Winter Counts(33)
He wouldn’t look at us. His attention was focused on his coffee cup, as if it contained the answers that had evaded him. “I was doing my best, but couldn’t get enough hours at my job. Money was tight. Rick’s mother said she wanted to leave me. But instead of doing it the Native way, she hired some lawyer and came after my savings. I had to hand over everything I had. I was so angry that I left the rez and moved here. Rick stayed with his mother in South Dakota. I tried to be a father even though I lived far away. I called, wrote letters.”
Reuben folded his hands on the table, his fingers a stronghold amid the wreckage of empty coffee creamers and discarded sugar packets.
“One summer he phoned me. He must have been thirteen or fourteen. Said his mother’d been arrested for something, so he rode his bike over to the jail. When he got there, he said, he heard the police raping his mom in her cell. I didn’t know if he was telling the truth, but what could I say? I told him he could come and stay with me if he wanted. I sent him bus money, and he came and lived here for a while. But he didn’t know anyone, he was lonely, and he went back to the rez. I could tell he was broken inside, maybe because of his mother, maybe because of me. Every once in a while, I’d get a call from him, asking me to help him out of some jam he was in.”
He took his empty coffee cup and turned it on its side, so we could see the bottom of the battered cup, the cracked and faded surface visible beneath the veneer of the ceramic coating.
“I don’t know where he is now. He called a few months ago. Said he was in Rosebud, working with some people to set up hemp farming on the rez. Completely legal, he said. Told me I could make some money, but I didn’t want any part of that.”
I looked over at Marie, who raised her eyebrows slightly.
“Did he say who they were?” I asked.
“No, he didn’t mention any names. He did say there was someone in Denver. Is that what this is all about?”
Marie shook her head. “We think some people might be trying to get him involved with, ah, other stuff.”
“Rather not know,” Reuben said. “I’m sorry if he’s done something wrong. I want you to know he was once a good kid. One of our Lakota virtues is compassion—waunsila. I ask you to have compassion. Help him if you can. Please.”
MARIE AND I WERE SUBDUED on the drive back to the motel.
“You ever hear Rick talk about growing hemp on the rez?” I asked. “It’s like marijuana, right? But weaker.”
“I think so. No, never heard him mention it.”
“You think he was just trying to scam his dad out of some money?”
“Don’t know. Possibly. Wait, didn’t that dispensary guy say something about hemp?”
“That’s right,” I said. “He said the grower was making some medicine, I think. Maybe Rick’s working with him. Doesn’t sound right, though. Rick’s never been much of a healer. We need to find this Martin Angel, see what he can tell us.”
As we pulled into the motel parking lot, Marie stopped and looked over at me. “So, I probably shouldn’t share this.” She paused. “But I know what happened to Rick when he was a kid—what made him change and get so angry. What his dad talked about.”
“Yeah?” I wasn’t sure where she was going with this.
“So, he got pretty drunk one time, back when we were together,” she said. “He told me he’d been abused by some older boy when he was little. Over and over. Wouldn’t say exactly how, but I could guess.”
“That’s pretty shitty. No one deserves that.” I studied her face, trying to gauge her feelings. “Was this his big secret? The one you mentioned?”
She nodded. “Yeah. He was really ashamed. I think he thought it was his fault. I tried to talk to him about it the next day, see if I could help him. But he got furious that I mentioned it. So he hit me, right in the face. Hard.” She shook her head. “Last time I ever spoke to him.”
I didn’t say anything, just stared at her.
WHEN WE GOT BACK TO THE MOTEL, I decided to go for a walk and clear my head. Heading west on Colfax Avenue, I passed by various groups of street people congregated in the parking lots of fast-food joints. Some of them looked Indian, but it was hard to tell. One homeless guy sitting on the street had a change jar next to a handwritten sign that read GOD HAS CHOSEN YOU. DO THE RIGHT THING IN YOUR LIFE.
Seemed like everyone was telling me what to do. I put a little change in his cup, and he nodded. I kept walking. The stories Reuben had told us about Rick and his childhood had disturbed me. I’d heard a little of this back when we were kids, but had never known the full story. For so long, Rick Crow had been the chief villain of my youth, the one who’d tormented me and made me hate being a half-breed. But he might have been just a sad kid who’d been bullied and abused himself.
Still, just because Rick had a rough childhood didn’t change the fact that he was an asshole now. An asshole who’d punched Marie and was bringing hard drugs to the rez. An asshole who’d almost got my nephew killed. Somebody had to stop him, but maybe Marie was right. Even if I took Rick out permanently, the cartel would just find somebody else to move the drugs on the rez. The cop had said that using Nathan to set up the dealers was the best chance to put them in prison. But I couldn’t put him in danger. All I wanted was to see him grow up happy, free of the demons that had pursued our family.