stretching and gulping in huge lungfuls of the moist, clean morning air. Even after pulling an all-nighter, the mountain dawn made him feel alert, invigorated…happy. For most people with regular emotions, Joe's feelings of bliss at moments like these would probably register as mild satisfaction. In Joe's universe, such a sensation was tantamount to ecstasy. He had never known happiness in his formative years, so it was an awkward emotion to handle. He clamped down fiercely on the first whispers of it and finally lost the reflex altogether.
Now, on mornings like these, the feelings were a revelation. No job well done, no bank account, no sexual dalliance had ever evoked such stirrings and he craved it, devoured it and was consumed by it.
He pulled the satellite phone from its carry-belt and flipped it on. He touched 1, the only number in his speed dial. Where she lived he calculated quickly, it would be much later in the day.
"Hello," she said, in her usual chipper manner.
"I know what I'm going to do," Joe offered without preamble. "I'll need some help."
"You got it," she replied.
He could hear the smile distinctly, over all the hours and miles.
Twelve
"The way the council works is unanimous agreement. I never liked that, really, because it means an awful lot of stuff doesn't even get tried out, but it does what old Chief Redpath wanted. What does get done is our best idea and everybody is on board."
Lucille Greenway, in the foggy morning light, was like a graceful statute come to life. At almost 80, she was tall, colorful, a little salty, had the sort of posture you only see in films of kings and presidents, and showed unmistakable evidence of what must have been, in her youth, an almost intimidating beauty.
"Now," she began again, after a thoughtful pause, "I'll grant you my mind isn't everything it once was but I'll be god-damned if I forget stuff like casting a vote for a resort and casino."
"So you don't think this project is a good idea?" I asked. Jack sat stone-faced, listening to every word and making notes in his palm pilot.
"Shit, I think it's a great idea," she chuckled dryly. "Tons of money, couple hundred new jobs. What's not to like? If I'd seen the paperwork, I'm pretty sure I'da voted for it. But, as it stands, without that unanimous vote, it's just against the law, our law, that is, the reservation's laws."
"So, how did it get out of the council in the first place?" I asked.
"They's nine on the council," Lucille responded. "We're not perfect, of course. What group of people is? There are factions…hell, I'm the ringleader of one of 'em, the older people. Hap Gilyard is the brains of the other one, the young'uns. There's three of them, four of us geezers, and two who drift back and forth. That'd be Harley George and Rita Brightfeather."
"Now, I should say, before you get the wrong idea, these are all good folks. I never have to worry that someone's voting their own self-interest over the common good, mainly because we all know that the common good is our self-interest. Small a nation as we are and as tightly-knit, it's almost like the communist ideal, in a way. Share the income generated by the tribe, so what's good for me is, by definition, what's good for you…It's just that we sometimes disagree radically about what that should be."
"So they're telling you, you voted for the land use?" Jack finally asked.
"Well, they've got my signature on the ballot, and it by-god is my signature. Same with Marcus Ramey. Marcus is older than me and he does forget stuff, now and again, and that's what everybody's saying. The two old coots signed off and forgot about it. Hell, it even sounds about true to me…except that it isn't."
"With all due respect, Ms. Greenway, if you had signed and you forgot…how would you know?" I asked.
She pulled a day planner off the roll-top desk to her left.
"Each two-page spread is a
Now, on mornings like these, the feelings were a revelation. No job well done, no bank account, no sexual dalliance had ever evoked such stirrings and he craved it, devoured it and was consumed by it.
He pulled the satellite phone from its carry-belt and flipped it on. He touched 1, the only number in his speed dial. Where she lived he calculated quickly, it would be much later in the day.
"Hello," she said, in her usual chipper manner.
"I know what I'm going to do," Joe offered without preamble. "I'll need some help."
"You got it," she replied.
He could hear the smile distinctly, over all the hours and miles.
Twelve
"The way the council works is unanimous agreement. I never liked that, really, because it means an awful lot of stuff doesn't even get tried out, but it does what old Chief Redpath wanted. What does get done is our best idea and everybody is on board."
Lucille Greenway, in the foggy morning light, was like a graceful statute come to life. At almost 80, she was tall, colorful, a little salty, had the sort of posture you only see in films of kings and presidents, and showed unmistakable evidence of what must have been, in her youth, an almost intimidating beauty.
"Now," she began again, after a thoughtful pause, "I'll grant you my mind isn't everything it once was but I'll be god-damned if I forget stuff like casting a vote for a resort and casino."
"So you don't think this project is a good idea?" I asked. Jack sat stone-faced, listening to every word and making notes in his palm pilot.
"Shit, I think it's a great idea," she chuckled dryly. "Tons of money, couple hundred new jobs. What's not to like? If I'd seen the paperwork, I'm pretty sure I'da voted for it. But, as it stands, without that unanimous vote, it's just against the law, our law, that is, the reservation's laws."
"So, how did it get out of the council in the first place?" I asked.
"They's nine on the council," Lucille responded. "We're not perfect, of course. What group of people is? There are factions…hell, I'm the ringleader of one of 'em, the older people. Hap Gilyard is the brains of the other one, the young'uns. There's three of them, four of us geezers, and two who drift back and forth. That'd be Harley George and Rita Brightfeather."
"Now, I should say, before you get the wrong idea, these are all good folks. I never have to worry that someone's voting their own self-interest over the common good, mainly because we all know that the common good is our self-interest. Small a nation as we are and as tightly-knit, it's almost like the communist ideal, in a way. Share the income generated by the tribe, so what's good for me is, by definition, what's good for you…It's just that we sometimes disagree radically about what that should be."
"So they're telling you, you voted for the land use?" Jack finally asked.
"Well, they've got my signature on the ballot, and it by-god is my signature. Same with Marcus Ramey. Marcus is older than me and he does forget stuff, now and again, and that's what everybody's saying. The two old coots signed off and forgot about it. Hell, it even sounds about true to me…except that it isn't."
"With all due respect, Ms. Greenway, if you had signed and you forgot…how would you know?" I asked.
She pulled a day planner off the roll-top desk to her left.
"Each two-page spread is a
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