The old man rose slowly, his body was short and his wide round face showed its strong lines beneath the stubby rim of the grey hat. He took the young man’s hand in his own and felt the hard yellowstone ring on one of the fingers, he looked back into the man’s face for a long time. He took a pack of cigarettes from his vest pocket, “Yes, you are of Hallelujah Bob. You wear the yellowback ring. Do you use tobacco?” He lit a cigarette and sucked the blue smoke down in his lungs.
“Yes.”
He held the cigarette up to Birdsong and watched him smoke. “You use tobacco well. What brings you to us?”
“They say my father did not exist. They say there is no birth certificate, no legal record.”
“Is this for his land they say this?”
“Yes, they say he was not a citizen when it became his.”
“This they say often. It is one of their ways.”
“I have come here to tell you of these things.”
The old man took the cigarette back and sucked on the red ash until it almost burned his lips, “They do not know he has record of his being. Long ago as a boy he was taken to the Indian school by Carson City. There he has record. There you can get what you need. There they will understand. Tomorrow you make this journey. Now you will sit with me. We will speak to one another and use tobacco. Then you will go to the Westerner Bar at six o’clock and meet Juke. He is there everyday when the sun is low. But come, sit with me, we will talk of Hallelujah Bob and we will pass the tobacco.”
The pickup parked in front of the Westerner Bar and the two men jumped down, they could hear the loud music slipping out the open door and into the street with a bang. They went in.
“Hey, look at this! It’s Jingle Balls,” one of the Indians in dark sunglasses at the counter spun around on his barstool and pointed his beer bottle at the two men coming through the door. “Jingle Balls-Jingle Balls. Jingle all the way!”
“Juke! No shit! It’s good to see you. I heard you were in Sparks this morning. You have any luck?”
Juke looked down through his sunglasses at the white snapbuttons on his red cowboy shirt, “None. Same as always. Me and Lucky Strike here, the two of us went together. Nothin.”
“Well you can always go out to the Desert ranches and clear brush for two-bits an hour.”
“Whhheeeeeee Fuck. You sure know how to kick a man when he’s down Jingle. No thanks, I’m not your brush clearing land. I had a good job once as a log bucker in a lumber camp and I won’t take less. They won’t make me eat their shit.”
“Guess who I pick up hitchhiking out near Hallelujah Junction? Guess who this guy here is?” He threw his arm around Birdsong, “Guess who he is?”
“Well it’s a lucky bet to say he’s Washo, I can tell that.”
“He’s your cousin Joe!”
“You’re kiddin! Joe! From over in the valley. Man, I haven’t seen you since we were small kids, it was out at the rodeo in Winnemucca, we couldn’t have been more than ten.” He jumped down off the barstool and gave Birdsong a strong hug. “This is great, really something. Hey Tim, bring a cold beer for my cousin from over the hill in Sierra Valley! Where’d you get this guy, Jingles?”
“I told you, Hallelujah Junction, right there where the Beckwourth Pass comes out.”
“Joe, you been by the house to see Johnson?”
“I stayed the afternoon, he talked of the old ways.”
“He knows too. He remembers every buck deer he’s ever killed. He’s not like some who never hunted or did nothing, you can believe everything he tells you. Nowadays you get a lot of talk from people who never did nothin’ but hang around camp in the old days. Johnson did it all, and most of it was with your father, Hallelujah Bob. Johnson even has some Government allotment land up in the mountains, but he won’t tell anybody where it is so they can cheat him out of it. That’s what happens to most. They’re cheated out of the only acre or two they have left from the days when it used to be all theirs. Joe, you know what I’m going to show you? I’m going to show you Reno tonight. I’m going to show you a good time. We’re going to go Honkin. You see this beautiful Stetson hat I got on, aint it somethin’, I’ll show you how to get one too.”
“You better watch your City cousin Joe,” Jingle Balls stuck a finger into the foam of his beer. “When he goes Honking you’re liable to wind up out on North Virginia Street in some motel room with a gang of old ladies.”
“Whhhheeeee Fuck, Jingle, you been with me. You know the game! It’s a lucky bet Joe, listen, times have changed, we Indians can stay out at night, no more Sundown Ordinance for us, hah. So what do you think I’m going to do? Do you think I’m going to let a couple dozen lonely ladies get a feel under the Blackjack table and make twenty bucks and up a night, or bus dishes fifteen hours a day over at Harrah’s Casino? There’s all kinds of talk about the Indian being natural, well I’ll tell you what that means. Surviving is being natural! Let’s start Honkin! Tim, more beers and a sloe-gin for Lucky Strike here, he likes it because it’s cheap and sweet. It’s a lucky bet. Let’s Honk! I would rather see a man be drunk and singing than sober and silent. Honk!”
Juke led the way through the crowd, his red shirt flashing a signal easy to follow. He pushed his body between the people flooding through the swinging small doors into the big room until he ended up flattened against the Coke machine by the ticket counter, “This is a good place, we can see what’s coming from here. What do you think Lucky Strike, this depot is filled with Honkers tonight. I don’t want to miss a shot, not with my cousin Joe to show off for.”
“It’s Friday night. About quarter after seven, that means the Oakland Specials should be in.”
“Listen Lucky, there are so many other Honkers in here if I get split off don’t let Joe go into Harrah’s. Wait a minute, hear that loudspeaker, why don’t these people shut up when the loudspeaker is talking.”
“SPECIAL FROM OAKLAND ARRIVING GATE 4 IN TWO MINUTES.”
Jingle pressed himself against the Coke machine to protect his feet from being crushed by the crowd shoving across the cement floor through the candy and gum wrappers, “What’s going with Harrah’s, Juke? I’ve never been hurt there.”
“Well you know Jimmy the Feather, two weeks back he was drunk and Honkin in there, he was doing three Specials at once and they bounced him out in the alley, beat him up so bad around the head his mother had to come and get him, of course he’s never been the same after that. And he was only 21.”
“No shit I knew they was down on Honkers, but not that down.”
Lucky Strike threw the stub of his cigarette to the floor and bashed it out with his boot, “They’re down on Indian Honkers.”
Juke nodded his head at Birdsong. “That’s true, I’ve seen uptown white pimps working the circuit all night and never be touched. We’re not pimps I There’s none of us in this town who would do that. We all remember the old days when the Red Hats used to hold their big conventions here, banging their drums, painting themselves up like they was the Indians, parading and shouting through the streets all day, banging their drums all night. There wasn’t an Indian girl in this town who didn’t sooner or later get banged into a corner by the Red Hats. An Indian girls wasn’t safe on the Streets unless she was walking with her whole family. And there were guys who made money off that kind of thing, trading flesh of their sisters to them. We’re not pimps.” He looked up through his dark sunglasses at the big clock high on the wall, “Here come the Specials. Let’s Honk.”
The floor began shaking and the big running silver dog painted across the blue metal passed by the thick plateglass windows, stopping at Gate 4. The roar of the engine pulsated over the waiting crowd, the Bus was in. Across its blunt face was strung the white banner RENO SPECIAL. The front doors sucked open and the women got out.
Juke was already bobbing through the crowd across the room, he kept waving one hand in the air so the others could follow, “There’s big fish in these waters I It’s a lucky bet! There’s big fish i
n these waters!” Then he was out through the small swinging doors and grabbed two women coming down off the Bus, he slipped his hands right through both of their arms and jostled them along the side of the depot and up to the white glare of neon dazzling the night air along Virginia Street. He held his ground against the shoving current of the crowd and waited for the others to catch up. He stood under the neon rainbow of the marquee whose light slashed PRIMADONNA CLUB, rising from the rainbow five monster can-can girls burned in the night, their sequin bikinis flashing against the towering tanned fiberglass bodies as their flowing breasts thrust forward beneath long upraised pink gloved arms stretching gold champagne glasses to the starless sky blotted intense white from the brilliant street below.
“Say, you know, this sidewalk’s got carpet on it. It’s covered with red carpet,” one of the women slipped Juke’s arm from around her waist and kneeled down, running the palm of her hand over scarlet fibers. “This is real carpet! And there’s more inside the Casino.”
Juke pulled her up, “It’s everywhere, inside the elevators, the restaurants, the phonebooths, everywhere.” He pushed himself upon the toes of his boots to see the others. “Yes it’s everywhere, even in the johns.”
Into the light of the street came Lucky Strike pulling two women behind, he came up beneath the neon rainbow and lit a cigarette, the pale white light reflected on his dark sunglasses, “Howdy Juke.”
“Howdy Lucky, these are my two gal friends. Miss, a, ahh …”
“Sue, just call me Sue. You girls see they got carpet all over the sidewalks. You just tell me where you can see that kind of thing in Oakland?”
“Well, the Wards store has it on their third floor all over. This town isn’t so fancy, I’ve been to Las Vegas,” she turned to Juke, the thick red lipstick of her mouth puckering into a smile. “I’m Pam, and I’m glad you came along, we would have been trapped in that godawful Bus Station. If it wasn’t for you we would have been crushed. Why is it towns like this always have such small Bus Stations?”
“We’re Lois and Judy,” one of the women hanging onto Lucky Strike jabbed her heavy purse into Juke’s stomach. “I’m Lois, she’s Judy, I guess it doesn’t make much difference which is which, we both just got divorced.”
The other woman opened the black shine of her big purse and ran her hand around in it. “I want to go across the street to Harrah’s and play LUCKY BUCK. That’s what’s nice about these charter Bus trips, all the Clubs give you something for nothing. Come on Lois.”
“Wait a minute,” Juke grabbed her wrist holding the purse. “I bet ZIMBA’S gave you a pack of LUCKY NICKELS, let’s all go in to ZIMBA’S.”
“I like HARRAH’S,” she pulled her wrist free. “What about you Lois?”
“I’m hungry. I’ve been on that damn bus for five and a half hours and I’m starved.”
“Me too,” one of the girls next to Juke fumbled through her purse, she drew her hand out flapping a heavy pink sheet of paper, “Just what I thought, the CAL-NEVA CLUB is THE HOME OF THE WILD INDIAN SLOTS and a 24 HOUR BREAKFAST, it has HAM Ν EGGS for 48¢, can you beat that, half a buck for breakfast. We can all eat and play DOUBLE ACTION ΚΕΝΟ, they pay off up to $25,000!”
“I don’t care about that, who wants to eat breakfast at nine o’clock at night,” Judy snapped her own purse shut. “I want to play LUCKY BUCK at HARRAH’S. I didn’t pay twenty-one dollars for a Bus ticket and travel five and a half hours to eat. I came here to gamble.”
“Well you play the slots while we eat, they have over one thousand slot machines and give FREE NYLONS with JACKPOTS and you can …”
“Look who’s coming! It’s my cousin Joe and Jingle. Maybe they’ll join us, it’s a lucky bet. We have four gals and four guys.”
“This is so exciting, we just get to Reno and already we’re meeting men.”
“I came here to gamble.”
“Joe! Joe!” Juke ran ahead and pulled Birdsong up to the women. “I’d like you to meet four wonderful gals. We’re all going into ZIMBA’S and I’m buying drinks, these gals are so thirsty after that long Bus ride, it’s a lucky bet for us Reno boys to show them Western hospitality.”
“Oh, there’s no need for you to buy us drinks, we’re loaded with FREE DRINK tickets.”
“Well I couldn’t let you pay.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s all FREE.”
The silver banks of slot machines stood deserted, a few players were left huddled before the large electric ΚΕΝΟ board as it slipped silent numbers over its glass screen. Birdsong walked across the empty Casino, his boots scuffing over the burned cigarette scars on the red rug as he made his way around the clean green felt of the deep crap tables to the restaurant. He heard the laughter coming out of the far booth and slipped in on its slick redplastic seats next to Juke who had his arm slung around one of the women so his hand rested on top of her breast, she kept laughing and rubbing her chin against his ear, “Did you see Juke tonight with those dice, that was so funny. I mean so funny. I kept shouting, ‘Hey Juke, throw snake-eyes for me! Throw me a snake-eyes!’ And he did! That was so funny!” She looked around the table, “I think it’s so exciting that you boys are all Indians. I mean it’s so exciting just to be here.”
“Judy’s right, you don’t see so many Indians in Las Vegas. Reno is so different. What do you do in the day? Are you Cowboys? You sure look like Cowboys the way you’re all dressed.”
Lucky Strike forked a whole egg into his mouth, the big gob of yellow and white sloshing around as he leaned his head back on the stuffed red plastic, “Cowboys! I’m no Cowboy. I could’t lay a fence up straight if my life was depended on it!”
“I’m a Cowboy,” Juke lowered his hand a little on the women’s breast. “I’m like the Cowboys in the movies. It’s a lucky bet I’ve seen all of the Wild Bill Elliott pictures.”
“What do you do? Break wild horses and things like that?”
“No, I’m not one of those kind of Cowboys who gets out everyday to count cows and check fence. I’m the kind that plays guitar and gets the girl. Now my cousin Joe here is the other land of Cowboy, he can do all those things, but he can’t play guitar.”
Lucky Strike shoveled another egg into his mouth, “What do you girls do?”
The woman next to him drew her knife clear through her steak, her red lips puckered and opened as she waited for the meat she was going to stick in, “You won’t believe this, but I am a beauty operator.”
“What’s that?” Lucky Strike banged his fork on his plate.
“A hairdresser.”
“Oh yah, my mother used to be a barber. During the War she used to cut men’s hair for fifty cents.”
“Ohh it’s so exciting being here in Reno,” the woman rubbing her chin against Juke’s ear jostled the loose weight of her body in closer so his hand covered her whole breast. “There is so much history here. So much exciting has happened here. I remember learning in school the Donner Party all died one winter in Reno on their way to San Francisco. I read they actually got so hungry they ate each other.”
Juke squeezed the slab of soft flesh beneath his hand, “That wasn’t in Reno gal, it was over yonder by Truckee at Donner Lake. Joe here knows all about it, it was his father Hallelujah Bob who helped put up the cross as a memorial there in 1906.”
“HALLELUJAH BOB,” the woman laughed, her breast shaking beneath Juke’s hand. “HALLELUJAH BOB!” Her laughter became so loud it hooked in her throat and choked her. She guzzled down a pull of water and banged the glass back on the table, waiting for the ice to stop clinking before she looked at Birdsong, “That’s the funniest name I’ve ever heard, ever ever. Where’d he get a funny name like that?”
“He was a preacher.”
“You mean your father was an Indian and a Christian?”
“That’s right.” Birdsong’s brown eyes stared into the flaking pink powder around the startled blue eyes. “He preached the Gospels, but he give it up before he died.”
“Th
en you mean, he died out of grace?”
“He died with his Brothers.”
“What do you mean, his Brothers?”
“Come on gal,” Juke pushed himself up. “It’s not Sunday morning yet.”
“I want him to explain.”
“Forget about it Lois,” the woman next to Lucky Strike leaned over and squeezed the loose muscle below the sleeve of the other woman’s dress. “We came here to have fun.”
“And the fun just started gal!” Juke clapped his hand over the zipper of his pants and winked, “There’s big fish in these waters. Honk!”
The woman across the table stood up and grabbed her purse. “I’m going over to HARRAH’S. I don’t know about the rest of you but I’m not coming to Reno and missing HARRAH’S Club. I’ve gone through fifty dollars tonight and I haven’t even been in HARRAH’S yet. Here,” she slipped two tickets over to Birdsong. “I’ll just go to the Little Girl’s room and fix myself up while you get us some drinks, then we will go across the street to HARRAH’S.”
Juke put his arm around the woman who handed Birdsong the tickets, “Come on gal, forget HARRAH’S. I know a real Cowboy bar way down on South Virginia Street, they’ve got a Honkey Tonkin little Okie band there and a cardtable where they’ll deal you Blackjack until the sun comes up. It’s a lucky bet, why don’t we all get in a cab and go down there?”
“I’m going to HARRAH’S goddamit,” she pushed the beak of her nose up against Juke’s sunglasses. “And Joe is going to be my escort. I’m not leaving Reno until I go to HARRAH’S.”
Juke laughed in her face and threw his arms around her waist, drawing her up next to him and kissing her cheek, “That’s right gal, what’s Reno without HARRAH’S? We’ll all go to HARRAH’S. Joe why don’t you go and buy us all drinks.” He opened the woman’s purse like it was his billfold and took out a twenty dollar bill, “We’ll catch up with you in the bar when we’ve finished eating, it’s a lucky bet.” He sat back down with a bounce on the red plastic seat, “Come on gals, let’s order steak and eggs again, you can’t expect to Honkey Tonk all night on an empty stomach, and you know there are big fish in these waters. It’s a lucky bet!”
Rabbit Boss Page 39
