by Darrel Bird
After Gordon returned to his office setup in the sheriff’s office, he called Mary Abonito, “Mary, this is Gordon Masterson, if it would not be too much trouble I would like to come out and speak with you again, it wouldn’t take too long.”
“I just returned from Billings, give me a couple hours, then you can come on out.” Her voice sounded a little tired to Gordon.
“I could wait another day, if today is not good.”
“Better you come on out today Mr. Masterson.”
“Ok, I’ll be there around three this afternoon then.” He hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
Does the responsibility for the murders land in the BIA? If so, how high does it go? One thing for certain is that it’s got money involved.
He drove up to the neat house again, and he found he looked forward to talking with this woman. She met him at the door, “Come in Gordon and have a cup. I just made it.”
“Thank you, I could use a cup.”
“Long day?”
“Very long day, it seems all my days out here are long though, but that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”
“No, I don’t guess it is; what’s on your mind that needs to be answered by an old woman?”
“The elder brothers and sisters are the ones who know the answer to timeless questions. Who would profit by having a couple Indian surveyors killed? That is my first question.”
“The BIA of course. Let me explain, the BIA has been stealing from the Indians since it took over from the Army. Its common knowledge among the older generation, but that’s a steady stream of thefts, we have three million dollars missing from the accounts over the last year, since the casino proposal began. I know because I was in Washington when the money was granted by congress. The money left congress, and never got to us to draw on. The BIA doesn’t report to anyone. I’ve complained to the Billings office, and of course they come back with flowery words about how they are trying to help us. The BIA lives behind a smokescreen of incompetence, and outright theft.”
“Three million?” He whistled. “Can’t you just track the money through the financial accounting reports?”
“What reports? The BIA doesn’t have to give reports, and I’ve sent request for reports to Billings numerous times since Washington allotted the money. That’s like asking a tree if a bird is sitting on its limbs.”
“How would a casino affect the BIA?”
“The BIA is, in effect, the government’s way to control the Indians, and at the same time, be free to steal from them. They steal our money from grazing leases, mineral leases and such, but a casino is direct bottom up accounting. If the casino did well, it would mean more money to hire our own lawyers. The casinos have created a crack in the wall that the government has surrounded them with since the BIA began.”
“Well, if the orders for the killings came from the BIA, that’s a big mistake.”
“Why? They’ll just end up sweeping it under the rug in the long run. Why haven’t you gone home like I advised you?”
“I don’t run Mary. I didn’t ask for this particular job, but I aim to see it through come hell or high water. I think I will shake BIA’s tree, and see what falls out. I would ask you to keep our conversations to yourself Mary.”
“Ok Gordon, if there’s anything you need just ask.”
“Where is the tribal BIA office, I haven’t seen one on the res.”
“It’s in White Peak just behind the theater; they lease the building because we are such a small res. They don’t want to live out here among us dirty Indians.”
“I would have thought the office would have to be on the reservation?”
“Not if Billings gives its permission. Who is going to object?”
“Ok Mary, I need to get back to White Peak, I try to leave my cell in my room, and I need to make some calls.”
“Old fashioned huh?”
“I hate the thing. Just about the time I get in a tight spot the damn things rings.” He got up to go, and she followed him to the door.
“You be real careful out there Gordon, these people mean business.”
“So do I.”
As he left the reservation, he noticed the gate was gone from the main entrance, “See Satch? Already an improvement.”
The dog sat in the front seat looking out the windshield ignoring him, “I know I’ve neglected you, but do you have to be mad at me? You can’t go in every house smelling like you do.” The dog looked at him and then hung his head out the window.
He had forgotten to fill the tank on the sheriff’s car, it was an older Bronco gas guzzler, and he had to push it the last ten feet to get to the pumps. An older guy came out of the store, “The sheriff letting you drive the old Bronco huh? That thing should have been in the wrecking yard ten years ago.”
“Cram every drop you can into it will you?”
When he got back to the temporary office in the sheriffs department the deputy was there. He shook his head at him and walked on back, closing the door behind him.
He called the Billings office of the bureau of Indian affairs. After he heard a voice give him about a five minute long menu, he got a real person, who switched him to another person, who switched him to yet another person, “Billings bureau of Indian affairs, accounting, may I help you?”
“Yes, I need a report of the money earmarked for the White Peak reservation for last year sent down here to the sheriff’s office in White Peak, could you do that?”
“I’m sorry sir, but you will have to put in a written formal request through the White Peak office for that.”
“Listen lady, I’m with the FBI investigating two murders down here, so you just go tell your boss I need that report sent down here right away, or you and him both may be on the unemployment rolls soon, do you get me?”
“Yes sir, I’ll tell him. Where should it be sent?”
“I just told you the sheriff’s office in White Peak.”
“What is that address sir?”
“Look it up lady.”
“Yes sir. Would there be anything else?”
“No…that’ll be it fer starters.” It sounded to Gordon like she was in a hurry to get off the phone. He had just hung up when the sheriff’s deputy knocked, and opened the door before he could answer, “The night duty is coming on, if there is anything you need, just tell her.”
“I’m done for the day myself, Say, why do they call you Pack?”
“I guess it’s because I have been a collector since I was a kid. I pack home stuff I find.”
“What’s your real name?”
“Elmo Jennings. I prefer you just call me Pack like everyone else.”
“Ok Pack, thanks, I’ll probably see you in the morning then.”
“Yes sir, goodnight.”
He followed the deputy out of the building and walked back to the Elkhorn Motel which was six blocks away. The dog followed along, “I guess we will soon begin to know people around here Satch.” He reached down and gave the dog a scratch behind the ears.
The next morning at ten he found the White Peak BIA office and walked in the door with his dog following. A man who sat behind a cluttered desk ignored him when he walked up to a counter. “I’m Gordon Masterson, and I’m here to see the supervisor.”
The man looked up, and then went back to shuffling papers.
“I’m here to see the supervisor please!” Gordon said again.
The man arose casually and came to the counter, “What can I do for you Mr. Masterson?”
“I will need a full financial report for the incoming, and outgoing moneys for the past year.”
“You will have to request those from the Billings office I’m afraid. I heard you have been sneaking around our reservation, and that is an ill advised way to do business here in White Peak.”
Gordon lost whatever cool he possessed and was over the low counter in a heartbeat. He grabbed the man by the shirt collar and slammed him against the counter, “Listen you, if I don
’t begin to get cooperation, I’ll shove you through a wall, do you hear me?”
Satch was giving off a deep growl, and the man watered his pants.
Gordon turned the man loose, “If I don’t get something by day after tomorrow, hell is coming to breakfast around here! Come on Satch!” The dog followed him to the door.
Twenty minutes late he was back at his office when the sheriff came in, “I heard you roughed up Floyd Hampton over at the BIA office, he called me and filled out a complaint on you.”
“I’m tired of the sand bagging I’ve been getting around here sheriff, and I aim to start pushing back.”
“Well, don’t push back to hard, and make me have to arrest you.”
“Ok Bob, I’ll try to ease off for your sake, but I don’t think that is going to work with these people. I was only giving the tree a shake anyhow.”
The sheriff looked steadily at Gordon and said,“Technically the BIA office is res land, but its sitting in my town, and that complicates matters Gordon, the BIA employees are afraid to work out there on the res though, because they know the BIA steals from the Indians leaving the Indians to rot in poverty. That creates an unsafe situation for them. Unofficially I would like to see some of the BIA bastards in Jail, but the way the