All the bigwigs were on stage, including Carter’s new crush, Poca Dohasan, along with her son, Chayton, who served as lead counsel for the Samerauk Tribe. And of course, the politicians were front and center—the lieutenant governor, the state’s attorney general, and resident casino cheerleader, Bobby Maloney.
My father was not present. He’d purposely stayed out of the controversial process, at least publicly, believing it should be left to the people of Rockfield in the upcoming election. Murray had been critical of this approach, referring to my father as the “already retired” Peter Warner in his recent editorials, and suggested that he seek a retirement job at the post office, since he’d gained vast experience in “mailing it in” during his final months in office. My father respected Murray’s right to publish his opinions, while believing it was his right not to comment on those opinions.
Chayton was the first to the podium. He was a sharp, Harvard-educated lawyer, with a helmet of thick dark hair. His skin was much lighter than his mother’s, almost pale, but he shared her wiry athletic frame, and high cheekbones. His expensive suit was much more in line with the Manhattan of today, where he was a rising legal star at Evans, Kramer & Gordon, than the Manhattan the Dutch purchased from the Native Americans for the equivalent of $25, back in 1626.
I’d heard about his fire-and-brimstone speeches on the courtroom steps during the long litigious road to federal recognition. But today was about wooing voters, and bringing everyone under the same tent. He outlined the project, while focusing on the economic boom it could bring, not just to Samerauk Nation, but to all surrounding areas. He then handed it over to his mother, whose official title was Chief for Life.
She wore a sophisticated pantsuit, her hair in a braid. As I watched her stride to the podium, barefoot, I had to agree with Carter, she was much more Standing Babe than Sitting Bull. And while I was skeptical of this Samerauk curse, I was convinced that she might have found the Fountain of Youth.
Her political skills were evident. She seamlessly wove two messages into one speech. To the Samerauks, she spoke of how true freedom comes with economic independence, which she believed the casino would provide. She mixed in statistics, and attempted to ease the fears of those worried about being displaced from their homes, or whether or not their children could still attend the same schools in Rockfield. But there was one underlying theme throughout her speech that trumped all others—pride.
To the neighboring towns, she talked of spreading the profits, and increasing revenues and job opportunities. Specifically to Rockfield, which she referred to as a “great partner,” she made clear how important it was to find alternative revenue streams so that they were not so reliant on the Hastings Trust. She finished by addressing the concerns of Rockfield and the neighboring communities, the biggest being the much-debated traffic issue.
At this point, the other politicians got their face time, including Maloney. Because I was bored, I counted how many times they used the term “job creation”—twenty-two, if you’re keeping score. Very little mention was given to the possibility of families being torn apart by addictions, or Grandma gambling away her Social Security check, but to be fair, I had started to nod off, so I might have missed that portion.
Carter, for one, was confused why such a debate was necessary. “What kind of place would be against a casino? What’s wrong with these people?”
Since I was the fake candidate running on a platform that opposed the casino, I decided not to answer.
When the politicians ran out of hot air, we moved to my favorite part of these shindigs—the architectural renderings. Little models, fancy videos, and of course, it’s not just a casino! It’s also a resort, hotel, spa, and a place to take the whole family for fine dining and entertainment! Carter lit up when they spoke of the thirty table games that were planned, including his favorite, Caribbean Poker.
It was a game that most of the attendees would be skilled at, I thought. Because when I viewed the crowd, almost all had maintained their poker faces. I couldn’t tell if the pitch had swayed anyone. But we were about to get a better idea of how the people felt—the meeting had been opened up to questions.
Chapter 29
Poca made noticeable progress during the question and answer session. She had a way of connecting with people, and slowly began to win over the disbelievers, and defuse some of the biggest critics.
Murray slyly held out for the final question, and then brought up a subject that had been little discussed during the debate so far.
The assumption, based on the Field of Dreams theory, was that if you build it they will come. The financial success of the casino was a given, and most of its opposition was based on that potential success—too much traffic, etc. But what if it wasn’t successful?
The Pequot Tribe were the pioneers when it came to Indian gaming in Connecticut. When they built the Foxwoods Casino, their small reservation was transformed into a wealthy, gated community almost overnight. At one point, Pequot tribal members were receiving annual six-figure payouts for nothing other than having a casino on their land. It was like winning the lottery, until over-expansion and a stubborn economic downturn left them 2.3 billion in debt. There are no more payments to tribal members.
The lieutenant governor jumped in assertively, as if his whole purpose of making the trip was to answer this one question. He assured the crowd that they had learned from the mistakes of Foxwoods, and because of that, this (not just a) casino would be much smaller in size—250 rooms, compared to 1300, was one example—which meant much less financial risk. And with its proximity to New York City, the Samerauk Casino would be in a much better situation to attract constant business.
Good enough for me, but not necessarily for Murray. His attention went to Maloney. “Do you feel that your opponents pounding away at the 2.3 billion dollar number has been the cause of your recent slip in the polls … including trailing JP Warner, who hasn’t even declared his desire to run? That perhaps the same casino that once boosted your campaign, might now be an albatross?”
Maloney squirmed in his seat, and I couldn’t hold back a grin. But he gathered himself as he stood, and did his best impression of a political ad, “I, like everyone on this stage, believe in this project, and support it 100%. Our opponents are using half-truths to try to hold back progress, which is why we had an event like today, so that the voters have access to the entire truth. And as far as any polls, I don’t put stock in them, especially when it’s related to a fictional opponent.” I’m Bobby Maloney, and I approve this message.
And yet he has based his entire ad campaign on that fictional opponent. Curious.
Murray, always looking to stir things up, turned in my direction, a smile on his face. I immediately knew I was in trouble.
“It sounds like Mr. Maloney is throwing down the gauntlet. Are you a fictional candidate, Mr. Warner, or will you accept the challenge?”
I should have just responded no, but I liked the role the threat of my candidacy was playing. “I have not made a decision, but an announcement will be made in the next week.” And then to promote our new online presence, “I will be announcing on the Rockfield Gazette website, so be sure to check it out for updates in the coming days.”
Despite my help with the business, Murray continued to push, “Wouldn’t this be the best time—in front of a gathering of voters, who are confronting the biggest issue the area has faced in years? Can you really continue to be indecisive on the subject, with so much riding on it?”
Carter jumped in to save me. “If JP says he has nothing to say, then he has nothing to say! If anyone has a problem with it, they can come talk to me. And as far as those polls, the only polls I care about are the ones with some hot chicks dancing around them.”
Then in dramatic pro-wrestling style, he pointed at Poca. “And what I would give to see you dancing around that pole. Don’t need no casino to hit that jackpot!”
Ladies and gentleman, Coldblooded Carter.
&nbs
p; Carter remained standing, looking generally impressed with himself. Having spent years with him, I continue to be surprised that A) he believes this to be a good way to attract the female of the species, and B) it usually works.
“You rogue brute,” Poca spoke into the microphone. She paused for a moment, glaring at Carter, the crowd cringing, and then a smile appeared on her face. “It’s nice to know there’s still a few real men left in the world.”
I swear she sent a subtle look in Maloney’s direction when she said it, but that might just be me seeing things that weren’t there, to fit the story. They teach you that at Cable News school.
Poca moved on to the next question as if nothing happened.
Carter looked to me with a satisfied smile, his mojo returned in full. “She’s got my vote.”
Chapter 30
After the formal presentation, a meet and greet was held, where potential voters could get one-on-one time with the perfumed princes.
More importantly … at least to Carter and me … they served samples from some of the eateries that had signed on to be part of the casino. I went with an oversized chocolate chip cookie, while Carter devoured an entire steak sandwich in two bites. He was definitely back.
Once his stomach was full, he set off after his prey. But she was already headed in our direction. Carter reached out his hand, and said, “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”
“Oh, I believe we just were, Mr. Carter.”
“My mother named me Jeffrey, but you can call me Coldblooded.”
She smiled. “I’ve been called that many times myself over the years. My given name is Hantaywee, but you can call me Poca.”
“I was going to go with Chief Smoking Hot, but Poca will work.”
While Carter and Poca were making a sweet acquaintance, her son, Chayton, looked to be a tad on the salty side. I figured he was used to guys hitting on his mother by now, but he probably thought it would have slowed down after she received her AARP card.
Like Murray, Carter enjoyed stirring the pot, although their methods differed. He looked at Chayton. “It’s so nice to meet my future stepson,” he exclaimed and opened his arms wide for a potential embrace.
Anger rose in Chayton’s cheeks, but he maintained his cool. “There’s an old Indian proverb: it is better to have less thunder in the mouth and more lightning in the hand.”
“There’s an old pro wrestling proverb: you mess with Coldblooded, you’re gonna wake up in the hospital.”
Poca bravely stepped in between them, and once she’d averted any escalation, she addressed me for the first time, “Am I talking to a journalist, or a candidate who is trying to hold back my people from prosperity?”
“Neither—I’m just a citizen trying to get the facts. I found the event to be very informative,” I said.
By the look on Chayton’s face, I got the feeling he wasn’t buying what I was selling.
Carter noticed as well. “You’ve got something to say, Sparky?”
“I’ve already wasted all the breath I can muster, spending years fighting for the right to build on the land that was stolen from us by the white man. What’s next—seeking your approval to breathe your air?”
That sounded more like the militant Chayton from the courtroom steps.
“You lost it fair and square, the old fashioned way—getting your ass kicked,” Carter fired back.
“If that’s your way to describe the European occupation of our home, may I remind you that despite your invasion, we still chose to peacefully abide by the 1736 decision of the General Assembly of the Colony of Connecticut, which gave us 2,500 acres on the northern part of what is now Rockfield. But once again, our trust ended up being nothing more than naiveté.”
Carter shrugged. “If we’re going to play the ‘original owner’ card, then the land would go back to the dinosaurs, and we all know how Jurassic Park turned out.”
“We never asked for our original land back—all we wanted were the laws to be applied fairly. It clearly stated in the Non-Intercourse Act of 1790 that only the federal government had the right to deal with Indian nations, not the state of Connecticut, which is what occurred when they removed us in favor of housing their mentally ill.”
Carter boomed a laugh. “I thought marriage was the Non-Intercourse Act.”
“However it came about, you currently live under a deal that would be the envy of many,” I decided to enter the fray. “Not only were you given valuable land, but you don’t have to cover the heavy costs that most towns do—fire, police, schools. The only drawback is you have to get permission to turn it into the Vegas strip. Sounds like a pretty good tradeoff to me.”
“The 1930 deal you speak of was nothing but extortion, which my grandfather was forced to accept, given the alternative. It was as if a thief stole our jewels, and then returned a portion of them—the less desirable ones at that—with the thieves keeping the rest. And to add to the indignity, we would need to get permission from those same thieves to wear the returned jewels.”
“Well, it looks like those less-than-desirable jewels ending up being slot machines. The way I see it, as long as your mother does the talking, and keeps you away from any possible voters, then I don’t see how the casino can lose.”
He scoffed, “We both know the casino has no chance of passing.” The statement surprised me. “The Hastings family controls this town, just as they always have. They will do whatever it takes to make sure that casino never comes to light, as it would dilute their power. And they think you’re the one to ensure the results they want … a lackey just like your father. Which is why we will do everything in our power to make sure you don’t win that election.”
Going after me was one thing, but don’t mess with my family. “Isn’t that what you’ve already been doing, by bringing back the curse? Come to think of it, isn’t that your go-to move whenever things don’t go your way around here?”
He looked like he might explode. “Even a blind man could see that Hastings was behind that hoax at the bridge—it’s what they always do when they want something. For someone whose mother is in control of the local history, you would think you’d be more educated.”
He went on to tell another “old Samerauk proverb” that I translated to mean Hastings is the ass, and any friend of his is the hole.
Poca more believed in the proverb of “give him enough rope and he’ll hang himself,” so she decided to save her son before he did just that. He wanted no part of the rescue, but had no choice in the matter—not only was she his mother, she was also his chief.
“We’re done here,” she said sternly. As they walked away she looked back at Carter, her smile returning. “For now, anyway.”
Chapter 31
Main Street Tavern is a boxy, wooden firetrap located, as the name would suggest, on Main Street. I always thought its best feature was the large mirror behind the bar, so even if you’re the only one there, you never have to drink alone.
Carter and I arrived Wednesday evening, after escaping Samerauk Nation. We took a seat at one of the heavy oak tables that had survived many a bar fight over the years, and waited for my brother to drop off Byron, following football practice.
That’s when we heard what sounded like the squeal of a dying animal. When I located the source, I realized that Byron had already arrived. His wheelchair was parked in front of the karaoke machine, and he was belting out his version of Pharrell’s “Happy.” It was making the other patrons anything but.
Vic Cervino twisted on his stool at the bar, and informed, “Ethan dropped him off like an hour ago, and he’s been drinking like a fish ever since. The dude is sloshed.”
“You should have heard him sing ‘Welcome to the Jungle’,” said fellow bar dweller Steve Lackety. “He sounded more like Broken-Axle Rose.”
The Cervino and Lackety Comedy Show—available for birthdays and bar mitzvahs!
I looked to Carter with concern. “Byron can’t drink.”
&nbs
p; “Because he’s paralyzed?”
“No, because he turns into a lunatic. Remember what happened the last time? Two words: Malaysian prison.”
When it came back to him, Carter flashed a satisfied smile. “That was a good night.”
“Not for the guy who had to search for you, thought you were dead, and then was forced to bribe a prison guard to get you out.”
“Hey—I paid you back for that.”
My attention returned to Byron, who was actually dancing along to the music. I was pretty sure he could dance better in a wheelchair than I could at any point in my life, healthy legs and all.
“The problem with Byron is he needs to get laid,” Carter said.
I agreed—sex was the great deodorant that covered up all other problems, but there was a big obstacle. “For that to happen, we need to get him back to Tonya. If you have any ideas on how to do that, I’m all ears.”
Carter looked offended. “I didn’t mean by his girlfriend. They’ll have plenty of time not to have sex as soon as they get hitched.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying that Byron should cheat on Tonya.”
“I didn’t say cheat on her—I’m saying we get him one of those high-end escorts.”
“And that’s not cheating? Do you have these rules written down somewhere, because I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work that way.”
“All I’m saying is that he’s left a lot of food on the table the last twenty years, and sometimes a man needs to eat cake.”
Psycho Hill (JP Warner Book 3) Page 13
