by Aimée
Justine nodded. “I know all that, but when we’re up against the gangs, I see boys in baggy pants, not criminals.”
“That’s fine, until they start shooting at each other … or at you,” Ella replied.
As Ella made a hard right turn, she could see the high school parking lot just ahead on her left. Ten or fifteen boys were clustered between three cars, engaged in a wild free-for-all of swinging fists and clubs.
Ella swung her Jeep into the parking lot, then slammed on the brakes and pulled to a stop behind a department patrol unit.
Gang members were scrambling around the cars, screaming insults and swinging wildly at one another with fists, car chains, and a variety of clubs, including at least three baseball bats. Two boys already lay on the asphalt, and a third was crawling on his stomach, leaving a trail of blood as he tried to reach safety beneath the right-hand car, a beat-up Chevy sedan.
ELEVEN
One of the uniformed officers who’d arrived just ahead of them hit the siren, then yelled over his unit’s loudspeaker for everyone to set down their weapons and lie facedown on the pavement. His partner stepped out of the vehicle and racked a shell into the chamber of his riot gun.
About that time Ella and Justine exited the Jeep, batons in hand. Most of the angry young Navajos, some with bloodied faces or hands, stopped and turned toward them, clubs and weapons in hand.
“They’re going to fight us,” Justine said, looking toward another police unit just pulling up on their left.
“No, they’re not,” Ella countered, as four youths suddenly dove toward a car. “They’re making a run for it!”
The officer who’d used the loudspeaker spoke a command into his radio as one of the gang vehicles spun around and, with squealing tires, raced toward the exit. Another police unit, coming up the highway, blocked their escape from the parking area. The car full of gang members swerved, bounded up onto a median, and slammed into a stop sign. The teens jumped out, each running in a different direction. Two patrolmen, exiting their unit, gave chase on foot.
“Down on the ground!” Ella shouted to the rest of the boys, who’d just stood there watching. As Ella and Justine advanced, however, the remaining youths dropped their weapons and scattered, knowing they weren’t going to be fired upon by the police. A few ran toward the high school buildings, pursued by the officer who’d been directing the operation, and his partner. Ella and Justine hurried toward the wounded boys, who were down near the remaining gang vehicles.
When Ella crouched by the first boy, whose flannel shirt was slashed and soaked with blood, she felt the pulse point at his neck. He groaned. “Knife wounds, but he’s alive,” she said to Justine, gesturing for her to check the teen who lay about ten feet away.
Justine reached him, checked for a pulse then, looking at Ella, nodded. “Unconscious. Looks like he was stabbed, too, and struck on the head.”
As soon as two other officers came running up, Ella asked them to stay with the wounded. She moved toward the beat-up Chevy, where she’d last seen someone on the ground. A streak of fresh blood showed where he’d crawled beneath the car and behind the front tire. “I know you’re under there,” she said. “Don’t make this worse for yourself. You’re going to need a doctor or a mortician, depending on how long it takes for you to come out. What will it be?”
Ella heard a curse that came from beneath the Chevy. “Slide your weapon out toward me,” she said, knowing he’d had something in his hand earlier.
Nothing happened.
“I can wait here all afternoon. If you think you’ll stop bleeding on your own, we can sit back and drag this out as long as you want. Or, one of our officers can drive this car away faster than you can crawl, and we can hope he doesn’t run over you in the process. It’s your call.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Ella saw Justine trying to crouch down to see what the boy was doing. She felt her heart lodge in her throat. If he had a pistol and was looking her way, Justine could be his next target.
“Slide it out now!” Ella ordered the boy. “Your friends abandoned you. If you want to be alive to brag about your scars, do what I say.”
Ella was relieved to see Justine take out her handgun and lay prone, the weapon aimed beneath the car. “What’s it going to be, kid?”
A moment later, a bloody, six-inch folding knife with a carved handle came sliding out from beneath the car. Then two hands reached out from beside a tire. “I don’t have a gun, just the knife. I can’t move. Just don’t shoot!”
Ella moved toward the weapon as Justine reached the boy and crouched down by the car.
“He’s clean,” her assistant yelled out.
“Who did this to you?” Ella asked, going up to the wounded lad. He’d managed to crawl out from under the Chevy with Justine’s help, and now lay on his back beside the car.
The boy shook his head. “My homies will do the payback. We don’t need cops taking care of our business.”
“Don’t add more stupidity to what you’ve already done,” Justine said, her voice almost drowned out by the sirens of approaching emergency vehicles. “You don’t owe anyone any loyalty. Face it. They bailed on you and ran like cowards.” Justine continued to apply pressure to the wound in his side. “Help us out, okay?”
The boy glared at her, but a stony silence was her only answer.
Neskahi approached, radio in hand. “The ambulance will be here in another minute,” he said. “Our officers identified the two other injured, and are tending to their wounds. The one with all the blood is Wilbert Garnenez. The boys called him Taco. The other, the one they called Lobo, is Gilbert Paul. He’s still unconscious.”
Ella recognized the last names. She knew of those families, though she hadn’t met the boys. Sorrow filled her as she thought of the pain their families would have to go through, and get past, if either one died.
Then she looked down at the boy Justine was helping. At least this one had been able to talk. Maybe his chances were better. Even so, Ella could see the fear in the boy’s eyes. She wondered how long it would last, and how quickly it would turn to defiance and hatred once he knew he was no longer in mortal danger.
“We’ve got three other kids in custody,” Neskahi said. “I came in from the south side of the campus and practically ran right into them. They insist they’re innocent bystanders, who just happened to be hanging out, of course. Three of our officers are still in pursuit of the rest.”
Ella left Justine with the third wounded boy, and followed Neskahi to the captured teens he’d rounded up. An officer was trying fruitlessly to get names out of the youngest boy, who never took his eyes off the other two who had been arrested with him. He appeared to be several years younger, maybe still in middle school.
The older boys stayed back to back, sitting on the ground, handcuffed. Another officer was watching them carefully. The two, dressed in the black colors of the North Siders, refused to make eye contact with anyone.
Ella nodded to the officer as she took the youngest boy aside. He was wearing red, baggy pants and a white T-shirt splattered with blood, and was trying not to shiver, despite the cool afternoon. “You don’t seem eager to get anywhere near those two guys. I can keep you away from them, if you want. You don’t seem like friends.”
“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” he spat out, staring at her intensely.
She had been mad-dogged by much more intimidating criminals, so she just smiled. “The alternative, of course, is that you’ll end up sharing a holding jail cell with them. Aren’t they wearing North Sider colors?” Ella saw the fear that flashed across the boy’s eyes. “Tell me what happened here.”
“The Siders think they can move into our hood now that you cops are on our backs. The high school is on our turf, and they think because their homies go to school, too, they own the place. That isn’t going to happen. They outnumber us, but we can stand up to them. They came to school wearing their colors right in our faces, not showing respect.”
Ella noted the false bravado, and the way he stood a little straighter when he spoke of respect. “Everyone seemed to be ready for trouble today. I saw a lot of weapons. Who threw hooks first? Was it the MDs?”
“No way. The Siders have a guy they call Lobo. They pulled up beside us and started dissing us. Lobo called Taco out, and Rambo went along to back him up. The Lobo guy lost his nerve when he saw Taco holding a bat, so he pulled a knife out of his sleeve and slashed both of them real good. Taco took the blade and didn’t even flinch, then hit a home run off Lobo’s head. Rambo got Lobo with his knife, too, but then went down.”
“Are you saying the three boys the medics are working on assaulted each other?” Ella prodded.
The boy nodded, then smiled. “Then Rambo is still alive?”
“That’s right.” Ella motioned to the arresting officer, who put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Before he was led away, the boy turned and gave Ella a worried look. “You’ll keep your word? Don’t put me in the same cell with them. I don’t have my friends to back me up.”
“We’ll keep you separate,” Ella said, then glanced at the officer, confirming the promise.
Justine, who had come up during the last part of the interview, added, “I think the boy he called Rambo is really John Begay. My mother knows his mother. He’s been in and out of trouble for years.”
“Let’s go talk to her then. Maybe she knows what the Many Devils might do next, or could at least give us some names.”
“The Begays live about three miles from me,” Justine said. “Maybe I should drive. The road is pretty bad, but at least I know it.”
Justine’s statement about the road turned out to be the understatement of the year. Ella gave up trying to write her notes as they traveled around potholes that looked like moon craters and sections of washboard that made her teeth rattle.
When they arrived, Justine parked the Jeep, and she and Ella got out to wait.
“Are you going to tape our conversation?”
Ella hesitated. “Yeah, I guess we should, but since it’s not admissible for evidence, just a way of covering ourselves, let’s make sure we keep it low profile.”
Soon a short, overweight woman in her mid-forties came to the door. She was wearing the traditional long skirt with a thick wool shawl over a dark-colored velvet blouse, and smelled of piñon smoke. “You’re the police, aren’t you. Come on in.”
As they entered the small trailer home, Ella was struck by the condition of the dwelling. It had obviously been well-cared-for at one time. She could see where a torn couch had been mended, and the refrigerator door and cupboards repainted. Things had changed, however. Trash had now accumulated everywhere, and was stacked inside grocery sacks that lined the kitchen wall. There was an overturned tricycle in the hall, and toys were scattered about. Thick layers of dust covered the few pieces of furniture.
Mrs. Begay sat down near the window, and gestured for them to find places to sit.
Ella removed some dirty clothing from a chair, and sat down. Justine remained standing.
“We’re here to talk to you about John,” she said, delivering the news that Mrs. Begay’s son had been stabbed, and was on his way to the hospital.
The woman showed no emotion. “I’ve tried my best with my son, but he won’t listen to me anymore. He does what he pleases. I just hope he doesn’t die this time. Last year he got cut up with a beer bottle in a fight over at the fair in Window Rock.”
“He’s only sixteen,” Justine said. “He’s ruining his life.”
Mrs. Begay opened her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “There’s nothing I can do. I went to talk to George Nahlee’s mother to see, if maybe together, we could do something to get our boys out of that gang. But she won’t even admit that her son is mixed up with the Many Devils. I explained why it is they dress that way, and why they cut those gang signs into their hands. I even showed her what they write in their books, practicing their own gang alphabet and names. She knew what I was talking about. She kept saying that her son was only copying what some others were doing, going through a stage. Some mothers are like that. The truth stares them in the face, but they remain blind.” She took a deep breath. “In some ways, maybe that’s easier. Hurts less, I think.”
Ella felt the woman’s despair, and wished there were answers she could offer.
“They don’t belong to anything except the gang. A lot of the kids have pride in their school, but not my son and his friends. They don’t even go out for sports or try to learn anything, even though the only way to escape our poverty is by getting a good education. The ones who work in class and do homework are laughed at and called schoolboys. Joining the gang makes kids like my son feel good because everybody else is afraid of them. I can tell you that being in the gang becomes more important to the kids than even their own families. I know all about it, because I’ve already lost my son, just the same as if he was already dead.”
Ella felt her stomach tie itself into a knot. She understood what the woman was talking about. Purpose. The kids had found it through the gang and they stuck with that group that defined them, even though it would eventually destroy them. So much tragedy, so few answers.…
“Has anyone come by, warning you to keep John out of trouble?” Ella asked, trying to keep her thoughts focused.
Mrs. Begay’s eyes narrowed, like a door closing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s time for you to leave now.”
Ella stood up and offered to take Mrs. Begay to the hospital. The offer was quickly refused. Ella and Justine left, knowing they had received their answer. The Fierce Ones had been here, too. If Ella knew anything about that group, however, it was that they wouldn’t continue to accept excuses and failure. They’d take more decisive action soon, and it looked like Mrs. Begay was already expecting things to get worse.
“How can she stand to live like that? All that trash. It stunk,” Justine said, interrupting her thoughts.
“She’s given up. It’s too much for her.” Ella thought of how close her mother had come to sharing that despair when she’d realized she couldn’t use her legs.
“Judging from her style of dress,” Ella continued, Mrs. Begay is a traditionalist, but she’s come up against the worst of the modern world in her son. Her spirit has died. She’s lost hope and, without that, the struggle she faces becomes one insurmountable obstacle after another. Hope is what gives you the courage to reach out and continue trying. Without it, there’s nothing.”
Ella dropped Justine off at the station and drove over to the hospital for a long visit with her own mother. They also had to talk about physical therapy. The paperwork could wait.
* * *
The following morning, Ella met Justine at the office and, together, they headed out to the high school.
“I better warn you that Mr. Duran, the principal, wasn’t exactly overjoyed to hear that we wanted to talk to him,” Justine said. “He knew it was coming, though. I think he wants to downplay the whole incident as quickly as possible, and our presence there won’t allow him to do that.”
“You can’t downplay three kids in the hospital, all in serious condition,” Ella said, shaking her head. “A half-dozen or so more we haven’t seen yet are probably bruised and cut up, too. Things weren’t that much different here than anywhere else, with people passing the buck and assigning blame. Many don’t want to see a reality that seems out of their control.”
“Neskahi and the other officers are still trying to identify and locate the other gang kids who were involved, checking out their hangouts and their homes. I’m glad my cousin Thomas wasn’t there. I heard from my mom that his mother paid him to move some furniture. He was angry when he heard he’d missed the fight.” Justine shrugged. “It’s a small victory, I guess.”
“We need to keep a close eye on anyone who could be involved, and try to be there to stop problems before they happen.” Ella said. “This gang rivalry is spiraling into a storm, and unless we stop it,
there will be a lot more casualties. Soon the kids will be carrying guns, if they aren’t already.”
As they drove past the site where her mother’s accident had taken place, Ella felt a shudder travel through her. She felt guilty already about not going by the hospital this morning, she knew she might be too busy to get there later, but the principal had insisted this was the only time he could meet with them.
Ella stared at the road ahead, trying to envision her mother’s panic at seeing another driver coming at her head-on. She couldn’t do it. The incident had struck too close, and the love that bonded her to her mother made the pain of nearly losing her too fierce, blocking her attempts to consider the case objectively. As Ella’s gaze fell on the shoulder of the road, she remembered the cane marks she’d seen there. The more she considered the implications of their presence, the more uneasy she grew.
“You’re thinking of your mother’s accident, aren’t you?” Justine said softly.
“There’s something here that doesn’t quite add up. The drunk was a real enough piece of evidence, but the cane marks…”
“Do you think Navajo witches played a part?”
“I want you to search carefully into Leo Bekis’ background, but be subtle so they won’t be able to label it harassment. See if you can find anything that connects him to the evil ones, directly or indirectly.” Ella said.
“The tribe has a full background report on him. One is always done when a person applies for a position with the tribe, especially one which puts them into a courtroom. I also know his neighbors. They’re friends of my older brother. If there had been even a hint that Bekis had skinwalker connections, it would have come out by now.
“The press has been hot on the story, too,” Justine continued. “They found out that Bekis started working for the tribe when your father-in-law was still chief. I’ve been keeping tabs on their articles, and I noticed that they mentioned that fact once in passing but, since then, they haven’t mentioned it again. My guess is that they searched like crazy, but they couldn’t find anything to connect the two men.”