Celilo's Shadow

by Wilcox, Valerie

  Mike was silent as if needing a few moments to absorb all that Sam had said. Then he shook his head. “A G-man, huh? You sure know how to pick a sponsor.”

  “Your criminal past doesn’t mean anything to me. That’s why I liked A.A. It’s anonymous. I’m used to keeping secrets.”

  “And now that yours has been exposed you want to give up?”

  Sam unscrewed the cap on the whiskey bottle. “Yeah, I do. Sobriety is just one more failure to add to the list.”

  “Here, let me help you,” Mike said, reaching for the bottle. “You need a glass.” He got up from the table, opened a cupboard and returned to the table with a small juice glass. “Don’t worry about the glass size,” he said. “I’ll pour you a healthy swig.”

  Sam’s hands trembled as he held the glass and breathed in the enticing aroma of liquor. “I can’t believe you did that,” he said, carefully setting the glass on the table without drinking it.

  “I’m a bartender. I never let my customers drink whiskey straight from the bottle, and especially not my friends.”

  “No, I mean you’re my sponsor. Aren’t you supposed to stop me from drinking?”

  “It’s not up to me to stop you. That’s your job. I’m here to remind you that there is a Power greater than both of us who can restore you to sanity. I’m not a religious man but I am a spiritual man. Each A.A. member must determine for themselves what the Step Two phrase about Power means. I find spiritual power in work and helping others. You still have a daughter to raise and a meaningful job. Yes, your cover is blown but you can still work. It will do more to quiet the sorrow and regret you carry than whiskey ever could.” He paused and then grinned. “Thus Endeth Today’s Sermon.”

  “I hear what you’re saying but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “My main job here was to prevent trouble with the Indians and the community, determine if the Indians were behind the sabotage attacks at the dam or if there was a Communist connection. The Bureau thought that the best way for me to do that was to go undercover. But I’ve managed to make a total mess of everything. The town folks are as stirred up as the Indians, I haven’t a clue as to who is behind the sabotage attacks or if there is a Communist within a thousand miles of here. So, you see, I can’t exactly embrace my work as a way to deal with what has happened.”

  “There’s an old Irish saying: A handful of skill is worth more than a bagful of gold. For guys like us the version is: A handful of skill is worth more than a case full of whiskey. Nothing you’ve said convinces me that you don’t have the skill to do your job with or without people knowing you’re an FBI agent working as a foreman at the dam.”

  “The job requires more than skill; it requires a certain amount of trust and strategic relationships.”

  “Well, my friend. That’s where I come in.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I trust you and I’m able to help you strategically.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

  “You know that my bar caters to the Indians and I’ve come to know Danny Longstreet and the other boys quite well. Didn’t I tell you that they’ve got themselves hooked up with another group that is apparently loaded with dough?”

  “Yeah, but I haven’t been able to figure out who that might be.”

  “I’m no investigator, but if I were you, I’d pursue the money angle.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Let me tell you what I know about Danny and his friends first. Danny has a reputation as a hard-headed, ready to fight-at-the-drop-of-a-hat type guy. It’s widely known that he’s opposed to the dam but the pranks he’s organized have been more of a nuisance than a hindrance to construction.”

  “I’m with you there.”

  “What isn’t so well known is that Danny has a thoughtful side to him. He’s smart and can think problems through once he’s got his anger under control. He could be your best ally.”

  Sam shook his head. “Not now. He wants to kill me.”

  “Let’s set that aside for a moment. His friend Walter presents himself as an easy going, good natured guy with a winning smile that endears him to everyone, especially the girls. But don’t be misled by his low-key appearance. Walter is far more dangerous than any of them. Henry isn’t as smart as Danny and Walter but he does think for himself and isn’t afraid to ask questions. The main thing is that he always goes along with whatever plan is made. Then there is Ernie. He’s the youngest and most unpredictable. He’s a loose cannon that often misfires. Any trouble the boys have gotten into can usually be attributed to Ernie spilling the beans about what they are up to.”

  “And what does all this background on their personalities have to do with money?”

  “A bartender is a good listener and I’ve overheard plenty. Oh, they try to keep their plans quiet but Ernie can’t help flapping his jaws when the rest of them aren’t around. He’s told me that he can’t wait to get going on their next plan because it involves dynamite. A lot of dynamite. Now where would those boys get their hands on dynamite? They have barely enough money to buy beer.”

  “They could steal it.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe this group they’re aligned with gave it to them.”

  Sam rubbed his chin thoughtfully, which he hoped would make Mike think he was considering what he’d said. What Mike said did make sense. Harmon was pursuing the money angle with the Pete Chambers’ murder investigation. He should do the same—if he didn’t have other plans. Mike had overstayed his welcome. It was time to move this chat along and start on the road to oblivion. “Follow the money, huh?”

  “Exactly. My grandpop was a rum runner in the old days. He was always two steps ahead of the Feds—no offense to you—and he claimed that the reason he never got caught was because he never left a trail of cash behind. He said if you ever want to catch a thief, follow the money.”

  “Tell me something,” Sam said. “Why are you so willing to rat on your Indian customers?”

  Mike shook his head sadly. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Not at all. I said earlier that I believe spiritual power comes from helping others. I believe by helping you that I’m helping them.”

  “I don’t follow,” Sam said with a puzzled frown.

  “Danny and the others are basically good kids who’re reacting to the unjust way the government has treated them in the only way they know how. It’s up to us to advocate for them. Think about it.” Mike stood upright and pointed to the glass of whiskey. “And think about the power you have over that drink.” He pushed back his chair and walked out of the house.

  Sam sat at the table long after Mike had gone, his eyes never straying from the glass in front of him.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The protesters were still making life miserable for any Indian who dared come to town these days, but it was Danny who bore the brunt of their rage. The idea that he was eligible for bail on the property destruction charge was resented almost as much as the crime itself. Whoever had paid his bail was the source of much speculation at Celilo. Walter said Stan Feldman had put up the cash, along with a rebuke for their “foolhardy” actions. He made it clear that they were to keep their noses clean until things were in place for their dynamite project. That was job number one.

  Danny felt bad that George was still locked up in that hell hole—charged with a crime he didn’t commit and denied any hope of release. No bail for an accused murderer. The old guy’s spirits had taken a downturn even before learning about Sam Matthews’ lies. The Umatilla girl who brought over George’s meals from the café told Danny that he’d basically stopp
ed eating. Reba said that was a very bad sign.

  Sam Matthews had hurt George and his people big time, but the worst part of all was how he’d wounded Reba. She’d been so courageous to come to town when Danny needed her and had even been relieved when Sam showed up at the jail—until the sheriff turned tattle-tale. Danny had been right all along to suspect the government man’s so-called good intentions, but it didn’t give him any satisfaction. Not when his mother was so distressed by Matthews’ deceit. Despite his protestations to the contrary, it was obvious even to Reba that Sam Matthews had been playing her and the rest of the village from the day he first showed up at Celilo. The look on his mother’s face when she realized how he’d destroyed her trust would haunt Danny forever. He would never forgive the man, the white man, and he deserved everything that would happen later.

  When Danny was released from jail he’d taken the alley exit and had avoided direct contact with the mob out front. Today would be a different story. He had to buy some engine oil or he’d never have ventured into The Dalles so soon after he’d been released from jail. The Shell station was located smack dab in the middle of Front Street and just one block from the courthouse. With any luck, no one would recognize his pickup. He’d make his purchase and zip out of town before anyone at the courthouse caught sight of him. Not that he was worried. He was willing to take on all comers if it became necessary. It’s just that Walter and the others were counting on him. The reburial ceremony at the new cemetery was scheduled for Sunday and they had to be ready. Getting into any more trouble before then would mess up all their plans.

  When he pulled into the station, the attendant was busy pumping gas for a lady in a wood-paneled station wagon. As soon as he saw Danny hop out of his cab, he gave him a dirty look. It didn’t bother Danny. He’d gotten his share of hostile staring, spitting, and name calling, even before his popularity had hit an all-time low. Danny made a point to return the hate-filled reception with a smile and neighborly wave before limping to the service bay. Except for some lingering pain from a sprained ankle and a lot of nasty bruising, he was okay. He just didn’t move as fast these days.

  The grease monkey on duty was stretched out on a creeper underneath a Chevy. His lanky legs were much too long for the platform and stuck out at an awkward angle. There was a familiar-looking hole in one of his work boots. Danny had built a friendly relationship with the head mechanic over the years. LeRoy Johnson knew more about fixing anything on four wheels than anyone in the whole county. He was also the only Negro in town which made him a kindred spirit as far as Danny was concerned. LeRoy was the man to see if you needed used parts, a rebuilt engine, or retreads. “Hey, LeRoy,” called Danny. “Is that you under there?”

  “None other,” the mechanic said, “Be right with you.” When he rolled out from underneath the car, he took one look at Danny and frowned. “Aw, man, whatcha doin’ round here?”

  “Kendall Motor Oil. I’ll take two quarts.”

  “Didn’t you see the new sign?” He pointed to a hand-painted poster tacked to the service bay entrance. No Indians allowed.

  “I saw it.”

  LeRoy stood upright and wiped a grease smear from his wrinkled brow with a stained rag. “You’re gonna get me in a heap of trouble if you don’t skedaddle.”

  “Just sell me the oil, LeRoy.” He took a five-dollar bill out of his wallet. “My money’s the right color, even if I’m not.”

  LeRoy stole a nervous glance at the attendant at the pump. He’d finished filling up the station wagon and was washing off the windshield while keeping an eye on the service bay. LeRoy shook his head and said, “Can’t do it, man. You know I’d like to, but I’ll get myself fired.”

  “Tell you what,” said Danny, slipping the bill into the front pocket of LeRoy’s overalls. “This should cover the charge, plus a little extra for your trouble. Meet me at the Pit Stop after work and no one has to know I bought a dang thing from you.” Danny grinned. “Now, shoo me out of here like you mean it.”

  LeRoy gave him a job-saving send-off which Danny played along with by making a hasty, if gimpy, retreat to his pickup. He intended to go to the Pit Stop, maybe shoot some pool and kick back with a few beers while waiting for LeRoy to show up with the motor oil. Then he saw Ellie. She was the last person he’d ever expected to run into again, but there she was, right across the street. She was by herself, looking at a display in a dress shop window. Despite how Danny felt about Sam Matthews and his lies, there was still a special place in his heart for his daughter.

  Danny watched Ellie a moment. She must know about her father’s betrayal by now. Maybe she’d been lying to Danny and Reba, too. That’s what white people seemed to do best. She’d probably been laughing at him behind his back all along, making fun of him and his friends, their beliefs and traditions. She looked so innocent, standing there in her sundress and sandals, but looks, as he knew full well, could be deceiving. He decided the Pit Stop and beer could wait; he might not get another chance to confront Ellie any time soon. He’d deal with her right now and finally be done with it. He climbed out of the truck, ignored the station attendant’s demand to “Get that damn junker off the lot,” and headed across the street.

  Ellie’s attention was still on the window display, so she hadn’t seen him approach until he called her name. She turned around and greeted him with a deep dimpled grin. “Hi, Danny.”

  His resolve melted as soon as she faced him. What was it about this girl that affected him so? He’d been teased unmercifully about falling hard for a white chick, but Danny figured the guys were just jealous. Walter, though, wasn’t teasing when he offered a stern warning: “Stay away from her, Danny. She’s a pretty little kitten who’ll claw the life out of you if you’re not careful.” She was pretty all right, but there was more to Ellie than just looks. She was smart, funny, and best of all, she was confident without being bossy like most girls he’d known. That she’d just been putting on an act was hard to believe, but maybe Walter was right, “Like father, like daughter.”

  Now that she seemed so pleased to see Danny, he couldn’t think of what to say. It wasn’t like him to struggle for words and he felt off-balance. As if by magic, the summer’s hot sun had turned her fair skin to bronze, her blonde locks to gold. A slight breeze blew a few strands loose from her ponytail and brushed against her cheek. He felt foolish gazing at her like a lovesick schoolboy, but she’d captivated him like nothing he’d ever experienced. Ellie simply took his breath away.

  She tucked the stray hair behind her ears and waited for him to say something. When he didn’t respond, her cheerful attitude gave way to concern. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s right?”

  “You’re not in jail anymore.”

  “You know about that?”

  “It’s been all over the news.”

  “Yeah, but I haven’t heard anything about your father in the news.”

  Ellie frowned. “Why would there be?”

  If her innocent look was just an act, he had to admit she was good at it. But it was wearing thin. He shrugged off the tender feelings he still carried for her and lashed out at her duplicity. “Don’t tell me you don’t know about him.” he said.

  She flinched at his harsh tone. “What are you talking about?”

  “Come on, Ellie, you don’t have to pretend any longer. Your father is working for the FBI. He’s been lying to us from the get-go, calling himself our friend.”

  “He is your friend!”

  “A friend doesn’t destroy our way of life or dig up our ancestors.”

  “I don’t understand a thing you’re saying.”

  “Yeah, right. Your father came to the jail when I was t
here and the sheriff set us straight about him. He was sent here by the FBI to make sure we—meaning my people, the Indians at Celilo—didn’t get out of control. His mission was to make sure the dam got built no matter what happened to us. Everything your father has said and done has been an act. He was good at it, too. He used his so-called concern about George’s safety to make the villagers think he was our friend. But he’s nothing but a liar who only pretended to care about us, especially my mother. He’s worse than Sheriff Pritchard. At least with the sheriff we know who we’re dealing with.”

  “But he does care. He’s a construction foreman at the dam and doesn’t have anything to do with the FBI.”

  Danny shrugged, “You can deny it all you want, but his double-crossing days are over. We know who he is and what he is now.” He gave her a hard, cold stare. “You can stop acting like you weren’t in on the whole thing.”

  She covered her ears and screamed. “Stop it! You’re talking crazy!”

  Their exchange hadn’t attracted any attention until Ellie screamed. A couple of ladies with shopping bags hurried past, apparently deciding it was best not to stop. As Danny checked on the crowd milling about the courthouse, a woman rushed out of the dress shop with Ellie’s silly red-haired friend scrambling behind her. After a quick glance at Danny, she put a protective arm around Ellie’s shoulders. “What’s going on here?” she asked.

  Ellie’s friend tugged at the woman’s dress, “Mom, that’s Danny Longstreet.”

  Already alarmed by Ellie’s screams, the woman seemed terrified now. Danny stifled a laugh. Did he look like a monster to white people? Or was it just his reputation? He leaned in close to the woman’s face and whispered, “Boo!”

  “Get away from us!” she screeched.

  “Don’t worry,” Danny said, looking at Ellie, “the crazy Indian is outta here.” As he turned to leave, he noticed that the ribbon in Ellie’s ponytail had slipped off and fallen onto the ground. He picked it up and offered it to her. “Here,” he said.