“He’s got that much clout?”
“Yes. You know anything about him?”
“I know he wrestles alligators pretty well.”
Bill blew the steam off his cup. “Running Bear is a half-breed, only one in his tribe. His daddy was a white marine who ran off after he got Running Bear’s mother pregnant. The day Running Bear was born, his mother took him down to the creek to be drowned—”
“She did what?”
“You heard me. That’s the Micanopy tradition, been going on for centuries.”
“Why?”
“It keeps them pure. The Micanopys are the last pure tribe of Indians in North America. No outsiders have ever been let in. A true sovereign nation. If any tribe rightfully deserves to have a casino, it’s them. So where was I?”
“Running Bear’s mother was about to drown him.”
“Right. So she’s dunking him in the water, and one of the tribe’s elders holds up his hand. He takes the baby from her and looks at him. And says, ‘This one was meant to help us.’ So Running Bear was spared. A few years later, his mother dies. Running Bear gets passed around the tribe. He becomes a delinquent. The police start chasing him, and he hides in the swamps, living with the alligators.
“Eventually, he grows up. He enlists in the army. He becomes a ranger and ends up going to South Vietnam as the head of a long-range reconnaissance unit. He goes back and forth into enemy territory, creating havoc. I guess compared to the Everglades, the rice paddies in the Mekong Delta were a cakewalk.
“In ’68 he came home on leave. Somehow the Viet Cong found out, and they set a trap for his unit and executed his men. Running Bear was devastated. He got discharged, drifted around for a while, then got arrested.
“While in prison, he started going to the library. He’d heard about the Cabazon Indians in California operating a poker room, and how the white man shut it down. The Cabazons sued, and eventually the case made its way to federal court. Running Bear followed the case closely. When the Cabazons won, he took the court’s majority opinion and taped it on the wall of his cell.”
The white man. All the years they’d known each other, Bill had never used that expression. It had come out of his mouth sounding ugly, the product of an open wound hidden somewhere in his psyche. It bothered Valentine to think that was how Bill viewed him.
“The gist of the court’s opinion was that the Cabazons could run poker games without having to adhere to local laws. This was their right as a sovereign nation. What Running Bear figured out was that this right applied to all Indian tribes, not just the Cabazons.
“In 1981, the chief of the Micanopys stepped down, and an election was held. Running Bear ran as a dark horse and promised to build a casino. At the time, the only industry on the reservation was running rodeos. They were so rinky-dink run that the tribe would use their pickup trucks to light the ring.
“Running Bear won the election. Two years later, Micanopy bingo was born. Within a year, every tribal member was receiving a monthly stipend. And Running Bear built a school and a hospital. All around the country, tribes were watching. You ever been on a reservation?”
“Only to work for a casino,” Valentine said.
“Many have no running water or electricity. When the Rural Electrification Act was passed by FDR in 1936, it didn’t apply to the Indians. There’s also chronic unemployment and the suicide rate is sky-high. And the kids who are problems, you know what happens to them?”
“No.”
“They get sent off to reform schools where they’re not allowed to speak in their native tongue or send letters to their parents. They’re cut off from their world and trained not to be Indians. It’s barbaric.”
Valentine could hear it in Bill’s voice, but had to ask anyway.
“You one of those kids?”
“Haskell Institute, class of ’64.”
Valentine’s coffee had gone ice-cold. Through the restaurant window a conga line of tattooed bodies was passing, South Beach’s revelry kicking into high gear. Bill’s face had turned to stone. The check came and Valentine picked it up. Eleven bucks for two lousy cups of coffee. He paid and they went out.
The geeks and freaks parted like the Red Sea, and Valentine and Bill walked back to the Loews. Next door was the original hotel, an unassuming three-story structure. Bill’s vibes were nothing but hostile, and Valentine suggested they go outside to the verandah.
They took a table in the shade and said nothing for a while, Valentine wondering how to get things back on track. “What’s eating you?” he finally asked.
“You pissed me off.”
“I did?”
Bill stared at him, then shifted his gaze toward the water. “I asked you what you thought of Running Bear. You told me he’s a guy who wrestles alligators pretty well.”
“That pissed you off?”
“He’s a savior.”
“As in Jesus?”
Bill looked back at him. “As in Jesus. You have a problem with that?”
Valentine didn’t know what to say, so he kept his mouth shut.
“You’re Catholic, right? In your religion, Jesus was born to a virgin mother, and heaven is a celestial vacation spot where souls sprout wings and become angels. Indians see Creation differently. The earth is our God. It is all things good, and all things bad. Our saviors are products of this earth. Running Bear broke the cycle of poverty for his tribe and set the example for other tribes. Do you have any idea how many other tribes now have casinos? Three hundred.”
Valentine sipped his soda. Running Bear swore and smoked cigarettes and ran a casino. It didn’t sound like any savior he’d ever read about. But Bill believed it, and when it came to religion, that was all that really mattered.
“You know,” Valentine said, “you’re really pathetic when you’re sulking.”
“Is that your idea of a joke?”
“I’ve never known you to cave in like this. There’s got to be a solution.”
“Name one.”
The sun caught Valentine in the face, and he used his hand to shield his eyes. “You need to dig up evidence linking Rico and Jack Lightfoot to Victor Marks. Something that shows the three of them working this scam. A nice tidy package that you can hand over to the Broward County police.”
“That’s a tall order,” Bill said.
“I’ll help you.”
“How?”
“I’m doing a job for the Micanopys. Smooth Stone called me the same day you did.”
Bill’s stony gaze melted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just did. Any evidence you can share with me?”
“I’ve got a tape of Rico and Victor Marks that Justice didn’t get,” Bill said. “They’re talking in some kind of code.”
“How long until Justice closes the Micanopys down?”
“The governor of Florida is in Spain. He doesn’t get back until next week. I’m sure he’ll want to be here for the fun.”
Valentine stood up from the table. “Not if I can help it.”
“I really appreciate this, Tony.”
It was as close to an apology as he was going to get out of Bill. Leaning across the table, Valentine smacked him on the arm. A group of ladies at a nearby table looked up in alarm.
“What are friends for?” Valentine said.
13
Running Bear had decided to pay a visit to Harry Smooth Stone’s trailer.
Smooth Stone’s shift had ended at noon. Through a surveillance camera, Running Bear had watched him leave the reservation. Then he’d called Smooth Stone at home, just to make sure that was where he was. Harry had answered, already half-asleep.