Birdsong walked back through the silent bank of slot machines, he felt in his pocket for any change left from all the money the women had been giving him to gamble with. There was a little gold light on top of each slot machine that lit up a small glass sign: INSERT COIN. All along the deserted rows of silver slots the little signs were lit up, even though there was no one there to read them. Birdsong jammed a nickel into the slot before him and banged the handle down, the gold light of the sign went off as the roll of painted fruit spun across the silver face of the slot. The fruit stopped. Two lemons and an orange. The little gold sign lit back up: INSERT COIN. He turned his back on it and went into the OYSTER BAR and sat on the padded stool, keeping his back to the room he had just left. But the power was too strong for him, it was as if all the strong medicine of Reno was gathered behind him in a roomful of metal machines with a lighted gold sign that said: INSERT COIN. There were no people there to obey the signs, there were no people standing in front of the machines to read their messages, but the signs were always lit up. They did not need people, they had forever to wait.
“What’ll it be Chief?” the bartender placed his large pink hands on the polished counter, the mirror behind him catching the shine of his pink hairless head. “What’s your pleasure Chief?”
“Four vodkas and four whiskeys.”
“Right Chief,” the bartender kept his eyes on the Indian, he fixed the drinks behind the long counter as if his hands belonged to someone else, the sign over his head declared his purpose: RENO–The Last Frontier of the Old West–MAY YOUR VISIT HERE BE FULL OF FUN AND EXCITEMENT (Privileges Revocable at option of Management). “Here they are Chief, four and four, that’s ten bucks out of your jeans.” He rang the money into the register and came back to the Indian, rubbing the polished counter before him like he’d just spilled a bucket of water on it. “Reno is going downhill Chief. Your kind remember what Reno used to mean. The people that come into town today don’t know what Reno meant before the War, in those days Las Vegas was just a gas station. But it’s not Vegas, it’s Tahoe, Lake Tahoe is going to kill Reno Chief. Oh sure, Reno is still loaded up to the eyeballs with gamblers, but us oldtimers can remember the old days when this casino would be standing room only at four in the morning, instead of empty like tonight. It aint hard for us oldtimers to smell the change in the air. I know all the big Hotel Casinos are remodeling, but people’s attitudes have changed, they don’t treat the town with respect like in the old days, now people throw their garbage on Virginia Street, drop their cigarette butts on the carpets and spit on the sidewalks. They don’t remember, in the old days they would have been thrown in jail for the night for showing such disrespect. People have no respect for Reno today. It’s Tahoe what done it. All those fancy new highrise Casinos around the Lake, that’s what killed Reno. Don’t you think I’m right Chief?”
“You’re right.”
“Let me get you another whiskey Chief, here I’ll turn up the sound of the fight on the TV. I love the fight game, people don’t have enough respect for it, they don’t remember during the War. It’s football what killed the fight game. Don’t you think I’m right Chief?”
“You’re right.”
“Here’s your whiskey. Archie Moore is fightin’ tonight, for the title. He’s up against Tony Anthony. All the smart money in this town says Archie Moore can’t lose unless he breaks a leg on the way from the dressingroom to the ring. Archie is a real fighter, forty one years old and still a contender, but it’s young guys like Harold Johnson or Basilio that will kill him, maybe not tonight, but they’ll kill him. Tahoe will kill Reno, you wait Chief. But it’s all a little funny when you think about it, you just think of how the silver and gold metal was mined out of California and Nevada a hundred years ago. So much was mined out we had to invent a way to get rid of it so we invented gambling. Mine the metal out of the ground, stick it in a metal slot machine where it churns around, and if you’re lucky you win a bunch more metal. I’ll tell you though Chief, after watching people gamble for twentynine years I think they all do it to lose their money. Am I right? But did you ever think Chief of how the only gambling places in this Country are right in the middle of where all the wealth was taken out of the ground. Here in Reno, over in Tahoe, even down in Vegas, now that Stein has discovered there is uranium all around that Desert down there, even Vegas is growing faster than both Reno and Tahoe. They say Stein was so poor before he stumbled onto uranium he could put his socks on from either end, now he’s richer than King Farouk. It’s damn odd Chief, where the fortunes were mined ways were invented to get rid of it.”
The roar from the TV drowned out the bartender’s voice, the Indian swallowed the last of his whiskey and looked up at the two black men fighting on the silver screen. He started drinking the other whiskeys before him. The bartender wiped around his three empty glasses, “This fight was over hours ago in Los Angeles, Archie Moore wins; they always do a re-broadcast of the fights in Reno just to prove to all those who bet on it up here in the North earlier in the night that there really was a fight.”
“Ohhh, it’s like one vast male animal, struggling.”
Birdsong turned to the woman sitting down at the end of the bar, he hadn’t even known she was there, she looked up at the silver screen again and squealed. “They’re going to kill each other,” her little soft white butt covered tightly by black slacks bounced on the padded stool as she dodged the blows coming from the silver screen.
The bartender did not look up, he went on talking as he wiped imaginary spots, “See that blond piece down at the end of the bar Chief, I get them in here every night at this time, but that one’s something special, the biggest little gal I ever seen.”
The Indian looked back down the bar, the woman was rubbing the glare of her gold highheeled shoes together as her eyes followed the movements on the silver screen, then her eyes came quickly off the screen and stuck on him, he turned his gaze down from hers at the brilliant pinned red flower on her black sweater drooping below her large breasts.
“Go on down there Chief, what’s one more slice off a loaf of bread that’s already been cut?”
The Indian drank the last glass of whiskey and looked back at the woman’s eyes, the reflection from the TV screen washed over her face and turned it silver.
“Go on Chief, Honk her, it’s a lucky bet. You Indians got to make a living somehow. I’m not the kind that calls the Law down on a Honker, even an Indian’s got to make a buck.”
Birdsong picked up two of the vodkas and carried them down to the end of the counter and set them before the woman. She held her eyes straight on his and he felt the liquor swelling his tongue so he couldn’t speak, then he thought of the most natural thing to say. “It’s paid for.”
The woman raised the drink and turned her eyes back to the silver screen, one of the black men was knocked out on the canvas. She didn’t take her eyes off the screen as the sharp edge of her gold shoes run up and down on the Indian’s leg, “You know why I was watching you? Because you look like someone I saw in the movies, in a Randolph Scott movie, he had a scar on his cheek and a hat just like yours, and his skin was just as brown. Have you ever been to any Randolph Scott movies?”
“I’ve seen them all.”
“Honest?” she fingered the gold bracelet around the black wrist of her sweater. “You’re not just saying that to be sweet, because I love Randolph Scott.”
“No, I have seen them all.”
“You are sweet. And this vodka you brought is sweet, but I only get four a night and I’ve had my four, it’s doctor’s orders.” She snapped her gold purse open and tapped two red and white pills out of a plastic tube into her hand, “These are orders too,” she popped the pills in her mouth. “Now you be sweet and take me home. I’m at the RIVERSIDE.”
The woman took the Indian by the hand and led him through the large lobby to the elevator. She held her fingers down on button number 10 until the flesh turned pure white under the bloodred nail polish.
The elevator doors split open and she led him in by the hand and swayed to the music of hidden speakers as the elevator rose. The music was in the halls and followed them down to her door, she turned the key in the lock and they stepped into the music of the room. She turned to him and unbuttoned her black slacks, pushing them down over her legs so he could see the mound of dark hair pushing against her white panties. He slipped his hands to her flesh and her lips sucked at his, then she shoved him away, “No-No. Not yet. Not until we’re clean.” He sat on the bed and watched her take her clothes off. “Oh it’s so damn hot always in Reno,” she unhooked her gold bracelet and rubbed her hands over the stiff edge of her red nipples. “Always so damn hot in Reno.” She turned the air-conditioner up to High and the sudden wind blew over her body as she lifted her arms and slipped off the blond wig, shaking down her short brown hair. “I just love wigs, I wouldn’t ever use one except they’re so convenient, this one is 100% virgin acrylic, soft as baby hair and burn proof. You can actually hold a match to it and it won’t burn, of course I wouldn’t test it.” She pulled the wig down over the white plastic head sitting on the dresser, then carefully combed out the blond locks. “Hey, you want a thrill! A real Sensation! Look at this!” She pointed her red fingernail at the small metal box screwed onto the top of the bedstand: MAGIC FINGERS–ROCK AND ROLL YOUR MATTRESS FOR 10 MINUTES OF BLISS–25¢. “This is really relaxing!” She dropped a quarter into the box and he felt the bed begin to quiver beneath him. “You just he back and relax. I’ll get these dirty boots off you, and these Levis, how long have you been wearing these Levis? You could stand them up in the corner, what a stink.” She unbuttoned his shirt and opened it down his chest, “You’re not very hairy are you? Is it true Indians can’t grow beards? How do you like the MAGIC FINGERS, pretty Sin-sational huh,” she spread her body over him and kissed him around the neck. He could feel the mattress vibrating up through his back and shaking her breast over his chest. “Well you’re not going to leave your silly hat on.” She jerked it off his head and threw it across the room. “Come on, into the shower.” She shoved him into the bathroom and spun the shiny metal shower knobs as he rubbed the hair between her legs against his thigh. She pushed him into the stinging water and ran the hard white soap over his body, working it up under his arms into a lather and down between his legs until his stiffened flesh was slippery in the jerking fingers of her hands, “You know those wooden Indians in front of CLUB CAL-NEVA? The ones that are slot machines and you pull their arms for a handle. I think they should put the handle right between the legs. I would just love to PLAY them if I could pull on that all day, just slipping my hand back and forth feeling the hot head of that flesh growing bigger and BIGGER until I hit a JACKPOT!” She pressed her slippery breasts against his arm as her hand tightened between his legs, running the muscle beneath her fingers up and down. “Is it true, all true about what you Indian boys did to those poor settler women, before you scalped them I mean, or even after. Come on, you can tell me.” Her fingers darted underneath his hard flesh as her hand pumped, he leaned his back up against the wet wall and thrust his hips out to her hand. “I know more about you than you know. You said you were a Washo Indian. That bartender back at the Casino told me it was the Washo who saw the Donner Party eat themselves. He said you Washo are so superstitious you still believe all white men are cannibals. Is that true?” She rubbed her nipples across his chest and put her lips on his neck, kissing up to his ear, “I’m no cannibal. I want you to eat me.” Her hand sucked at him and she jerked her hips around and jammed the head of his hard flesh against her white belly, her fist squeezing his pounding blood. The muscles of his thighs flinched and he bucked her against the glass door as he threw his head back, the spray of water running into his open mouth. “Oh Goddamit, you’ve gone and come already!” She released her hand from his throbbing flesh and he slipped down to the floor. “Come on! That’s too quick! Are you all so quick! Come on,” she pulled him up by the shoulders and rubbed the hard soap against his belly. “Come on! I want it!” She let the water rush the lather off his belly as she kissed him on the sides of the hips, sliding her tongue into his hair, he could feel her teeth biting him around the thighs as she brought her hand up, running her palm under his bag, her lips went along him and she slipped the rising head into her mouth. He looked down at her kneeling before him, her blood red fingernails tearing into his brown thighs as the driving shower rained over her head. She looked like a white ghost. He pulled her off him and pushed her out the door toward the bed, slapping her ass with the flat of his hand so he could see the red welts burn up on the white skin. She fell back on the bed and he got his knees in between her legs, covering her red lips with his mouth as he stabbed between her open thighs, bringing his hips up and banging down into her so all his flesh flamed. She wrenched her mouth away from his tongue and laughed, “I knew you were like this. When I saw you sitting there I knew what you were really like.”
The dream of the Lizard woke him. He put his hand out on the bed, she wasn’t there. He sat up and saw the light coming from the bathroom, it cast its white glow across the room onto the blank plastic face surrounded by the blond wig staring back at him. He got out of bed and dressed, the low music still filled the room and the air-conditioner blew its stale wind at him as he walked to the bathroom. Her pale body was bent at the sink before the mirror, washing her face with the rushing water, on the counter next to her were two false eyelashes. There was a tube of toothpaste with its cap off oozing thick white fluid. He pulled down her panties and rammed the tube up between her exposed cheeks and squeezed out a fistful of white paste.
“YOU FUCKER!” She flung around and tried to hit him, but he was to the door, he turned and looked at her, her bloodred fingernails flashed in the air as she ran at him with her white body screaming. She looked like a Ghost. “YOU FUCKER!”
He punched the elevator and rode to the top of the roof into the air. The electric drone of the air-conditioners suddenly stopped. His ears were filled with a strange rushing sound. He ran across the roof and looked over the edge. There it was racing black below him, the Truckee River, the clean force of its powerful current coming down out of the snow high Sierra Mountains and into the Desert. He threw his head back and sucked in the cool air, the sun was coming up over the rim of the eastern Mountains, scattering its first light into the sky. He looked out over the city below him. The neon signs were all blackened. Reno was calm as a dead horse.
3
“GENTS, THIS here is a Democracy we live in, and in a Democracy a man is given a fair trial before he’s hanged. In a Democracy a man is always innocent until he’s hanged. Now I realize that in this free land of ours this redskin heathen standing before you is not considered by Law a man. This Country does not recognize him as one of its own, he is not a citizen of the United States of America. He can’t vote, he can’t get married legal, his children are all bastards, he is by Law an Injun.”
“Hang em!”
“Hang em to a tree!”
“That’s the American thing to do gents, we ought to hang him to get his back straight That would teach him a lesson in our Democracy.”
“Hang the red devil!”
The Bummer looked down from the buckboard at the pack of men pressed from one side of the street up to the other, he waited until the shouts and dusty hats thrown in the air settled down. The hand he was using to keep the knotted noose cinched around the Indian’s neck was beginning to sting in the palm as a hard cramp set in, the smile spreading along the delicate curve of his mouth came from the pleasant sensation of pain in his hand. His smile went out across those screaming for justice, his other hand waving the point of his goldtipped cane in the air, “Gents, Injuns is all the same, wherever there is troubled waters an Injun will be fishing them.”
“Hang him upsidedown if he aint a full citizen of this Republic!”
“Honest to John gents, this Injun before you is most in need of a hanging. This Injun’s got no more res
pect for the Law than a rattlesnake in a rabbit hutch.”
“He don’t obey the Law!”
“What’s even worse gents is he don’t even know the Law. Now we can all tolerate a man who breaks the Law now and again, we’re none of us perfect, but a man who doesn’t know the law is an outrage in a free Country. In a free Country we’re each of us free to know the Law; if we don’t, we pay the Devil himself for it.”
“Let the Devil hang!”
“Let the goose hang high!”
“I say to you gents this Injun is an outrage, he doesn’t know the Law from a barrel of apples.”
“Let’s hang em, that’ll teach him!”
“Honest to John gents, Justice is on our side, why waste time electing a jury before we hang him, this Injun needs a jury trial like a hog needs Sunday school.”
“String him up and pop his head off!”
“Right gents, we should treat this Injun as an equal and let him participate in our Democratic way.” The Bummer pointed the gold tip of his cane at the sun like a schoolmaster pointing at his chalkboard, “Gents, there are only three things that make this Country less than the number one Great Country in the world, three things that can’t be trusted.” He swung the gold tip around and stuck it up against the white of the Indian’s eye, “The three things that can’t be trusted are dirty Mexicans, Niggers, and painted Savages.”
“Hang em all!”
“Just think how great this Country could be without those three things cluttering it up. What did the dirty Mexicans give us? Nothing but disease for our private male parts. What did the Nigger give us? The only good the Nigger ever did was to invent pancakes, but we even improved on that with our own flapjacks. And what did the painted Savages give us? Ugly women and a knife in our sleep. I ask you from the bottom of my golden heart gents, can a Country ever be truly great with these three things cluttering it up?”
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