She owed Luca, there was that as well, and each day the debt weighed more heavily on her soul. She would soon remedy that.
Little Abe grew cautious as he saw the woman struggle through mental turmoil so desperate one eye twitched to a mere slit, and for a moment he thought he had perhaps gone too far. But as quickly as it came, the anguish seemed to slip away, replaced by an even more disturbing air of calm resolution. Tressa smiled as though to herself, and motioned him back to the dining room.
El Dia de los Muertos was almost upon them, and God willing, it would bring with it a final atonement. Down in Mexico it was a day of celebration and veneration of the dead, allowing the living to make amends for past indiscretions or wrongs. People disguised themselves as the dead—painting their faces and dressing in costumes to allow the living to pass, unnoticed, among the spirits of the deceased.
Then too, Tressa thought, there are still those Indios on the reservation to be dealt with. They, too, will learn the cost of their recklessness. She had no idea what evil her husband had worked on those people, but whatever it was it would not deter her quest for personal atonement. Her recent letter to Investigator Yazzie might just provide the information needed to find her husband’s killer. It was this Charlie Yazzie who sent her official notice of Luca’s death. His letter was brief, not saying how or by whose hand or even why Luca died, only that he was dead, and his last thoughts were of her. The message twisted a knife in her belly and she put it away until she had the strength to deal with it, along with her other poor choices.
Everything hinged on a certain progression of events, and dealing with Carlos and his Uncle must come first. She was well aware their major source of income was not from the restaurant and bar—those were only a front for the real business. Carlos knew a lot, and in the beginning, foolishly talked of these things, thinking to bind her more closely to him. It was something he now regretted.
She and Little Abe would need money, and though it would come at great risk, she could see no other way. Her future plans would be expensive to implement, but certainly no more than Carlos owed her. They might not hit the mother-lode, but there would be something.
Hector Espinosa was not called “The Ear” for nothing. His informants were everywhere, and there was little he didn’t know about his employees. By the same token, however, there were things the help knew about him, dangerous things and the reason he kept his people close. Nothing would come easy for Little Abe and her, and the smallest mistake could lead to a most unpleasant end.
It was nearly ten o’clock when Tressa hung her apron on the nail in the supply closet, patted her hair, and inspected her blouse in the cracked mirror over the sink. The dinner rush was over and Abe could handle what little food the bar patrons might order. Now it was time for the real customers to begin filtering in.
It was said in Mexico that only five or six regulars were required to make a go of a bar business. Five or six loyal drinkers appearing each day, that would be enough to keep the lights on and the rent paid. Everything else was…how did they put it in this country…gravy. Hector Espinosa’s bar had at least a dozen such customers, and not all of them came just to drink. The real business had to do with La Familia’s enterprises in Sinaloa. That was the center of everything. Little Abe was quite familiar with that end of the business and learning more every day. His father’s connections in Sinaloa were proving their worth.
Déjà Vu
“So, George Custer and Harley Ponyboy are out surveying a new site, are they?” Charlie Yazzie knew very well they were, but the conversation had lagged and he thought he would kick-start it before getting into the real reason for his visit—ease into it so to speak—so as not to lend undue urgency to the thing.
Thomas Begay turned to the Legal Services Investigator, now apparently lost in thought, and answered, “Uh… yes, I offered to go along and help but George said it was a simple job and the two of them could handle it alright.” Thomas looked slightly askance at his friend, watching for some indication he might be joking. He’d already told him this very thing, and only the day before. He knew Charlie Yazzie well enough to know he had some ulterior motive. Rather than risk making a fool of one or the other of them Thomas decided to play along, see where he was headed with the thing. He pursed his lips, nodded and further admitted, “I have plenty to do around here anyway, what with the old man not doing so well, and the kids in school.” Thomas said this last part barely above a whisper, looking across the room to make sure the old Singer was still napping in his recliner. The last thing he needed was to arouse the ire of his father-in-law. He watched a moment, smiling, as he remembered an old Navajo proverb: “It is hard to wake a person who is only pretending to be asleep.”
Lucy Tallwoman, working at her loom, sounded matter-of-fact, “Well, I hope those two haven’t gotten into a bottle up there.” Thomas’s wife sat at her weaving and just across the room from the others. She kept to her work. She was on a schedule with this piece but didn’t want to miss out on anything interesting either—which was why she put the loom in the living room in the first place.
Sue Yazzie poured another round of coffee and sat the pot back on the tray. “Oh, I don’t think they’d be drinking up there.” She really had no idea what the Professor and Harley Ponyboy might be doing, but preferred to think they had not fallen off the wagon; both had been clean for a good long while.
Charlie Yazzie smiled at his wife. “Let’s hope you’re right.” He grinned over at Thomas who looked ready to voice an opinion…then seemed to decide against it.
Thomas, too, hoped the pair were all right but was well versed in the pitfalls they faced. Any other time, Thomas Begay would have felt slighted to be left out of such an expedition, but as he mentioned, he had enough to do right there at home. George and Harley would have to take care of themselves this time.
Lucy was obviously happy her husband hadn’t been invited along with them. George’s failed reconciliation with his sometimes-romantic interest, Aida Winters, had to hurt, and Harley’s previous try at romance hadn’t turned out much better. Lucy clearly suspected their woman problems might cause one or the other of them to take a backward step; if one did, she figured the other might well follow, including Thomas if he were to be with them.
Old Paul T’Sosi snored softly in his sleep—if he was asleep. His daughter again looked his way and listened. Her father had not been well for some time, and as his eightieth birthday approached, he seemed despondent. As the days passed into autumn she became even more worried by his continued air of malaise.
Paul’s state of mind was now such, the family had to keep an eye on him to prevent him wandering off. Even the children could see he was having trouble finding his way home from time to time. Still, the old man occasionally took the sheep out but now one of the youngsters went along, shadowing his every move. The fall weather had not brought his usual rise in spirits—she had come to expect it and was disappointed. Lucy studied her father a moment longer and then, slowly shaking her head, returned to her shuttle. We will have a Sing for him…that’s what we will do... They could afford it, and it was the only thing left she thought might help. The old Singer had an abiding mistrust of hospitals and white doctors.
Giving a Sing for a Hataalii was no easy matter; it would be complicated, and just the right man would have to be found if the idea was to be acceptable to Paul T’Sosi. Lucy Tallwoman thought she knew just the person. She would talk to Sue about it. While Charlie’s wife was not overly traditional, when it came to these things she had a good sense of who her people were.
The Legal Services Investigator, at last, thought this might be the time, to bring up his more pressing announcement. “I just wanted to mention while we’re all together; I had a call from Officer Red Clay yesterday morning. Billy told me Agent Smith at the FBI called him…said they would like a short meeting with Thomas and I tomorrow morning. Billy wouldn’t say what it was about, acted like he didn’t know, so I wasn’t going to men
tion it…at least until I knew more…but now I have a pretty good idea what’s up.”
Thomas glanced at the investigator. He wasn’t expecting this and didn’t like the sound of it.
Charlie threw his wife a sidelong glance before going on. “Normally, I wouldn’t say anything, but the fact is I am just a little concerned.” He paused, a moment as he searched for just the right way to put it. Looking through the window, past Lucy Tallwoman’s loom, shadows were falling across the gullies and arroyos. Sundown’s coming earlier…fall has slipped up on me. He shrugged and forced himself back to the business at hand. “It appears Robert Ashki got out of prison a few days ago. I don’t necessarily expect anything bad to come of it. Still, I thought a little heads-up wouldn’t hurt.
Thomas Begay snorted and leaned forward in his chair, “I thought that no good Ashki got ten years for corruption…obstruction of justice…and as I recall, tampering with federal witnesses. How can he be out already?”
“Yes, well, it seems former Councilman Ashki still has a few friends in high places…what few didn’t wind up in jail along with him.” Charlie seemed less confident in his previous downplaying of the news. “I suppose we’d better be sure John Nez, knows about the release. Ashki has been known to carry a grudge and you, Thomas, along with your Uncle John and I, could be high on his list.” Charlie paused and frowned. “I’m pretty sure this is what Agent Smith wants to talk to us about.” Unlike past FBI men, Senior Agent Fred Smith seemed to make preventive measures a priority in his work, at least more so than previous Bureau heads. But then, Fred had been raised in that country and was more aware how things actually worked at reservation level.
Charlie glanced over at Thomas, holding up a finger to indicate there was more. “There’s one other thing I may as well let you in on…not related to the Ashki situation…and probably even less of an issue, but just so you know…” Charlie studied the sleeping form of old Paul T’Sosi and lowered his voice even more. “Several days ago, I had a letter from Tressa Tarango. I’d sent her a letter just after her husband’s death…mostly just telling her he was deceased, and asking where she wanted his personal effects sent.”
Thomas Begay sucked in his breath. “Luca Tarango? The Mojado? He’s been dead several years. I thought we’d heard the last of him…and her, too.” Thomas couldn’t help thinking it strange this announcement should come so close on the heels of the other, and wondered if Charlie had some reason to tie the two together. He couldn’t imagine it but refused to put anything past Robert Ashki.
Sue Yazzie and Lucy Tallwoman locked eyes for an instant. Sue lifted an eyebrow at her friend and shrugged, as if to assure her this was the first she’d heard of any letter from the serial killer’s wife.
Charlie, as though channeling Thomas’s thoughts, again made the point the two cases were separated by several years and had no obvious connection. He was pleased to see no one appeared overly concerned at this last news. It was obvious the two reports were likely more of a weird coincidence than anything else.
Later, as the two women were busy preparing food for an early dinner, Thomas Begay called into the kitchen saying he and Charlie were going to take a little walk to meet the kids at the bus stop.
Lucy Tallwoman looked out the kitchen window and watched as the two men ambled down the dirt track together. “Thomas hasn’t met that school bus once this year.”
Sue didn’t look up from what she was doing. “I wondered about that.” She was beginning to think there might be more to all this than her husband was letting on.
Lucy couldn’t forget Robert Ashki’s central involvement in the plot to abduct Thomas’s daughter, and although it had been several years back it brought a shiver. Federal prosecutors hadn’t made that particular charge stick, but not from want of trying.
There was a chill in the air. Winter is coming, Thomas thought, as they waited for the school bus. Across the asphalt strip to the east, the tip of the great Shiprock floated in a blue haze from the coal-fired power plant on the San Juan. A sudden cold gust brought a swirl of dust and caused both men to be glad of their wool-lined Levi’s jackets.
Neither Thomas nor Charlie Yazzie had said a word during their walk to the bus stop. Thomas thinking his friend might be making more of the Ashki affair than was warranted. When finally Charlie did speak, however, Thomas detected an underlying note of urgency—a tone Charlie was not ordinarily prone to use.
“If I know the former Councilman, he’s not happy with your uncle taking his seat on the Council. Ashki’s the sort who might want a little payback.” Charlie was definitely having misgivings about the return of Robert Ashki.
“Really? You think the bastard would make a move against us after all this time?”
Charlie turned to face his friend with a lifted eyebrow. “I remember the look he gave us in the courtroom. It probably wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye out for any of his shenanigans.”
Thomas nodded, thinking, “Shenanigans” is an odd word, coming from a Diné, even from one who went off to college. He first thought it might be a Navajo word he had misheard, but Professor Custer used the term on occasion, that was probably where Charlie got it. It did almost sound Navajo, he thought, rolling it around on the back of his tongue. He tried to think of a similar sounding Diné word but couldn’t come up with one.
Charlie Yazzie, guessing the cause of his friend’s confusion was amused and looked away.
“I’ll call up to the chapter house at Navajo Mountain and leave a message for Uncle Johnny to get ahold of me. They still don’t have any phone service out to his place.” Thomas couldn’t help smiling, “I doubt they ever will have either…and that suits Uncle John just fine.”
Charlie nodded. “I guess you better tell him about the Mojado’s widow while you’re are at it. I can’t imagine she’s savvy enough to find out who killed her husband…but, you never know.” He looked past Thomas, toward Navajo Mountain. “John Nez may now have several enemies.”
“Oh, I expect he has more than several,” Thomas grinned. “John is fond of saying, ‘Show me a man who has no enemies and I will show you a man who hasn’t done a whole hell of a lot.”
Charlie chuckled, “I guess that’s about right. My grandfather used to say, ‘Back in the old days, men were judged by the fierceness of their enemies.” Still smiling, he ventured, “Maybe that’s why your Uncle John Nez is so highly thought of.”
Thomas smiled also, but in the way a man smiles when he’s been handed something significant to think about.
The school bus appeared only minutes late and Thomas, already pacing back and forth, was obviously relieved to see his children come down the steps.
~~~~~~
The next morning, they found Tribal Officer, Billy Red Clay waiting patiently in front of Farmington’s Federal Building.
Thomas grinned at the policeman. “Good to see you here so early, Nephew. I wish sometimes I lived as close into town as you.” The two men shook hands; Thomas was pleased to see his clan nephew and slapped him on the shoulder.
Charlie Yazzie also shook hands with the policeman, but wasn’t smiling when he looked Billy in the eye and asked, “Any more idea what’s going on this morning?” He was nearly certain the young officer knew more than he had revealed in his phone call.
“No, not really. You probably know as much as I do.” Secretly, Billy was thinking, I’m the damn Liaison Officer between Tribal and the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I really should know more than I do. He turned back to his uncle and changed the subject. “How’s everything out in the country this morning, Uncle? Is Old Man T’Sosi still not feeling well? My mom heard he’d been sick. She told me to be sure and ask about him next time I saw you.”
Thomas just shook his head, “He’s not doing so good, Billy, and he won’t go to a doctor, neither. He says he is a doctor.”
Billy Red Clay rubbed his few chin whiskers, as though that small attention might encourage them to offer a better account of themselves. He fro
wned finally and said. “Well, you tell him my mom sent her best wishes. We all hope he gets better quick.”
Thomas nodded before glancing over at Charlie with a helplessness he couldn’t hide. He, too, hoped Paul would get better, but was beginning to have serious doubts.
Upstairs, Charlie Yazzie, raised an eyebrow when the receptionist said Agent Smith would be a few minutes late. As far as he knew, Fred Smith was seldom late for anything. The woman looked the three over and waved them to the adjacent conference room. “He’ll be along shortly; there’s a pot of fresh coffee on the sideboard…feel free to help yourself.” The woman had a recognizable Oklahoma accent along with a slightly superior air, which is not generally the case with those people, at least not in Charlie Yazzie’s experience.
The three moved directly to the coffee and began fixing their cups. Thomas was pleased to note a small pitcher of real cream. He liked cream in his coffee; he’d grown up with canned evaporated milk on the reservation and had only come to real cream late in life. He held the little stainless creamer up for the others to see. “Our tax dollars at work,” he smiled and splashed a healthy dollop atop the small mountain of sugar already in the cup, then added steaming coffee to the brim before stirring, careful not to slop any on the polished mahogany sideboard. The other two men stood patiently as Thomas took a long slow slurp and pronounced the brew perfect. The Navajo take their coffee seriously and go out of their way to make the slightest occasion an obligatory time for the drink. Thomas headed to the table, saying under his breath, “You’d a thought, though, they could afford a few doughnuts or something, them getting us out so early and all.” Thomas was partial to doughnuts and considered them the ultimate token of hospitality.
Day of the Dead Page 2