Winter Counts(36)

Marie drove while I made some calls, trying to learn more details. I called the tribal police, but the operator wouldn’t put me through to Nathan or give me any information. I tried calling the school, but they were closed and weren’t answering. I pounded the dashboard in frustration, and then Marie suggested that she phone her father and have him make a few calls. Of course. The police might be willing to give Ben, a tribal councilman, details and information that weren’t yet released. She rang her dad, and I listened to her half of the conversation.

She hung up. “He’s going to call the tribal police chief at home and get right back to us.”

For once, I was grateful for Ben. I gripped my phone so tightly that my hand turned white. Nathan had told me that his experiment with heroin had been a onetime thing, so what the fuck was this? Had he been lying to me all along?

I stared at the passing scenery and tried to let my mind go blank as we waited for Ben to call back. The mile markers, road signs, and scrub grass blended into each other and created a sort of white-noise buzz in my head, which served as a welcome distraction.

I jumped when I heard Marie’s ringtone, a snippet of a powwow drum song. She looked at the phone’s screen and handed it to me without a word.

“Virgil, it’s Ben. I just spoke with Frank Pourier. Here’s the deal. The high school got word about possible contraband and searched the lockers yesterday. They didn’t get a search warrant because you don’t need one on school grounds, he said. Anyway, they found pills in Nathan’s locker, and they—”

“Pills? What kind of pills?”

“Take it easy, and I’ll tell you what I know. They’re the strong ones, oxycodones—for severe pain. He didn’t say how many there were, but it must be a lot, enough for a class three felony possession charge.”

“What does that mean? Class three?”

“It means fifteen years in prison. And because they were found on school property, they can double the sentence.”

Jesus Christ. “Is Nathan all right? I mean, was he high or anything when they picked him up?”

“Don’t know. All I know is that he’s in custody at juvenile, but he’ll be handed over to the feds next week. You want to prevent that if you can. Frank told me there’s no federal juvenile facility here, which means he could be thrown in with the wolves if the feds get him. You get me? Federal prison.”

Oh shit.

Ben went on. “More bad news—he said Nathan’s right at the age to be tried in court as an adult, not a juvenile. Looks like the age is fourteen for violent crimes or controlled substances. You need to contact a lawyer. There’s the public defender’s office, but I don’t recommend them. Call Charley Leader Charge in Rapid City. I’ve known him for a long time, and he owes me a favor or ten. And he’s the best—he’ll help Nathan. If anyone can.”

BACK AT THE REZ, the next few days were a blur as I made countless calls to try and get Nathan out of jail and learn the details of what had gone down. Marie offered to stay with me for a while, and I gratefully accepted. I was too distracted to focus on the everyday details of life, and it was a relief to have her there. She cooked some simple meals and engaged in a full-scale cleaning of the house, top to bottom. I realized with embarrassment that it had been many moons since Nathan and I had really scrubbed the place. I offered to help, but she told me just to focus on getting him home.

I’d been thrown into a world I wasn’t familiar with, and it was difficult to know which way to go. I had an appointment in a few days with the lawyer in Rapid City, but I knew there was no way to pay him. I wondered if there was something I could barter for the lawyer’s fees. Maybe be some type of enforcer for him or serve legal papers. Ben Short Bear had said I should avoid the public defender, but what choice did I have if I couldn’t work something out with the attorney? And what about a bond to get Nathan out of juvie? I knew that bail bondsmen required some type of collateral before they’d put up the full amount of bail, but I didn’t own anything beyond three small pieces of land on the rez that I’d inherited, and those couldn’t be used anyway, as they were BIA trust properties. They could have my car, but that was worth about a hundred dollars, on a good day.

The only positive news was that, after many phone calls, I was allowed to see Nathan at the juvenile detention center. The facility itself looked like a golf club, with the exception of the fence surrounding the basketball courts. Coils of vicious concertina razor wire were mounted atop the barrier, the blades flashing in the sun.

After a pat-down and a trip through a metal detector, I was ushered into the lobby of the facility, where the director was to meet me. As I walked into the large circular room, I noticed about ten people hunched over armless, legless torsos. I stared at the scene, trying to comprehend what was going on.

“Our annual CPR training. Required by the state. Don’t worry, we get the mannequins sanitized after they’re done. I’m Joe, the director here.”

A Native man of about thirty-five, sharply dressed in a dark suit and bolo tie, gave me a warm smile and stuck out his hand to shake. I shook it and noticed that he did it the wasicu way: firm, like he was checking for weapons.

“I’m here for Nathan Wounded Horse,” I said.

“Sure, I’ll take you to him. Let me show you around first. We like to meet with all the parents and guardians, let them know their kids are in good hands.”