by Breakup(lit)
the table, nodding at Kate to follow her.
95 "So," she said, looking over Kate's shoulder, "I hear you give
Mandy's mom and dad the grand tour?"
"You could call it that."
Auntie Vi's eyes twinkled. "Mandy probably never let her folks back in
the state, much less the Park."
"Probably not."
"They look like nice people."
"They're coming around," Kate admitted.
"So maybe their shit stink like everybody else's," Auntie Vi said
complacently, and Kate had to laugh. "Katya, I need a favor."
"Sure, Auntie," Kate said, displaying about as much sense of
self-preservation as Kevin Bickford had that morning on her homestead.
"Anything you want, you know that."
"I want you to talk to Harvey."
Kate stiffened. Harvey was Harvey Meganack, one of five board members of
the Niniltna Native Association. He was pro-development to the extent
that he was willing to open traditional tribal lands up to mining,
logging and tourism, a subject over which he and Kate had locked horns
the previous October. The board, stable and unchanging for twenty years
beneath the firm hand of Kate's grandmother, had recently experienced a
sea change, losing three of its members and electing a new chair. It was
still sorting itself out, and no one really knew what direction the
board might take in the future.
Auntie Vi was only the board secretary, not a member, but she was a
tribal elder and as such had tremendous influence with both the board
and the shareholders. Kate, who had been waging a lifelong battle to
stay as far removed from tribal politics as possible, was thrice cursed,
first in that she was the granddaughter and only direct descendant of
Ekaterina Moonin Shugak, second in that she was smart, capable and a
natural leader, and third in that those qualities were recognized and
needed by her people. Authority is as often a burden thrust upon the
reluctant recipient as it is a prize pursued by the ambitious.
96 Kate, resolved to serve from outside the circle of power no matter
how often her elders tried to extend it far enough to draw her in, said
guardedly, "What about Harvey?"
"He's almost convinced Demetri and Billy that the profits we made last
year from the logging at Chokosna should go out in a supplementary
dividend to the shareholders."
Normally, the dividend check was a quarterly payment representing income
and interest earned on funds invested by the Niniltna Native
Association, one of hundreds around the state created by ANCSA, the 1972
Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act, which had traded money and land for
a right-of-way for the Trans- Alaska Pipeline across aboriginal
territory. Sound counsel and some lucky investing on the part of the
Niniltna board had produced dividends that had steadily increased over
the years so that individual shareholders now received almost a thousand
dollars four times a year. One was paid out on December 1, to help put
some spirit into Christmas; one in March, to help gear up for the
fishing season; one in June to help buy that new impeller the boat
needed after it went over the sandbar at the mouth of the Kanuyaq River;
and one in September, in case the fishing season had been lousy and
there was no money for the fall grocery run to Costco in Anchorage.
It wasn't a bad arrangement. Unfortunately, a quarterly payment was also
a fine way to finance a quarterly spree, as Cindy Bingley was all too
well aware. And when, as this year, additional income from investments
or, in this case, logging leases accumulated and had to be dispersed to
the shareholders, there was a great temptation to regard the resulting
funds as found money and blow it on a spree, or a third four-wheeler.
You can never have too much stuff in the Alaskan Bush. "And?" Kate said.
"And," Auntie Vi said, "Joy says we should maybe earmark a few of those
funds for a health clinic instead."
Kate looked at Auntie Joy, another round-shaped elder, whose chubby
cheeks gave an impression of youth, especially when two
97 deep dimples creased them, which happened frequently. Her cheerful
front hid a deep and abiding concern for her family and friends and for
the community as a whole, blood or not. For "Auntie Joy says," Kate
thought, read "the majority of the elders in the Association say." She
glanced at Old Sam Dementieff, the fifth, eldest and newest board
member. "What does Old Sam say?"
Auntie Vi shook her head. "Nothing, yet. Will you talk to Harvey, Katya?"
"What makes you think he'll listen to me? We haven't been on good terms
since last October. Hell, we've never been on good terms. He'll blow me
off." Try.
Kate's hackles instinctively went up at the tone of Auntie Vi's voice.
After a brief struggle, she said, "All right, auntie. I'll try."
"Try soon."
Kate took a careful breath, exhaled it. "Yes. As soon as I can."
"Good." Auntie Vi examined her critically. "I hear you almost get
flattened by airplane."
"Not a whole airplane. Just one engine."
Auntie Vi's eyes twinkled again. "Oh. Just the engine. That's all right
then."
Kate had to smile.
"And woman get killed by bear." Auntie Vi shook her head. "Bad thing."
"Were they staying with you?"
Auntie Vi nodded. "For a week, they said." Her smile was wide and
satisfied. "Now I got federal men staying. They pay more."
"Good for you."
"That wife nice lady," Auntie Vi said, smile fading. "She been here
before." She gave Kate a sly look. "But she not with him."
At that moment the door to the Roadhouse crashed open and a neon
Budweiser sign hanging on the back wall shattered and cascaded to the
floor in bits of glass.
98 In the absolutely still moment of silence that followed, Kate heard
the distinct echo of a rifle shot. A .30-30 she thought, but didn't have
enough time to make sure.
"Incoming!" Bobby put both hands flat on the table, vaulted across the
surface and tackled Dinah, who went over backward in her chair. They
both crashed to the floor with Bobby mostly on top. Kate, a nanosecond
behind him, caught Auntie Vi in one arm and Auntie Joy in another and
used them to take the rest of the quilting bee down. Bernie did his duty
by Mr. and Mrs. Baker.
"Well, really," Kate heard Mrs. Baker say when she got her breath back.
Bernie cursed.
Mrs. Baker shut up.
A second shot, a clang and the tin-shaded light over one of the pool
tables swung wildly back and forth. A figure loomed up in the open
doorway, outlined against the Park's one and only streetlight, and a
third shot rang out, followed by a shrill scream.
"Kay!" a man's voice screamed. "Omigod! Kay!"
The figure in the doorway disappeared. The door slammed itself shut,
cutting the light off as if someone had thrown a switch.
Bernie's comment came clearly to Kate from halfway across the room.
"Breakup."
99
The door banged open again. "They've shot my wife!" a voice yelled from
> outside. "Somebody help! They've shot my wife!"
"Everybody stay down," Kate said, and got to her knees.
"Katya!" Auntie Vi said. "No!"
"Shugak!" Bobby yelled. "Now is not the time to play hero, goddammit!"
She ignored both of them and snaked a path toward the back of the room,
past bodies hugging the floor, hugging beer glasses, hugging pool cues,
and one uninhibited couple hugging each other as they took brazen
advantage of their suddenly horizontal position. Kate took a second
look. The guy was Dandy Mike. It figured.
There were more unintelligible yells from outside, more shots, more
thuds as bullets impacted the wall of the Roadhouse and a
100 lot of panicked shouts and questions from inside, chief among which
was, "What the fuck is going on?"
Seemed like all day people had wanted the answer to that question.
Someone was crying and someone was cursing and somebody else was
screaming and Kate looked up just in time to see the lady tourist from
Pennsylvania aim her camera and take a picture. Her husband, wide grin
intact, looked as if he'd gotten a bargain in front-row seats to a John
Wayne shootout.
"Get down, you damn fools!" Kate shouted.
They took her picture instead.
Kate crawled beneath the television screen, opened the back door a crack
and hooked one wary eye over the sill. Nobody shot at her. A
belly-scraping slither got her outside and down the steps. She sidled
furtively up to the corner and peered around. Nothing, but the yelling
was louder. She sidled even more furtively up to the next corner and
peered much more cautiously around it.
The yelling resolved itself into words. "You bastards, you shot my
wife!" The speaker was kneeling on the steps to the front door, a woman
draped over his lap, her left shoulder and breast stained red. He had a
pistol in his hand and a feral look in his eye. "You bastards, I'll kill
you for this, I'll kill you!"
"You deserve everything you get, you godless heathen!" was the response,
a woman's voice, high and shrill and determined. A shot followed and a
bullet hit the wall of the Roadhouse not a foot from his head.
"Get down!" Kate snarled. "Goddammit, you asshole, get down!"
He looked her way, half raising his pistol, a .357 magnum. At least it
wasn't an automatic; he could only shoot her six times. It wasn't a
comforting thought.
Another shot from the parking lot slammed into the building to Kate's
left. She jerked back instinctively and banged her head hard enough on a
protruding beam to see stars. "Ouch!" There was another shot and
another. From the front of the building
101 there was a scrabble of bodies; she hoped it was the man with the
pistol hauling his wife beneath the stairs.
Kate, rubbing her aching head, spared a moment to wish that Mutt was
with her, so she could have launched an attack on two fronts. In the
next moment she was just as glad to be alone, as not even Mutt was
immune to bullets. She gathered her courage and peeked around the corner
again.
"Mom!" The voice came from a jumble of vehicles a little to her left.
"Mom, where are you?"
"I'm over here, Petey!" came the reply. The same woman's shrill voice,
hard-edged, coming from somewhere near the Pace Arrow in the parking
lot. "Are you okay?"
"Yes! Where's Dad?"
"I don't know! Joe? Joe!"
"Dad! Dad, are you okay? Dad, answer me!"
Under cover of the yelling, Kate slipped out of the shelter of the bar
and ducked in between a red Suburban and a construction- orange Dodge
pickup. She dropped forward on her hands and looked underneath the
Suburban, getting a face full of mud and slush for her pains.
About six vehicles down she saw the bottom half of a body, clad in jeans
and shoepacs and holding a rifle into which a pair of hands was feeding
bullets. The hands were shaking and dropped every other bullet, but
enough were making it into the rifle for the rifle to accomplish its
designated task. Shit, Kate thought, and took a detour out to the
perimeter of the parking lot. Her feet crunched in the snow and it was
only a matter of time before Mom or Petey heard her, not to mention Joe,
wherever he was. She had to move fast if she was going to get a handle
on the situation before it exploded again.
She jumped when a shot boomed from beneath the front porch of the
Roadhouse. Dirty Harry warming up. The other two returned fire, Petey
with his rifle, the .30-30 maybe, from the sound of it, more firepower
than Kate wanted to go hand to hand against, and Mom with what sounded
like a popgun by comparison but
102 was probably a .22 and could kill her just as dead at close range.
She used their shots to cover the sound of her movements, duck- walking
behind the last row of trucks. Her Nikes, soaked once already that day
on the airstrip and just beginning to dry out, were soaked again. There
was just no justice in the world.
Nothing to be done about it now, but any feeling of mercy she might have
had in dealing with the cause of her wet feet died stillborn. A
stumbling rush brought her up behind the last vehicle in the row next to
the Pace Arrow, an old white International pickup the size of Rhode
Island. Three more booms sounded from the Roadhouse's front porch,
during which Kate crossed to the Pace Arrow, followed by a pause.
Probably reloading. Kate took the opportunity to peer around the corner.
A woman in jeans and sweatshirt was on her knees, leaning against the
Pace Arrow, her rifle grasped in both hands.
The RV was twenty-five feet long if it was an inch, too long a distance
for Kate to rush without Mom hearing, way too long for Kate to get to
her before she swung the rifle around. She cast about her for something
to even the odds. Nothing but half- melted snow and rotten ice and gluey
mud as far as the eye could see.
She looked back at the surface of the lot. Why not? She scooped up a
bunch of snow and packed it down, squeezing the muddy liquid out between
her fingers, rounding off the edges, shaping the mass into a solid ball
of ice, as fine a projectile as an attacker could hope for. She made
half a dozen more, stockpiling her arsenal. She waited until Mom was
sighting down the barrel before she raised her right arm and threw a
fast, hard ball that hit with a solid thump between Mom's shoulder blades.
"What the hell!" Mom was rocked forward on her knees but she didn't drop
the rifle. She turned and Kate threw again, as hard as she could, this
time connecting with Mom's shoulder.
"Ouch!" Rocked off her knees, Mom sat down hard in the slush, and Kate
threw again, this time adjusting trajectory for wind
103 resistance and gravity, this time putting every ounce of force in
her body behind it and this time smacking Mom squarely between the eyes.
The rifle dropped into the snow, Mom's eyes rolled up in her head and
Mom fell face forward into a puddle of slush, out cold.
Kate was rather pleased with herself. She was slightly less pleased when
"Mom?" Petey's voice was sounding quavery, which Kate took to be a good
sign. "Mom? What are you doing? What do we do now? I shot somebody, Mom!"
Kate got Mom's face out of the slush before she asphyxiated and unloaded
