by Joseph Flynn
“You might have mentioned that first.”
“I would have, but it’s problematic.”
John told DeWitt of his conversation with Marlene.
“So you’re saying, what, Marlene has the whole thing wired, but she wants you on hand to bring the curtain down?” DeWitt asked. “Make the arrest?”
“I was hoping the Bureau might like to handle that, if not you personally.”
DeWitt sighed. “Well, you know how that goes.”
John did. The FBI had responsibility for major crimes committed on Indian reservations, but since a very unfortunate shootout in South Dakota back in 1975 that left two special agents dead, the Bureau had chosen to tread lightly, leaving the heavy lifting to the BIA whenever possible.
The BIA, after all, also had authorization to conduct concurrent investigations on reservation related crimes. On top of that, John at least looked the part of someone who could make a major bust on Indian land without cries of racism being raised. And with Vice President Morrissey so deeply involved in the case, appearances would matter.
“Had to give it a try,” John said.
“Don’t blame you, but I think you’re the guy for this job. Hey, I do have some news for you, though. You were right about Brian Kirby. He bribed the judge of the model train contest. Otherwise Danner would’ve won.”
John laughed without humor. “And years later Danner finds out just in time to screw Kirby out of a fortune and a feud is born. Talk about karma.”
“Yeah, rich guys. What’re you going to do with them?”
“Lock Danner up, I hope.”
“That’d make for a nice change, wouldn’t it?” DeWitt asked.
“Absolutely.”
“You know how Danner’s journal got filched, right?”
“Sure.” John had been working on that all along. “Could’ve been only one way. He was too arrogant to think anyone would dare touch it. He left the damn thing out in the open somewhere instead of locking it up.”
“And along comes Merritt Kinney, poor sap.”
“I can empathize. I’m the chump being played here by Marlene. She’s got some trick in mind for me.”
“You want me to be the token FBI guy on hand?” DeWitt asked.
“I appreciate the offer, but you’re right about paying attention to how things will look. Even so, how about you and some of your best people position yourselves nearby and ride to the rescue if I send up a flare?”
“Will do. You going to keep Maj Olson with you?”
“I’m sure she won’t have it any other way.”
Hearing himself say that, John felt an unexpected sense of comfort.
He ended the call with DeWitt and downloaded a copy of “Railroaded: The Biography of Theodore Judah” onto his Kindle. He wanted to see what the last thing Merritt Kinney had read might tell him about Edward Danner.
Chapter 42
Northern New Mexico
Alan White River sat alone in the plush private train car attached to the Super Chief. None of the other chiefs ever wanted to enter it again. They knew what was coming and chose to stand well clear. The growing number of ordinary people arriving from tribes around the country — even Wampanoag, Oneida and Seminole people were flying in from the East Coast — would look on in amazement at the stolen locomotive and its passenger car but wouldn’t linger in their vicinity.
Powerful forces were about to be summoned, and it paid to be careful.
White River, however, was past worrying about his fate in this world or the one to come. He wouldn’t live long enough to care about what the white man’s courts did with him, and he had faith that his fate as judged by his ancestors would be neither more nor less than he deserved. The only anxiety he felt was the growing certainty that he had led Bodaway in the wrong direction, started his great-grandson off on a path that would end in disaster.
If that turned out to be so, White River knew he would never find peace.
He sat and brooded in a leather chair meant for a rich white man. Its size was intended to project an aura of power. Its comfort, yielding yet supportive, was sensuous. Enough to bring back memories of his beloved, long-dead wife. That thought struck him immediately as being unworthy of such a fine woman.
Try as he might, though, the idea was not easily shaken. He could imagine entwining himself with Awinita on this very —
No, that was going too far. He pushed himself to his feet more spryly than he’d done in more years than he could remember. “Old fool,” he muttered to himself in reproof.
Even in that moment of disapproval he couldn’t keep a smile from forming on his seamed face. If his wife’s spirit was one of those who would sit in ultimate judgment of him, and why wouldn’t it be, his fate couldn’t be too unkind. Maybe Awinita would even inspire him and work with him to find a way to save Bodaway.
What did the men who built the railroad use to save their spirits, he wondered. Anything at all? Or did they merely hope to indulge themselves so richly in the world of the flesh that any punishment that came afterward would be a small price to pay? White River had seen more of the white world than most of his people. He’d spoken at colleges around the country about the conditions in which so many of his people lived. He knew that there were great luxuries to be had in the larger country around him.
People from all over the world came to the United States, many willing to break immigration laws to do so, just so they might grasp a fragment of what had come to be called the American dream. Now there was an idea more seductive than any other: a country in which any man or woman might create their own idea of perfection.
He doubted even the spirit world offered such a compelling vision.
Then again, some dreams were just tissues of imagination.
As imperfect as they were fleeting.
Even the gleaming interior of a rich man’s rail car could not keep dust away. White River dragged arthritic fingers through a thin patina of grime on a mahogany desk. He felt a small wedge of wood unexpectedly yield to the meager pressure of his hand and the door of a concealed compartment opened, surprising him. As if trying to avoid setting his foot in a snare, he tottered backward as quickly as he could manage.
A moment later, having suffered no adverse consequence, he bent forward and peered at the object in the unsuspected space. Reason told him a thing had to be valuable if it was hidden. He strained his eyes to see what it was, and it looked like a book of some sort.
A leather bound volume with gilt-edged pages. A handsome thing. White River felt himself drawn to it, but he held back. The book itself might be a trap, and it did seem to convey a sense of danger. After a moment, though, his anxiety made him laugh.
He’d conceived and helped to execute the plan to steal this train, and now he was going to be worried about a book?
“Old fool,” he said to himself again.
He removed the book from its hiding place and closed the door. He found the spot in the dust his finger had touched and pressed it again. The door opened as before. Now he had a secret hiding place. He closed the door again and gently dusted the mahogany desk with his shirt sleeve to conceal the release point.
White River returned to the leather chair and opened the book’s cover.
The first thing he saw was a warning: Private Property. Read No Further. Violators Will Be Prosecuted. Edward Danner.
The old chief chuckled to himself and turned the page.
Chapter 43
Northern New Mexico
Arnoldo Black Knife quickly came to loathe the man who called himself Bodaway. The intruder had done in the blink of an eye what Arnoldo had been unable to do in a lifetime of trying. Warm the cold, dark stone that was his grandmother’s heart. More than simply offering Bodaway a smile or two, she’d clasped his hands in hers and pressed them to her withered bosom.
Maria Black Knife had always played the harsh taskmistress with Arnoldo, drilling him on the endless obligations he must heed to maintain their family’
s position of tribal leadership. Warning him of rivals he must always guard against, especially John Tall Wolf. Every day since childhood, the old woman had forced him to observe a litany of behaviors that had all but strangled his soul.
He’d told himself that his self-sacrifice was worth it. The rez had always been dirt poor, but his family had done far better than most. If they ever lost their eminent standing, well, the alternative was unthinkable.
Perhaps more so now than ever when it seemed real wealth was within grasp.
In the old days, there had been no engine of prosperity. Now, in partnership with a national hotel chain, there was a casino. That had brought jobs and for the first time aspirations of a middle-class life for more than a few. Dwarfing that development was the news from the energy companies. The seismic tests had been done, the geological maps had been generated and the news was overwhelmingly positive. The reservation sat atop a vast supply of natural gas.
Revenues from its exploitation would be unlike anything the tribe had ever known — if the bidding process and the licensing agreement with the winning company were carefully drawn, monitored and enforced. Maria Black Knife felt she was just the woman for the job.
But she’d made plain to Arnoldo her doubts about his ability to maintain the family’s preeminent position in the tribe. Their job was to make sure everyone else would feel lost without the Black Knife family to lead them.
“Who would feel helpless without you?” she’d asked Arnoldo.
He knew exactly what she meant. One time, just once when he was young, he had made the mistake of letting his grandmother see him cry. That night, she’d told him, “Your grandfather was strong and a great man. Your father was strong and he would have become great.”
If he hadn’t driven off a mountain road of substandard construction that crumbled under the wheels of his Jeep.
“You,” Maria told him, “are strong only when I stand behind you, stiffening your spine and reminding you to hold your head high.”
Erect posture was a cardinal virtue with Grandmother, as she insisted on looking down at the rest of the world. Arnoldo knew from that moment on that he would never truly lead the tribe as long as Maria Black Knife was alive. In all his life, Arnoldo had defied Maria in only one regard.
He would not allow her to choose a wife for him.
Her attempts at matchmaking had everything to do with building political alliances. Nothing to do with love or even the possibility of being able to converse comfortably with the woman in question. Not that grandmother had ever selected a woman for him. It was always young girls, only recently fertile, children who would be sure to cower before her.
Grandmother knew a mature bride might make an alliance with Arnoldo against her, and she would never stand for that.
Just as he wouldn’t consent to marrying a child.
Leaving Arnoldo alone and childless.
“This stubbornness of yours is a threat to our family,” Maria harped at him daily.
He’d once responded, “You can remarry after I die and give birth to a new chief.”
Grandmother had taken advantage of the fact that he was seated at that moment and slapped his face. Arnoldo had welcomed it. His character may have been as insubstantial as the road that had failed his father, but his body was rock solid. The blow had hurt his grandmother’s hand far more than it did him.
She never tried to hit him again. Her words were far better for leaving wounds.
None more so than when she told Bodaway, “You are the man I’ve been waiting for since my son Cesar died.”
The two of them had been talking of ways to kill John Tall Wolf. Maria Black Knife had been delighted to hear that Bodaway had conceived the same idea entirely on his own. That was what had made her heart glow with affection for him. Here was someone as bloodthirsty in his ambitions as she was in hers.
Grandmother had always warned Arnoldo that his cousin, John Tall Wolf, was their greatest threat. Now, with great riches so close, he was more dangerous than ever.
For a very long time, Arnoldo had believed her and hated Tall Wolf, even though the two of them had never met. Tall Wolf was supposed to be a predator, but he’d never hunted them. Just the opposite, he seemed to have no interest in them at all. As time passed and no real evidence of Tall Wolf’s menace ever revealed itself, Arnoldo’s fear of his cousin left him and his hatred for him soon followed.
So why was Grandmother scheming with the intruder, Bodaway, to kill him?
Because in Tall Wolf’s place she would have attacked?
Or was it simply a vile turn of mind to which she was addicted?
And why should it matter to Arnoldo that the old hag seemed to have found someone to supplant him? Riches would have only bound him further to a life he’d already come to hate. Living in Grandmother’s suffocating shadow.
The idea of being dispossessed did sting, but only for a moment.
Then the fact that Bodaway had arrived from the outside world introduced a revolutionary thought to Arnoldo’s mind. Maybe there was a place and a life for him somewhere outside the rez. Outside of New Mexico.
He was deeply ashamed that he’d never thought of that before now. The look of revelation must have shown on his face. Grandmother and Bodaway were staring at him.
“What?” he asked.
For the first time he could remember, Grandmother asked him, “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“You have no problem with the idea of my killing your cousin?” Bodaway asked.
“Why should I? I don’t know him.”
The two of them nodded, satisfied. No reason they shouldn’t be. Arnoldo had answered honestly. Only in the next breath, without saying a word, he changed his mind.
Tall Wolf had never done anything to hurt him.
Maybe Arnoldo should warn his cousin.
Let grandmother and the intruder see what happened to their plans then.
Then both Arnoldo and his grandmother were surprised to hear that Tall Wolf wasn’t Bodaway’s only target. He told Maria, “You know who represents the real danger to your family? Marlene Flower Moon.”
Hearing that, Maria Black Knife shrank from Bodaway.
He laughed at her fear. “Yes, I know. She’s supposed to be Coyote. But she’s arrived just in time to seize control of my great-grandfather’s plan. She’ll steal all the glory for what he’s done. She’ll also get credit from the white men for capturing Alan White River and landing him in their prison. So what’s left for me to do but trick the Trickster? My bet is she’ll die just like anyone else.”
Grandmother began to tremble.
Then with just a few words Bodaway won her back. He said, “Whatever plans you might have, she’ll steal those, too.”
Maria Black Knife was thunderstruck. Bodaway had it exactly right. Marlene Flower Moon wouldn’t let Maria keep the fortune that was about to land in her lap. Coyote would demand most if not all of it for herself.
That certainly was what Maria would have done, had she been Coyote.
It was hard for her to believe Bodaway might best Marlene Flower Moon, but where was the harm in letting him try? The only risk would be if Coyote found out she was involved. She turned to tell Arnoldo to remain silent about this plan. Never expecting any resistance from him.
Only he was already gone.
Having found even talk of such things to be more than he could bear.
That was how Maria saw things, and Bodaway thought little better of Arnoldo.
But Arnoldo had taken quite a different view of things.
He truly held no grievance against John Tall Wolf.
He was going to warn Tall Wolf of the threat Grandmother and Bodaway represented to him. Maybe he should even tell his cousin of Bodaway’s mad idea to kill Marlene Flower Moon. But Arnoldo decided not to go that far.
It would be more interesting to see what kind of damage Coyote would inflict on Bodaway.
Chapter 44
New
Mexico, rolling north
John Tall Wolf lay on the tiny bunk in his train compartment, folded up not quite as completely as a closed accordion but nearly so. He ignored the physical discomfort to concentrate on recalling his recent conversation with his parents. His father had called and spoken only briefly with his son.
Haden Wolf had told John, “Your mother told me she’d talked to you recently. So I thought I’d put in my two cents. Just be yourself. There’s very little your mother and I haven’t prepared you for. Your law enforcement training and experience is likely to cover any small gaps we might have left.”
Dad wasn’t being boastful, simply confident in himself, his wife and his son.
Most times, John felt the same way. That night, however, a sense of misgiving had returned. He felt a small, deep chill in his craw that refused to be displaced. He didn’t think the condition was physical or he would have told his father, a semi-retired physician.
He did tell his mother how he felt when she took her turn on the phone.
Speaking of John’s trepidation, Serafina Wolf y Padilla told her son, “It’s only natural. You very nearly died in your first few hours of life, after your birth mother banished you from her reservation. If you were able to return to that place without any concerns, then I would worry about you.”
“So you think it’s going to be smooth sailing?” John asked.
“I think you will navigate any storm to your own advantage.”
“And Coyote?” John asked.
“You’re the one who chose to work for the woman you believe to be Coyote. I’ve always thought that was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen anyone do. And from what I know, you’ve always held your own with her.”
“I only have to come out on the short end one time for everything to change,” John said.
“Then don’t let that happen. Are you feeling well?”
“Physically, yes. Emotionally, it’s a challenge.”
“Have you spoken to Rebecca about this?”
“No.”