Native Affairs

by Doreen Owens Malek

“Next best thing. I’ve arranged for Tracy Carswell to take her exams early so she can fly down there and assist you with the case. She doesn’t have to be back at school until the end of January so you’ll have her at least until you break for the holidays.”

  “Charlie, that’s wonderful! I could sure use a research assistant. I’m trying new things practically every day and barely have time to look up the precedents.”

  “She’s yours. She’ll be there tonight. Margaret already booked the room adjoining yours—it opens into a suite.”

  “Best news I’ve had since I got here. Tracy’s a terrific intern. Things are looking up, suddenly.”

  “Keep the faith, kid. The firm’s not expecting miracles, we just have to show the government guys that we put up a decent fight for them. If the decision goes against you no one will be shocked.”

  “Or disappointed?”

  “That I can’t promise. It would be wonderful if you could pull this one out of the hat.”

  There was a long silence. Then Marisa said resignedly, “I’ll do my best.”

  “I know you will. I’ll be in touch. Take care.”

  “Goodbye.” Marisa hung up the phone just as someone knocked on her door.

  “Yes?”

  “Delivery,” a man’s voice said.

  Marisa opened the door and was handed a small wicker basket covered with green glassine florist’s wrap.

  “Are you sure this is for me?” she asked, puzzled.

  The delivery man looked down at his manifest. “Marisa Hancock, Room 213?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s for you.”

  Marisa fumbled in her handbag for a tip and then closed the door. She ripped off the wrapping and saw a small white card nestled in a bed of fragrant local orange blossoms.

  “You have misjudged me. Give me another chance,” was scrawled in bold handwriting, covering most of the card. It was signed, “Jack.”

  Typical egotism, Marisa thought. As if he were the only Jack in the world. She lifted the basket to her nose and inhaled the heady, haunting perfume. Then she set the basket on the end table next to the phone and picked up the room service menu to order dinner.

  * * *

  Marisa was reviewing her notes from the day’s proceedings when there was a knock at her door followed by Tracy’s voice calling, “Yoo-hoo, it’s me!”

  Marisa pulled the door open to admit Tracy, who was wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with “Welcome to the Sunshine State” and a straw hat decorated with plastic lemons and limes.

  “Your research department has arrived,” she announced, and threw herself full length on the bed.

  “And costumed for the part,” Marisa replied, laughing.

  “I bought this stuff at the airport. I’ve never been to Florida and so I thought I’d get into the spirit. Not exactly Maine, is it? At home the temperature was twenty-eight degrees.”

  “And how are things in Bar Harbor?”

  “Frigid. I can’t believe old Charlie decided to fly me down here. You must have convinced him it was time to send in the marines.”

  “We’ve been talking every day.”

  “I see. Well, I can’t say that I was depressed to hear that I was about to depart the frozen tundra and arrive in lotus land.”

  “Don’t get too happy. You won’t have time for the beach. You’ll be working.”

  “What about weekends?”

  “Weekends, too.”

  “You can’t spare Sunday afternoons for two hours? I can’t go back without a tan, nobody will believe I was ever here.” Tracy rolled over on the bed and spied the flowers on the table. “What’s this?”

  Marisa made a dive for the basket but Tracy got there first. “Give me another chance,” she murmured. “Jack. Who’s Jack?”

  “Nobody, forget it,” Marisa said, snatching the card away.

  “Jack, Jack, Jack,” Tracy muttered. Her expression brightened. “That’s the NFN leader, Jackson something, right? I just saw him on TV last week.”

  “Coincidence,” Marisa said, not too convincingly.

  “It is not,” Tracy said, grinning. “You’ve been here three weeks and you’ve got the head of the opposition team sending you flowers. Why is it these things never happen to me?”

  “You’re making too much of it. I hardly know the man. He thinks I misunderstood something he said and this was his way of...”

  “Courting you?” Tracy supplied.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He was trying to apologize, I guess.”

  “I suppose you haven’t noticed that he’s gorgeous.”

  “Tracy, give me a break. I’ve been far too busy to ogle anybody at the opposition table.”

  “Oh, I see. You’ve been struck blind.”

  Marisa threw Tracy a look which would have silenced anyone else, but Tracy was more persistent than the average busybody. “So what did you misunderstand?” she inquired.

  “He asked me to have a drink with him...”

  “Aha!” Tracy said triumphantly, sitting up alertly.

  “To warn me that my high profile defense of the federal government’s position might be dangerous for me.”

  “Oh. That was nice of him.”

  Marisa stared at her.

  “What?” Tracy said, turning her hands palms up innocently.

  “That was just a little more sophisticated form of intimidation, Tracy. Letting me know, under the guise of concern, that there was definitely something to be worried about.”

  “Marisa, you’re paranoid.”

  “Am I? Do you know how many times during the Lafferty trial one of those goons took me aside for a little friendly chat, warning me, very nicely and politely, that if I kept on with the case I could wind up in a pair of cement shoes?”

  “They actually said that?” Tracy muttered, aghast.

  “Of course not. They were more subtle about it, though none quite approached the smoothness of our man Bluewolf. He practically oozed solicitude.”

  “Maybe he was sincere, Marisa.”

  Marisa rolled her eyes.

  Tracy shook her head. “You’ve been spending too much time around hoods, prosecuting these federal cases.”

  “Maybe so. But I’m a little too old to fall for Mr. Bluewolf’s practiced charm.”

  “So he is charming, you admit it.”

  “If you like the type.”

  “What type?”

  Marisa shrugged.

  “The handsome, sophisticated, politically correct type?” Tracy suggested, grinning.

  “Shut up, Tracy,” Marisa said wearily. “It’s time for us to get to work.”

  “What?” Tracy said, outraged. “I don’t even eat dinner first?”

  “We’ll order you a burger from room service.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  Marisa handed her a manila folder with a computer printout stapled to its cover.

  “What’s this?” Tracy said, fingering the sheet.

  “A list of all the eminent domain cases decided in the state of Florida in the last fifty years.”

  “Gee, how thoughtful.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t want to waste a minute.”

  Marisa handed Tracy the phone and pointed to the house extension for room service.

  * * *

  The next morning in court Marisa moved to gain access to the Seminole tribal records detailing the number and location of the graves in the burial site to determine the cost of moving them. She was stunned when Judge Lasky granted the motion, and so was the press corps, which departed en masse for the phones. By the time the morning session ended they were lined up in the corridor, waiting for her comments on a development that was sure to incense the Indian community and provide some juicy quotes from both sides. She stared through the courtroom doors in dismay at the milling crowd, wishing that she hadn’t sent Tracy to the library that morning. She would have appreciated the company.

  “I wouldn’t go that way if I were you,” Jack’s voice said
behind her.

  “It’s probably not a good idea for you, either,” Marisa replied dryly, turning to look at him. He was wearing a beige lightweight wool suit with a tobacco brown shirt that turned his amber eyes to gold.

  “I know a shortcut through the lower level,” he said.

  Marisa eyed him warily.

  “I’m only trying to help,” he said innocently.

  “Is that so?”

  “Through that door,” he said, pointing. “You’ll avoid the pack of vultures and exit in the parking lot.”

  Marisa sighed and nodded.

  They went to the back of the courtroom and then down a flight of fire stairs, Jack leading the way. They came out into what was obviously a basement, with pipes running overhead and cement floors. As Jack turned toward another door marked “Service,” two people Marisa recognized as reporters rounded a bend and headed toward them.

  “Oh, oh,” Jack said.

  “I guess you weren’t the one only who thought of this brilliant maneuver,” Marisa observed.

  “They haven’t seen us. This way,” he said, grabbing her hand.

  Marisa didn’t have time to protest as he dragged her back the way they had come and into a side corridor, yanking open the first door he saw. They dashed through it and Marisa stepped into a bucket, which clanged loudly.

  “This is a broom closet,” she said, removing her foot.

  “I see that.” He pulled the door closed and the motion disturbed a mop stored behind it, which tipped forward and struck him on the head. Marisa covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to laugh.

  “So what do you think of my dashing rescue?” he said, removing a mop string from his eye.

  “Very impressive,” she said, giving way to giggles.

  “Hey, did you avoid the reporters, or what?” He replaced the mop in the corner and turned to face her. They stared at each other in the confined space as their smiles faded and the silence lengthened.

  “They’re probably gone by now,” Marisa finally said.

  “What?” he said, seemingly dazed.

  “I think it’s safe to go,” she observed.

  “Oh. Right.” He nodded and reached for the doorknob, stepping back to let Marisa precede him through the door. Once they were back in the hall they looked around cautiously, but the coast was clear.

  “I guess we cut those varmints off at the pass,” he said dramatically, and she smiled again.

  “That’s a nice change,” he said. “I’m so used to having you glowering at me that I was beginning to wonder if you knew how to smile.”

  Marisa didn’t know what to say.

  “Did you get the flowers I sent?” he asked.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “I meant what I said on the card.” He put his hand on her arm. “My warning was well intentioned. Some of these activist kids can get carried away. They get caught up in situations like this one and lose sight of the big picture.”

  “What is the big picture?” she asked quietly.

  “Well, let’s just say that it’s not going to do our cause any good to persecute an attorney who’s merely representing the opposition in a legal case. Personalities shouldn’t enter into it.”

  “But not everyone in your NFN group sees it quite that way,” she said softly.

  He shrugged. “They’re frustrated and angry because you’re doing a good job. Getting the tribal records unsealed was a coup for your side and it’s going to cause trouble. Up until now there have been rumblings, but the case has been going against you. They don’t want to see it turn the other way, however slightly.”

  “So will my hotel room be firebombed?” Marisa asked lightly.

  “Not if I can help it,” he replied huskily.

  Marisa realized that he was gripping her wrist tightly. She looked down at his hand and his fingers relaxed, letting her go.

  “I have to get to my car,” she said hastily. “There are some notes there I need for the afternoon session.”

  “May I take you to lunch?” he asked, his eyes on her face.

  “No, I need the time to prepare. I was going to skip lunch.”

  He shook his head. “All that dedication. Do you think the feds deserve it?”

  “Any client deserves my best representation,” she said flatly.

  “Oh, don’t frost over again, Ms. Hancock. I was teasing. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  They ascended a set of steps from the basement and walked out into the noon sunshine.

  “There’s my car,” Marisa said. “Thank you.”

  Jack looked at the economy rental and said dryly, “For what the government is paying your firm you’d think they could have sprung for a more luxurious model.”

  “This is fine for me.”

  “Simple tastes, eh?”

  “Bad driver. Those ritzy cars with the elaborate instrument panels look like you need a pilot’s license to drive them. I like the ones that say, ‘drive’ and ‘neutral’ and ‘reverse.’ More than that scares me.”

  “Now I would have guessed that very little scared you.”

  “Anything mechanical sends me into a frenzy.”

  He took the keys from her hand and opened the door for her. Marisa reached into the back seat and extracted her leather overnight bag.

  “Here it is,” she said.

  He saluted.

  “See you in court,” he said, and sauntered away.

  Chapter 2

  “Bad news,” Tracy said, dropping the morning paper on Marisa’s breakfast tray.

  “Is there any other kind?” Marisa said wearily.

  “Today there are two kinds. That headline says there was a brawl last night at one of the downtown bars. It was between a group of the Indian kids and some of the locals who want the government plan to go through for the jobs it will provide. One of the Seminole ringleaders, an eighteen-year-old boy, was killed.”

  “Oh my God,” Marisa whispered, turning pale. The piece of toast she was holding fell to her plate.

  “And as if that weren’t enough, we’ve been assigned an ‘adviser’ by the Bureau of Indian Affairs. A Mr. Randall Block will be arriving sometime tomorrow to aid in the handling of the case. We’re to give him our ‘fullest cooperation.’” Tracy dropped the message on top of the newspaper and faced Marisa glumly, her hands on her hips.

  “Maybe it’s good that he’s coming, he might be able to give me some advice,” Marisa said quietly. “I never counted on anyone being killed, Tracy. This is just awful.”

  “The paper says it was an accident. It seems the boy got into a shoving match with some guy and when his opponent pushed back the kid fell and hit his head.”

  “Either way the boy is dead. No highway is worth a human life, for heaven’s sake.”

  Tracy nodded soberly.

  “I feel like dumping this case right now.”

  “The government will only go ahead with somebody else, and you’ll be in hot water at the firm,” Tracy said. “You might as well stay and see this through.”

  The telephone rang at Tracy’s elbow and she picked it up on the first ring.

  “Hello?” She listened for a moment and then said, “No, this is her assistant. Just a second, she’s right here.”

  “Who is it?” Marisa asked.

  Tracy handed her the phone and said, “Jackson Bluewolf, the man you hardly know.”

  Marisa threw her a dirty look as she took the phone. “Hello?” she said tentatively.

  “Did you hear about what happened last night?” Jack demanded tersely.

  “Yes. I’m so dreadfully sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

  “There’s nothing to say. I’m calling to tell you to ask the judge for a postponement. I need a few days to get these young turks calmed down. If the hearing goes on as planned today there could be real trouble.”

  “Lasky already gave my team three continuances when Arthur had his accident. He’s not going to listen to any more on that subject from me. Ca
n’t your guy ask him?”

  “Brady doesn’t want to ask him. Brady thinks that the more trouble stirred up, the better for our side. And Lasky has made it clear that he wants this over with as soon as possible.”

  “I can’t ask for more time, Judge Lasky will censure me. Brady has to do it.”

  There was an impatient sound from the other end of the line. “He won’t listen to me. He wants to win the case and doesn’t care if anybody else gets hurt.”

  “That’s a strange comment coming from you, Mr. Bluewolf. Some people would say that your only role in this has been to exacerbate the existing problem,” Marisa replied testily.

  There was a long silence and then Jack said, “I’m here because I didn’t want to see any more Indians robbed of their land by the government, Ms. Hancock. That’s all.”

  “Of course. You’re perfectly innocent. You must have heard the story of the sorcerer’s apprentice.”

  “What?” he said, exasperated.

  “Don’t you remember the story about the trainee magician who was drowned by the waters he summoned? He initially got what he wanted but then lost control of his creation.”

  The phone slammed down in her ear.

  Marisa replaced the receiver carefully.

  “What happened?” Tracy asked.

  “That man is amazing. He has more gall than any other three people I know. He comes to Florida to rile up the Seminoles and get them on the march, and then when his plan succeeds too well he wants me to help him dampen the fires by asking for a continuance.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Tracy said warily. “From what you’ve told me about Lasky, he’ll go wild.”

  “Of course he will. Brady won’t do it, mind you, but Bluewolf thinks he can maneuver me into it. Lasky will hang me out to dry, and Bluewolf knows it. But there he is on the phone anyway, not asking, mind you, but demanding that I help him with a problem he created when he knows doing so would hurt my case.”

  “He didn’t create the problem, Marisa. The Seminoles were protesting long before he got here.”

  “He intensified it, then. He isn’t even a Seminole, he’s a Blackfoot from the Quadro Reservation in Oklahoma! He goes all over the country putting in his two cents for Indian causes, which is fine I suppose, even commendable...”

  “But not when it interferes with the progress of your career,” Tracy interjected.