Winter Counts(83)

He was making sounds, but no actual words came from his mouth.

“I warned you.” I pulled the thumb all the way until it snapped, the ligament sounding like a chicken bone fracturing.

He screamed, his cries echoing off the walls of the museum. I stood back and let him endure the pain for a minute. He began to cry, the greasy rivulets running down his face.

“You’ll never write with that hand again, but if you start talking, you can keep the other thumb. Maybe learn to be a lefty.”

I walked behind him, took hold of his other thumb, and bent it back quickly, until it couldn’t budge any farther. I could feel the tension in the hand as I worked it some more.

“Stop! Stop! They took him!”

I let go of his hand and stepped around in front of him. He was trembling and shaking with pain.

“Who took him?”

“Loco! And the others! He was here, but they took him. Jesus fucking Christ, this hurts!”

He was shivering like a wounded dog, but that was nothing compared to the pain and misery he’d brought to the rez.

“Where’d they take him? You lie, I’ll break it and cut it off.”

“I can’t say! They’ll fuckin’ kill me.”

“I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

“They’re gonna torture him. Set an example.”

“Example of what?”

“He’s a snitch! They’re gonna kill him so he can’t testify in court.”

“Who said he’s a snitch?”

“How the hell would I know! They’re not stupid, they figured he flipped after he was set up.”

“What do you mean, set up?”

“Shit, how stupid are you? There’s a war going on. The pill guys against the heroin guys. The pill guys set him up.”

I didn’t understand what this had to do with Nathan. I glared at him. “You better start explaining.”

“They run pain pills on the rez. Oxys, vikes, dillies. They don’t want to compete with heroin, right? No more sales. So they planted the pills in Nathan’s locker. They knew he’d flip, rat out the heroin gang. They also hate your guts, wanted to get back at you. Set the kid up, he goes to jail or he flips. Win-win.”

He moaned from the pain, his face contorted in a grimace.

“Who hates me?” I said.

“Jesus, who do you think? Guv Yellowhawk. He hates your guts after that beating you put on him. And he handles the lockers at the school.”

I was trying to keep up with this crazy story, but it seemed like Rick was just trying to shift the blame and save his own sorry ass.

“You’re telling me Guv controls pills on the rez? Bullshit, he’s too dumb for that. And too lazy.”

Rick sneered. “Of course he is. Don’t you know who’s in charge?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Ben. Ben Short Bear. He’s been bringing in pills for years, making bank and paying off dipshits like Guv. Got all kinds of scams going on. But it’s the end of the gravy train once the heroin comes in. He’s been playing you, using you and Nathan to run those Mexicans off the rez. But they figured it out and took your guy.” He snorted a little. “Pretty goddamn funny, you’re fucking his daughter and didn’t even know.”

Ben Short Bear, tribal councilman, dealing drugs? Yeah, Rick was feeding me crap so I wouldn’t hurt him again. How could he know all of this, assuming it wasn’t a complete lie?

“You’re full of shit,” I told him. “You and the Aztec Kingz work together. I saw you at their cabin. How would you know anything about Ben? He thinks you’re scum, he wouldn’t tell you jack. Hell, he sent me to take you out. I think you set Nathan up.” I moved toward him. “Had enough of your bullshit. Now I’m gonna break that thumb, then take it off.”

I reached around him, trying to take hold of his arm.

“Guv told me!” he shrieked. “When he was drunk! He told me everything! Ben set up your nephew, not me!”

I grabbed his hand. “Sorry, not buying it, shithead. Here goes that thumb.”

He started shouting, but I ignored him. He was flailing and thrashing, but I pinned him down, took hold of the left thumb and bent it back. When it snapped, Rick screamed again. But I wasn’t finished. I started twisting it, trying to take it off with my bare hands, wrenching it back and forth, tearing through the skin and tendons.

“He’s at the goddamn slaughterhouse! Now stop!”

I let go of his hand. “What slaughterhouse? Where?”

“The one in Porcupine! You fucking animal!”

I vaguely remembered hearing about some old slaughterhouse in Pine Ridge, but had never been there. There was no way of telling if this was the truth or more of his bullshit, but I had a hunch the pain was extracting something a little more factual out of him. “Who took him there?” I asked.

“Loco, Manuel, some other guy. I was supposed to meet ’em there after they’re done.”

“How long ago?”

“I don’t know, three hours? Okay, I told you, so get me out of here. I need a goddamn hospital!”

Hospital? Did this asshole really think I was going to drive him to a doctor for some pain pills? The irony was pretty profound, though I didn’t have time to savor it. This waste of human flesh helped snatch my nephew, after spreading misery and pain across the reservation for decades. He’d bullied me and countless others in school, then gone on to sell booze and drugs all over the rez. He’d had his hand in nearly every scam and hustle, every shitty scheme and conspiracy to make a buck, all at the expense of his cherished full-blood Indians.