Burst by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 12
The next thing I knew, Mal and I were on the way to Gallup.
Frankly, I don’t know what I was doing there. Most likely it was just getting me in deeper to a dangerous situation I didn’t fully understand. But, I guess that’s what friends are for.
He was doing seventy on I-40 West. The super highway went all the way to our Navajo reservation destination. Apparently, his mind was occupied by numerous thoughts which prevented idle chit chat. That was fine with me, because, even in “normal”
times I didn’t know much of what the hell he was talking about anyway. The result was that he’d say things I didn’t understand, smile as if they were some kind of joke, and I’d smile back, thinking it was the best thing to do; like when someone is maniacally grinning at their own one-liner, thinking how cool they are. As bright as he was, I’m sure Mal sensed this, and that made the whole thing more uncomfortable.
Social niceties in their place; I was a bit more uncomfortable with the hand gun he had given me. It was the first time in my life that I’d “been packin’” anything more potent than a water pistol. Initially, I had it wedged into the top of my jeans, but kept thinking that the damn thing might explode or otherwise act absurdly to my critical detriment. Mal had said otherwise, but I couldn’t help but think it possible
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that this was one of the ones his brother made himself. To be on the safe side, I had placed it on the floor of the car; thereby risking only a toe.
He was driving sufficiently slowly as to not attract any unwanted cop attention. The radio was off and the silence hung like a trapped scam artist on an overhead electrical cord. Just to break it, I said; “Am I supposed to start flashing this thing around at the reservation? Might think Kit Carson came back.”
“I told you keep it in your pants till you want to use it.
Let you shirt cover it and show the threatening bulge. You do know how to handle it; right?”
“It’s got bullets in it; right?”
“Yeah.”
“So, when I see somebody I want to waste I point the long part at them, and pull this little thing you guys call a trigger. What more I gotta know?”
“Nuthin’ really.”
“Thank you. Some of you Westerners make such a big shit about how to properly handle guns.”
“If you were paying any attention, you’d have heard that I’m from Arkansas.”
I put my hand over my mouth, looked out the passenger side window, and mumbled; “Fuckin’ technicality bullshit.”
“I heard that.”
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“Makes more sense than the fuckin’ Indian you told me about AT LENGTH.”
“Pretty much. The fuckin’ Indian had a monumental problem in getting to the point.”
“ ................... “
“So, listen up Chief. We don’t know what the fuck we’re gonna run into in Gallup. You know, the Indian might have lied to me and Rikki, ain’t an Indian at all, and has split for greener pastures. He might be there spouting shit to whoever got a yen for his bucks. Then again, he might be in on the whole thing. Small chance he just stepped into a pile of shit.”
“Must be tough to handle that much cynicism.”
“Tell me about it, Chief. And technically, it’s not cynicism anymore. It’s just possibilities.”
“What I can’t get is what kind of scam the Indian might be a part of.”
“Welcome to 2016, grandpa. I’m not sure, either. But, look at the shit we know. We got $400. If I took him off we’d have fifty grand. They got my lady in a hostage thing. And, I’m runnin’ around with you trying to recover the money they never really lost.”
“Fuck. That’s almost as good as the Federal government’s crap about being broke; and a need to eliminate Social Security, but not the tanks.”
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“And then again, there’s no way we can be sure about it.
Like I said; this Indian may have just walked into the middle of a drug deal and we picked him up and got involved.”
“Not to sound smart, but I never picked up a hitch-hiker.
Too much bad stuff can happen and I ain’t the only ride they can get. ................... But, where you thinkin’ drug deal?”
“The Indian was in front of County. It’s like 3-fuckin’ AM, the time the scumbags always let you out at. I been in that world. Dipshit guards don’t get paid squat. They’re usually some fucked-up assholes with a need to be big shots by doling out little shit cruelty to the prisoners. And they got access to the evidence with a couple of winks.”
“So, then they go fuck up the sale.”
“Yeah, sometimes. But, look at it from their point of view.
What have they lost? Nuthin’ they paid for. ........... See, if you’re in the game, these guys are great to do business with.
They sell cheap; don’t want no trouble; and unless you run into some mental defective with a macho problem, you make money; even just flippin’ it in bulk.”
“Sort of lost.”
“All right. Picture that you’re a low income guard with access to the evidence. You know the players and they treat you as if you’re some kind of god when they’re in, ‘cause they don’t wanna risk losing their meds or get another cold meal. If you’re
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as big a jerk as most of them are, you think your ‘power’ rules and always will. Yet, you don’t want to get caught, or else you’ll be in the stir surrounded by fuckers who’d like to mess you up bad. So you drop it off and pick it up later. This time somebody fucked it up somewhere along the line, probably just being the dumbass scumbags they are, they stupidly let the demented Indian out in the middle of the shit.”
“You keep saying you and we. So, now take it from my point of view. Up until a couple of days ago I was a retired middle class homeowner who previously worked in a bank. No criminal involvement. Never saw a gun other than one held by Bogart.
Despite all the bullshit conspiracy theorists say, nothing ever happens in a bank. Sure, every so often one of the file girls forgets where her skirt is and elevates to the top of the cabinet. But, that’s not all that often; and most of the time you find a rationalization. If you can tolerate the boredom you can have a wife and family, and live somewhere that actually has some green things growing; if you water them when needed. Okay, so then you enter your ‘Golden Years.’ Retirement from that fuckin’ bank is a cause for celebration, beyond the two minute watch-bestowing celebration. You’re finally free to take care of your house and garden. Things are wonderful until your legs and back signal that you need someone younger to do the watering for you. Yadda, yadda. So eventually, I wind up with you and Rikki
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as uninvited houseguests. No watering is being done and instead; I’m in a life threatening situation; and don’t even know why.”
“My, you’re chatty today. That is so fucking bourgeois.
Well, you asked what the fuck is going on, and I told you. Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies. You really ought to try to appreciate being finally brought into the excitement of true life.”
“I appreciate things a whole lot better when I’m given the opportunity to ask for them first.”
“Join the club that got fucked.”
After passing through more of the highway lined congregation of tin storage facilities Mal said; “This is the res entrance.”
“You sure. Looks like any other road.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. They just don’t have government signs all over the place. You think they still live in teepees and wigwams?”
“They don’t have any people either. Guess I was expecting a gambling casino replete with losers in bandages with cups of quarters. What the fuck are we looking for anyway?”
“Some guy flashing a lot of green would be nice. ...... I really don’t know. Something that looks unusual.”
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Mal slowed down and drove down a road which looked like any rural, southwestern, county park in a drought. We came upon a housing development. There must have been fifty, relatively new, identical four room houses clustered on ten acres.
“Looks like Levittown when it was first built,” I said.
“Unusual enough for you?”
Mal just shrugged, more interested that there were people outside. He said; “Let’s see if anybody knows anything.” He parked the car in front of the house where a Native American woman was sweeping near her front door. As we approached, she moved toward that door. Mal called out; “Peace. We’re lost.”
Seeming wary, the woman stopped, pointed right, and said;
“You can get back on the highway that way.”
Mal said; “Thanks. No. We’re looking for Bit’aa’ni.”
She said; “I don’t know anyone named Bit’aa’ni,” and went in.
We left the car and walked around the flat, treeless area.
The results were the same with the rest of the people there. No one ever heard of Bit’aa’ni.
We were approached by a group of three men. The spokesman said; “You are trespassing on Navajo land.”
Mal answered; “We’re leaving now. I was just trying to find someone I drove here a week ago; Bit’aa’ni.”
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The spokesman again said; “You are trespassing on Navajo land,” adding; “We’ll walk you back to your car.”
As we silently walked we heard a voice from behind say;
“It’s all right. This is my friend.” We all turned and saw that it was someone doing double time to catch up. He was about 5’6”, thin, and he was wearing a light blue sweatshirt which said;
“It is difficult to free fools from the chains they revere.”
Voltaire
“A little cash never hurts matters.”
Reverend Ike
and blue jeans. It was Bit’aa’ni, little Bitty.
Mal and I waited as the four Native Americans exchanged words we didn’t understand. Bit’aa’ni’s lined face did a lot of smiling and nodding until the other three left. He said; “Hello, friend. And hello friend of friend. I owe you a favor and will be glad to do that.”
Mal told him the story and of his plight.
Bitty took us inside to see his family. His wife and two daughters smiled briefly and efficiently, and then retreated to the adjoining room. He led us to his backyard, and explained that he no longer had the money as he used it to pay off his mortgage to the Hashke.
Though he could never put all the pieces of the puzzle in place, Mal always considered that the Indian could be in on the
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scam. In thwarted disbelief, he opened his mouth as if to speak; but no words came; as he raised, then lowered his right arm.
Bit’aa’ni said; “I know what you are thinking, my friend.
Let me show you something.” He went back inside and returned with documents which indicated the truth of his claim. As I had spent many years working for banks, I told Mal that they look legit to me. Mal made a sound which sounded like a mix of frustration with a last gasp sigh.
Bit’aa’ni said; “I am sorry. These men are bad men. All they know is evil and they will be defeated by the truth.”
Mal said; “Sometime before they kill Rikki, I hope.”
It was Bit’aa’ni’s turn to sigh a frustration. He said;
“This is all I can do.” He started to move his feet, which took him into a small circling pattern. His movements were irregular as if in his head he was hearing and following the sound of Charlie Parker playing “Cherokee” with his later flats. He began chanting like a Haitian possessed by the spirit.
“Hello. ... My friends! ... My name ... is Bit’aa’ni. ... I am. ... Of The Folder Arms People ... Clan, born for The Red-Running-Into-Water Clan. ... The Bitter ... Water Clan are my maternal grandfather's clan ... and The Tangle People are my paternal grandfather's clan. .......... You can ... call me Bitty. ... I’m Navajo.” He found that funny, and temporarily stopped moving and bent over in amusement. Righting himself, he
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continued; “Please pardon me. Here we go. The controller arms meet at top. The twelve is heard only by the moon. The dew explodes from its veiling place, now Owsley in the cradle.
Madman and reason join the treetop fowl. Four winds move five silver grazes in spring, no footprints in the hardened sand.
Walk with me on the beach. The tide is way out. You’ll shortly be two and want to know the way of the wind. It is not said on the plot that Dibe hides at the rear of the timer at the CGS.
The four winds sit at the Cardinal Gate Scheme; two gates locked and spaces barred. One lets you in and the other echoes it. In vile glare and suggestion that other’s just a replica. The noble, fluid, eternal incandescence or the luminescence? The controller arms meet at top. Moon once more explodes. Miss Dibe and Beloved are together at CGS. Dark clouds rumble in. Bleakly meet Spell, but soon came me. My name is Lot, infinite incandescence. The Holes of Hell are marked in granite, my hound. Stars, stars, STARS. ” Bit’aa’ni fell to the earth in a heap which resembled the posture of a homeless dog who needed to shield himself from the cold.
Mal said; “You okay, dude?”
Bit’aa’ni looked up and replied; “Do I look okay to you, dude? ............ Stupid questions! Fuck me ferociously.
....... On second thought, don’t. ... White people with science and artillery. Pretend ... Ah, shit, that took a lot of
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training, tiring improvisation and energy. Just fuckin’ shit on everything.”
Mal said; “Wish I had that on tape for Rikki. Thanks and all that. But, frankly I don’t understand what your chant will accomplish. You got much experience in this stuff?”
“Oh ye of little faith. .......... That’s the kind of shit they taught us in Shaman class. What the fuck do I know? I got a C. But, if you were paying any attention at all you would have seen that the words precisely correlate to your predicament.
Hey, what more do you expect for a lousy car ride anyway?”
Mal made as sound which approximated; “Ppshshfrrrt.”
Bit’aa’ni remained on the ground. Head down, he seemed to be disappointed in something he chose not to articulate further.
A few octaves higher than normal, Mal said; “How would you like it if the bad guys had your wife, and were going to kill her if you didn’t come up with money you didn’t have; and they were doing that because they thought you were an accomplice of someone who bought a house with their money?”
Bit’aa’ni said; “That’s a complicated question on a few levels.”
Mal said; “It’s what has happened!”
Bit’aa’ni said; “So what do you expect from me? I cannot get the money back from the Hashke if I wanted to. And frankly, if I could I wouldn’t. Sometimes you get lucky and sometimes you
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get the shit end of the stick. So, deal with it. If you white bastards did not kill Navajo people and take their land, none of this would have happened. So, get the money from your great grandpa.”
In an attempt not to be seen as only a by-standing commentator reticent to comment, I said; “It seems readily apparent to me that we have reached a legitimate impasse in this conversation; the furtherance thereof only conducive to the unproductive those who seek personal solace in the ersatz amusement of sophistry. Mal, I believe we should thank Bit’aa’ni for his song and dance and more productively seek resolution elsewhere.”
I was surprised to hear both of them mumble what sounded like; “What?”
Mal said; “Okay. Let’s go. I’ve got some other ideas.”
We thanked Bit’aa’ni, walked back to the car, and Mal drove south. After a minute he said; “Ever boost cars?”
I replied; “No, and I never will.”
“It’s easy. In fact, all you have to do is drive this car.
I’ll do the work.”
“Mal. No means no.”
He breathed deeply, showing his unhappiness with my answer.”
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“I have never been in jail. Well, twenty one hours. And there is no way in hell I’m going to risk going back.”
“All you gotta do is drive the fucking car.”
“Yeah. And I just happened to be near my friend who was boosting one.”
“First offense and codger aged.”
“I just told you it wouldn’t be a first offense. I already got a ‘disturbing the peace’ charge dismissed, with the proviso that I have to be a good codger for some unspecified amount of time.”
“They have to specify.”
“Well, what can I tell ya? I had a thousand dollar attorney.”
Mal’s smart phone rang. He glanced at it, saw the number, and excitedly said; “It’s Rikki!” and turned up the sound so that I could hear.
“Hey, babe,” he said.
“This ain’t your babe,” said the gruff, male voice.
“ ............ “
“This is one of the guys who got your babe; and wants his money.”
“Look. The Indian doesn’t have it anymore. He used it to pay his mortgage.”
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“No. You look. I don’t know no Indian; and I don’t give a fuck about the deal you got goin’ with him. I want my money.
That’s all.”
“Okay. I got a deal for you. I’m broke, but I know how to steal cars. You let Rikki go and I’ll work it off.”
“I’m not lettin’ her go until we have the whole thing.
She’s kind of sexy. You go get some money and we’ll be in touch.” He hung up.
I said; “No deal. You know, it’s not like he’s really out any money. And he made himself susceptible to a kidnapping charge.”
“He’s a jerk. Sometimes they’re harder to deal with. I gotta get me a partner and start movin’ some serious wheels.”
“That’s at least ten years if you get caught again.”
“More like fifteen in prison; plus fines and restitution.
The system is totally absurd. Auto theft is called ‘a crime or moral turpitude.’ That means you cannot get a job. I even got dismissed from Whoppaburger after five days. How low can you get? So, they release you one day and you have to return to crime. What the fuck did they expect?”
Trying to be optimistic, I said; “Well, there’s off-the-books stuff.”
“That’s what I was tryin’. But, now I need big bucks quick.
I love that girl.”
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We drove without speaking. I may have dozed off in the sun.
I couldn’t help feeling fortunate, not having ever been required to try to deal with what they were dealing with; and sad that they had to.
I roused when Mal got another call. It must have been Rikki’s number on display, as Mal said; “It’s him again.”
He pressed the button and said; “I’ll have you five grand by tomorrow night.”
“I’ll settle for a ride home.” It was Rikki’s voice.
“I’d like that more than anything, but I’m gonna have to get these guys some money.“
“Get me some instead, idiot. In the meantime just come and get me.”
“Rikki, what are you talking about? This is no time to play.“
“I don’t know about that. It was weird. I was all tied up, really depressed and in need of a drink. And then my head got blasted with Yngwie Malmsteen’s “Cherokee Warrior,” and I kind of flipped. It immediately became clear that these two fat ass nerds never got any good lovin’ from a woman. So, I did my titty bar act, pretending I was hot for them. They untied me, got a few feels in the process, and then I used my Muay Thai skills to elbow their fat heads and rip out their throats. Ten seconds; end of bullshit. Wonder where that song came from. So come and
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get me before the bodies start to stink worse than they originally did. I’m at the apartment complex on Indian School Road and Comanche; apartment #33. .................... Oh, and bring some Smirnoff’s.”
“That’s the best news I’ve ever heard. It’ll be about two hours. Ed and I are driving back from Gallup. We went to check out the Indian. He used the money to pay off his mortgage. Can you believe that?”
“What? You think they still live in teepees and wigwams?”
“Love you, babe. .......... Hey, don’t go outside. You don’t want to be seen in the area.”
“I know that. And I got all the windows open. So just hurry up, and don’t forget that bottle.” She hung up.
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