Owl Dreams
Page 40
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
A gold detective’s badge was equivalent to a backstage pass at every Indian casino Robert and Sarah visited. Not one manager called an attorney or asked for a warrant. No laws were bruised, bent, or broken in Indian gaming establishments. All the really important ones had already been canceled in the interest of profitability.
Sarah watched customers feed coins into machines that paid back five cents out of every dollar invested by the gambling collective. All of this had been illegal in Oklahoma less than three decades ago, along with “liquor by the drink,” full court women’s basketball, and tattoos. It was incredible how fast the Baptist church had lost its hold on state politics. She heard her own voice mumble the words “slippery slope” a moment before she realized she was thinking out loud.
The daytime manager of the Broken Bow Choctaw Casino interrupted his guided tour long enough to ask Sarah to repeat herself.
“Nothing at all,” she said. “Just commenting on driving conditions along highway 259.” Once again, she posed as Assistant State’s Attorney Connie Rubirosa seeking a missing woman and the man who abducted her.
The manager hadn’t seen either Hashilli or Marie, but offered to provide copies of the casino’s security tapes. “No need for us to break the law when hard working people are stuffing money into our pockets.”
No business, past or present, compared with Indian gaming—at least in Choctaw country. Not bootlegging whisky, not cultivating marijuana, not even manufacturing methamphetamine. Nothing legal or illegal held a candle to casino gambling. When the economy was good, people gambled casually in local casinos and made trips to Las Vegas to find big time entertainment. When times were hard, they did all their gambling locally. The tribe made out like professional Caucasian bandits. They were in the process of buying back all the land stolen from them, an acre at a time. Mostly with white men’s money.
“We haven’t gone in much for entertainers here at Broken Bow,” the manager said, “but Durant does pretty good.” He recited the names of a dozen singers who had slid below the threshold of public adulation within the last ten or fifteen years. If Durant customers weren’t interested in musical nostalgia, there was always something going on in the casino restaurant. “They offer a six pound steak free to anyone who can eat it in an hour along with two sides and a large drink. Now that’s what I call entertainment.” Singers might come and go, but the appeal of red meat was eternal.
Every Choctaw casino Robert and Sarah visited was thriving. For the first time since statehood, people came from as far away as Dallas/Fort Worth and Tulsa to hemorrhage money into the local economy. No one tried to apply a tourniquet, and no one had seen Marie or Hashilli.
“Some folks say that God is dead, but the devil is alive and well right here in southeastern Oklahoma.” The manager laughed at his own joke. Neither Robert nor Sarah cracked a smile.
“Nothing lasts forever,” Sarah said, “except the basic flaws in human character.” It was the kind of statement she thought an assistant state’s attorney might make when confronted by the unbridled success of a business that sells no product.
The manager offered no defense of the gaming industry. He showed the photographs of Marie and Hashilli to every dealer, pit boss, and cashier in the establishment.
The tribe and state authorities were finally on the same side, Sarah realized. For the first time in history. Slot machines and black jack tables worked where treaties failed. Viva Las Vegas.
The manager didn’t object when Robert showed the pictures to the wait staff and the bartenders. Three members of the custodial crew were actively involved in polishing brass, sweeping floors, and cleaning up occasional spills, but the manager authorized a fifteen-minute break so they too could look at the photographs. The greatest and the least among the casino employees were at the disposal of the authorities.
The chief custodian didn’t recognize the people in the photos, but he recognized Hashilli’s name. “Maytubby! There was Maytubbys down by Tuskahoma where I’m from. Some of them was troublemakers.”
Sarah let him hold the Xerox of Hashilli’s drivers license. His lips moved as he ran through a mental list of the Tuskahoma Maytubbys.
“Hashilli Maytubby!” The boss janitor smiled at the recollection of the worst troublemaker of them all. “Lived down by the Kiamichi River. Mean as a red-assed spider, if you’ll excuse my French.”
Maybe the janitor blushed. Sarah couldn’t be sure. He gave her a careful look as he handed back the copy of Hashilli’s license. He looked at Robert too.
Making a decision, Sarah saw the signs. The janitor’s eyes moved back and forth between her and Robert, as if he were measuring the distance between them.
Too close. She took a baby step away from Robert. Government lawyers didn’t stand so close to state cops. Was their cover broken?
The janitor smiled. “Billy, come on over here.” He motioned to his assistant. “See if you can help this young couple out.”
Sarah took another step away from Robert. “We’re not . . . .” What else should she say?
The janitor held up his right hand like a justice of the peace performing a marriage ceremony. “I won’t say nothin’ to nobody. Government rules can’t keep young folks apart.”
One cover was intact. But was another cover blown? What did the janitor see? Did Robert see it too? Sarah would have to think about that later on. She handed the Xerox of Hashilli’s license to the assistant custodian.
He took the paper delicately. He gave the picture and the name a cursory glance, handed it to the chief custodian, and wiped his police-contaminated hand on the front of his shirt. “Mostly kept to myself when I was home.” It was a policy he clearly didn’t intend to change.
The boss janitor thumped the DMV photo of Hashilli Maytubby with his index finger. He made a clucking sound with his tongue.
“Longer I look at this one, the more familiar he gets. Family lived off an unmarked road between Clayton and Tuskahoma. This one was slick as buttered sin.”
“I’m surprised he ain’t in prison by now,” the janitor said. “The law was after him years ago, after that business with his grandpa. Killed the old man, people say. Though it wasn’t never proved.”
The chief custodian looked directly at the gun-bulge beneath Robert’s jacket. “Keep that thing clean and ready.” He passed a glance from Robert to Sarah, nodded his head as if he’d come to some conclusion. “See this pretty little girl walks behind you if you go into them woods. Don’t never drop your guard.”
Pretty little girl? People thought of Sarah as serious, cynical, bitchy. Never a pretty little girl. Was that a smile she felt on her face?
Robert promised to guard Sarah with his life. The chief custodian wished them luck and went off to deal with a spewing beer keg in the bar area.
Why couldn’t Marie ever take up with a man like that, one who talks sweet and smells like stale beer? Sarah didn’t say a word to Robert until they reached the stolen red SUV that had been their transportation to the Choctaw Casinos.
When they were safely beyond the hearing range of curious casino employees, she told him, “I lived in Tuskahoma.” It was a long time ago, when Marie took a Choctaw lover.
“The town used to be the Choctaw capital.” There was a large brick council house the tribe still used for events. Lots of traditionals still lived in the area. Maybe some Maytubbys were still around. Not much of a lead, but it was the only one since Stringtown.
Sarah tried to report their progress to Archie, but his pre-paid cell phone was turned off. Archie didn’t want to have his stealth compromised by an inconvenient ring tone. Vigilant enemies could be alerted, even if the phone was set on vibrate.
Policemen and attorneys could take calls with impunity; felons on the lam could not. Sarah and Robert would have to wait until either Archie or Big Shorty called them, then they could decide on their next move.
Sarah drove toward their temporary headq
uarters at Bob’s Lake Country Motel. Her cell phone played the ring tone version of I can see clearly now before she reached the invisible line that separated McCurtain and Choctaw counties.