Broken Promise

by Simon Toyne

  ‘Eddie,’ Rita said. ‘His name was Eddie.’

  ‘That’s right, Eddie. Fact I’m pretty sure everybody does know. I guess no one bothered to tell you.’ He turned to Solomon like he was telling the story to a buddy at a bar. ‘So anyway ole Eddie gets this idea to try and put together a decent score to help her fix up the diner and, damn fool that he was, ends up borrowing a roll off some bad dudes out of El Paso. Only the money he borrowed ain’t quite enough to do all the things he wants to get done. Way I heard it he wanted to marry her, buy her a ring and pay for a fancy wedding, the whole bit. So he goes over to the Lucky Res and tries to gamble it up a little. Loses it all and a whole lot more. So now he’s in the hole to the casino and the dudes in El Paso and he cain’t pay neither one of ’em. I don’t know who caught up with him first. Don’t really matter, the end result was always going to be the same.’ He made a gun with his hand and put it to the side of his head. ‘Boom. The coyotes will have ate ’im and scattered his bones long since if they didn’t bury him deep enough.’ He shrugged. ‘Texas justice.’

  Rita looked down at Asha who was staring at nothing, her eyes wide and glazed with shock.

  ‘Give me the damn pen,’ she said. ‘I’ll sell you the land. I don’t want any part of it any more. There’s too much blood in it. Too much blood and too many people who don’t give a damn about doing the right thing by nobody.’

  Meeks handed her his pen. ‘Don’t be too sore. They was probably just trying to spare your feelings.’

  Rita grabbed the pen and uncapped it. She ripped open the envelope and smoothed the paperwork down ready to sign. She didn’t realize she was no longer holding the pen until Solomon held it up and pointed it down at the empty case.

  ‘How much is in there?’ he said. ‘I mean exactly.’

  Meeks regarded him with a look somewhere between surprise and caution. Solomon had moved so fast to pluck the pen from Rita’s hand that he was figuring out if he might be able to grab his gun as fast and was glad the desk was between them.

  ‘What the hell business is it of yours?’ he said.

  ‘Well you’re pointing a gun at me and you want me to keep my mouth shut, and if you tell me how much is in the case I will.’

  Meeks frowned then shook his head and smiled to ease the growing tension in the room. ‘What the hell,’ he said. ‘There’s seventy-eight thousand, nine hundred and twenty dollars there. Happy now?’

  Solomon shook his head slowly, like it confirmed some privately held suspicion. ‘Not enough,’ he said.

  Meeks raised his gun a little higher and cocked his head to one side like he hadn’t heard properly. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I said it’s not enough. You’re eighty dollars short.’

  Meeks laughed. ‘Eighty dollars! There’s almost eighty grand in that case and you’re bitching about a few more bucks.’

  Solomon shrugged. ‘Everyone has their price, you said so yourself. Mine is eighty dollars.’

  ‘But I done told you already, that there cash is all I can put my hand to right now, so I ain’t got no eighty dollars. And I sure as hell ain’t waiting around here all night swapping stories and waiting for the banks to open, so you’re just going to have to take it or leave it.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Rita said, holding her hand out for the pen. ‘I’ll sign the damn papers.’

  ‘What about your wallet?’ Solomon said, his eyes still fixed on Meeks.

  ‘My what?’

  ‘You have a wallet in your back pocket, I can see the outline of it. How much you got in that?’

  Meeks stared at Solomon down the barrel of his granddaddy’s pistol and everything seemed to pause for a long, long moment until he blew out a long stream of air and lowered the gun.

  ‘Goddammit you are a pain in the ass, my friend. Lucky for you I’m not the kind of guy to shoot someone over a few lousy bucks.’ He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a thick, leather wallet with ‘DM’ stitched into it and tossed it onto the desk. ‘Pick my pocket, why don’t you.’

  Solomon picked up the wallet and flipped it open. There was a thick stack of credit cards inside as well as a few bills. He pulled them out: three twenties, a ten, a five and six ones. Eighty-one dollars.

  ‘It’s a dollar too much,’ Solomon said.

  ‘Keep the change,’ Meeks sneered. ‘Now give her the pen and sign the damned paperwork before I lose my patience and shoot the damn lot of you.’

  Chapter 16

  Rita signed.

  Meeks checked everything was all dotted and crossed correctly then smiled and locked the papers in his safe along with his granddaddy’s pistol.

  ‘Out in the hall with you,’ he said, the shotgun still slung under his arm, ‘over by my daddy’s portrait where I can see you.’ Then he locked the study door with the shotgun inside and held up his hands to show they were empty. ‘All friends now,’ he said. ‘And to prove there’s no hard feelings I’m going to give y’all a ride home.’

  The Glock was still tucked into his waistband but Solomon chose not to mention it. Meeks wasn’t going to use it now. He thought he’d won.

  Meeks led them outside, made them hop into the flat bed of the Ford pick-up then drove them back to the diner, like a team boss taking melon-picking migrants out to the fields. Rita hugged Asha the whole way, stroking her hair. No one said anything.

  They pulled up outside the diner and Meeks stayed in the truck, engine running, until they’d climbed down.

  ‘Have a nice life, y’all,’ he shouted out the window as he pulled away. ‘And if I ever see any one of you round here again you won’t find me so friendly.’

  Then he floored the gas and sent arcs of dirt into the air as he fishtailed back to the blacktop then away up the road. Rita gathered Asha into her arms, hugging her hard and squinting against the cloud of grit until the red tail-lights and deep roar of the engine melted away in the night.

  ‘Asshole,’ she said, then she kissed Asha, held her face in her hands and looked her in the eyes. ‘Go fetch anything you need from inside ’cause this is the last chance you’ll get, OK? We’re heading out in five. And fetch some water and something to snack on in the car, we’re going to be on the road for a long while.’

  Asha nodded then headed off in a daze, the bell tinkling above the door as she stepped inside. Rita waited until the door banged shut again then turned on Solomon.

  ‘What the hell were you playing at back there, asking for eighty dollars when he had a goddam gun pointing at my baby? Eighty dollars! Are you crazy? You took an unnecessary risk that put me and my daughter in danger and for what? For eighty lousy bucks!’

  ‘He was never going to shoot,’ Solomon said.

  ‘You do not know that. You might think you know everything but you don’t. Daryl Meeks is a mean, spiteful, spoiled little brat who’s done whatever he wanted his entire life and thinks he can get away with anything on account of the fact he probably already has. You don’t know him. You don’t. Why did you even do it, it wasn’t even your money?’

  ‘You said you needed a hundred thousand dollars to start a new life. I was just trying to get you a little closer.’

  ‘By eighty bucks! What the hell difference is that going to make? Eighty dollars makes no difference to me whatsoever, but being alive sure does.’

  Solomon cocked his head to one side and seemed to study her anger like it was some kind of exotic creature that had flown out of the night.

  ‘You’ll see,’ he said. ‘When you get to wherever you’re going you’ll realize that eighty dollars makes all the difference in the world.’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ Rita said. ‘One motel room, a few burgers and a tank of gas and that eighty dollars will be gone but I’ll still be pissed at you. I’ll be pissed at you and what happened here tonight forever, you and Meeks both. I wish you’d never come here. I wish you’d never stepped through that door and spun your lies or told me what was written on the cave walls. Because even though I probably got more
for the land than I might, I wish I’d not learned what I learned tonight. I’d rather stayed ignorant and poorer.’

  ‘Being unaware of the truth does not change what that truth is.’

  ‘Oh shut up. Just shut your damn mouth. Don’t talk to me any more or I might end up punching you square in the face. My daughter’s coming back and she’s already been through enough for one night.’

  ‘You’ll understand,’ Solomon said. ‘When you get to where you’re going you’ll understand.’

  The bell above the door tinkled again and Asha reappeared juggling her school bag, some bottles of water and a large bag of nachos.

  ‘Let me help,’ Solomon said, stepping forward and plucking the bag from her shoulder just as it was about to slide off. He took it to the back of the car, opened the tailgate and managed to squeeze it into a small space amongst the tight jumble of possessions inside.

  ‘Thanks,’ Rita said, slamming the tailgate shut. ‘Get in the car, Ash, we’re leaving.’

  Asha looked over at Solomon, smiled at him then walked round to the passenger side and got in.

  ‘There’s an old Suma legend about this land,’ Solomon said. ‘It holds that so long as the blood of Three Arrows in the Wind remains upon this land then the sun will rise and the sun will set and the rivers will flow to the sea.’

  Rita nodded. ‘Uh huh? So what happens when we leave, the sun not going to rise tomorrow morning? Daryl Meeks is going to be awful pissed off when he finds out he done bought a piece of dark desert.’

  Solomon smiled. ‘The legend also says that whoever takes this land will know nothing but tears.’

  ‘Really?’ Rita shook her head. ‘That’s just not how it works. People like Daryl Meeks always win in the end, and people like me get to pour their drinks and mop up their mess.’ She looked over at the diner one last time. ‘Least I won’t be cleaning up after anyone else for a while.’

  She opened the driver’s door. ‘I’d offer you a lift but we ain’t got room and I’m too mad at you.’ She nodded down the road past the neon sign saying ‘BOBBY D’s EATS’. ‘Most of the traffic heads east. Keep your thumb out and you’ll catch a ride sooner or later.’

  Then she got in the car, turned on the engine and drove away.

  Chapter 17

  Daryl Meeks struggled to sleep, the thrill of the night’s events and thoughts of the river of money that would flow his way buzzing in his restless mind. A friend of his once told him the Lucky Reservation Casino averaged three million dollars profit a week. Three million dollars. That was way more money than they’d ever made from oil, even when all the wells had been producing, and unlike oil money this was a river of cash that would never run dry.

  He lay in bed, adding up figures in his head – three million a week, twelve million a month, one hundred and forty-four million a year – until the numbers got too big and he gave up on sleep entirely, threw off the covers and marched down to the basement where the portrait of his daddy hung. He looked up at it for a long time and with all kinds of emotions roiling inside him – pride, resentment, elation, anger. His daddy had never thought very highly of him, never thought he would amount to anything more than a kind of shadow of himself, elevated solely by the family name and the money he’d made and put in his pocket. A lot of other people round here thought the same.

  Well let’s just see what they got to say when I build me a casino on that patch of old Indian land no one else thought was worth a damn.

  He stared up at his daddy’s portrait, wishing he was still alive so he could see what his son had done, and how much money he’d make, so much that it would make all those oil dollars seem like loose change. But the expression on his daddy’s face remained unchanged, his nose raised high like the whole world was beneath him.

  ‘Fuck you, old man,’ Daryl said at last, then headed to the kitchen to make himself some coffee.

  He’d waited for the sun to rise then driven over to Nate Prime’s place to tell him the news and give him the signed paperwork to file. Then he’d driven out to the diner, parked out back and walked out to the caves and taken detailed photographs of every inch of the decorated walls so he could email them over to the University of Colorado and start the ball rolling on getting it all authenticated. Then he’d hiked back and stepped through the door of the diner.

  His diner.

  He stood there for a moment, watching dust drifting through the slanted morning light, listening to the stillness and the occasional sound of a vehicle passing out on the highway. He felt calm. In control. Powerful.

  He looked around to see what Rita had taken but as far as he could tell she hadn’t taken a damn thing. Even the dusty old Indian souvenirs were still there beneath the faded photograph of the symbols on the cave wall. He walked across the cracked vinyl floor, took one of the souvenir caps with ‘A gift from Broken Promise, Texas’ embroidered on it then bashed the dust off it and fitted it on his head. He glanced up at the painted menu from beneath the brim and a low hunger shifted inside him. He hadn’t eaten anything since lunch the previous day when that smart-ass stranger had walked in here with his wager and his weird ways.

  Not so smart now, are you, mister?

  He passed through the gap in the counter and into the kitchen. There was nothing here worth salvaging or selling either, everything was old and battered and oil-stained. He opened the fridge, found some frozen slices of ham and a few eggs and fiddled around with the hot plate until he got it working then threw some ham slices on to defrost while it heated up. Next he checked the cupboards and found a half-empty catering pack of coffee and an open box of filters. He set a fresh pot gurgling and paced back and forth behind the counter while his head buzzed with all the things he needed to do.

  First thing was to start the process of authenticating the land as ancestral Indian property. Then he needed to get on to the state gaming board and get that ball rolling too. He also needed to hire architects and engineers to start designing everything and putting all the permits in place, all of which would require seed cash and proper financing. He could use his own money to get things started but he didn’t have the kind of cash to build a casino. Besides, it wasn’t just the finance he needed. He’d also want people with heavyweight political muscle and influence in city hall in his corner, because none of this was going to be a cake walk. The tribal elders at the Lucky Res up the road would try and block the development the whole way; they didn’t want a rival operation springing up in the next county to take a big bite out of their pie.

  Three million dollars a week.

  That was what he needed to focus on. Keep his eye on the prize and the ball rolling. Two years from now, three tops, he’d be standing here leaning against one of those glass bars lit from the inside, sipping on a cocktail and watching a river of money flow past on its way to his bank account.

  The sudden sound made Daryl jump. It had come from the old payphone by the counter, a loud, metallic dringgg designed to cut through the noise in busy public places. It rang again, sharp and loud, and it occurred to him that it might be Nate Prime trying to get a hold of him for some reason because the cellphone reception here was shit, something else he needed to fix. He grabbed the phone midway through its next ring and lifted it to his ear.

  ‘Bobby D’s,’ he said, like he’d heard Rita do a million times before when truckers called ahead to make their orders.

  ‘Hi, I’m looking for a Rita Treepoint.’ It was a woman’s voice.

  ‘She’s not here.’

  ‘Do you know how I might get hold of her?’

  Daryl shrugged. ‘Her cell maybe.’

  ‘I tried that already but got voicemail. She left a message last night and asked me to get back to her urgently. Said she wanted to speak to me ahead of the sale of some land in a place called Broken Promise, Texas.’

  ‘Who is this, please?’

  ‘My name is Doctor Andrea Thompson. I’m calling from the Center for Native American and Indigenous Studies at the Uni
versity of Colorado.’

  Daryl’s face broke into a smile. ‘Yes. That’s … I left you a message too. Name’s Meeks. Daryl Meeks. I called about the same thing – the cave symbols – but you can call the dogs off, ain’t no need to talk to Rita no more. She would have been calling to find out what those symbols said before she sold the land but I done bought it already.’

  ‘Oh. I was under the impression she wanted to speak to me before any sale went ahead.’

  ‘Well no. See, you’re talking to the new owner now, so any information you have regarding it you can tell to me, though I already know what you’re going to say.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘How? Can you read Western Suma?’

  Daryl smiled. ‘No, ma’am, but I know a man who can.’

  There was a slight pause. ‘But the only people who can read Western Suma are on my team, and they’re all women.’

  Daryl felt the skin tighten on his neck. ‘Yes but. There was this fella came through here yesterday. He was … he knew all kinds of stuff … I can tell you what he said.’

  He grabbed the photograph from the wall. ‘The cow’s head,’ he said, grasping at a memory. ‘That stands for deVaca.’

  ‘That’s right. Álvar Núñez Cabeza deVaca.’

  ‘There you go,’ Daryl felt his confidence returning. ‘And the figure on horseback, the one with three arrows over it. That means Three Arrows in the Wind. He was chief of this area way back in the fifteen hundreds or sixteen hundreds or whenever.’

  ‘Sixteen hundreds,’ Doctor Thompson said. ‘DeVaca passed through West Texas in 1534.’

  ‘Bingo. And Three Arrows in the Wind was Rita’s … er, I mean Ms Treepoint’s ancestor. Three arrows, Treepoint – you see? The symbols are kind of an agreement between the chief of these lands and this deVaca fella.’

  ‘Well yes, that’s exactly right. But how do you …?’

  ‘Like I said, this guy swept through yesterday who could read it.’

  ‘Did he tell you about the signature?’