by Aimée Thurlo
FIVE
Early the following morning, Jo stood next to Leigh Ann as the reporters began to arrive. News had traveled fast in their small community, and the crowd of onlookers and press was much larger than Jo had expected. Esther had been right. Curiosity trumped reluctance.
“Make sure no one bothers the hataalii,” Jo told Leigh Ann. “I’ve assured him that no photos would be taken of him or the ceremony without his permission.”
Seeing a cameraman going toward the Singer, Jo went to intercept him.
“I’ll get that,” Leigh Ann said. “Take care of the medicine man and the ceremony.”
“Thanks,” Jo said, and rushed off. The last thing she needed was for Rudy Brownhat to get upset right before the ceremony. Calmness, clarity, and peace of mind were required for a successful Sing.
Jo joined Rudy, who was standing beside his pickup. “What can I do to help you, Uncle?” she asked, using the word to show respect. They weren’t related.
“Help me bring out what I need and put things away afterwards. That’s all you can do. You can’t actually take part in the ceremony, because you’re the one who requested the Sing,” Rudy said, reaching into the bed of his pickup and bringing down a big wooden trunk.
“I’ll help any way I can. I’m really grateful that you came on such short notice.” She bent down and took one of the trunk handles.
He grabbed the other handle. Together, they carried it over to the trading post. “The prayer won’t be a long one, but it’ll require care and concentration,” he said, noting the reporters around them as they set the trunk down. “These onlookers will need to keep their distance and show respect for the proceedings.”
“They won’t interfere,” she assured him once again. “I’ve already spoken to them. They’ll stop filming and lower their cameras as soon as we ask.”
“You want the Sing done here, not at the man’s home?” he asked, opening the truck and bringing out a large Navajo blanket.
“That property is not under my care,” she said, helping him place the blanket on The Outpost’s wooden porch, a spacious veranda that ran the length of the entire storefront.
Jo brought out the medicine bags Rudy had filled with pollen and other collected substances, and placed them on the blanket. Along with those, was a bead token that would be hers to keep at the end of the blessing. That would become a symbol of the rite and, as such, carry the power and blessing of the ceremony.
Feeling her cell phone vibrating, Jo stepped away and pulled it out of her pocket. The display listed a private caller. Curious, she moved even farther away from Rudy and brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Listen carefully, I’m only saying this once. Gimme back my property or you’ll end up like your boss. When you’re ready to deal, park your pickup in front of the trading post, then wait for my instructions. Act normal. I’ll be watching. If you tell anyone, I’ll make sure your death is slow and painful.”
The caller had a heavy Spanish accent, but his words were clear, and terrifying. Her mouth went dry and her heart had lodged at her throat. “Give back what? Who is this?” Jo said, looking around for anyone using their phone. Soon she realized that her caller was no longer connected.
It took a minute, but she forced herself to stop shaking. As she drew in a breath, she saw Rudy motioning to her. Blinking back tears of frustration and fear, she put the phone back into her pocket and walked toward him, head held high.
* * *
Tony Gómez, a slender, wiry man in his early forties, slipped the phone back into his pocket and raised his binoculars again. He could see the trading post clearly from where he was standing, hidden among the dark shadows of a cluster of cottonwoods near the bosque. He tried to steady his hold by bracing his left wrist against the bark, but got some smelly liquid on his wrist.
Moving quickly, he wiped it off his new silver and turquoise watch. It beat the hell out of his cheap Timex. Now he had a caballero’s watch, not the dollar-store crap ones he’d worn most of his life. Feeling his cell phone vibrating, he brought it out of his shirt pocket. Sap had stuck to that as well.
“Smelly shit,” Tony muttered, wiping off the phone.
“What’d you say?” Roberto said.
“Sorry. Stepped in something, boss. I just made the call. Now I’m watching the store,” Tony said, keeping his voice calm and collected. “It looks like there’s an Indian ceremony of some kind about to start up.”
Tony knew Roberto well. All that counted to Mr. Hidalgo was getting the job done, and he’d blown it twice already. The first time was when he shot that asshole shopkeeper too soon. Stuart had turned out to be a good liar even when bargaining for his life. Waiting until the memorial service to search the store for his boss’s property had been his second mistake.
Although Stuart gave them the key, he’d lied about the keypad code for the electronic lock. Then, just when they’d given up punching in numbers and brought out the tools needed to break in, their luck had evaporated. Thanks to his idiot helpers, they got a late start, and the Navajo clerk and Stuart’s son had shown up. Roberto’s orders had been clear—don’t get caught—so they’d had no choice except to take off.
None of them had worn masks that day, because they hadn’t expected anyone to be at the trading post. Then after the entire operation had turned to mierda, Frankie poked his head out the window and started shooting. Now that idiot could be identified. Too bad for him and his brother. Their days were numbered.
Tony continued watching the Indian prayer ceremony, trying to figure out what was next. The young woman he’d called hadn’t left the grounds or used her cell phone. There were police from three agencies standing around, but she hadn’t run to the cops either, so she must have gotten the message. There were also some TV people with cameras, and a crowd of mostly Indians, but so far, she hadn’t talked to anyone.
“There’s a Navajo guy over there wearing a headband and beating a drum, boss. I guess he’s a medicine man and they’re praying for the dead store owner.”
“It’s more likely a blessing to chase away evil spirits. The Navajos are jumpy around the dead. What else can you see?” Hidalgo asked.
“A half dozen agency cops, a couple of TV vans and guys with cameras, but they aren’t filming anything right now. Nobody’s gone inside the trading post yet.”
“Good. Keep watch. If one of those crime scene vans comes up, or the police get excited, or the Navajo woman talks to the cops, call me back. If they find it before we do…”
Tony knew what Roberto meant. Despite the many years of loyalty and service he’d given Roberto Hidalgo, he’d be dead in a matter of hours if the police got their hands on what he’d failed to retrieve. It was already too late for the brothers now. A third screwup would mean the end of Tony Gómez.
“I’ll be here until they’re done, boss,” he said, blindly reaching into his shirt pocket for a cigarette, no longer caring about the tree sap.
Roberto grunted, then hung up. Tony, cigarette dangling from his lips, focused on the Indian wearing the white headband and carrying a leather bag. He was clearly in charge now.
* * *
Pushing back her fears, and trying to concentrate on the blessing, Jo followed Hosteen Brownhat as he went to the center of the store and continued the Sing. His monotone voice, filled with power, rose as he scattered pinches of corn pollen to the four points of the compass.
She remained close, concentrating on the words he intoned, and repeating them precisely. As the petitioner, this was her part of the ritual, to support the prayer. Repetition carried compulsion. The gods had no choice but to grant a properly worded prayer. She couldn’t slip up now, her spiritual protection was at stake, and boy did she need it now.
The chant continued flawlessly as the Singer demanded that the deities give their blessing and protectively encircle the trading post and those therein. At long last the Singer went outside again and, giving Jo a flint arrowhead to hold, threw bits of t
urquoise into the air. As the hataalii pronounced harmony restored, the rite came to a close.
The hataalii handed Jo the small medicine bag and her bead token. “Allow nothing to happen to the bead. It is now a part of you.”
She nodded, remembering that if the bead broke or was destroyed, misfortune would surely befall her.
“Thank you, Uncle,” she said.
While she helped him put away the ceremonial items that remained, the other employees brought out folding tables to place along the porch. Esther and Regina had prepared a big batch of mutton stew, fry bread, and punch. Food would be served to everyone, Anglo or Navajo, who’d come to watch and benefit from the power of the Sing.
The medicine man was served first; then Jo led him to a small shaded picnic table where he could sit and enjoy his meal. As she walked back to the entrance, ready to officially open the trading post, she saw Ben out of the corner of her eye. He’d taken Del aside and was clearly trying to speak privately to him, though Del was supposed to be busy helping with the food. Now what?
Annoyed, Jo started to go over, but before she could reach Ben, Esther came up holding a bright turquoise and white ribbon. “Don’t forget. You said I could tie this across both front posts, ask the Good Lord for his blessing, then cut the ribbon.”
“I remember. Are you going to need some help?” Jo asked, not objecting to the Christian prayer. They all had different beliefs, and honoring that was part of walking in beauty.
“I could use an extra pair of hands to get the ribbon up. I’ve already selected a blessing,” Esther said.
Jo helped her tie the ribbon; then Esther, holding her Bible, read a brief prayer.
After the final amen, Jo motioned for the reporters and public to come even closer. “Today we officially reopen The Outpost. It’s a new era for all of us.”
Jo reached for the scissors, then cut the ribbon. The employees all clapped enthusiastically, and most of the people joined in. Stepping out of the way, Jo invited their visitors to come and eat.
Jo studied every man within view while at the same time avoiding eye contact. She didn’t want to send the wrong message, like she was flirting or checking them out, but she had a feeling the caller was close by, maybe in the crowd. He’d had an accent, Spanish or Mexican, and sounded mature, maybe middle-aged.
She’d been standing there for less than a minute, watching the activity, when two reporters came up to her.
“The sheriff’s department continues to call Tom Stuart’s death suspicious. Was it murder or suicide?” one male TV reporter asked her, holding up his microphone. “And do you think it might be connected to that burglary attempt and the high-speed chase you were involved in yesterday?”
“Those are questions the medical examiner and local law enforcement officers will have to answer,” Jo answered, sticking to her planned script. “Today is a day to celebrate life. The Outpost will continue to be a vital part of our rural community, and as in the past, we’ll do our best to serve our guests, friends, and neighbors.”
Rather than take more questions, worried that she might slip up and say the wrong thing, she invited the reporters to enjoy some of the traditional foods that had been prepared for the event. As she glanced past them, Jo caught a glimpse of Ben, dressed in casual slacks and a knit shirt, talking to Esther now. Esther’s focus was clearly not on him. She was in the process of moving fry bread from a big plastic storage container to a warming tray.
The elderly woman looked over at Jo, then focused back on her work. Ben finally moved away, and although he hadn’t looked in her direction, Jo suspected that he knew she’d been watching him.
Something was up. As Jo went to help with the food, she saw Ben approach Mike Broome, who was standing near the door, eating a steaming bowl of stew. The two men spoke briefly, then Broome strode away,.
Rather than drive herself crazy wondering, she decided to confront Ben right now. She’d already had one death threat today so far. How much worse could it get? As she crossed the porch, she felt a different kind of excitement. After learning he was coming home on leave, she’d spent days wondering what it would be like the next time they met. Deep in her heart, she’d clung to the dream that he, too, woke up in the middle of the night, tantalizing what-ifs teasing him with endless possibilities.
Now reality was forcing her to give up those fantasies. As she met his gaze and held it, she felt the power of his personality probing for any weakness in her. He was no longer someone she could trust. Yet that muscled chest and those gorgeous hazel eyes made her wish … for what couldn’t be.
“I saw you speaking to my staff,” Jo said in a soft voice, not wanting to be overheard. “Exactly what are you doing here today?”
He gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Worried?”
She glared at him, then took a breath, refusing to take the bait. “Your father trusted me to keep his dream alive. Why can’t you?” Jo turned and walked away.
“Why the hell should I trust you?” he said, following her around to the side of the building, away from the crowd. “You tell me that you want to honor Dad’s wishes, then all but admit that he would have eventually changed his will and left the trading post to me.”
“The terms of his trust were clear, and I have to honor that,” she said. “But even if I were to give the trading post to you, what then? You’re not staying here, right?”
“I have to go back to the army, yes, but my enlistment will be up soon. Ten months, ten days.”
“And afterwards, are you telling me that you’ll be coming home for good, and you’ll be perfectly happy running The Outpost for the rest of your life? Face it. You’re don’t really care about The Outpost. You just don’t want me to have it. What is it, pride? Or maybe it’s good old-fashioned greed?”
“Straight talk—you ready for it?” he snapped.
“Bring it.” Nothing could scare her now, not after that phone call.
“Game on, lady. You mentioned greed? That’s what I see when I look at you. What makes you think you have a right to my dad’s business in the first place? You’re … a glorified clerk. How far did you have to go to get what you wanted?” He looked down her body slowly, undressing her with his eyes.
The implication was unmistakable. She swung her arm to slap him, but he caught her wrist a foot from his face. She countered by kicking him in the shins.
“You’re a pig, Ben. What you’re accusing me of doing dishonors him, not just me. He was your father, not some dirty old man.” She walked away, too angry to speak.
Wanting to put some distance between her and Ben before it got really ugly, she circled around the far corner to the rear of The Outpost.
Finally she reached the west corner and hearing running footsteps, turned around. “Now what?”
Ben caught up to her, though she kept walking. “If I’m wrong, I’ll apologize,” he said, his tone reflecting his lack of sincerity.
“If?” She put her hands on her hips. “That’s the height of arrogance, but I’m through arguing. The Outpost is mine, get used to it.”
“You’ve scored a temporary victory, Jo. That’s all. Once I find a lawyer, I’m going to contest the trust. Mike Broome refused to take the case, I asked him just five minutes ago. I’ll get someone else.”
“And if by some miracle you end up with the trading post, then what?”
“You called it, Jo. I’ll either sell or shut it down if I can’t get a quick enough offer. I haven’t decided yet.”
The news sucked the air from her lungs. She’d given Ben nothing but the benefit of the doubt, but inside, he was still the same selfish boy who screwed up, then abandoned those who’d loved him.
As she looked away, trying to swallow her rage before she faced the public again, she saw Esther and Del seated at the picnic table, speaking to the hataalii.
This wasn’t just about her. She had to do something. “You see that elderly Navajo woman and that boy talking to the medicine man?
They need their jobs to take care of their families. That teenager is carrying more responsibilities than you can even imagine. You think it’ll be easy for them to find any job during this recession? A seventy-year-old woman and a kid with health issues? Your father cared about his people. That’s why he left The Outpost to me. That decision wasn’t about you, it was about keeping The Outpost going and protecting his trading post family.”
“Family?”
“You’re a sergeant. In your unit, squad, or whatever you call it, there are men you’re responsible for, aren’t there? I would imagine you watch out for them, and they watch out for you. Don’t you think of them as family?”
He nodded slowly. “That’s generally how it works.”
“Your father was a military man, a proud marine, a man of honor. He always acted according to his highest sense of right. If you sue me now, it’ll undermine this place and The Outpost will lose maybe half its value before a judge makes a final decision. And let’s say you finally win, then what? You’ll destroy what your father loved and ruin the lives of people he cared about. Think about what you’re doing. This isn’t just about you or your pride. It’s bigger than that.”
As Ben stood there, his expression changed from hostility to one of grudging respect. “You can sure argue your point, I’ll give you that.”
She walked away without another word, but by the time she stepped inside the trading post, she was shaking all over.
Rudy Brownhat came to join her. As they stood in the far corner of the room, he spoke in a voice meant for only her to hear. “I can see hurt in your eyes, and more. The troubles you face are many, but you can’t win a fight unless you walk in harmony with your surroundings.”
“You’re right, but the owner’s son is being completely unreasonable. What he wants … is just plain crazy.”
“Our way teaches that everything has two sides. Are you seeing both?”
His serenity was unassailable. For the first time since she’d started her apprenticeship almost a year ago, she questioned her ability to maintain that same state of calm control. Unable to answer him truthfully, she looked away.