on the prairie, and could quote exactly how many stones they’d used in constructing the Center.
No doubt about it – this story was going to be just another piece of fluff, she thought, slapping her hand on the steering wheel in frustration. The only thing that had been remotely interesting, other than staring at Sean, was the animosity between him and Charlie Two Horses. But was that a lead she wanted to pursue? She remembered the look on Sean’s face as he watched Charlie walk away. She wasn’t a coward, but the idea of coming up against Sean Swifthawk O’Brien made her shiver. And not in a good way.
She’d almost made it past the bar, when suddenly someone stepped out between two parked cars and waved her down.
Charlie Two Horses.
Rolling to a stop, she cranked down the driver’s window.
“Hey, good to see you again,” Charlie said, approaching her door then motioning toward the bar. “How about a beer?”
She debated with herself for a moment. She wasn’t an idiot – this guy had an agenda and he wanted to use her to achieve it. But on the other hand, she had her own agenda – a better story than the one she was being forcefed. What could it hurt to at least talk to him?
With a nod, she pulled into an empty parking space.
From inside the bar, the jukebox whined with the sound of steel guitars and a singer lamenting how “she’d done him wrong”. Above the bar itself, hung an old TV with the volume shut off. Some sporting event flickered across the screen. Taking her arm, Charlie held up two fingers to the bartender then guided her past the pool tables to a booth in the back. They’d barely settled when a waitress with the biggest beehive R.J. had ever seen slapped two bottles of beer in front of them. Without a word she turned and sauntered back to the bar.
Charlie lifted his bottle, saluted R.J., then took a long pull. Scooting back, he stretched an arm across the back of the bench. “So? What did you think of the Center?”
She thought for a moment before answering him. The best way to play this was close to the vest, sound non-committal, let Charlie do all the talking.
“It’s nice,” she replied, in a neutral voice.
“But not much of a story, huh?”
She lifted a shoulder in a shrug.
Dropping his arm, he shifted forward. “I could give you a better angle than the one Swifthawk shoved on you.”
This guy really did want to dish the dirt. Regardless of her trepidation about Sean O’Brien, R.J. felt a tickle of excitement. “Like what?” she asked, keeping her face calm.
He downed his beer and motioned to the waitress for another. Sliding the empty bottle to the side, he crossed his arms on the table. “See here’s the deal – the rez needs money. I could show you homes that are no better than squatter shacks and the Center isn’t going to change that.” He stopped as the waitress smacked another beer in front of him. He waited until she was out of earshot before continuing. “A casino would.”
“A little late for that, isn’t it,” R.J. replied. “The tribe chose to build the Center, not a casino.”
“They were misled.” His eyes darted to the side before returning to R.J. Leaning forward, his voice dropped. “Swifthawk and his grandfather didn’t want a casino and persuaded them it would be easier to finance the Center.”
“And Sean raised the money?”
“Yeah.” He sipped on his beer. “Him and his white buddies.”
“Then convince him to raise the money for a casino.”
His mouth twisted in a bitter line. “Swifthawk won’t do it. Him and his grandfather want to cling to the old ways. They want our people to live as they did 200 years ago. It can’t be done.” His expression lightened. “But here’s the beauty of it – now we don’t need him. The Center’s paid off and it could be used as collateral to finance a casino.”
R.J. threw a hand in the air. “There’s your solution.”
“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “Like I
No doubt about it – this story was going to be just another piece of fluff, she thought, slapping her hand on the steering wheel in frustration. The only thing that had been remotely interesting, other than staring at Sean, was the animosity between him and Charlie Two Horses. But was that a lead she wanted to pursue? She remembered the look on Sean’s face as he watched Charlie walk away. She wasn’t a coward, but the idea of coming up against Sean Swifthawk O’Brien made her shiver. And not in a good way.
She’d almost made it past the bar, when suddenly someone stepped out between two parked cars and waved her down.
Charlie Two Horses.
Rolling to a stop, she cranked down the driver’s window.
“Hey, good to see you again,” Charlie said, approaching her door then motioning toward the bar. “How about a beer?”
She debated with herself for a moment. She wasn’t an idiot – this guy had an agenda and he wanted to use her to achieve it. But on the other hand, she had her own agenda – a better story than the one she was being forcefed. What could it hurt to at least talk to him?
With a nod, she pulled into an empty parking space.
From inside the bar, the jukebox whined with the sound of steel guitars and a singer lamenting how “she’d done him wrong”. Above the bar itself, hung an old TV with the volume shut off. Some sporting event flickered across the screen. Taking her arm, Charlie held up two fingers to the bartender then guided her past the pool tables to a booth in the back. They’d barely settled when a waitress with the biggest beehive R.J. had ever seen slapped two bottles of beer in front of them. Without a word she turned and sauntered back to the bar.
Charlie lifted his bottle, saluted R.J., then took a long pull. Scooting back, he stretched an arm across the back of the bench. “So? What did you think of the Center?”
She thought for a moment before answering him. The best way to play this was close to the vest, sound non-committal, let Charlie do all the talking.
“It’s nice,” she replied, in a neutral voice.
“But not much of a story, huh?”
She lifted a shoulder in a shrug.
Dropping his arm, he shifted forward. “I could give you a better angle than the one Swifthawk shoved on you.”
This guy really did want to dish the dirt. Regardless of her trepidation about Sean O’Brien, R.J. felt a tickle of excitement. “Like what?” she asked, keeping her face calm.
He downed his beer and motioned to the waitress for another. Sliding the empty bottle to the side, he crossed his arms on the table. “See here’s the deal – the rez needs money. I could show you homes that are no better than squatter shacks and the Center isn’t going to change that.” He stopped as the waitress smacked another beer in front of him. He waited until she was out of earshot before continuing. “A casino would.”
“A little late for that, isn’t it,” R.J. replied. “The tribe chose to build the Center, not a casino.”
“They were misled.” His eyes darted to the side before returning to R.J. Leaning forward, his voice dropped. “Swifthawk and his grandfather didn’t want a casino and persuaded them it would be easier to finance the Center.”
“And Sean raised the money?”
“Yeah.” He sipped on his beer. “Him and his white buddies.”
“Then convince him to raise the money for a casino.”
His mouth twisted in a bitter line. “Swifthawk won’t do it. Him and his grandfather want to cling to the old ways. They want our people to live as they did 200 years ago. It can’t be done.” His expression lightened. “But here’s the beauty of it – now we don’t need him. The Center’s paid off and it could be used as collateral to finance a casino.”
R.J. threw a hand in the air. “There’s your solution.”
“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “Like I
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