White Wolf McLeod

by David J. Wallis

  The Brave’s demeanor became a bit more conciliatory. “You sound like you might be an Indian—a strange Indian, however.”

  It was White Wolf’s turn to stand. “Thank you. You’ve answered a question I have wondered about for a long time.” He turned to his half-brother. “It’s time to go.”

  “But we just got here,” Busting Teeth objected.

  “I don’t belong here,” White Wolf declared and left the bar-restaurant, never to return.

  He arrived at Director Ebel’s fair-sized domicile after his team members had been at the party for at least thirty minutes. He noted that they congregated to themselves, signifying that they did not care for this shindig any more than he did. He moved towards them at a leisurely pace, nodding to people who greeted him and wished him a “Merry Christmas.” I’m Buddhist, he wanted to say, but he kept his peace. When in the White Man’s world, act like a White Man, or so the sage who first spoke such words had implied. He figured he would only have to put up with this nonsense for a couple of hours, and he could return home to his family.

  “Don’t say it,” he warned his team when he saw the traditional seasonal words form on Mary’s lips.

  “You want a drink, boss?” Tim offered.

  “Ginger ale. And I mean just ginger ale.”

  Tim nodded and left to go over to the open bar.

  “Chino, you look none the worse for wear,” he complimented the man.

  “I’m okay,” he responded nonchalantly. “It brought back memories I’d just as soon as forget.”

  “I can understand that,” McLeod agreed, having a number of his own he would like to bury for good. “Next time I have a bright idea like that, just tell me to go to hell.”

  Chino’s granite face did not crack a smile. “I have no regrets, Chief. I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for this job. Sometimes it’s all in the luck, the throw of the dice.”

  “Sam, what happened to the memo on Simmons?” Mary asked.

  “I told them what was in the memo,” Charlie admitted. He accepted McLeod’s glare of disapproval rather sheepishly, like a recalcitrant child. Yet, he defended himself. “It’s like you once said, sir. We are a team. The right hand has to know what the left hand is doing, or we’re doomed to making mistakes and failure.”

  Tim returned with McLeod’s ginger ale, which he took with his right hand. “Then you all know that it was very incriminating. I had thought about turning it over to the Justice Department. But I’m afraid that there are people in high places who are just as crooked, if not worse, than he was. As it turned out, it not only bought Chino’s freedom but also solved our problems better than a long investigation and a trial that probably wouldn’t have produced any real results. And it was fairly obvious in the end that it was Simmons who had given us this case in hopes we would get rid of Welsh for him so he could move up the political ladder.”

  “You sound like you condone vigilantism, boss,” Tim commented.

  McLeod shook his head. “No. I believe in justice by whatever means it’s meted out.” He drank from his glass, his eyes watching for any reaction from his team.

  “Have you met the new Director yet?” Charlie asked, adroitly changing the subject.

  “Guess I should and get it over with,” McLeod said with the attitude of a condemned man.

  “We’ll go with you,” Mary told him compassionately.

  “Anyone know his background?” the Marshal queried, hoping for some foundation he could operate from when he met with the man.

  “He was some kind of undersecretary for one of the Supreme Court Judges. He’s a lawyer, criminal law, I think,” Charlie told the team. “I think he has friends in the State Department, but I’m not sure.”

  “Charlie, what am I ever going to do without you,” McLeod breathed as he moved towards the Director.

  “I did right, didn’t I?” Charlie asked.

  Mary laughed and touched his arm comfortably. “He has a lot of faith in you, Charlie. He’d be lost without you. Now, come on.”

  Daniel Ebel was a tall, dark-haired man in his early forties and slender in build. He exuded an air of confidence and charisma, and he genuinely seemed in his element, greeting and talking with people. He espied McLeod and his team approaching him and broke free from several guests attempting to engage him in conversation. “Marshal Sam McLeod,” he greeted, extending his hand towards him. Then he withdrew the hand quickly. “Sorry. I forgot that you don’t like pressing flesh.”

  “The Director seems to know something of me,” McLeod rejoined appraisingly.

  “Come with me, please. I’d like a moment where we can talk a little more politely.”

  “This is my team,” McLeod presented. “We operate kind of like hand and glove.”

  “Yes. I’ve read their files, too,” Ebel admitted. “I look forward to meeting each of you separately,” he addressed them as a group. “Right now, I hope that you would forgive my lack of etiquette while I talk to your boss privately.”

  Mary, Charlie, Tim, and Chino had no other option presented them than to accept the situation and back away gracefully while Ebel steered McLeod to the balcony of his three-story condominium.

  “Normally,” the Director began, “I prefer to conduct business in the office. I hate parties where someone spoils the moment by bringing up work. But I need to make an exception in this case because of the holidays.

  “I’ve tried to do my homework on you. I went beyond reading your file. I’ve talked to just about everyone who has even heard of you. You’re a rare bird, McLeod. One could say that you are a maverick. But I kind of find your behavior refreshing. The last thing I want is to be surrounded by a number of ‘yes’ men or officers of the Court who are more interested in their own welfare than the nation’s. The point I’m trying to make the hard way is that I want you on my team. I want to know that you are supporting me. I know that you’re going to need some time to get to know me, to trust me. But I want you to believe that I appreciate your work in the Department and hope that you’ll continue to give me your best effort.”

  “You’ll have to forgive my skepticism, Director Ebel,” McLeod responded evenly, “but I have been told this before by your predecessors.”

  Ebel held up his hands as in surrender as he half-circled away from the Marshal, looking out over the balcony railing into the courtyard below. “I know what you are thinking. Welsh and Simmons were dirty. You probably think that I am dirty, too. I can tell you that I’m not, but why should you believe me? You have my full permission to investigate me. Oh, I know all about your sources. A good Marshal has to have good sources.”

  “I may have burned all my bridges with this last case,” McLeod found himself revealing his team’s current vulnerabilities.

  Ebel nodded. “Then, maybe I can steer you onto some others. I have a few markers in my pocket that I haven’t called in yet. Consider them my gift to you and as a token of my genuine desire to not only keep you in the Department but convince you that I am not like my predecessors.”

  “I’ll certainly keep your offer in mind, sir.” If the Director was on the up and up, as McLeod hoped, it certainly would be a fresh breath of air for the Department.

  “Good. Now, to the point I want to talk about. I’d like you to consider becoming my Deputy.”

  “Sir?” The offer not only came out of left field, it was the last thing McLeod expected from his new superior.

  “Your name was on the consideration list for the Director’s position. Did you know that?”

  McLeod shook his head. “I never entertained the thought, considering my background.”

  “Yes, I know. You’re part Indian.”

  “Actually, sir, I’m part White,” he corrected.

  “Yes, whatever,” Ebel waved the accuracy aside with a smile. “Discrimination and prejudice are still rampant in this country, despite all of the laws against it. They don’t go far enough, however. Maybe that’s why Martin Luther King is so popular
. He’s going to make this country sit up and take notice before he’s through, and I hope it is for the better, for all people.”

  “Permission to speak freely, sir.”

  “Sure, go ahead. I told you, I want to garner your trust, and I hope you will want to be honest with me, too.”

  “I have a hard time sympathizing with the Blacks and their cause,” McLeod stated with growing ire, “mainly because their movement ignores my people. The Blacks were brought to this country in chains, against their will. They suffered slavery and ignominy. But they were freed by a Constitutional Amendment. But you cannot legislate what’s in people’s hearts, only by educating the children that they have to get along.

  “But frankly, on a personal level, I don’t care if the White Man and the Black Man start killing each other. Your ancestors came to my land on a boat, uninvited. They brought with them a disease that decimated my people. We foolishly invited your ancestors to live among us and taught them how to survive, which they wouldn’t have if we hadn’t helped them. We should have never allowed them to land. We should have killed them then as they stepped onto our shores.

  “You know how your ancestors rewarded my people’s help? They continued to expand their settlements. They pushed my people further west and north, and when my people refused to leave their homelands, the Whites killed them. They initiated a war we did not want but were not afraid to fight. The United States Government made several peace treaties with our tribes, and it broke every one of them. It rounded up the Indians that remained in the United States and put them into giant concentration camps called reservations. It prevented the migration of tribes that did not want to stay in those reservations and sought solace in Canada. It robbed the Indian of his dignity, his freedom, and his sense of well-being. It took boys off the reservation and sent them back East to educate them; then it returned them to the reservation and abandoned them. Did you know that the suicide rate among the Indians is the highest compared to any other race?

  “The Black Man has been given rights. He needs only to fight for them. Our Government rounded up the Japanese on the West Coast during World War II and put them into concentration camps. And they received compensation from the Government along with an apology when the war was won. Has the Indian ever received an apology? Have they ever received any compensation? The Black Man will some day overcome the separate water fountains and eating establishments. Hell, we might even see a Black president in the next fifty years. But the Indians are still treated like conquered prisoners of war. There are still laws on the books that prevent my people from enjoying all the rights and privileges accorded both the Black and the White Man.

  “We destroyed the governments and economies of the Germans and the Japanese. Then after the war, we spent billions in putting them back on their feet, and now they are ready to challenge the United States for supremacy in just about every global market there is. Our Government used my people in the war as code-talkers, and after it was done with them, it threw them away, told them to go back to the reservations without even so much as a ‘thank you.’ It might interest you to know that many Indian tribes are still at war with the United States.”

  “And are you still at war with the Government, McLeod?” Ebel asked poignantly.

  “Not at the moment,” McLeod quipped, calming down, surprised that he had made such a long speech. “As long as I wear the badge, I serve the people of the United States, regardless of color or race.”

  “Well, frankly, McLeod—and I hope that you believe me—I don’t care what color or race you or any of your team is. I only care about performance. And I think that you, as my Deputy, can make a big difference. I am sorry about the way our Government has mistreated and continues to mistreat the Indian. I can’t do much about that as an individual. Someday, maybe, but not now. This country just might tear itself apart because of race issues. Since you have a personal understanding of the social problems that are ripping us apart from the inside, you’re the man I believe that can help the Government keep a lid on things. The last thing we can afford as a nation is to dissemble in the face of the Communist block, which is hoping for any excuse to rip our throats out.

  “You remember what President Lincoln warned the nation: no one outside the Government will ever have the power to destroy our great nation; the threat will come from within. So, what do you say to my offer?”

  McLeod breathed deeply twice before answering, “I’d like to think about it. I also appreciate your candor and the opportunity for promotion.”

  Ebel was all smiles. “Granted. We can talk some more after the New Years.”

  “What did he say, Sam?” Mary asked for all of them when he was reunited with them.

  “He offered me the position of Deputy Director.”

  “Way to go, bossman!”Tim exclaimed excitedly.

  “I haven’t accepted yet,” McLeod declared pointedly. He turned to Charlie, but the man beat him to the punch.

  “I’m already working on it, sir. I’ll have a dossier on him after the holidays that will roll your socks up and down.”

  “That’s why I keep you guys on the payroll.” McLeod thought he had said too much as he basked in the genuine respect of his team members. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I have had all the ‘Merry Christmas’ cheer I can stand for one year.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  VISION QUEST

  AS SPRING ANNOUNCED itself with the cherry trees sprouting the first buds that would eventually grace Washington, D.C. with its famous cherry blossoms, Marshal Sam McLeod decided that the time had come for him to take a vacation. As much as he might have wanted the promotion, it would have meant that he would have had to become a politician, and he hated politicians almost as much as he did the White Man’s world, for it would have meant that he would have to become a White Man completely, play the White Man’s games by the White Man’s rules, and sacrifice his own spirit in the process, which he adamantly could not and would not do. Director Ebel was greatly disappointed, but where he thought he might have lost a trusted right hand, he still had a loyal and efficient lawman in his Department upon whom he could rely completely.

  “Where you go, Yobo?” McLeod’s wife asked him as he prepared for his trip.

  “To the reservation,” he answered simply.

  “Good. You need to refresh your mind and body. When you come back?”

  McLeod shrugged. “When I come back.”

  “Okay. Have a safe trip.” He knew she would worry about him during his absence, but his peace of mind was one of her major concerns, and she wholeheartedly supported his return to his roots.

  It had been five years since he had last visited his home where he had grown up. So much had changed since he had first left, and yet, much remained the same. Therefore, he reasoned, it must have been himself that had changed. He had lived among the White Man too long, so that his mind, body, and spirit had been tainted by their poisonous ways. He needed to refresh himself and make himself whole again.

  He pulled into the reservation and noted that permanent buildings built in the style of the White Man’s cities had replaced the teepees and wickiups that had given the land its character and represented the People’s bonds with the Earth. He could no longer recognize the ground where his Grandfather’s teepee had once stood or where Grandmother had bent over the fire fixing her sumptuous meals that even now gave reason for White Wolf to salivate.

  He noticed, too, with sadness, that the Sweat Lodge had been constructed of plaster and wood, and he proceeded towards that building. The Medicine Man, a young lithe Indian dressed in jeans and a faded denim jacket, started to approach him. When they were within three paces of each other, they stopped and greeted each other.

  “Long time no see, White Wolf,” Running Bear greeted.

  “How did you know I was coming?” he queried, wanting to hear the answer he already suspected.

  “The Great Spirit sent the wolf spirit, and she told me to expect you and be ready
for you.”

  “Then you know why I have come back.”

  Running Bear bowed his head in the affirmative. “I have made all the preparations. We will be ready to proceed when you are.”

  “I request a vision quest first. Only then will I be ready to hear what the Great Spirit has to tell me.”

  “You will begin tomorrow. I have prepared a place for you to stay.”

  “I hope to God it isn’t one of these White Man dwellings.”

  Running Bear allowed an uncharacteristic smile to pass over his lips. “Our people remember you well, White Wolf. We honor you. We have prepared a proper dwelling for you to spend the night. In the morning, I will take you to a holy place where you may begin your vision quest.”

  “Thank you.”

  That evening, White Wolf entered a proper teepee and ate a hearty rabbit stew made by one of Running Bear’s female relatives, although it did not even come close to being as savory as his Grandmother’s. It would be his last meal for four days, and maybe that fact had a positive affect on it being good-tasting. Then he laid his head down and slept better than he had for many years.

  Running Bear appeared at the teepee at the break of day. He carried a bag in his left hand and an object wrapped in the skin of an otter under his right arm. “I have brought you the sacred food: water from a holy place, corn, berries, and meat.” He handed the bag to White Wolf and then proceeded to unwrap the bundle.

  “I won’t need that,” White Wolf told him, anticipating the Medicine Man’s gift. “I have brought my own.” He produced a peace pipe, commonly called a Chanunpa. “I made this the summer I turned eight while I was living with my Grandfather and Grandmother.”

  “That is good. Now, we go to the place where you will commune with the Great Spirit.”

  The Medicine Man drove White Wolf far away from the village until nothing but the land, the trees, and the sky could be seen for miles. Running Bear pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. “You go alone from here,” he instructed. “You will find an excellent place on the top of that hill.” He pointed across the dashboard to his left. “I’ll be back for you in four days time.”