Chapter 40

We were on the highway headed away to the Navajo Council building, after dropping Shioban back at her apartment building. “Linc, I have a problem.”

“That means WE have a problem,” he said. He turned off the road toward the car rental return.

“Shioban was raped and beaten with a belt for years when she was a very young girl.” I paused for several breaths. “By her father. His name is Michael Matthews. Shioban does not know that I know.” I explained before he could ask: “Red told me about the rapes, but she told me about the whippings.” I told another convenient lie. How could I explain that I accidentally read her memories?

“And? It sounds like a problem she should discuss with her therapist,” he said in a conversational tone.

“And ... she told me she had a girl cousin who was only six years old. That was about the time the whippings started. And ... could I help her? I said maybe. I hate the thought of letting a child abuser and rapist get his hands on another kid ... It’s probably a holdover from my own past.”

Linc was quiet for a long time. “Fuck him,” he said in a quiet tone. “I’ll need a street address and what he does for a living. As much info as you can get me.”

“You sure you want to take this on?”

“Why did you tell ME about it?” he asked.

“I hoped but...” I flailed around for an answer. Why DID I tell him? “Well, you seemed like a standup guy. I thought maybe you’d know somebody who ... I don’t know. You were the only guy I could think of.”

He was quiet.

We got to the car rental return and swapped our car back for his open-top Jeep.

“Red says he’s at 2805 Apple Street, Grand Rapids, Michigan. He’s overweight, 290 pounds and he’s six feet tall. Drives a cement truck for Rapids Cement ... Listen, I’m sorry. You don’t have...”

“Stuff that shit,” he was pensive. “Tell Shioban I can’t cover her from Wednesday through Saturday. I’ll get Washburn to cover. Don’t tell her anything about what happened to me. You understand? Not one word.”

“Right. Not a word ... What are you going to do?”

He looked at me sideways. “Me? I’m taking a vacation. Going to visit my girlfriend near Pendleton. Just a little break from all this.”

There was a silence in the Jeep that would do Wild Mustang proud. Out of that quiet, he suddenly asked, “You gonna be okay with just the boys providing protection for a couple of days?”

“Me? I’ll be fine. Red says I should spend some time alone in the sweat lodge, so...”

“Where is the sweat lodge?” he asked.

I explained that I didn’t know, despite having been there twice.

“What? Did they put a pillow case over your head?” he sounded amused.

“No, but Wild Mustang drove,” I explained. “He took a dirt road that led to a smaller dirt road, and then it turned onto a path that was only used by a rattlesnake. Then we went overland. But Painted Rock knows how to get there.”

“Does he or the other one ... Sun Bear? ... do they carry guns?”

“No, I’ve never seen that. They are only boys, you know.”

“Ah, I see. But this is Indian country. I hear the voice of an ancient daughter of the tribe. You are, what? Thirteen?”

“I’d punch you on the arm, but you’re driving. Nobody likes a wise ass,” I said.

“And this is a wise ass, calling out a wise ass, I guess,” he parried.

“I plead guilty on all counts, and throw myself on the mercy of the court,” I whined.

He was silent for several minutes. “You are going to get gun training,” he serious-ed up. “Not an option.”

We pulled into the parking lot outside the Navajo Council building. “Do your sweat lodge in the morning. I’ll get Washburn to set up something for you in the afternoon.” He didn’t get out of the ve-hickle, just waved as he drove off. “See you Saturday. Sign me out for a week’s vacation.”

Linc was a man of instant action, I guessed. Or a typical male. Got a problem? Solve it immediately.

About an hour after supper, I got a phone call from Painted Rock. Sun Bear was staying at Rock’s place. Somehow they were a team now?! All buddy-buddy.

Rock said “I just got a call from Linc and Mr. Washburn, together. He said you had to go to the sweat lodge tomorrow morning. And then go for gun training after lunch. Me and Sun Bear are going to get it also.”

“Do I get a say?”

“Well, I kinda havta do what Linc says. He’s the security guy, right?”

“Yep.” I just wanted to rebel against somebody telling me what to do. Which was a dumb idea.

“We should go early, before it gets too hot. Is seven too early?”

SEVEN! Is he nuts? Isn’t he a teenager -- supposed to sleep late? But I said, “Okay, I’ll try to be finished with breakfast by then.”

...

I got myself awake by 6:30, and stumbled to the bathroom. Still in a half-stupor, I got to the kitchen, to find it empty. No old Medicine Man, no Dove. Just Lexi and a refrigerator. I rubbed my face, and looked in the back yard. Snow, the great white owl, just blinked back at me. I could do this. I scrambled a couple of eggs, threw in a little cheese of some kind, burned a little toast, and filled a glass with juice.

Could the Queen of England have a better breakfast? I didn’t think so. About ten minutes early, I heard the roar of a motorcycle. There was a quiet little knock. Behind the door there were two bright-eyed, good-looking bookends standing on the porch. I slung a backpack over my shoulder, containing a couple of apples and some water, and looked at them.

“How did the two of you...?” I started to ask. Then I saw the second motorcycle. It turned out to be an older Harley, next to Rock’s. “Oh.”

“We’re both going,” said Sun Bear.

I got on with Painted Rock – WITH my helmet of course. He knew the ‘secret roads’ that led out into the desert, somewhere to the north. I pondered the imponderable. Where did Bear get another cycle? How did they come to such a comfortable understanding? Was I off my rocker, crushing on both of them?

WAIT! Was I doing that? Both of them?

‘Yes, you are,’ said my life #1 voice. ‘It’s okay. Just hormones. Get laid.’

‘I can’t do that.’ I argued with myself. ‘First of all, there’s two of them. Second of all, I’m only thirteen.’

‘Oh? And you didn’t get double teamed by those two truckers when you were fifteen?’ said voice #1.

‘SHUT UP.’ I screamed. ‘THAT WAS YOU. NOT ME. I’M NOT A WHORE ANY MORE.’

Painted Rock pulled his bike to a stop. “Lexi? What’s wrong? You were screaming, and pounding on my shoulder. I couldn’t hear what you said.”

I was doing that?

[Yes, Lexi. You need to meditate, go to level, get control of yourself.]

I looked at Rock, who was twisting around on his seat. Over at Bear, who had stopped and was straddling his machine. They were both looking at me, concerned.

“Sorry,” I said to both of them. “I was ... I dunno ... I was talking to myself, I guess. I need to get centered, somehow. I...”

“You’ve been doing too much, Lexi,” Sun Bear said.