The Perversion Trilogy: Perversion, Possession & Permission

by T. M. Frazier

  I flinch as the word pierces my heart, dropping my fork. It clamors to the plate. The room goes silent.

  “Shit,” Sandy says. “I forgot.”

  I shake my head. “It’s okay.” I look to Grim. “Any word on Gabby yet?”

  “No,” he says, and my heart sinks further into my stomach. I push my plate away. My appetite now gone.

  “But we will. I promise.” Grim says, pulling me up from the chair. “We’re going out for a while.”

  “Don’t go off the reservation,” Marci warns.

  “I know. We won’t.” Grim assures her. “We’ll be back soon. Any luck with Callum?”

  Marci shakes her head. “Not yet, but I’ve reached out to some mutual friends. Alby says Callum has been off the grid for a while, but if he hears from him he’ll put us in touch.”

  “Call me if you hear anything. On Gabby or Callum.”

  I’ve never been this far inside the reservation. I’ve never even realized there was more here than the casino, but there is more. A lot more.

  An entire town unscathed and unmarked by the violence and bloodshed taking place just beyond the gates. There is no graffiti on the buildings. No blood stains on the roads. A group of children play and laugh in the middle of the street as they kick around a soccer ball. But the thing that astonishes me most, the thing that takes hold of my heart and won’t let go… is that no one here looks afraid.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe here,” Grim says. “Marco wouldn’t dare come here, and even if he tried, my men are guarding the perimeter of the entire reservation.”

  I nod as if I understand, as if I know what ‘safe’ means.

  “There’s someone I want you to meet,” Grim says, tugging me into a small but modern office building. A secretary sits behind a large, shiny, white desk, wearing slacks and a neatly pressed blouse.

  She greets us with a smile. “He’s expecting you. Go right on back.”

  Grim nods his thanks and tugs me through a series of cubicles and offices. The interior of the office surprises me. There’s a large copy machine. Lots of windows. Bright lighting. It’s like an office from a movie about Wall Street.

  “Surprised?” Grim asks. We stop in front of an open office door.

  “I thought…I don’t know. It’s not very…” I search for the word. “Traditional.”

  “Tradition is a point of contention here on the reservation,” a tall, pale-faced, wrinkled man with white-blond hair tied in two braids answers. He stands from behind a big oak desk and buttons his suit jacket. “The casino provides a life for my people, but money and traditions don’t exactly go hand in hand.” He extends his hand to me. “I’m Chief David. You can call me Chief David,” he says with a burly laugh and a strong southern accent.

  I take his hand in mine, feeling embarrassed. He shakes it firmly. “I’m Emma Jean Parish. It’s nice to meet you. And I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…”

  Chief David waves me off as he slaps Grim on the back in greeting. “Don’t worry about it, Emma Jean Parish. We may be losing some of our traditions out here, but I like to focus on the positive. Before the casino, there was nothing around these parts but poverty as far as the eye can see. The walls around this land concealed nothing more than a ghetto. It resembled a third world country more than it did a city located right here in the good ole U.S. of A. Now, the casino provides more than eleven thousand dollars a month to each tribe member, including the children. And that’s after taxes. That means families of four are pulling in more than a half a million dollars a year and with the success of the casino, that number is expected to keep growing.”

  “Wow,” I whisper.

  “And eleven thousand is just the minimum,” the Chief continues. “The higher rank you are in the tribe, the more money you are entitled to. Plus, it’s inheritable. So, if a tribe member dies, the money gets passed on to his next of kin. It’s never lost. Never taken away. However, those who are of mixed blood receive less.”

  “So, if a tribe member marries someone from the outside, his children don’t receive as much?” I ask, trying to make sure I understand what he’s saying.

  Grim answers. “With money, our people have abandoned some of our old ways. The council doesn’t want it to be the reason we lose being a people all together.”

  It makes sense now, but it still doesn’t seem fair.

  “To make a short story even longer, that’s why you see less and less traditionally built huts and custom spun quilts around here and more cement homes, custom-built cars, and the sweet sweet blessing that is air conditioning.” The chief spreads his arms wide as the air conditioning kicks on with a loud hum, blowing around the stray hairs too short to make it into his braids.

  “How does one become a member of this tribe?” I ask curiously, my mind reeling with all the ways I could create fake paperwork, and how much convincing it would take to make the tribal council believe I’m one of them. Even if just a fraction of one of them. It would do.

  “A blood test,” he answers flatly.

  “Sign me up,” I say, holding out my arm and flicking the blue vein in the crease between my bicep and forearm before quickly withdrawing. “Question, first. Do I get the results or do you?”

  Both Grim and the Chief laugh, although I didn’t tell a joke. I look at Grim. “What? You said we’re safe here. And the people are so nice. And they give out money.”

  Grim smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He may find my words funny, but there’s also sadness in his eyes. I know it’s because of my excitement over feeling safe.

  “So, EJ,” the Chief starts, drawing out his words slowly. “You’re welcome anywhere and everywhere on our lands, except, of course, for the casino floor.” He smirks and cocks his head to the side. “My guests prefer to lose their money of their own free will, not have it stolen from them.”

  I suck in a breath of surprise. “You know?”

  Grim nods. “I told him.”

  Chief David leans back in his chair. “Grim here wanted to make sure that if you or your friend came back in, and he wasn’t around that I wouldn’t…” He looks to Grim then back to me, rethinking his choice of words. “...hesitate in calling him.”

  You mean Grim was making sure you wouldn’t kill me.

  I find myself about to apologize for the second time since meeting the chief, but he holds up a hand to stop me before I can start.

  He rounds his desk and takes a seat, motioning for us to do the same. Grim and I both sit in chairs on the opposite side.

  “Now, for a little business. I got a call from an Agent Lemming this morning,” he says to Grim, pouring himself a tall glass of Scotch. He pours another for Grim and slides it across the desk to him then holds up the bottle and shakes it in offering. I shake my head. He sets down the bottle and looks to Grim. “Your name came up.”

  Grim takes the glass and throws back a hearty gulp. “Imagine that,” he says, not sounding the least bit surprised.

  “Lemming told me that if I spotted you on the reservation that I should take you to him immediately. Told me this crazy story of you blowing out a wall in the sheriff’s office and escaping his custody on a murder charge.”

  “Sounds about right,” Grim answers casually. “Except I didn’t blow out the wall. I only escaped through it.”

  “Naturally,” the chief replies.

  What? My mind reels.

  Grim shoots me a glance that says, I’ll explain later.

  “So, what did you tell him?” Grim sets the glass down on the desk.

  The chief twirls his own glass around in his hand. “I told him what I tell every lawman who calls my office, asking me for favors. I said, ‘Your people killed my people and pushed the rest from their homes. When you realized the error of your ways, your government corralled us onto this cozy piece of shit land you bestowed upon us in exchange for not holding a grudge over the genocide. It’s ours to do with and govern as we please. This means your laws don’t apply to me or anyo
ne on my reservation.’” He shrugs. “And that was about that. I’m pretty sure he hung up before the end. Shame. It’s the best part.”

  “He can’t be arrested here?” I ask. “I just figured they didn’t know where you were.”

  “They can’t pursue a fugitive onto reservation lands, and they can’t arrest him. They can, however, ask me to arrest him and turn him over to them. But, they can go fuck themselves. That’s not going to happen.”

  A door behind the chief opens, and much to my surprise, it’s Margaret who appears. Her long bold red maxi dress sweeps over the floor. Her large gold hoop earrings dance like wind chimes as she moves.

  “Grim,” she greets. Grim stands, and she kisses him on both cheeks.

  “Margaret,” he replies before taking his seat again. “You remember Emma Jean.”

  “I do,” Margaret says before leaning down to kiss me the same way she did Grim. “I’m glad to see that you’re still alive and kicking.”

  “I never got a chance to thank you. For…”

  “I did nothing. You remember that,” she says with a smile. Her beautiful English accent sounds like a spoken song.

  She kisses the chief square on the lips, then perches at the edge of his desk. When he goes to take a sip of his drink, Margaret snatches it from his hands and swallows down the remainder of its contents. He rolls his eyes.

  “Marco is on the rampage,” Margaret announces. “Looks like the war we’ve all been trying to avoid has officially begun.”

  “I think that’s my fault,” I say, but the second the words leave my mouth I realize I don’t believe them anymore. The guilt that always comes when I think of my role in starting a war between Los Muertos and Bedlam is nowhere to be found.

  Because it’s not your fault.

  Margaret shakes her head. “This has been coming a long time. Marco wants to take down Bedlam.” She looks to Grim. “And I don’t think it’s just because he’s obsessed with blondie over here. He’s gone through too much trouble for it just to be about her.” She swings back to me just long enough to say. “No offense.” She taps her finger on her glass. “He wants something else.” She pours herself another drink.

  “Then why play along and sign off on the truce?” Chief David asks.

  She clucks her tongue. “No fucking clue. But there’s a bigger reason Marco started all this shit.”

  Grim growls. “And Bedlam will finish it.”

  Margaret adjusts her dress over her legs and while doing so I catch a glimpse of the gun strapped to her thigh. “Grim, don’t get me wrong, I dig your whole I gotta handle my own vibe, you’ve got going on, but you’re not in this one alone. Marco’s bullshit affects all of us. The Immortal Kings are with you. We’re stronger together.”

  The corner of grim’s mouth tugs into a crooked smile. “You take a vote on that?”

  A burst of laughter escapes Margaret. “Please, I invented the word dictator. Votes are for people who care about the opinions of others. I only care about my family, my men, and my business. I’ll do what it takes to make sure all three stay intact.”

  “Thank you.” Grim tips his chin and raises his glass to Margaret.

  “Wait,” Chief David says, producing two more glasses. He fills one to the brim and pours just a splash in the other. He hands that one to me. This time, I don’t refuse. The chief and I join them in raising our glasses.

  “If we can’t stop it, we might as well toast to it,” Margaret says, straightening her shoulders. “To war. To peace. To prosperity. To death. To life.”

  We all clink glasses together and drink. I swallow mine in one gulp. It burns my mouth and my throat, continuing to burn all the way down to my stomach where a lingering sense of foreboding and dread simmers.

  “What if he comes here?” I ask, holding my glass in my lap. “I know you said he won’t, but how do you know for sure?”

  “They won’t. I promise. Not just because he knows better than to come on the reservation, but because he’s short on manpower. He’ll need time to recover before even thinking about retaliation.”

  “Short on manpower?” I ask. “How?”

  “The night we came for you.” Grim smiles into his glass at the memory. “Let’s just say that Bedlam greatly reduced his staff.”

  The Chief scowls. “None of those Los Muertos fools are welcome on our lands. If he so much as steps one foot on a single blade of our grass or kicks a single rock belonging to our people, he and his men know full well that they are then subject to tribal laws. And our people have invented much more creative ways of carrying out the death penalty than the outside world. Plus, we don’t have that pesky trial by jury thing to stand between them and their imminent demise. They’d be more than stupid to try and come here, unless they want to die a slow, torturous death. I can think of at least a dozen fun ways right off the top of my head.” He leans back in his chair, pondering. “By way of fire ants over the course of several days. Neck deep in a snake pit, perhaps. Or maybe, by organ donation…while he’s still very much alive.”

  “That is creative,” I agree, both disgusted at the thought of the acts themselves and thrilled at the thought of Marco being subjected to them. “But, he deserves worse.”

  “Agreed,” both the chief and Margaret say in unison. Grim’s posture stiffens.

  I’m curious as to what particular reason the Chief has to hate Marco, but from his deep breathy sigh, and the sadness clouding his eyes, I decide it’s best not to ask.

  Margaret sees the curiosity written all over my face. “The Chief and Marco’s old man had a falling out years ago,” she explains, covering his hand with her own.

  The Chief drains his glass and turns it around again in his hands, staring into the emptiness. “Only if you call killing my woman and kid a falling out.”

  Eighteen

  We leave Chief David’s office with a promise to meet him and some of the other tribal council members for a cleansing ritual where he’ll call on his ancestors to watch over us and guide us from harm.

  “You agreed really quickly to the ritual,” I say. “Do you believe in that kind of stuff? Rituals? Spirits?”

  Grim picks at a blade of grass. “No, but in the tribe, it’s a sign of disrespect to decline a ritual offer. Especially one offered by a council member.”

  “What did Chief David mean back there? About his family? His woman and kid?” I ask Grim as he leads me through a vast field full of purple flowers.

  “The Chief had an affair with Fernando’s ole’ lady.”

  “Marco and Gabby’s mother?” I ask, scrunching my nose.

  Grim shakes his head. “She was Gabby’s mom, but not Marco’s. Anyway, the Chief and Camila met and had an affair. She got pregnant. When Fernando found out the kid she was carrying wasn’t his, she tried to flee, but Fernando caught up to her …” He trails off. “The Chief never heard from her again.”

  “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. It isn’t a quote, but it’s an expression, and it sure as hell fits,” I say. “I don’t think Gabby knows this story.” I step over a log. “I’ve never heard anyone at the compound talk much about her father, nothing serious anyway, but then again, I stayed away from any hushed conversations or whispered words. I figured the less I knew the less of a liability I was.”

  “My smart girl.” Grim beams with pride that shoots straight into my chest. He squeezes my hand, sending a bolt of electricity through my arm. My entire body comes alive with the delicious hum of our connection as we continue to walk through beautiful green fields of tall grass. “Besides, why would Gabby know? Fernando was put away not long after Camila’s death for a series of other shit that had nothing to do with him killing her. I assume that’s how she ended up in foster care with you.”

  “Is he still in prison?” I ask, recalling what Leo told Gabby and me the first day we were brought to the compound.

  “Yeah, he is.”

  “One thing is for sure: I hate Marco’s father almost as mu
ch as I hate Marco. Fernando never once tried to contact Gabby throughout the years, and to top it all off, he’d killed her mother for the simple fact that she was trying to escape the hell of living among Los Muertos.”

  Grim and I sit in the grass on a small hill overlooking a vast lake surrounded by acres of nothing but tall grass and the occasional wandering cow or goat. I take a deep breath and let it all out in a long exhale. “Grim, there are things I need to tell you.”

  “I know,” he says. “But nothing you can tell me will change anything between us. You’ve got to know that.” He takes my hand firmly in his. Our connection puts me at ease but only slightly. “You’ve got to know that.”

  I nod and feel my chest tighten. I do know that he means what he says, but people can’t help how they feel or prevent things from changing just because they will them not to.

  We sit in silence for a few moments while I gather my courage. Grim doesn’t pry or rush me. He sits patiently, softly stroking my back with his fingertips.

  “He…” I start before stopping again to close my eyes and take a deep breath. After a few seconds, I try again. “After Marco took me back to the compound, he…hurt me. Raped me.” Grim’s fingers stop the mindless circling on my back. He stiffens. “I was tied in this dark room, and all I thought about was saving Gabby and you before Marco could hurt either of you.” Tears prick my eyes.

  “It’s okay,” Grim soothes, pulling me into the crook of his arm, setting his chin on top of my head.

  When I speak again, I keep my eyes on the lake and pretend it’s the water to whom I’m telling my story.

  “There was a girl there, helping Marco torture me. I heard them talking about the real reason I was there, but I never heard them actually say what that reason was. You know what one of the worst parts of being there was? Almost worse than what Marco did to me? Was when I found out the girl was Gabby’s sister, Mona. Someone I’d grown up with. Trusted.”

  “Mona,” Grim repeats. “That must have been who I saw. She was feeding me false info, telling me you were okay when you weren’t. She looks a lot like Gabby, right?”