Winter Counts(61)

“Sounds good,” I said. “Will Lack be there?”

“I think so. Don’t know if you heard, but he’s leaving in a few days, going back home. He’s done training the staff and finalizing the new menu. And they’re going to give the restaurant a real name instead of just ‘Dining Room.’”

“Yeah? What’s he going to call it?”

“He’s leaning toward Strongbow Feast House, or possibly Red Grub. He’s thinking about opening a chain of these at Indian casinos across the country. Spread the message about healthy indigenous food. What better places than casinos? And ours will be the first one! Lack says the casinos will have to agree to hire at least fifty percent Native workers and source at least half of their food from indigenous or local suppliers.”

Well, shit. I had to hand it to him, he had some good ideas. Even if he was Muckleshoot and not Lakota.

She went on. “This is just the first step. He’s hoping to get a TV show on the Food Network to spread the word. Lack says real indigenous cuisine will cut diabetes and heart disease rates for Natives by twenty-five percent. But I think he’s being too modest.”

I’d heard enough about Lack by now. “Sounds good. Sure, I’ll come by tomorrow, if I can.”

Dennis returned from his phone calls and joined us inside. After polishing off the cookies, Marie and Dennis engaged in a conversation about baseball. I listened quietly, trying to keep my mind away from Nathan’s situation. It turns out Dennis had played college ball before getting injured. To my surprise, Marie knew quite a bit about pro baseball and the Denver team, the Colorado Rockies. Dennis was passionate about the Rockies and talked about the lack of respect the team got around the country. According to Dennis, people believed the high elevation and dry climate in Denver changed the nature of the game and made the ball travel farther when hit. He said the Rockies stored the balls in a cigar humidor to counter this effect and slow them down. The moisture changed the nature of the balls, turned them into something different. I wondered if there was a way to accomplish this for other objects. Old cars, rotten food, eviction notices. Broken hearts.

The discussion lasted through two pots of coffee and another round of cookies. I was happy to sit back and listen to their debate, even though I didn’t grasp most of it. Then I saw some headlights in the distance shine through into the kitchen. I’d never been happier to hear the coughing and stuttering of my old car, which he’d used to get out to the dealers’ house. The front door opened and Nathan entered. He looked at us in surprise, as if he’d expected to come home to an empty house.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said, hesitantly.

“Tell us what happened.”

He took off his jacket and sat down. “You know, I just chilled for a while. It was cool, no problems.”

“Who was there?” asked Dennis.

“Uh, couple of dudes I don’t know. And some other guy, name of Shane, I think.”

“Rick Crow?” I asked.

“No.”

“How about Loco?” asked Dennis.

“Yeah, he was there.”

Dennis said, “Let’s see it.”

Nathan pulled a tiny red balloon out of his pocket. Dennis took a picture of it with his phone. It looked like a cough drop or a small piece of hard candy. Then he opened it and took a picture of the coal-black heroin.

“I need to record a statement from Nathan,” Dennis said. “You mind if we do that in back?”

“Go ahead.”

They went into the bedroom to tape his statement, leaving the tar on the table.

“I’ve never seen it before,” Marie said, looking at the drugs. “It makes me sad. Why do people want to take that stuff?”

“Slow suicide.”

“I’m not stupid, I get wanting a temporary escape. Get away from your problems. Go ahead, have some drinks, sure. But this stuff is so dangerous. Why lie down and die? Why not fight to make things better?”

I shook my head. “They gave up. Don’t see any future here. Got twenty dollars, can’t pay the rent or buy a tank of propane, but you can fade away for a few hours.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I see that with some of the older people. But the kids? Shit.”

Frustrated, she went to the tiny kitchen and started washing some dishes. I tried to listen in on what was being said in the bedroom, but the door was closed.

After a while, Dennis came out of the bedroom, Nathan behind him.

“Got what I need.”

“What happens next?” I asked.

“Nathan and I went over this. Basically, he’s going to stay in contact with the dealers. When the time is right—maybe a few days, maybe a few weeks—Nathan’s going to ask to buy some scag, but more weight this time. He’ll ask to have them deliver it at the school. We’ll need a day’s notice to put the device on him and set up a ghost car.”

“Ghost car?” said Marie.

“Unmarked police vehicle. We’ll have the ghost near the scene and also a van with the electronics to monitor the buy.”

Ghost car. I couldn’t help but think of the Ghost Dance and the ghost shirts. A long time ago, an Indian named Wovoka had prophesied that, if enough Natives performed the ceremonial dance, all evil would be swept from the earth, the white people would leave North America, and those wearing the sacred shirts would be bulletproof. The Ghost Dance swept across the country, scaring the shit out of the US government, which sent troops to stop Indians from taking part in the ceremony. And the Natives who believed they’d be safe from the soldiers’ bullets? They learned otherwise.