21 - Pow wow

 

 

Breakfast waited for them in the morning, though from the attitude of the help and the hustle and bustle around the house and yard, theirs came later than usual-- a lackadaisical rising that seemed slow motion compared to the small army charging from one part of the ranch to another. Even as they clamored out to the covered walkway, Lance noticed the activity, men at one corner of the yard with their heads under the hood of a truck, while others ferried pushcarts loaded with boxes into the center section of the house. Still others came and went without clear purpose. All took notice, however, smiling or wishing them good day

 Jimmy hailed them from the east wing, motioning for them to cross the yard.

"We got food for you," he said. "Though the cooks are a little peeved at keeping the stoves on this late, considering they'll have to start lunch the minute you're through."

 "Is it always this busy?" Lance asked, as they followed Jimmy along the walkway.

 "Sometimes," Jimmy said. "But the schedule got screwed up on account of last night. The police found most of the gang down by the highway construction site. Not a rival group after all. Out-of-town Indians from what Mister Gil says. Down-right queer if you ask me."

 "Why?" Mike asked, perking up at the news.

 "If they weren't locals, then someone sicked them on you. And God knows none of us can figure out why."

 "What was the impact with the police?" Mike asked.

 "All that's coming in now. Nervousness, mostly. Though they've managed to keep it all from the newspapers. Wouldn't want to ruin the illusion of a nice retiree town. But they've caught enough of the gang to know something big happened."

 "Will they trace it to us?" Mike asked, studying the roof tops, gate and pine tree barrier, as if gauging their ability to withstand a siege. Lance noted several small protrusions from the roof pinnacles-- small boxes with pointed roofs of their own which, from a distance, might have been mistaken for ornamentation. But each held a face with binoculars and rifle.

 "There's talk on the radio about the van. But Mister Gil can fill you in on the details."

 "When will that be?" Chris asked.

 "Why-- after breakfast, of course."

             ***********

 Lance sat back from the long table sedated, laziness already spreading through his limbs as they others chatted. Despite the cheer showed by Gil's men, he could feel their nervousness, like soldiers under siege. Rifles rested in every corner within easy reach. Even the cooks carried weapons under their aprons-- waiting and watching for the first sign of war.

 Jimmy, who had vanished after depositing them here, reappeared, his features a bit more sober.

 "Mister Gil will see you now in the East Wing."

 Mike and Dan rose quickly and hurried out, Sarah on their heels. Lance stood slowly, stretching, gulping down the rest of his coffee, the beginnings of a headache working up from the back of his neck.

 "Are you coming?" Chris asked from the door, looking in no hurry to join the others either.

 "I guess so," Lance said, and eased towards her.

 "What's wrong?" Chris asked as they exited together.

 "Sarah's peeved at me again."

 "Oh? Is that all? What's it this time, your snoring?"

 He and Sarah had been a running joke since Albuquerque. Real news might have been the spaces between fights.

 "I told her I didn't want to go on to L.A."

 Chris paused, looking slightly alarmed. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

 "If I had a choice, I'd go back to Denver. I was thinking of heading north. Up to the California redwoods maybe. Oregon."

 "Then what?"

 "I'd settled down. Get a job."

 "And Sarah would go for this?"

 "No. She misses the hip life in Hollywood."

 Chris shook her head. The slanted light showed off her chiseled features, the heritage of a once proud people glittering in her eyes. It stirred something in Lance.

 "It's not easy going north from here," she said. "You could head for Vegas and hit Frisco from there. But that's hick country and people won't be friendly-- especially driving that van of yours."

 "I figured on selling it first and hitching."

 "You won't get much out here. In L.A. you'd get more-- a lot of fools still thinking it's the Summer of Love."

 "But..."

 "And you could hitch up Route One through Frisco, no problem."

 "Getting Sarah out of town again might be."

 "How did you get her out this time?"

 "I lied," Lance said. "I dredged up old ghosts. She wouldn't fall for it again."

 "Maybe not," Chris said. "But the L.A. I knew got to be a drag after a while. Once summer hits, she might even want to go north, too."

 "You think so?"

 Chris shrugged. "L.A.'s miserable in summer, no matter what the surf songs would have you think. Hot and dirty and dry. No one in their right mind would stay there if they didn't have to."

 Lance sighed. Chris didn't know Sarah.

 "Hey, you two!" Jimmy called. The others had vanished into the building. "You want to hurry up?"

               ***********

 Twilight filled the room, cast by several free-stand lamps in the corners, emphasizing the musty scent of century old pine, vanished and aged, cooked year after year with smoke from the fire place. A fire burned there now, even with a rising temperature outside, and yet, the room seemed cool. Native painting decorated the walls in a white man's custom of frames and canvas. Wolf-heads and traditional hunting weapons curled out of the shadows like three-dimensional sculpture, made unreal by the dark wood and small windows-- though which little light came.

 This had been the original house, a frontier outpost to which the rest had been added. Stark. Primitive. As if a peek out a window would show covered wagons waiting and stomping steeds. Near the fire place Gil and other stern-faced men sat in a half circle, their faces bathed in shadow and light giving the semblance of war-paint.

 "Sit," Gil said, motioning towards heavy wooden chairs relocated for their benefit and forming a completed circle.

 "What is this?" Dan whispered to Chris and Lance. "A pow wow?"

 "Maybe," Chris whispered back seriously.

 Mike sat first with Marie to his right. Dan, Chris and Lance to his left. Sarah stood back from the circle, shaking her head at Jimmy's gesture for her to sit.

 "All right," Gil said. "It's time to talk. You came looking for me. Why?"

 He stared at Mike, and for the first time Lance noticed a similarity between the two, the same protruding cheeks, jaws and brows, more like brothers than merely related through tribe.

 "I need your help," Mike said. "The others have their own reasons."

 Gil nodded and turned towards Chris. "And your reason?"

 Chris glared. "To warn you about trouble," she said. "But if I'd known about the third degree I wouldn't have bothered."

 "Warn me? About what?"

 "About the collapse of the drug circuit from Denver."

 Gil's face tightened. "I have heard dark things, rumors and half-truths filtering in with wanderers such as yourselves. And I know you have brought storm clouds with you and trouble I do not need. Had you been other people, I might have left you to the wolves. But Michael's name is known to me. There are people here and in the south who remember him fondly. And you, less fondly."

 "Which means what?" Chris snapped, leaping to her feet, as armed guards stepped out of the deeper shadows of the large room.

 "Sit," Gil ordered. "I pass no judgements. At least not until I have heard your tales."

 Chris sat reluctantly, as Mike began, telling Gil about the pot farm and the disaster and his flight to Colorado. Some of this was new to Lance, filling in spaces left by conversations along the road. Yet even the parts he had heard before made him wonder just how safe Gil's house was, or whether an army of narcs waited outside the gates ready to bust them.

 Chris came next, informing Gil about the bust and escape from the Albuquerque house, and rumors of Demetre. The guards in the shadows shuffled uneasily, but Gil's face showed no change, nodding over the story when Chris had stopped.

 "All this explains much," he said. "Though not why everything had ceased."

 "You knew about the shipments ending?" Chris said, seeming a bit disappointed.

 "On your route, no," Gil said. "But I expected it. Other routes have dried up over the last few months. And it is quite disturbing. My operations here almost totally depend on Denver as a source. Almost everything on the west coast comes through here."

 "What?" Dan said, pushing up the brim of his hat to reveal a startled face. "But I was under the impression..."

 "The drug companies know nothing of it," Gil said. "I've been careful to disguise my operations as to have them believe each route was operated by a different agent."

 "Then we could have come here," Dan said. "We didn't have to deal with Denver."

 Gil nodded. "It would have been wiser. Things are precarious in Denver. Rumors of disaster. Demetre or someone discovering the illegal side of their operations. But I would not have given you anything."

 "Why not?" Dan demanded.

 "Your partner is not to be trusted."

 "You've seen him?"

 "Not directly," Gil said. "But he knew of my operations and sought me out several times. When I made it clear I would have nothing to do with him, he went elsewhere."

 "Denver," Dan said.

 "It would seem so."

 "But why bother with me?"

 "I suspect he needed a more respectable front, someone with a less double-dealing reputation."

 "But he double-crossed me, too!"

 "A last-minute decision," Gil said. "Rumors of the system collapse have been in the works for months. He obviously wanted to snatch up a little extra profit before things fell apart."

 Dan seemed to ponder this, staring down at his own hands, his expression growing more and more angry. "I'll kill him," he said finally.

 "Perhaps that would serve a purpose," Gil said. "But tell me your tale first."

 Dan brushed bits of breakfast out of his moustache with his hand and lit a cigarette. He took the story back as far as L.A., and the plans Bobo had devised for distribution on that end, how the local gangs had fallen out with each other, bikers and black gangs making inroads onto the mob's market-- how slyly Bobo had convinced Dan to help him with the scheme.

 "He said we'd get rich," Dan said.

 "He did, obviously," Gil said. "Go on."

 "Anyway, he sent me to Denver to make arrangements while he set up in-town operations. I hitched a ride with these people. The next thing I know, the Denver dudes are trying to kill me, saying I ripped them off."

 Gil stayed silent for a while after Dan ceased, his fingers pressed into a church steeple beneath his lips. Finally, he sighed.

 "It seems very complicated," he said. "Something has scared the drug companies badly."

 "Demetre did," Mike said.

 "Perhaps."

 "What are you getting at?" Chris asked.

 "There's something missing in all this," Gil said. "Everything is not explained. Where is the dope from Albuquerque? And why were you allowed to leave there?"

 "That's bothered me, too," Dan said abruptly. "And why didn't Sweeny haul my ass into jail?"

 Everyone stared at Gil. Lance felt a tension rising in the room, like some haunting spirit which only Gil could exorcise.

 "I believe Demetre is looking for someone," Gil said softly.

 "Who?" Mike asked. "Me?"

 Gil smiled. "No, friend, I believe bigger fish are in this barrel."

 "Bobo?" Dan asked.

 "Bigger still."

 "You?" Chris asked.

 "Maybe, but I don't think so."

 Mike stirred, his face dark. "Buckingham?"

 Gil's mouth grew taunt. "You know of him, then?" he said.

 "He's the reason I've come to see you."

 "Out!" Gil ordered. "Everyone but Michael."

 

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