. We also saw an increasing number of cannabis dispensaries, judging from the logos and names on the signs: Frosted Leaf, High Altitude, Green Solution. Finally we found the shop we were looking for, tucked back into a little strip mall. Wellness Relief Center. I could certainly use some relief and wouldn’t mind some wellness, but I doubted they sold the type I was looking for.
Before we could enter the store, we had to show our IDs at a little window at the front of the shop. Once the clerks verified that we were over twenty-one, they ushered us into the main area of the store. I’d never been in one of these dispensaries before, but of course I’d heard about them. There were three sizable display cases with a variety of marijuana strains in glass jars. On the wall were shelves with a large number of candy bars, cakes, and drinks, all infused, apparently, with cannabis. In a much smaller case, there were a number of waxes and oils in tiny jars.
It was surprising. I’d expected a small dingy space that replicated a seedy drug dealer’s apartment; I didn’t anticipate this bright and well-designed store. And the smell. The skunky but sweet aroma was overwhelming, like being trapped in a marijuana rain forest. I looked more closely at the containers with the marijuana buds and flowers. Each of them was labeled with a name: Bubba Kush, God Bud, Spyder Bite, Bone Games, Ghost OG, Medicine Man, Juanita la Lagrimosa.
A white guy with long brown dreadlocks wearing a Philadelphia Eagles T-shirt was standing behind the counter.
“Can I help you?” he said.
“No, just looking.”
He motioned to the glass cases. “The indicas are over there, the hybrids in the middle, and the sativas right here. Concentrates are back there; some killer shatter just came in, full nug run, no trim. You should check it out.”
“Are you the owner?” I asked.
“No, I’m the doctor.”
“Doctor?”
“Yes, Dr. Maximilian Pratt, doctor of entheogenics.”
Was he kidding? I looked over at Marie to gauge her reaction.
“What’s that? Entheo—what?” she asked, her eyebrows arched.
“It’s the science of psychedelic therapy and spiritual development,” he said haughtily.
Marie and I glanced at each other. I decided to go first. “What’s psychedelic therapy?”
“I help people suffering from depression, emotional PTSD, or spiritual ennui by administering microdoses of cannabis, LSD, and MDMA. Once they ingest the medicine, we work on their loop thinking, toxic patterns, and repetitive scenetics.”
Marie said, “What are, uh, scenetics?”
“You know, scene transference and visualization. Changing our patterns to embrace our wholeness. You interested in trying it? I’ve got a sliding scale, three hundred to five hundred for the entire session, or you can pay by the hour. Seventy-five dollars. Get rid of your spiritual toxins and purify yourself.”
“We’ll pass,” I said. “Where’d you learn this stuff?”
“Well,” he said, warming up, “I heard about this school in Boulder, the Shamanistic Institute, which offers education in psychedelic medicine, psychosocial therapy, and Native American healing. It’s very prestigious, so I signed up. So rewarding to be a healer. It’s my life’s purpose, you know, to help those less spiritually evolved than myself.” He looked at us more closely. “Hey, you guys look Native American. Yeah? You must know all about this stuff! Like peyote and healing circles.”
“Actually, no,” Marie said, “we have different traditions.”
That was diplomatic. But it was time to end this happy horseshit.
“Thanks for all that,” I said. “Very interesting. Anyway, does Martin Angel work here?”
“Yes, he’s our grower. One of the finest around. A genius, really. Pioneered several CBD strains. Now he’s creating a new RSO hemp oil for cancer patients—cures asthma and arthritis, too. Probably change the world.”
“Know where we can find him?” I asked.
“I’m afraid that’s confidential.”
“Does he have a phone number I can call? Email, anything?”
“We don’t give out that information, sorry.” He turned away from us.
“One more question,” I said, rapping my knuckles on the counter. “You ever see a guy in here called Rick Crow? About six feet tall, long black hair? Indian guy?”
“I believe you mean Native American. And no, I’ve not seen that gentleman here. But all our patient contacts are private, of course. We are a therapeutic facility and take medical confidentiality very seriously.”
“All right,” I said, taking one last look at the doctor and his medicines. “Good luck with the healing.”
OUR VISIT TO THE Wellness Relief Center had yielded no concrete information about Rick Crow, so our next move was to confront him on his own turf. Turf that Marie claimed to know about.
“All right,” I said, “let’s hear it. Where’s this place that Rick hangs out? I’ll keep my promise; you can talk to him first if it looks safe.”
She put on her seat belt, then looked at her phone.
“I’ll be fine. All right, what I know is that the gang runs a bar in Denver called Los Primos. If he’s here, he’ll be at that bar.”
Los Primos. Time to do some homework.
I USED MARIE’S SMART PHONE and found out that the bar was located on the north side of Denver, in a neighborhood called Swansea/Elyria. The name sounded fancy, but a little internet searching revealed that the neighborhood was one of Denver’s poorest, almost completely Latino, but was starting to change as wealthier
people in search of cheap and quirky housing began driving out the original inhabitants. The newspaper article I found said that the earliest residents were openly hostile to the gentrifiers, but that there was little they could do against the tide of the neighborhood settlers. Sounded familiar.
We drove down Interstate 70 to the area. A giant dog-food factory stood imposingly next to the highway viaduct while railroad tracks ran right by some of the tiny houses. It was hard to see why this neighborhood was becoming overrun by urban colonizers. After a few wrong turns, we found the bar, which was attached to a little market and a liquor store. About twenty vehicles were parked outside, mainly small pickup trucks and older-model American cars. Just to be safe, I parked a few blocks away. I hadn’t told Marie, but I’d stuck my folding karambit Spyder knife in my back pocket and stowed my Glock in the hatchback of her car. The Spyder had a small curved blade that could be used to gut an enemy in close-quarters combat. I didn’t think I’d need it, but it couldn’t hurt to bring it along.
“Okay,” I said, “let’s see if he’s there. You go in first, stick your head in. I’ll stay by the windows where I can watch. You know what you’re gonna say to him?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’ll tell him what’s happening back home with the drugs, especially the kids. I’ve got a few other things I’ll say if I need to. Just stay out of sight, okay?”
“All right, but I’m coming in if he makes a move.”
“I can handle myself, big guy. Remember back in school? I punched Theresa Bad Milk once.”
“What? I never heard about that.”
“She was making fun of some kid. You know, the one who couldn’t stop playing with himself in class. Can’t remember his name.”
“Potato Juice! Shit, I forgot about him. Didn’t you put canned salmon in her gas tank, too? I remember people talking about that.”
“She deserved it.”
I POSITIONED MYSELF OUTSIDE in front of the bar. There were a few grimy windows, but I could see inside. About ten people were sitting at the counter, maybe more to the side. I peered in, trying to see if Rick was one of them, but all I could see were the backs of the customers, a variety of leather jackets and checkered flannel shirts.
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