Bush Blues

by Sheldon Schmitt

  Frank N Beans knew his boss’s son Charlie Johnson. At first they had been friends, despite Charlie’s hatred of his father. But the friendship cooled some on Frank’s side as Charlie became more violent and unpredictable. Frank remained friendly toward Charlie but tried to avoid him or found reasons not to be around him.

  Snow asked Frank about Buck Nelson and the rumors of the ivory and alcohol.

  “Eee!” Frank said. “Buck anik puck boosh, yah”

  Snow and Frank N Beans went back and forth with motions and broken English with some Yupik mixed in, spiced liberally with shits and fucks.

  Snow determined that Frank had no firsthand knowledge of Nelson trading alcohol for ivory. Frank N Beans had only heard the same rumor as Stanley. He also heard the rumors about Bullshit Bob and his dealings with Buck Nelson. He hated the “gussok ashhole fuck!”

  In the middle of the humorous exchange with Snow, Frank repeated his brother’s suggestion: to find Peetook, a guide for the small fishing lodge upriver. Snow did not know him well, but it was worth a shot.

  Snow put his hand on Frank N Beans’s strong, busy shoulder.

  “Quyana. Thanks.”

  CHAPTER 10

  THE VILLAIN

  Chief Snow decided to take the overland route to the Togiak fishing lodge a few miles upriver. It was the only lodge in the immediate area. People came in by bush plane, which would land right on the river. The lodge had rustic cabins to house the guests and a cook shack with a mess hall and area to relax. The lodge employed a number of fishing guides and general laborers. Customers paid a lot of money to come this far into the bush to fish.

  Most of the time, the people of Togiak never saw customers of the lodge. The owners generally did not employ locals, as they were tied up during fishing season. The lodge’s crew mostly came from the Anchorage area or the lower forty-eight. Lodges, canneries, and other businesses would hire young people to work for the summer. They would work cheaper than local Alaskans, and it was an adventure for them. And they generally drank little and caused less problems than the locals.

  It took longer to ride an ATV on the trail cut inland than to wind up the Togiak River by boat, but Snow was unable to find a skiff to use and did not want to wait. Besides, he enjoyed riding a four-wheeler, even though it was pretty rough at times over the muskeg and tundra. He enjoyed the solitude and the peace of being alone out in the wild.

  The trail was easy to follow and led north and east, away from the ocean and the river delta. There was a huge, flat floodplain adjacent to river. The river would flood every year or two and spill into the flats. Sometimes the river would get dammed up with ice and flood; at other times, the spring or fall storms would push the tides. The land was swampy, and in many places there was squalid water standing in pools. The trail skirted the edge of the floodplain.

  Off to the north were the foothills of the Tikchik Mountains, which could be seen on a clear day but not today. The sun was out and the weather was calm, but there were clouds and overcast hiding the mountains.

  As he made his way inland, the trail veered closer to the river. A few trails led off the main one toward hunting cabins or fish camps. The cabins were just plywood shacks used for shelter as people came upriver to hunt and fish. There were a couple set-net camps as well, used to commercially fish for salmon using gill nets attached to the shore. Those cabins were usually a little larger and better maintained; people worked the set nets as long as they could make money at it. The fishing season had not started yet, but it was a sure bet that folks had been up the trail to camp. Mostly people went by boat, but people also rode four-wheelers as Snow was doing that day.

  After several hours of negotiating the trail, Snow approached the lodge. He immediately sought out and made contact with Peetook, who was an Alaskan Native from another village inland. He was a higher-risk employee for the lodge, but he was experienced. This kind of activity was exactly what the lodge hoped to avoid. Snow immediately felt sure he could break him. He saw it in Peetook’s eyes and his mannerisms: The guide was a lousy liar and knew Buck Nelson’s operations.

  Snow was good at getting information from people. He did not think much about it. It was instinctive to him. Usually people wanted to talk. I simply let them, he thought. Peetook wanted to talk about this bootlegging business. He just did not know it yet.

  Peetook denied trading ivory to Buck Nelson for alcohol. Snow put up his hand.

  “I already know about it,” Snow said. “What I am trying to figure out is how long this has been going on. I mean, has this been going on for years, or did you just start doing this? And why? Were you just needing a jug, or what? I can’t imagine you doing something like this unless you really needed the booze.”

  “Hey, I only did it once. I mean, I didn’t even want to, really. I mean, Buck really wanted ivory, and I had a couple heads I got from my cousin. I’m a carver,” Peetook explained. He went to his bunk and pulled out a light-tan canvas bag that looked like it was made out of old tent material. He opened the bag and showed Snow a piece he was working on.

  “Wow, that’s nice work,” Snow said as he held the piece up this way and that in the light. It was a small piece of ivory about five inches long that had been shaped to resemble a walrus.

  “Eee. I learned from my appa—my grandfather. He was a master. We would sit by the fire in winter and I would watch him. He would talk sometimes about what he was doing. He would give me small pieces and give me instruction and what-do, sometimes. He finally gave me a piece of my own one day,” Peetook said.

  “Do you have anything I can buy from you?”

  “Eee, I got a couple more pieces.”

  Peetook showed Snow another piece similar to the one he was working on.

  Snow knew that people needed a reason or excuse to talk. They needed to rationalize their behavior. Alcohol was the main reason bad things happened out here anyway, so it was only common sense to use it as a theme to get folks to open up and talk about the things they did. Peetook did need the “boosh.” He never really wanted to trade the walrus heads, but he had been desperate for a jug. It had been Nelson’s idea about the ivory—the police chief was certain of that.

  “How many jugs you get for the head, Peetook?”

  “I got two jugs. It was a shit deal.”

  Peetook was afraid of Buck Nelson, but he gave him up when Snow explained things to him. Snow was not worried about Peetook. He only wanted Buck Nelson. Peetook could get a slap on the wrist for harvesting the ivory because he was local, but the chief wanted a bigger trophy in Nelson.

  “Buck said now that Bullshit Bob was out of the way, he could do more business. It sounded like poor Bullshit and Buck were not getting along that good before Bob bit the bullet.”

  “What else did he say?” Snow asked.

  “He said he wanted me to get him more ivory. But I said no more.”

  “He say anything else about Bullshit Bob?”

  “Nah. Just that Bob was a worthless piece of shit and he was happy he was gone.”

  “Take your time and think. He say anything about Bob? How he died, or anything?”

  Peetook thought for a bit.

  “Nah, not really. Just said he was glad the old fuck was out of the way. He was tired of feeding him booze,” said Peetook.

  When they finished talking, Snow left. He had a walrus head with two nice tusks strapped on the back of his four-wheeler and several plastic jugs of Windsor Canadian whiskey. He had also purchased a nice carving from Peetook. He wanted to give it to Lilly as a gift.

  He had enough information and evidence to charge Buck Nelson with selling alcohol and illegally obtaining ivory. Both were fairly serious offenses. Nelson had also made some remarks about Bullshit Bob that tantalized Snow. It sounded like Bullshit Bob grew tired of his partner, the gussok Buck Nelson. Maybe enough even to turn him in to the police. It gave Nelson a motive. But without some physical evidence, there was not enough. Snow wanted Buck Nelson to have a serious e
motional event. And he wanted to be the one catch him when he fell.

  Buck Nelson didn’t act worried when Peetook told him that Chief Snow had been asking him questions. Peetook did not tell Nelson everything he said to Snow, but Nelson knew Peetook was weak and guessed that if he had not rolled yet, he would.

  “So, what did the chief ask you, Peetook?”

  “He’s fishing around. He asked about who’s selling jugs and shit like that. I didn’t say nothing.”

  “What else?”

  “Nothing really,” Peetook hedged.

  “He ask about ivory, tusks or heads?”

  “Oh yeah, right. He asked something about that, but I played dumb,” said Peetook.

  Buck Nelson was not sure how much Peetook had said already. But it was past time to send a stronger message.

  “I need a drink; you got something handy?” Nelson asked.

  As Peetook looked around, Nelson grabbed him and threw him to the ground. Peetook was caught off guard. Nelson sat astride Peetook and pinned him with his left hand on Peetook’s throat. Pulling his bone-handled Gerber buck knife from his pocket, Nelson expertly opened it with his thumb. Nelson liked to use this knife for skinning and sharpened it frequently. He held the knife point a couple inches from Peetook’s eye.

  “Don’t move, you fucking pussy, or I might accidently cut out your eye,” Nelson snarled. Peetook eyes were wide, but he was quiet and not squirming.

  Buck Nelson talked in a low voice. “Whatever you said to the police, you better hope it had nothing to do with me. And you better not say nothing about me to anyone, you hear me?”

  Peetook nodded.

  “If you fuck me over, I will fuck you up, then dump your body in a crab pot. You understand?”

  Peetook nodded again.

  Buck Nelson folded his knife and put it away. He then slapped Peetook on the head with his big, rough fisherman hands before he took off, leaving Peetook on the ground.

  Buck Nelson thought odds were good that he would never be charged for the ivory and the alcohol he traded for it. Even if the cops do gain some traction, things can happen, Nelson reasoned. People could change their stories, or disappear.

  Nelson was smart. He was raised in a tough environment where you either used your wits to survive or you got chewed up, whether by the tough kids in the neighborhood or the system. He was raised in south Seattle. His father was a drunk who worked on the docks off Lake Union.

  One night, his father came home drunk and tried to push Nelson around. Nelson, at just age fourteen, stood up to his father. He beat his father senseless. His brother, Butch, put the boots to their father as he lay on the floor bleeding. Their father died from his injuries. They were better off, and it was Buck Nelson’s first taste of blood.

  He and his brother were sent to the juvenile detention center in south Seattle. His brother took the brunt of the charges to protect his little brother, who was two years younger. Because of that, Butch spent considerably more time in juvenile jail.

  Nelson was grateful, but there was no great bond between the brothers. They trusted each other more than other people, but not by much. They were hard boys who turned into harder men.

  Butch did well in the heroin trade in Seattle and Tacoma. He made some connections in Anchorage as well. Nelson smuggled heroin for his brother on occasion. In Anchorage, he met other people in the drug trade. He also met people who lived out in the bush, like Bullshit Bob Pollack.

  Buck Nelson met Bullshit Bob down at the 4th Avenue Bar in Anchorage where he met his connection to make a drop. Bob was with his lady, Nancy, and some other Natives. After the deal was done, Nelson’s connection introduced him to his Native friends. Nelson liked Bullshit Bob and his friends. They accepted him into their group. They seemed naïve to Nelson, easily manipulated. They talked about their lives in the bush, and it sounded so different from what Nelson had known.

  Nelson and his brother had been pinched a couple times on drug charges. But nothing too serious. Nelson did not get into heroin like Butch did. Butch liked heroin. Nelson only dabbled in the drug trade for the money. He was not interested in sticking a needle in his arm. Heavy dealing and usage could lead to murder, which was exactly what happened with Butch. He killed rivals or those who owed money. It was part of the business.

  Buck Nelson learned from his brother’s mistakes. Butch was serving five years in prison. Nelson thought his brother had gotten sloppy—that the drugs were the reason his brother was in jail. Not the selling, but the using.

  Buck Nelson wanted one thing: money, so he could have a decent life. He dreamed of having a house and a normal life, whatever normal was. He was not sure anymore. He knew he needed money, though. At least then he would have a shot. He would do just about anything to get it.

  Nelson saw an opportunity to infiltrate the local booze and pot scene by taking up Bullshit Bob up on the offer to work his set-net sites. Nelson literally learned the ropes—the area and its people. What he soon discovered was that Bullshit Bob, and most of his network of friends and associates, were hopeless alcoholics, no better than Nelson’s druggy brother.

  Buck Nelson made enough money his first summer working for Bullshit Bob to get his pilot’s license. The next year, he bought an old Cessna 160 for $7,000. He had seen how things worked and had plans. He could easily and safely bring in enough alcohol and drugs to pay off the plane in no time. He was careful and smart about it. So far, he had not been close to getting caught.

  Even better, he had a steady supply of pot and hooch for Bullshit Bob and his friends. That had been part of his plan almost from the beginning. Bob was weak. If Nelson made the alcohol available, Bob would soon be into him for money. And it worked out just as Nelson planned. Bob handed over his commercial fishing licenses to Buck Nelson to pay off booze debt. Now Nelson owned one of the set-net permits on his own, a potential gold mine that would bring him even more money and provide a way to launder his ill-gotten gains.

  Buck Nelson learned the fishing business fast. The set-net part was easy to do. But he was eager and soon realized that he could be doing a lot more than that. Enforcement was sparse out in the bush. The fish cops paid more attention to the drifters than the set-netters. Nelson developed a simple system. When the tides were right, he would hang a net out upriver and simply supplement his sockeye set-net catch with what he could catch during the nights of fog or when there was the cover of darkness in May and August. It was called “creek robbing.” The trick was to not get too greedy.

  Fish and game officers, called “fish cops,” set fishing boundaries. The boundaries corresponded to longitude and latitude lines that could be plotted on navigational maps or put into GPS radar. There were also markers on shore—a reflector and light on a metal post. If the fish cops caught you fishing over the lines, the penalty could be tens of thousands of dollars and even seizing the violator’s boat.

  One time, Nelson loaded his boat during a foggy night in July. It was unbelievable. The river was solid with fish up past the line. You could scoop them out with your hands. Nelson had never seen anything like it. And the money he made! That year, the fisherman were making almost a buck a pound; he made nearly twenty grand that night. He had to discipline himself not to do it too often, or he would draw attention to himself.

  As it was, he was the highliner for the set-netters that year—the guy who caught the most fish. A lot of people noticed.

  When some implied he was cheating by fishing nights or past the legal line, Nelson said he simply worked much harder than the local drunks he competed with. That might be true, but local folks knew some cheechako here from Washington State couldn’t out-fish them after just one season. They weren’t that dumb, and this Buck Nelson fella wasn’t that smart.

  Nelson proved them right in August of his first season. Usually, Nelson slept in the fishing shack upriver during the season. It was pretty comfortable and he had what he needed. This night, he went to Bullshit Bob’s main house outside of Togiak. He nee
ded some things.

  He also wanted to make sure that Bullshit Bob and Nancy had enough alcohol. He did not want them to get alcohol from someone else. It was like money in his pocket. He was well on his way to getting Bob’s second site, which actually belonged to Nancy. After that he would not need them anymore, unless he wanted to get the house, too. He liked the house and thought that would be good.

  He came to Bob’s late. It was dark. He was not surprised to find Bob and Nancy both passed out drunk. Bob was in his chair in the living room. Nancy was passed out in the bed. Nelson got the things he needed and was prepared to leave. He turned back. He walked over to the bed where Nancy was sleeping. She was only half covered by a blanket. He could see her skin and the white of her bra.

  Nelson had not had a woman in a long time. Usually he got a hooker, or a drunken Native woman would take care of his needs. Nancy was older, but he had a strong need. He pulled back the blanket and saw her panties. In the darkness, he decided she looked pretty good. He decided he was going to take her.

  Nelson was careful. He checked the door and made sure it was locked. He gently shook Bullshit Bob, but he was out cold. Nelson found some Vaseline in the bathroom. He wanted to make sure he had some lubrication. The anticipation had made his need even greater. He felt like he was about to burst. He gently rolled Nancy over. She moaned and mumbled. He pulled off her panties and mounted her.

  Nancy began to wake up. He could tell she was very drunk but kind of knew what was going on. He grabbed a pillow and put it over her face to keep her quiet. She was so drunk she weakly flailed her arms. It did not take Nelson long to finish. He was only interested in sexual gratification—not violence. But still, he took long enough for Nancy to be dead.

  CHAPTER 11

  THE AMBUSH

  It was getting late as Snow began the trip back to town. Summer was near, so it stayed light until late, with only a few hours of darkness, and he left anyway. He wanted to get back and was not worried about the light. His mind was busy working on the case. He wondered if Nelson had truly snuck back that night and shot his partner, making it look like a suicide. Or did Bob simply shoot himself? Not likely, based on the evidence.