We made our way to the other end of the casino. The restaurant was a large room with banks of pulsing fluorescent lights overhead, and about twenty plain tables. Marie’s group had already been seated. Marie was sitting at the corner, wearing a floral print blouse I hadn’t seen before. Next to her was Chef Lack, dressed in a black cook’s uniform with a silver pendant in the shape of a turtle. Then there was Ann Short Bear, wearing an expensive-looking brown pantsuit and a large turquoise necklace, along with her dog, Ava. Of course dogs weren’t allowed in the restaurant, but Ann claimed that she was an “emotional support animal,” and no one dared tell her she couldn’t bring her mutt wherever she wanted. Ava was a bichon frise with fluffy white fur and a perky, happy disposition. This was no rez dog, living on the streets and scrounging for scraps, but a pampered, happy canine. I liked the tiny dog and was glad Ann had brought her.
“Hey there,” I said, “room for two more?” Tommy and I pulled up chairs and sat down. I hugged Marie and greeted Ann, who responded with a curt nod.
“Virgil, Tommy, this is Lack Strongbow,” Marie said.
I shook Lack’s hand, and Tommy stuck out his arm for a fist bump and said, “How you doin’? I liked that food you was serving the other day, especially that meat pudding! You gotta show us how to make that stuff, it was the bomb!”
Lack smiled. “Thanks, that was bison terrine. I make it with salt, sage, and the secret ingredient, a little wojapi.”
“Lack, tell us again what wojapi is,” said Ann, beaming at the chef.
“It’s chokecherries, simmered with some honey or maple syrup.”
“I think my grandmother used to make that,” Marie said. “I remember eating it when I was a kid.”
“I’m not surprised. It’s the traditional berry soup that most Natives used to cook. My people made it with chokecherries, blackberries, and red currant.”
“Who are your people?” I asked. Marie frowned at me.
“I’m Muckleshoot—from Washington—but as a food justice warrior, I’ve studied the indigenous lifeways and nourishment customs of Native peoples from all regions of this hemisphere. I’ve always loved the food of the Plains; you have such riches here.”
Riches? Had he driven around our reservation at all?
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You have amazing herbs, seeds, vegetables—all growing right outside your door. Where I live, in LA, it’s a wasteland for wild foods. I have to go inland or to farmers’ markets to get what I need. You Lakotas are lucky to have such a bounty of traditional foods here.”
I didn’t feel lucky, but I knew it was better to stay quiet.
“Lack, how long are you staying in South Dakota?” asked Ann.
“Well, we’re funded through this week by a grant program. After that, I was planning to drive down to New Mexico—Santa Fe. I’m thinking about opening a second outpost of my restaurant there. But you guys have shown such hospitality that I thought I’d stay for a bit, give my employees a break. The hotel here at the casino comped our rooms, really nice of them.”
Ann touched Lack’s arm. “I love Santa Fe. The city has such beautiful architecture and history; we love to walk around the plaza and explore the shops. Marie, didn’t you apply to medical school in New Mexico? She’s planning to become a physician.”
Marie, uncomfortable, said, “Yes, Mom, but the med school’s in Albuquerque, not Santa Fe.” She looked over at Lack. “I’d like to stay here, but New Mexico has one of the best internal medicine programs in the country. I’m waiting to hear back where I’ll be accepted. If anywhere.”
“What type of medicine do you plan to specialize in?” Lack asked.
“Probably general practice. But I want to combine traditional indigenous healing customs with Western medicine. Native people have always known you have to heal the spirit as well as the body. I want to use ceremonies, herbs, and prayers along with allopathic cures to help people walk in beauty.”
“Walk in beauty! I love it,” said Lack. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do with indigenous food.”
“I didn’t come up with the concept,” said Marie. “It’s Navajo. Not that I’m any expert in their culture.”
“Well, it’s a marvelous way to express it. The idea that we can combine traditional indigenous customs with the technology of the twenty-first century.” Lack looked over at me. “Virgil, what do you do?”
I hated that question. It was such a white way of looking at the world, that a person is judged by their job, not their character. While I was thinking about how to reply, Ann chimed in.
“Virgil is our local hired thug.”
“Mom, you know that’s not true,” said Marie. “Virgil does a lot of things. Construction, odd jobs, raising his nephew.”
“You’re a pretty big guy. Maybe I can call you if anyone gives me a hard time around here,” Lack said with a half smile. “Tommy, what about you? You work around here?”
“I’m between jobs right now,” said Tommy. “Looking for the right fit. You hiring?”
Lack laughed. “Maybe. My crew’s pretty intense, I got to warn you.”
Right at that moment, a drunk and dirty Indian stumbled into the restaurant. The stereotype—a skinny dude on crutches, with long greasy hair and wearing an old green jacket. He spotted our group and started limping over to our table.
“Oh no,” Ann said.
“Hey, can you lend me some money? I lost my wallet, need a few dollars to get home.”
Lack, Ann, and Marie looked away from the man and were quiet. The little dog wagged her tail, hoping for some affection from the guy. I quickly got up and led the man out of the restaurant into the hallway. I put a few bucks in his hands. He didn’t thank me, just wandered off down the hallway, past the hanging portraits of Chief Spotted Tail, the great leader of our tribe. Spotted Tail, who’d been killed by one of his own people, ambushed and shot before he could return fire.
When I got back to the table, Lack said, “Do you know him?”
“Not really. His name’s Russ, he served in the army a while back. Got sent overseas to fight in the war. Had his leg blown off by one of those land mines. That’s all I know.”
There was silence at our table for a while, then Lack jumped up and hurried out of the restaurant.
“We can’t even have a nice lunch around here anymore,” said Ann. “Now we’ve offended Lack.”
“Should I go after him?” asked Marie, looking out into the hallway.
Lack walked back in to the restaurant and sat down again.
Ann said, “Lack, we’re sorry that man bothered you—”
“It’s fine, no problem,” Lack said.
“Where did you go?” asked Marie. “Did you say something to him?”
“I told him to come around to the food truck later if he was hungry. Gave him a hundred dollars.”
I knew I should be jealous of Lack. That he could give so much more money than me, hand out free dinners and lunches. That he got to look like the hero in the situation. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, but jealousy wasn’t it.
“Perhaps we should get our food before this place fills up,” Ann said.
We walked over to the serving area. The casino restaurant featured a buffet, serving roast beef, fried chicken, spaghetti, and other standard American fare. I guess the casino wanted to appeal to the midwestern farmer palate. I filled up my plate with slices of beef, a fried chicken breast, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, and then sat down with the others at the table. I looked over at Lack. His plate was largely empty—there was only a small piece of fish, a dollop of mac and cheese, some steamed vegetables, and a tiny portion of white rice. I started eating, the little dog Ava looking up at me pleadingly. When no one was looking, I slipped her a piece of roast beef, which she ate in one gulp, not even chewing it.
Suddenly Lack stood up. “This is terrible. A disgrace.”
We all looked at him.
“The food. Bland and tasteless.�
� He strode off toward the back of the restaurant, to the kitchen area. I looked over at Marie, who made a shrugging motion. Tommy was the first up; he followed Lack to the kitchen. Marie and I stood up too, slowly, and Ann tied the little dog’s leash to the chair leg. The three of us got up, not sure what Lack was doing.
We opened the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY and discovered Lack talking to two bewildered kitchen employees, presumably cooks. He noticed us watching him and held up his hand.
“Give me one hour,” he said to us. “I’m going to see what I can do with the food here, show them a few tricks. Tommy, you still want a job? This is your audition.”
“Wait, can I help, too?” said Marie. “I’ve done some kitchen work before.”
Lack motioned her in.
“Text me when you guys are done,” I said to Marie. “I’m going out for a smoke.”
It took longer than an hour, but Chef Lack brought out a spicy mac and cheese, roasted potatoes and vegetables, corn cakes, bowls of fresh salad, and beef ribs with a sage and berry sauce. I had to admit, it was some of the best food I’d had in a long time. I ate seconds and thirds.
“Lack, thank you so much for showing our local cooks how to do it,” said Ann, who’d eaten half a corn cake and some salad.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Thanks for the help back there. Marie, you’re a natural in the kitchen. I mean it. And Tommy, you’re a hard worker. You really knocked out the vegetables today. There’s a job for you if you want it.”
Tommy grinned. “Hell, yeah, I do! And big wopes for that meal, good stuff. Think I’m gonna take a nap now. Toksa, y’all.”
I looked over at Marie. She gave me a smoky look, a look that may have said I told you so, or perhaps Let’s go back home and be alone.
Either way, I was all in.
20
The next few weeks passed slowly as I waited for word from the attorney about Nathan and the drug sting. Charley had said it was going to take some time for the cops to set everything up, but it was hard to wait and do nothing. I was tempted to do more surveillance of Rick and the gang, but I didn’t want to risk being spotted and ruining the buy.
The best news was that Nathan was released from the juvenile detention center, just as the lawyer had promised. The district attorney had agreed not to object to a personal recognizance bond, which meant that I had to go down to the courthouse, sign a form promising that Nathan wouldn’t commit any “delinquent acts,” and agree that Nathan would show up for all court hearings. If Nathan violated either of these conditions, a warrant for his arrest—and mine—would be issued.
“Welcome back,” I said, opening the door and letting him in. Marie was already there, standing in the kitchen with a smile. She’d started to split her time between my little shack and her own place, although we hadn’t had any discussions about the status of our relationship. If that’s what it was.
“Looks different in here. Where’d those come from?” he said, pointing at the wall. She’d added some decorative touches. Framed posters of Sitting Bull and Red Cloud, nautical-themed window curtains, and bright orange place mats on the tiny kitchen table. I had to admit, a little bit of cleaning and interior decorating made a big difference.
“Marie hung them up,” I said. “Look what else she got.” I pointed at the large double chocolate cake she’d bought at the Turtle Creek supermarket. She’d even inscribed WELCOME HOME NATHAN! on top with a cake decorating kit. She’d remembered that chocolate was his favorite.
He looked at the cake on the table and began to cry, the tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Thank you. That’s, like—I’m sorry, I’m just really happy to be home.” He sat down at the kitchen table, drying his eyes. “Can I have a piece now?”
“Sure,” I said, and got out some plates and silverware. Marie began cutting the cake, but Nathan stopped her.
“This looks really good, and I’m like, so hungry. But can we save a couple pieces? I kind of became friends with this guy in juvie. His name’s Charles, but he wants everyone to call him Snagmore. Stupid, right? But he’s been telling me about his family. I guess he’s got some little brothers and sisters; he’s worried about them, you know, that they’re not getting enough to eat. I guess his mom has some problems or something. Can we give some of it to them?”
I looked over at Marie, who was now tearing up herself.
“Yeah, we can do that,” I said. “We’ll go over there right now.”
AFTER HIS RETURN HOME, Nathan put his head down and worked in school to make up the ground he’d lost while he was locked up. I tried to talk with him about the arrest and his incarceration, but he wouldn’t say much. I asked if he’d shared anything with his friend Jimmy, but he just said, “Not really.” I assumed that word had gotten out at his school about the pills and his arrest, and wondered if he was getting any grief there. Knowing Nathan, I’m sure he wanted to speak out in his own defense, but he’d been instructed by the lawyer to keep absolutely quiet about all of these matters.
To my surprise, Marie started volunteering at the casino restaurant, where Lack was working to train the kitchen staff and design a new menu before leaving for New Mexico. I was wary of this arrangement, but what could I do? She said she wanted to learn more about indigenous cuisine, so she worked a few nights a week in the kitchen as an unpaid trainee. The good news was that I got free food at the buffet on the nights she was there. Because I didn’t want to be a freeloader, I helped out by washing dishes if I’d had a meal. I got to hang out with Tommy as well, as he’d started working on the evening shift as a prep cook and dishwasher.
Besides that, I took on a couple of day jobs in Rapid City for my friend Ernie, who ran a construction company—roofing work, construction cleanup, anything that needed to be done. Ernie paid me under the table, which kept me in gas money. I got a few calls for what Ann had called “hired thug” jobs, but it didn’t seem smart to take those on. I don’t know if it was because of Nathan’s situation or something else, but my gut told me to lay off the beatings—for now.
FINALLY, I HEARD BACK from the lawyer. He called and told me to come to his office and bring Nathan. When we got there, I was surprised to see not only Charley but also Dennis, the cop from Denver, the one who’d nearly shot me, and another person I didn’t recognize. It was strange to see Dennis in South Dakota; it felt like he didn’t belong here, or like maybe I was the one who was in the wrong place.
Charley led us to a conference room. “Virgil, you know Dennis.” He nodded at me. “This is Stan Dillon, the AUSA for our region. And this is Nathan, gentlemen.”
“AUSA?” I asked.
“Assistant United States attorney,” Stan said. “I’m based in Pierre, but I came down to help out. We want to go over some things, make sure everyone’s on the same page.”
So this was one of the feds, the guys who couldn’t be bothered to prosecute the vast majority of violent crimes committed on our rez. The reason I made a living. But of course he was eager to go after a foreign drug cartel, a bust that would get major news coverage. The arrest of a child abuser or rapist wouldn’t bring the same publicity, so those cases went unprosecuted. I wanted to ask how he was able to sleep at night after letting countless criminals go free, but—again—I forced myself to stay quiet.
Charley pulled out a red folder. “Couldn’t agree more, Stan. Let’s get it all in writing. You gentlemen have had a chance to read this. You know the deal: Nathan does one buy as a CI—one buy only—and his case stays in the state juvenile system, no transfer to federal.”
The expressions on the two government men’s faces told me they didn’t like the deal that had been struck. It also told me that I’d done the right thing by bringing Charley Leader Charge in as Nathan’s attorney.
“Charley, we’ve been over this,” said Stan. “We need Nathan to do a trust buy before we give him the device. How do we know they’ll even sell to him now?”
“What’s a trust buy?” I asked.
> “They want Nathan to make one purchase before putting the wire on him,” said Charley. “To gain their confidence.”
“I don’t understand. Why not just wire him up for the first buy, then arrest the guys?”
Dennis jumped in. “Because these guys aren’t stupid. They may have heard that Nathan was arrested at school, and they may not sell to him at all. Or if they do, they may use somebody else to make the sale, someone that’s not in their group. We’d be wasting our time.”
I was beginning to grasp the problem. “What if they won’t sell to him? The deal’s still on, right? Because he tried.”
Charley looked over at me and shook his head. “That’s the bone of contention here. Our position is that we’re cooperating fully, and we expect the government to honor their side of the deal. If the dealers won’t sell to Nathan, he can still provide valuable information—”
“You know it doesn’t work that way,” said Stan. “We can only reduce the charges if there’s full compliance, and that includes a trust buy and controlled buy. Otherwise, no deal.”
Charley, Stan, and Dennis all started speaking at once.
“I’ll do it.”
Everyone stopped talking and looked at Nathan.
“I’ll do the, uh, trust buy. It’s no problem,” Nathan said.
HIS UNEXPECTED WILLINGNESS to cooperate threw everyone for a loop, and Charley asked to meet with Nathan and me in private. We had the government people leave the room while we talked it over. Nathan was willing to make two buys from the dealers; he said he didn’t care. Charley made some changes in the written agreement to reflect Nathan’s willingness to take part in several purchases as a CI, and the feds came back in.
“All right,” said Charley, “I’ve amended the agreement to show that my client is willing to take part in two buys—one controlled, one uncontrolled—and that his criminal charges stay in the juvenile system even if the suspects won’t sell to Nathan, for whatever reason. We all good?”
The AUSA looked like he was sucking on a lemon, but he signed the agreement, followed by Nathan and myself.
Winter Counts Page 16