Case File: Bright Sun (Case Files of Newport Investigations)

by Pat Price

  "I tried calling you earlier this week but you have the bad habit of not turning your cell phone on unless you are using it," he said, "I told my father about the job and asked him to keep his eyes open. There seems to be a certain synchronicity at work here. You and my father found out about Bear Olson about the same time. It’s almost like the information is floating around in the ether somewhere and just starts falling out. If I ever think of doing a doctorate program I think it will be that aspect of information theory.” He stopped talking and looked to be in deep thought.

  "Why don’t we pass this on to Mendoza and let him and the FBI get a warrant and just arrest everyone connected with this?" I said, somewhat put out with the government.

  "Because my impetuous white friend, they have to play by the rules. If they blindly go and arrest Olson along with all of his friends and they can't find the fuel or the weapons they will, other than looking stupid, have to let all of them go. Then the shit will really hit the fan." He pulled three green packets of an artificial sweetener from the cute little basket on the table and tore one end off of them. He then dumped all three packets into his coffee and stirred the light brown liquid.

  "Why?" I asked, already knowing the answer before the word was fully out of my mouth.

  "Because they would be arresting a respected member of the law enforcement community and in a state that doesn't necessarily like the federal government in the first place. About three years ago Olson was cited by the Governor of the state for saving lives in a massive accident. Then about a year ago he was driving by a house and saw smoke coming from under a roof and he rescued a 70 year old couple who had been overcome by smoke. Olson would probably sue everyone connected with the operation up to the attorney general and if the suit were filed in Arizona he would probably win. After he collected he would still probably increase the production of green glass wherever he decided to set the nukes off," he said. He took a sip of coffee and continued, "Remember, it's the same law that keeps the rich from sleeping in the streets as well as the poor."

  "The two top guys in the local militia said they bagged someone from inside in Olson's group who gave him up," I told Jimmy as Connie walked up to the table with an arm full of plates.

  She slid oval plates loaded with scrambled eggs and pancakes in front of me. A plate with eggs over medium and pancakes went in front of Jimmy. A plate appeared between us loaded with country sausage and bacon. Another plate near the edge of the table contained six slices of toast. There was rye for me, white for Jimmy. I was convinced that I would not be eating again until late in the evening.

  "What did the militia boys do with the Indian they bagged, drop him down a mine shaft to make him talk?" Jimmy asked after swallowing a mouth full of food.

  "I asked McClintock that question and he reminded me of our last job, so I decided that I didn't need to ask any other questions about that," I said, before shoveling another fork full of eggs into my own mouth. We were both quiet while we cleaned off about half of the area on both plates.

  "So," Jimmy finally said, "did they say why they didn't call the FBI?"

  "You have to remember who we're talking about," I said. "The thing that surprised me is that McClintock, the leader maximum, is not a racist. In fact, the old son of a bitch ranted on about how the U.S. Government screwed the Vietnamese people because they were of color and not white." I had eaten all of the pancakes I could so I moved the plate to the table next to us and nibbled on a piece of rye toast and a swallow of coffee.

  "So what we have here is a “principle.” They wouldn't inform on Olson because they don't trust the government," Jimmy said, making an observation and not posing a question.

  "Well, it actually sounds that way. They were not, however, going to let Olson run loose."

  "What do you mean?" Jimmy said, taking a sip of now warm coffee.

  "Bob, McClintock's main man, said that he or they, but mostly he, was prepared to kill everyone in the group including Olson. And he was ready to do them one at a time until he found the weapons."

  "Weapons," Jimmy said, raising his eyebrows, "like in more than one?"

  "That's what Uncle Howard said. He told me this morning that this powerful Apache was prepared to kill two cities. He even named the cities," I said, draining my coffee jar.

  Jimmy picked up the coffeepot and poured me another cup. Sometimes living with a chief can be annoying.

  "I need to talk to Howard," Jimmy said, standing and wiping his mouth at the same time. He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and dropped a twenty on the table. "Let's boogie."

  -33-

  I went and said goodbye to Connie, who had tears in her eyes. "Y’all come back and see us," she said, hugging me. "And don't you forget me and Daddy."

  "I won't." I promised and wondered why I said that because I figured that my chances of returning to Kingman were probably slim and none. She finally released me and I turned and walked out of the kitchen and across the big room to the doorway. I stopped before opening the glass paneled door and turned. I had been staying at the roadhouse about seven weeks, but it felt like a lot longer. The people I had met in the dining room and the bar were real people not like the ones I ran into in California! The roadhouse was a place that was real and not plastic. I turned and left.

  Jimmy was already in Howard's truck and the engine was running.

  "Did you find the starter button when you borrowed it," he said.

  "Of course I found the starter button," I said over the sound of the noisy engine. "After Howard showed it to me," I thought to myself. I unlocked the Ford and slid behind the wheel and started the big V8 turning over. I backed up then turned around in the gravel parking lot and pulled out onto the two-lane road-heading northeast, toward Howard's gas station on the reservation. Jimmy pulled out behind me and slowly gained speed over the next half mile.

  Howard's truck was humble, but it ran, slow and steady if not fast.

  We arrived at Howard's about six minutes later in less time that it normally takes me to cover a mile on foot at a good run.

  Someone in a sports car was pumping his own gas. Howard was sitting in the same chair he always sat in, tipped back against the front of the building. I parked in front of the building and Jimmy parked on the side. Howard looked up as Jimmy and I climbed out of the trucks. Jimmy closed the driver's door and walked over to Howard.

  "Ya-ta-hay Uncle," he said, sticking his right hand out. Howard stood and took his hand.

  "Ya-ta-hay," Howard replied. He had a smile on his face. "Now I know where he got his manners," Howard said to Jimmy, nodding his head sideways toward me. "I knew he wasn't an Indian even though some of the young ones are light skinned like him." Jimmy smiled at what Howard said about me. He started talking to Howard in some dialect I knew was not Apache. They went back and forth for several minutes then Howard laughed.

  "No fair guys," I said.

  Howard looked at me and said, "He told me you followed him home and he asked his father if he could keep you. He said that his father said it was all right if you did not eat too much. He also said that his sister likes you but to not tell you." Now it was my turn to smile as I looked at Jimmy.

  "I guess he must like you," Jimmy said, "because what just happened is known as what goes around comes around. We’ll talk more in the truck. Let’s get going."

  -34-

  Leaving Kingman was like leaving California. I can probably count the number of friends I have on my left hand. Spending seven weeks in Kingman forced me to have to count at least three more friends on my right hand. The fact that these people did not even know my real name left me with some feelings of guilt. The only way I was able to redeem myself was to promise myself that I would come back here and tell them the truth.

  We drove back to the Interstate on old Highway 66 and turned east, toward Flagstaff.

  About 13 miles east of Kingman, State Highway 93 branches off of I-40 and runs south toward Phoenix. The area is all high desert so the scene
ry did not tend to change mile after mile. Scrub pine and brush was scattered past the Highway right of way. Some of the roads in Arizona are more than 50 to 60 years old and the native plants have yet to grow back where the earthmovers first scrapped the ground clear for the Highways.

  Traveling south on the state highway we passed never ending clumps of mailboxes supported by weathered gray wood posts and rusted metals poles holding them above the sand and rock. The interesting observation I made was that while almost every signpost with mileage markers, names of towns, or speed limits had bullet holes in them, none of the mailboxes had been shot.

  We pulled in a little town called Wikieup, about 60 miles from Kingman on the State Highway. We stopped to get rid of too many cups of Connie's coffee and to replace it with more coffee. The town consisted of a gas station that looked like Howard's station on the reservation and a restaurant with six booths and six stools in front of a counter.

  Jimmy and I sat at one end of the counter and drank hot strong coffee while a man at the gas station filled the Ford. The thought went through my mind that Wikieup was probably the home of the last full service gas station in the country.

  The remainder of the drive to Phoenix was as interesting as the first 60 miles. The scenery slowly changed from high desert to low desert surrounded by mountains. The heat also increased as we dropped down from the high mesas to the flats of Phoenix and the ever-present oven hot wind included fine sand and dust. I cannot ever recall seeing a car from Arizona over two years old that had a windshield that did not have a sand blasted surface.

  Coming down off the mesa, Phoenix from a distance looked as if a child had scattered the pieces of a monopoly set, including a few dominoes on a beige carpet. Like most desert cities Phoenix starts with a few scattered houses and businesses and quickly becomes denser with houses and single story buildings. Land outside of the center of the actual downtown area is so cheap that people build out instead of up. The businesses on the edge of the city all look as if they had been sand blasted over the years, which they had.

  State Highway 93 runs out in the town of Wickenburg and the road to Phoenix becomes State Highway 60. The approach into Phoenix is through Sun City where we turned east onto I-17, the major north-south route between Phoenix and Flagstaff. We drove south on I-17 and followed it around the center of the city until, then through a series of intersecting highways and byways, transitioned onto Arizona 87 east which interestingly enough joined with I-10 which then points south to Tucson. Near the junction of 17 and I-10, Highway 60 branches off to the east. Eight miles after the Highway 60 branches, Highway 87 crosses 60 and continues north through the Salt River Indian reservation.

  The Salt River reservation was our destination and five and a half hours had elapsed since we turned onto I-40 from old Highway 66. Highway 87 is also called the Beeline Highway for a reason that escapes me because during the summer I suspect that it is so hot and dry that no self respecting bee would be seen in the area. The Highway changes back and forth from city streets with stoplights to two and four lane country roads as it leaves Phoenix. About 30 miles after Highway 87 branches off of Highway 60, we turned off on a road that lead to a group of buildings on the reservation. The road was macadam surfaced and was close to three or so miles in length.

  We passed through a small group of buildings that housed a tourist trading post, restaurant, gas station, post office, medical clinic and the tribal offices. We continued and turned off on a hard packed street with homes and trailers in various states of repair. Then two miles down the road we turned into what passed for a driveway and stopped next to the home of Jimmy's father and sister.

  -35-

  I had met Jimmy's father and sister several times over the years and liked both of them.

  Jimmy's father was a tribal elder and his sister a registered Nurse working out of the tribal clinic.

  Chief Two Feathers, was a tall man, almost as tall as Jimmy. His large frame, dark complexion, large nose, and all around impressive features left no doubt that he was Jimmy's father.

  Rebecca on the other hand was completely different. She stands about five foot five inches and is slim as opposed to thin or skinny. Her hair, usually held in a ponytail, is jet black and shiny and hangs just past her shoulders. Her hands are very distinctive in that she has long delicate fingers and looks as though she could be a piano player. She has a thin face with a small nose, high forehead and cheekbones and full lips. When she smiles, which is often, her perfect white teeth flash in contrast to her built-in tan and she can melt the heart of any man I know.

  I shifted the Ford into reverse and turned the ignition off. The engine started making cracking noises and the air-conditioner began draining down and filled the cab of the truck with a variety of sounds. We opened our doors and stepped out of the truck about the same time as Chief Two Feathers came around from the back of the house. He was wearing a smile, jeans, exotic skin boots like Jimmy, and a cowboy shirt with a very stylized southwest pattern. Jimmy met him in front of the truck and hugged him without embarrassment. I walked up behind the two of them and Chief Two Feathers turned after hugging his son and stuck his hand out. I took it and tried not to wince as we shook hands.

  "Welcome to our home, James has told me of the job the two of you are doing," he said turning the two of us around and putting his left arm around my shoulder and his right around his son. "Come inside and compare notes with me, I think I can help you."

  We walked around the back of the house and entered through a sliding glass patio door that had a two foot tall Kokopelli figure etched into the center of both glass panels. A Kokopelli is a humped back curved stick figure playing a flute. You can see the images of them all over Arizona.

  Entry into the house from the south-facing patio was into the family room. The room was decorated in lodge pole pine furniture with a couch, two sitting chairs and a low table with a glass top. The floor was tiled with one foot square red clay tiles that continued from the family room into the dining room and onto the kitchen.

  Chief Two Feathers led the way through the family room and on into the dining room. A counter top separated the dining room from the kitchen area. He motioned us to sit down at the counter, and then walked around the end and into the kitchen.

  "Let me get you boys something to drink," he said, and then thought for a second. "I have pop and iced tea," he said to us, mostly to me though. "I have to set an example of no alcohol on the reservation."

  "Iced tea is fine Dad," Jimmy said.

  The Chief opened the door to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of dark tea. He sat the cold amber liquid in front of us. The outside of the pitcher immediately fogged with condensation.

  He reached up and opened the door to a hanging overhead cabinet and pulled out three tall glasses.

  He sat the glasses down in front of Jimmy and me and poured all of us a glass of tea.

  Raising his glass he looked at us and said “Cheers.”

  "And another thing young man," he said looking at me.

  "Yes sir," I replied.

  "You should call me Jonathan," he said.

  I looked at Jimmy and he just shrugged. I could no more call his father Jonathan than I could have called my father by his first name.

  "Yes sir, I'll try."

  He shook his head and smiled. "Some of the young men in the tribe could use you as an example," he said before taking another drink. He swallowed then continued, "Your sister will be home shortly. She has been visiting the outlying ranches over the last week administering flu shots to the older people." The Chief thought for a moment and sipped his tea. That was one of the differentiating things between Indians and the rest of us. They don't feel the need to fill moments of silence with talking. When they have something to say, they say it. All of us sat there drinking our iced tea and keeping our thoughts to ourselves.

  "Has Olson been around this past week?" Jimmy finally asked.

  His father put his empty glass down and
thought for a second.

  "Yes. He moved back onto the reservation last week. It surprised many of us because he has to drive into Phoenix every morning." He thought for a minute then continued, "He drives his patrol car home at night."

  "Where is he staying, at his parents place?" Jimmy asked.

  "No, as you may recall, his Uncle has a house about 5 miles past the settlement center on the main road. He stays there at night when he is on the reservation. He takes his meals at the trading post. More iced tea?" he said, raising the pitcher and looking at me.

  "No thank you," I said, "my back teeth are already floating."

  "It's down the hall behind you and on the left," the Chief said, telling me where the bathroom was.