“How to save Coyote River” or better put, “How to save themselves from getting lynched by the rest of the tribe” is the topic of this Monday morning’s tribal council meeting.
And who are they looking at to be the savior? How about Prez?
Talk about a transformation. Instead of being the priestess of a dragon cult, Prez has grown into a modern woman of power. With her tailored European dark suit, red scarf and Italian leather shoes, Prez exudes a confident, calm strength as she steps in to address the three men and four women who compose the Coyote River Tribal Council. All eyes are on her as she walks into the conference room of the tribe’s small administrative center.
How the mighty have fallen. When Prez first started coming to address them five years ago, to make her pitch about managing the casino, there was little appetite or interest in her spiel. The council members at that time figured she was just another opportunist trying to make a buck off the red man. After centuries of that, they’d had enough. After all, the casino and hotel were prosperous, and the future looked promising. As to Prez’s line about being “one of them” because thousands of years ago, Chinese crossed from Asia to the isthmus that connected Russia to Alaska, well, that sounded ridiculous.
And then the grand experiment failed. Timber, fishing and agriculture had always been the mainstays of Oregon’s economy. However, there had been a move to try to change the reliance away from natural resources to manufacturing, services and high tech. It was successful at first. Some Oregonians started to brag about being “Silicon Valley II.” There was a building boom, and new structures were growing like weeds. And everyone was spending money in the casinos. Business boomed for all the Native American casinos.
But that insidious evil commonly called “progress” came ramming through the door. Any company with a half-dozen computer geeks started calling themselves “Internet startups.” It wasn’t only Cupertino and Mountain View that were the competition. Vancouver, South Korea, India, and oh yes… a Harvard dropout who started Facebook in his dorm room. Manufacturing? Well, those jobs disappeared too, to China, India and Mexico…
And gambling? If anyone thought that Las Vegas was going to let everyone rape them out of market share, they don’t know the first thing about the brains of the desert. Playing hardball is their specialty. New, glitzier casinos. Better, more outrageous entertainment. And bigger payouts. Not only in Vegas but also in Atlantic City, Monte Carlo, and that gargantuan new elephant in the room: Macau.
On the Native American casino front, there is a ton of increased competition not only within Oregon, but also from neighboring states.
Everyone is scrambling for pennies from paupers.
For five years, Coyote River could no longer make regular payroll or payments on the mortgages of the casino and hotel buildings. Their line of credit ballooned, and a year ago, it was suspended.
Last Friday, their banker of fifteen years, Mount Hood Credit Union, told the tribal council they no longer are willing to lend the casino and hotel complex money and have been planning to call the loan. If they don’t make good on their back payments and line of credit, they will foreclose on the property in ten days. While the credit union has threatened to do this several times before and not acted, Roger Chandler, the credit union’s commercial loans officer, said that this time they will definitely proceed.
Unlike past occasions when Prez had to plead to make a presentation, today, the council was the ones to call her to come in. Prez scrutinizes the people in the room, assessing whom she might be able to play, who has hot buttons to press.
First of all, there’s fifty-five-year-old Chief Dan Feather. He’s the one who in the past gave Prez lip service, and it stuck in his craw that he’s the one that called her to make today’s presentation. While the chairman is officially an elected position, Chief’s father was council chairman before him, and his mother, Dr. Sally Feather, a Native American historian, is the council’s vice chair
There is thirty-five-year-old Russell, a carver. When he was eighteen, Russell went up north to Canada to the Queen Charlotte Islands where he apprenticed. He is sympathetic to Prez. After all, because of her quiet lobbying, two of his totem poles are featured on the front lawns of the Oregon Legislature.
The youngest and newest member of the tribal council is twenty-one-year-old Gina. A single mom with three kids under six, she is passionate about staying on the reservation and knows that something must be done if that is to happen.
Then there’s forty-year-old Freddy, “Mr. Fixit,” so named because he can fix anything. He was the hotel and casino’s handyman for years and was recently promoted to manager. A cynic might say he got the job because the tribal council was trying to figure out how to not pay him for the past year’s work.
A second casino rep is fifty-one-year-old cocktail waitress Melva. She has been on the board for three terms and hates it. She stays only because no other casino or hotel worker will put up with the council.
The last of the eight council members is Turk. Turk is thirty-one and a former classmate of Prez at U of O. He decided to study law after his initial business degree, and there is no doubt that his is a forward-looking vision of how the tribe should be.
Prez smiles. “Thanks for inviting me. I’m not going to say anything that I haven’t said before, but it seems like circumstances have changed. Maybe, now you’ll believe me. Please remember that this is a two-step process. Even if you approve of what I say, it still has to get through the state’s subcommittee tomorrow.”
No BS. No niceties. Just cutting to the chase.
Which is good. The time for waffling, indecision and tribal infighting is over. If the council doesn’t make a decision on its own, some nameless official will make it for them and leave them out of the process. That will mean additional financial hardship and even greater embarrassment for this proud nation. With so much at stake, all focus intently on Prez’s message.
“We know Prez,” says Chief.
“Just wanted to make sure. I don’t want to say I told you so, but the truth is, I told you so. You spent when you should have saved, and when things went sour, you wasted even more money thinking that if you threw enough cash at the problem, you could spend your way out of it. That almost never works. You have totally mismanaged your license to print money.”
“We don’t need to hear that. We have been here for a thousand years,” says Chief defiantly.
“Which means nothing to a tourist from Beijing, a secretary from Portland or a fisherman from Washington State, all of whom you need to get here if you want to stay afloat.”
She picks up her tan leather bag and points to its intricate Native design. “This was a gift from Russell. This bag shows a life full of history, of culture… ”
She puts the bag down. “But that’s not real. You can’t make a business model today on promoting Native American ideals. The sandbox you are playing in is cutthroat competitive. Your slots are stale. They haven’t been upgraded in years. The bedroom sheets are threadbare. There are chips in the coffee cups. The food tastes like it was heated up in a microwave. And the payouts? Vegas pays out almost three times as much for the same hand. When things were good, you pissed away your profits with junkets for yourselves, cars you couldn’t afford and your expense accounts. Who do you think you were impressing? The president? Vegas wasn’t impressed. Vegas watched you blow your wad and sat back to wait for the blood to begin flowing. That’s why I’m here. To try to save you. Maybe.”
“You’ve got to spend money to make money,” says Melva.
“No. You have to spend money wisely to make money,” corrects Prez. “You upgraded your health plans so they are better than the Legislature’s. You give out free seniors’ meals that could go in a five-star restaurant. What are you thinking? Listen. I had my dental work done by students for free to save money. I ate peanut butter sandwiches instead of steak. I jogged in the park, not on a treadmill in an air-conditioned gym. You don’t need to live expe
nsively in order to live well.”
Impressive words but an absolute lie. No child of Chin ever had less than the best of what the world had to offer.
“I want to give our people dignity. I want to maintain a moral compass,” states the Chief firmly.
Prez slaps her head.
“How much dignity is there in bankruptcy? And what direction do you think your‘moral compass’ pointing to?” Prez snorts. “Let me tell you like it is. There is no such thing as a casino with morals. This is not a youth hostel. This is not a drug rehab center. A casino exists for one reason only. That is to take advantage of the very human condition called greed. Well, greed and hope. Greedy for more money, hope that by spending a few bucks on slot machines or the tables that their dreams of escaping a dreary life will become fulfilled. But that’s not all. When they throw their money on the table or feed those one-armed bandits, they want sizzle on their steak. Glamor. Sex appeal.”
She throws their current marketing brochure contemptuously on the table.
“No one cares about wilderness and wildlife. No one cares about historic strings of beads or that you bound baby’s skulls to flatten their foreheads. All anybody coming here wants is to catch the brass ring. That they will be the one that hits the mega-jackpot. That they are the one that other casinos won’t let in because they’ve made so much money the other joints think they must be cheating.”
“We will not be party to the destruction of our people,” shouts Chief.
“That’s why I am here. I can solve your financial problems and manage the property,” says Prez, voice keeping at a steady calm.
“We’ve gone through this before, Prez. You can’t. You’re not a Native American.”
How many times do I have to explain things to these idiots? “I don’t need to be for this. I won’t have any ownership and technically will be here in an advisory capacity only. Let me tell you again what I will do. I will pay off all past-due loan payments, pay off your overextended line of credit and guarantee to cover all the costs for a year. For this, I take 10 percent of net profits, payable every quarter.”
“We don’t need you. The government will bail us out,” says Melva. “They always do.”
“The government, the government, the government.” Prez rolls her eyes. “Melva, tell me you’re kidding. The damned government is the reason you are in this mess. Look. If you want someone to build a highway or teach arithmetic, sure, get the government involved. But this is money we are talking about. Your money. Your kids’ money. Your grandkids’ money.”
Prez looks around the room. Some faces are on her side but not enough. She’s got to put the squeeze on.
“Let’s deal with the facts. Competition is growing like gangbusters. If I live in Seattle, it takes me fours to drive here. No thanks. I’ll fly two hours to Vegas. If I live in Boise or Sacramento, it takes eight hours drive to get here or four to fly Sin City. It’s a no-brainer again.”
“Airfare’s a lot more expensive than driving.”
Prez shrugs. “In Vegas, the entertainment’s better, the rooms are nicer, the jackpots are higher. And you can’t get a better buffet anywhere in America for any price. By the time you factor in the sizzle, it’s an easy choice. Las Vegas or Reno will win every time.”
“What makes you think you can do it?” asks Russell, drumming his fingertips on the table.
Wordlessly, Prez touches the tips of her fingers together. She then pulls her hands back to take off her jacket and then unbuttons her blouse. Then she drops her skirt to the floor.
The sensuous body of a Hollywood starlet, the exoticism of an Asian siren…
She then snaps her bra, revealing the tiniest amount of nipple.
She steps to Russell and lightly touches his face, purring with a little moan.
The sight, sound and smell of the goddess captures and captivates everyone in the room.
Prez announces seductively, “I know how to attract people.”
She looks at Sally, Melva and Gina. “Male and female.”
She quickly puts her clothes back on and then steps to the door.
“You know my number.”
She leaves the room.
***
“She can do it, definitely,” says Turk.
“She’s a slut,” says Melva.
“But she’s a smart slut,” says Krystal Johnson, who has a dual function here—she is both a member of the state Native American Gambling Planning Subcommittee and a Coyote River Tribal Council member. “And she does know how to put on a show.”
“Give me some time to think about it,” says Chief.
“We don’t have time,” says Russell. “And I have three carvings on display in the hotel lobby that nobody is buying.”
“I think we should go with Prez, too,” says Freddy. “We need cash.”
“And she’s gonna go somewhere else with her dough if we don’t do it,” says Turk. “Native American casinos all over are having a hard time because they can’t keep up with all the competition.”
“Not just that, it’s because you guys are greedy,” snaps Gina, looking at the established members of the council: Chief, Sally, and Melva. “Everyone knows you guys are taking a big cut for yourselves.”
Chief looks at Gina—she’s serious. Has it come down to this—that the young people in the tribe are looking at him and thinking he’s a corrupt fat cat?
“I don’t want to do it,” says Chief. “I’d rather go bankrupt financially than morally.”
“You don’t understand Chief. Coyote River is the only place that most of us can get jobs,” pleads Gina.
“We are making good inroads outside the reservation.”
“Chief, don’t be naive. If there’s only one job available, and the two best applicants are a white or one of us, who do you think will get it? You know the answer. Whitey gets the job every time. Our best chance is to create our own work,” argues Turk.
Chief grimaces. “The problems on our reservations are getting worse. More alcoholism, more drug addiction, more violence, more family breakups… it just doesn’t seem enough.”
“Three million pays off our debt and puts Prez in charge. She’s a doer. It’ll also give us, our kids and grandkids jobs. It’ll help us buy more homes… maybe even go to Disneyland or Universal Studios for vacation. Isn’t that what we all want? Progress?”
Dr. Sally, who has been silent until now, speaks up. “Turk, I know your heart is in the right place, but actually, not all of us are interested in what you call progress. I remember my father telling us about fishing for food, living simply… ”
“Dr. Feather, that’s a dream; that’s no more. We can’t live in the past.”
“Listen, all. It’s not just up to us. The gambling subcommittee is meeting tomorrow to talk about Prez’s proposal. We can say whatever we want, but if they don’t agree, then there’s nothing we can do.”
“Why don’t we do this? Let them meet, but on Wednesday, let’s get it all hashed out. Bring Prez and Hiram in here. I don’t see any other options. Do you?” asks the ambitious Turk.
No one does.
“Then we do it,” says Turk, looking more chieflike by the moment.
Chapter 5
Early Tuesday—Hong Kong
Hong Kong is special for Noah. It’s where he grew up, it’s where his parents had lived and died, it’s where Master Wu trained him in the Way of the Shaolin and it’s where he met Olivia.
It’s also where he met Chin.
Fresh from graduating from law school in California, Noah had been standing in line for a cab at Hong Kong International when out of nowhere, he had seen someone chasing a ferocious Bengal tiger in the airport. Noah had never seen anything like it—this crazy ninja was leaping from car to van in hot pursuit—almost like seeing his favorite comic book character, Captain America, in real life.
Little did Noah know that this tiger hunter would become the dominant influence in his life.
This time, however,
Hong Kong will just be a pit stop for a day trip. If the newlyweds let their friends and associates know they were in town, they’d be there for a month celebrating. Noah and Olivia figure that if they don’t tell anyone they’re there and get an early start on the day, they’ll be out of town by evening.
That’s why, at 5 a.m., Noah and Olivia stand by the water fountains in front of this thousand-foot-high office building, watching the eager beavers step through the revolving doors, obligatory double tall café mochas in hand.
Both of them are quietly thinking about the same thing. Am I ever glad I escaped working here. This building, of course, housed Pittman Saunders, Olivia’s father’s law firm.
But the memories are not all bad. On the first day of the job, Noah met Olivia in one of the building’s many elevators. Although Noah failed miserably to impress her, there was something about this socially awkward newbie attorney that was so different from the capitalistic and egotistic Ivy League lawyers she was used to, Olivia knew that she just had to find out more.
“Want a falafel?”
It’s an inside joke. Poverty-stricken Noah tried to impress Olivia by asking her to go out for falafels for breakfast. She thought he was trying to be cool, but in reality, the owner of the Falafel Palace had given him a two-for-one coupon.
“Why don’t we just visit the cemetery?”
Not the comment you’d expect out of the average honeymooner, but then again, Noah’s and Olivia’s upbringing was hardly average. Two young Caucasians were brought up entirely in Asia. Chinese influence on them is stronger than Walmart or McDonald’s.
Like every Chinese has been brainwashed by the teachings of Confucius. One of those crazy things is the concept of “filial piety,” or the virtue of respecting and honoring one’s ancestors.
Ain’t no other reason for visiting cemeteries and graveyards on your honeymoon. It’s their duty to visit the resting places of their parents, to tell them of their marriage and to ask for their blessing.
RITUAL SACRIFICE: The Ultimate Alpha Female & Political Corruption on the West Coast (Noah Reid Action Suspense Thriller Series Book 5) Page 3