Chapter 18: Apache Justice

Peter was in the Silverado talking on his cell phone to Maggy, who called from her Bellevue office. He was parked next to the Whiteriver Indian Hospital in Rainbow City, and the windows were up to shelter him from the cold and wind. The five girls were inside doing well-baby checkups for Abigail and her sister and attending to Charity’s injured wrist, which she wouldn’t explain. It happened at or after school, that was all he knew.

“Microsoft is releasing a new Windows version that will mandate an upgrade of all previous systems,” she explained. “They’re projected to report earnings next month that will exceed estimates. Last September, they beat earnings per share by nearly 20% and revenue by 5%. So, I think you are safe holding on to your December calls. Open Interest has fizzled because they’ve become too expensive for thicker-blooded investors,” she added.

“Where do they stand now?” he asked, picturing the mental spreadsheet tracking his stock holdings.

“After the June three-for-two split, you had 1,500 December 29 Calls, 1,500 December 30 Calls, and 3,000 December 31.5 Calls—all costing nearly $3 million. MSFT opened at 54 and an eighth this morning, so everything you own is deep in the money.”

He heard her typing in the background as she pulled up the option chains. She whistled into his ear.

“Nicely played, Cher! I mean Peter ... sorry, sir,” she drawled hesitantly. Her reserved tone was unlike her, and he began to wonder about it as she mumbled to herself and typed in his ear. “Let’s see,” she muttered. “The 31.5 calls are bidding at... 33 and a quarter ... the 30 calls are... 43 even, and the 29 calls are ... Goddamn! 61 and a half!” she gasped. “Holy shit, Cher ... you could close out now and pocket twenty million!”

He smiled through his Oakley’s at the pedestrians near the medical facility. “Don’t make any hasty moves yet, Mags. But be ready to execute after they post earnings. They wait until the week of expiration for some reason. So, hold tight and be ready to jump back in with the same spread two quarters out and another spread the following quarter. We are just starting with Microsoft, and they will dominate the sector for decades.”

“It’ll take me a few minutes to program the trades if you want to stay on the line, sir?”

He frowned. “Alright, what the fuck is going on?” he demanded.

“I beg your pardon?” she replied hesitantly with a softer voice.

“Maggy, something is up. I can tell by your tone. You never call me ‘sir’ or use my first name. It’s always ‘Cher’ or ‘Cher-ee’. So, spill it! What’s wrong?”

After a long pause and slower typing, she sniffed and sighed, “Everything is fine. I apologize for making you second-guess me,” she replied calmly. Jeremiah is trying to ‘tame my wild streak.’”

“Why can’t I speak with him?” he interrupted. “Is he sick?”

Her delayed reply was telling. He felt a cold sensation creeping up his back as he waited, “Maggy?”

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “Jeremiah has been feeling unwell lately. I’ll pass along your concerns and well wishes when I speak with—”

“Maggy?” he repeated patiently.

“Yes?”

“Have you ever heard of a guy named Geronimo?”

“Of course,” she replied curiously. “He was the famous Apache Chieftain who led his tribe on countless successful raids and battles against the Mexican and American armies.”

“Yes, he was,” Old Peter replied. “Many tribal nations are in these parts, have their differences, but all hold him in high esteem. He is also famous for his speeches and quotes. My favorite is one that the Navajo especially revere.”

She didn’t reply, and he continued, “The Apache language is closely guarded, and they don’t like to share their secrets, but the Navajo pronounce it like this: “Nahat’ádeeh doo bíhígíí dóó ákót’éego nihookaahgo da.”

He cleared his throat and took a sip of water.

“I’ve never heard the Navajo language before,” she replied softly. “It sounded beautiful. What does it mean?”

“I’ll tell you, and then I want you to write it down and put it over your desk. The future of our relationship depends on this. Do you understand?” He asked firmly, shaking the woman on the other end.

“Y ... yessir, Cher,” she stammered.

“The translation is,” he continued, “Hurt me with the truth, but never comfort me with lies.”

There was a long silence, and he thought he had heard her sob away from the phone before sniffing loudly.

“Understand?”

“Yes,” she whimpered. “I understand.”

He waited silently while she accepted his ultimatum.

She sighed in his ear, “Peter, he’s sick,” she stated worriedly. “He won’t tell me what’s wrong, but I can tell. I ... I think he’s dying!”

Tears sprang to his eyes, and a cold knot of dread clenched in his gut. He cleared his throat, “Where is he?”

Maggy quickly recovered and resumed speaking to him with her strong southern accent, “He’s back down in Lafitte,” she replied somberly. “He felt a calling to return to the bayou where he was raised.”

“He won’t have his phone,” Peter grumbled unhappily as he considered the kindly but no-nonsense man who mentored him.

He heard a tearful laugh, “You know it.”

He sighed and shook off his emotions. “Okay then,” he replied. “Look, Maggy ... thanks for letting me know. I promise I won’t hunt him down. He trusts you, and I won’t jeopardize that. We’re good going forward, hear?”

“Yessir, thank you,” she whispered back.

“I mean it,” he repeated, “We are good. I need to hang up and check on my girls. But I want you to jot something down.” He gave her a second before continuing, “I’ve been reading about a new company. They are a powerhouse in the semiconductor field, making breakthroughs that will impact telecommunications for the next few decades. They might go public soon, and when they do, I want you to get greedy, okay? Stocks, options, preferred, everything you can get—grab it.”

“Okay then,” she replied, resuming her energetic character. “What’s this company called?”

“Qualcomm.”

“Got it, I’ve heard of them,” she replied. “Do I have a limit?”

“Anything I can spare, even if you have to liquidate the Microsoft options early.”

“You have eighteen million in liquid accounts and another thirty-six in offshore trusts in Nevis, Grand Cayman, and Tuvalu. You’ll receive stock dividends that I can set aside instead of DRIP them.” She was referring to the direct reinvestment of proceeds that allowed his stock holdings to grow quarterly without commission.

A familiar old Dodge truck caught his attention as it parked nearby. “We’ll discuss this later. In the meantime, please familiarize yourself with the company and review their business plan. Hell, fly down to San Diego and have drinks with them. I leave the details to you. I gotta go.” He recognized the tall, strong figure of Bradly Littlewolf as he climbed out of the cab and put on his black Stetson with its flashy turquoise and silver hat band.

“Au revoir, Cheri.”

Peter climbed out of the Chevy and turned his collar up to the cold wind.

Brad noticed him and nodded. “Ya’ateh, paleface,” he smiled. “Why are you hiding in your truck?”

Peter grinned back and offered his hand. “You know how it is. I’m outnumbered by females lately, so I take every chance to enjoy the quiet.”

The tall Apache Trader chuckled, “Amen, brother.”

“What brings you to the hospital?”

The man’s smile faded. “I just got done talking to Charity’s school. She got into it with a boy she’s been moaning about for months. Name’s Tobias. His family name is Longfeather, but Char calls him ‘Fatty’ or ‘Stinkyfeather’ or something.”

Peter grimaced. “I brought her here to have her arm looked at,” he said. “She wouldn’t talk about it to me or the girls, but I could tell it hurt.”

“I had to pull her from school, pending a hearing,” the man grumbled.

“Jesus! What the hell did she get into?” he asked as they walked toward the big white building.

“I don’t know how it happened or what she did, but her teachers are pissed off,” Brad replied. “I guess she and Toby fought over something, and she pinned him to the ground with his face between her legs.”

Peter stopped ten feet from the door. Bradly turned to look at him, recognizing the understanding in his eyes. Charity often wore long, colorful skirts—embroidered with tribal patterns to school. She wore one today. “Uh ... shit,” he muttered in disbelief. “She sat on the kid’s face?”

He could see the conflicted expressions on her father’s face as he stoically nodded. “Even worse,” he added, trying to control the twitching in his jaw.