Chapter 7: Apache Justice

“Sue wants us to stop by the shop on our way,” Kennedy said as she turned off Hwy 73. “Kathy’s present arrived.”

Peter smiled excitedly. He had her birthday present custom-made by a Canadian artist from northern British Columbia. It was a wooden Native American dual-chambered drone flute crafted from ancient kauri—the world’s oldest wood. When he listened to sample sounds, he was taken by the haunting bass accompaniment and imagined her playing on the south-facing deck over the steep valley. She’d be turning nineteen in four days, on February 18th.

‘Source Relevant Imperative>Wash, Catskill>NG PIPELINE PROPOSAL, non-disclosure apparent.’

“Say what?” Peter muttered as the alert popped up on his monitor. He’d been inputting data points into Genesis, including his vision of the Valley below Lenna’s home. He’d just concluded the description of the lake and green valley from his dream—when the alert appeared. Curious, he clicked on the box.

“Well, Son of a Bitch!” he muttered angrily. “No wonder they shot me down so quickly.” He called for Lenna, and Kathy followed her into the bedroom. He pointed at the pop-up news alert on the screen and moved aside so they could read it. When they finished, he began printing the articles.

“How can they negotiate a natural gas pipeline deal through that valley without public attention?” Kathy asked later. The proposed pipeline would cut an indirect north-to-south passage through the center of the Apache and San Carlos reservations.

Lenna sat at the foot of the bed, looking at a printout, shaking her head. “There’s no way!” she gasped. “How could they think they would get away with this?”

“I imagine the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission will ask the same thing when this gets out.”

He created a spreadsheet listing all Elders in the Apache and San Carlos communities who received monetary kickbacks for supporting the proposal, detailing their payments. He wasn’t surprised to find the familiar names of Doug Littlewolf, Bob Logan, and Calvin Whitecloud. The money came from an offshore account to obfuscate and thwart any effort to identify the true player(s) in the off-the-books venture. Genesis defeated the electronic charade, revealing the payor as Devlin Assange with Calcutta Natural Gas Conveyance, Corp., a Prudhoe Bay, Alaska subsidiary.

“We must expose them and end this ridiculous notion before it takes root!” Lenna snapped. “As if we didn’t have enough pipelines everywhere.”

“If we do that, there’s no turning back from the scandal we’ll expose,” Peter replied calmly. “We should think this through before taking any steps.”

Lenna was learning to understand the many levels from which his mind operated. His hesitation didn’t mean reticence or fear of consequences. She held back her retort, joining Kathy as they waited for him to clarify his thoughts.

“If we act out of haste and passion, it will create anger and mistrust in the community,” he said while considering multiple scenarios. “We would discredit and ostracize those elders and create bitterness within the reservation. They would be ousted, but who would replace them? And would they or the remaining elders be respected?”

“Would exposing them and letting the tribal council deal with it cause more harm than good?” Kathy asked.

Lenna saw his point. “Considering many grafters sit on the council, how can the people expect a fair judgment?”

“What do we do?” Kathy frowned.

Peter considered the question for several seconds before spinning in his chair to regard them both, “Is Nana up for a visit? We should have Brad and Sue bring her by for dinner,” he steepled his fingers. “I’d rather get her take on this before we move forward.”

He had never seen Brad as anything but calm and collected—even amid a bar fight or when he was prepared to thrash him over Nana’s ‘deathbed’. It was still early afternoon when they arrived with his wife and grandmother at his cousin’s home.

Peter spent about 15 minutes presenting his evidence and describing how the Alaskan petroleum company attempted to create an alliance for the pipeline proposal. He noticed storm clouds brewing in his friend’s eyes. Bradly’s face darkened with rage, and he began cursing, prompting Sue to place a worried hand on his arm. Lenna appeared fearful of his behavior, and Kathy looked around with concern. Charity had planted herself behind her great-great grandmother’s chair, leaning over the back with her arms around the old woman’s shoulders.

“You gonna be alright, buddy?” Peter asked quietly as he gazed at the other man, trying to read his face.

With a snarl, the tall man slid his chair back and bolted to his feet. Sue gasped in fright as he smashed his Stetson onto his head and stormed toward the door.

“Bradly!” she cried as he dismissively sloughed her hand from his arm.

Nana Shima froze him in his tracks with a sharp command Peter couldn’t understand. She spoke harshly again, and the trader’s shoulders slumped before he turned back. She was seated across from Peter, studying the list of names and bribes.

Nana turned and regarded Peter with her piercing black eyes. “You would use this to your advantage,” she stated quietly without any accusation.

He swallowed nervously and nodded. “It has merits,” he replied. “But I can’t do it without your support, grandmother.” He glanced up to find Brad gazing at him intently. “Two birds, so to speak.”

“What are you talking about?” the man demanded gruffly as he removed his hat again and slapped it against his leg.

“It’s clear why the council declined my first proposal for the Catskill wash. It had nothing to do with their animosity towards me or the roundabout way we got them to approve the crossroad project.”

Sue defensively said, “But Bradly and I proposed that,” she interjected. “We were careful to leave you out of it, as you suggested.”

“I know,” he replied, smiling at her. “But there was never any doubt where the money was coming from, was there?”

She couldn’t argue his point, so she shrugged complicitly. “But ... why would that matter when the goal is to lift the Inde?”

“Because they resent a white man’s help,” Bradly growled as he slumped back into his seat beside her. “And yet they grovel like vermin with their greedy hands out...” he growled before stopping himself with a deep breath, “I still don’t see how this will be useful. That council is beyond redemption, and they must answer for this—”

“Duplicity?” Peter offered.

His friend nodded. “Yeah, that ... I suppose,” he muttered. “Crooked sonsabitches ... the lot of ‘em.”

“What do you have in mind?” Sue asked, turning to Peter. “How can you turn this around? Would you bend the council to your will with blackmail?” Her eyes reflected her pain. “Doesn’t that make you as corrupt as them?”

Peter sighed and sat back. “Exposing that many crooked elders to the community would destroy faith and trust in the entire council,” he stated. “Worse, the bribes will likely subject them to a federal grand jury for felony racketeering under title nine of the RICO Act.” He slid a stack of papers listing the possible charges and penalties. “They could end up in federal prison for their greed.”

“Serves ‘em right,” Brad muttered darkly. He looked up as Lenna handed him a beer and nodded appreciatively.

“But it doesn’t serve the community,” Peter rebutted. “Drawing the federal government’s attention is the last thing we can afford right now. That would drag the scandal out and tarnish the Apache community.”

“So, what’s your plan to fix this?” Brad demanded. “And don’t tell me we’re just gonna sweep this under the rug and let them get away with it!” he snapped the lid back on his beer before raising it to his lips. “And don’t pretend you don’t got no dog in this fight, ‘cause we know that ain’t true!”

Peter wearily rubbed his face while the trader drank. “You’re right. It would be simple to force their compliance with the threat of exposure and federal prosecution,” he replied. “But that’s a white-man tactic suitable for white-men.” He pressed his hands onto the table. “The crooked council members must be held accountable under Apache law. Keep this out of federal purview at all costs.”

“So, we stake them to anthills and pour molasses on their balls?” Charity asked, perhaps too eagerly. Lenna glared at her.

Her father grunted at the notion. “Still don’t see how we can apply our law to them and keep it from the tribal community.”

Kathy sat beside Nana Shima, studying her husband’s features. “Babe,” she prompted. “What are you thinking? I see you have a thought.”

Everyone stared at him expectantly, and he shrugged, “I’d bring them all—”

“Tell me your vision,” Nana Shima interrupted. She looked at him with her piercing gaze. “I want to hear it in your words, Two-Spirit.”

He sat back, shaken by her change of topic. Charity released the ancient woman and dashed into her room, returning seconds later with the large color sketch of the valley with the ghost bird soaring over it.

Peter cleared his throat and spoke directly to her about the dream that consumed his thoughts. He spoke for several minutes while she studied the sketch and the color photograph. When he finished, he gazed back at her, studying her features as she glanced over the images. When she looked up at him, her eyes were hard. They were challenging and intense.

“Tell me the eagle’s words when it commanded the spirits,” she ordered.

A cold dread fell over him as he recalled the vision and let it wash over his consciousness. In an instant, he was retaken by the dream, submitting his will to the memory as if it were occurring again. He had to force his throat and vocal cords to contract and conform awkwardly to pronounce the harsh guttural language when he spoke. He repeated the words verbatim, having no idea what he said. It took him another moment to collect his thoughts and return to the present. Looking around the table, he saw everyone focused on the ancient woman across from him.

Nana Shima’s outward expression seemed unchanged, but he sensed a striking difference within her. Her hand shook as she brought her coffee cup to her lips. She used the other to quell the tremors as she sipped. The silence around her seemed oppressive as she sipped the hot liquid. Without a word, she returned her cup to its coaster and tried to rise from the table. Kathy jumped up and helped the woman to her shaky feet.

“Thank you, child,” the crone whispered, turning toward the front door. Kathy and Lenna stayed beside her as she ambled across the room. Lenna opened and held the door so she could move into the bright sun. At the rail, she braced herself and gazed over the expansive valley. Everyone gathered around her, and Sue draped her wool shawl over her shoulders to protect her from the chill.

Peter cleared his throat, “Grandmother,” he spoke softly. “What ... is it?”

When she faced him, her eyes glinted like dark ebony pools. “You spoke the dead tongue,” she declared with a catch in her voice. “I’ve never heard it before, but I know it is so.” Her voice was heavy with emotion, “We were wrong to call you ‘Broken-Eagle.’”

Her words shocked him, and he felt an icy chill creep up his spine as she turned back toward the valley. A warm hand touched his arm. He didn’t have to look to know it was Kathy.

“Baby?” she called worriedly.

He swallowed but found his voice gone; the muscles in his throat seemed painfully contracted, preventing him from uttering a whisper. He gazed forlornly at the pained old woman beside him as if by her will alone, he could speak.

“Can you do it?” she asked distantly.

Peter understood her meaning and nodded, “Yes, Grandmother. I can do it.” Then, he was freed of the oppressive weight that held him enthralled. He sighed deeply and felt an intense shiver run through his body.

Her voice was calm and strong when she spoke again: “I would ask single boon of you, Peter Two-Spirit.”

He felt his heart aching at her words. “Anything,” he replied.

“The next time you wish to prolong my miserable life ... don’t.” She sounded almost like her bitter, flippant self, and everyone around her sighed with relief. “And when I die, burn me. In the old way,” she continued. “I want my ashes taken by the great eagle and scattered across this valley.” Sue sensed the old woman’s weariness and dragged a heavy wooden rocker for her to recline in.

Inspiration struck, and Peter turned to catch the teenager’s attention. “Char,” he said softly, “Do you have Kat’s birthday present in your room?” When she nodded, he dipped his chin. “Go fetch it, please.”

Kathy regarded him askance, and he smiled reassuringly.

“But her birthday isn’t until...” the girl paused as it dawned on her what he intended. She turned and ran into the house. She returned seconds later, holding a long cloth sack with a velvet tie at one end. She handed it to him, and he, in turn, faced his wife, holding it out for her.

Kathy curiously stared at the object before accepting it.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he replied with a confident smile.

She stared into his eyes, trying to discern his intent. The question hung unanswered until she wrapped her fingers around the cloth bundle and felt the hardwood inside. Her curiosity overcame her misgivings, and she tugged the drawstring open to reveal its content.