Breakup (20 page)

"Is there abuse of wife or children?"

"No." Kate's voice was certain. "No spousal or child abuse." Yet, she thought. Where there was substance abuse of any kind, spousal and child abuse were never very far behind.

"Are the children at risk?"

Kate thought of Cindy crouched down in her marital bedroom, clutching the rifle, and of the three children running to Annie Mike for help. Yes. But if she said so, Jim would call in the Division of Family and Youth Services and the children would be placed in a foster home, probably in Anchorage or Fairbanks, probably not together. Would that be any better for the kids than what they had now? At least here they had Annie and Billy Mike, and the rest of the village.

And Kate herself.

She looked down at the knife she held in her hands, wet from its fall. Idly she began folding out all the implements, drying them carefully, one at a time.

"Kate?"

She looked up to meet Jim's steady gaze, and saw that it was her call. The trooper would be guided by her, would leave the children with their parents if she said so. She didn't want the responsibility, but it didn't look as if she had a choice. As if she'd ever had a choice. The words came out involuntarily, distant, as if forme d by someone else and then placed in her mouth. "I don't think so," she said. "No," she added, more strongly.

It was the first time in her life Kate Shugak had sided for the tribe and against the law she had admired, respected, studied and sworn to uphold. To serve and to protect. She fought a sense of disorientation that threatened to overwhelm her, a dizziness that included a distinct impression of her grandmother's presence, transitory but strong.

She shook it off, almost angrily, and looked up to find Jim regarding her with an impassive expression. He held her eyes for another moment, before nodding once, very crisp, a conspicuous transfer of authority. "All right. If there's a problem-"

"I know, it'll be all my fault," Kate muttered. She closed the knife and pocketed it.

"Don't put words in my mouth," he said, mildly enough. "I was going to say, if there's a problem bad enough to remove the children from the home, call me and I'll see what I can do to get them placed somewhere without taking them out of the Park."

She felt heat rising up into her face. "Sorry, Jim." He nodded. It took an effort, but she got the words out. "Jim?"

"What?"

"Thanks."

The shark's grin was back. "Don't choke on the word, Shugak."

"Up yours, Chopin." The insult, freely given and as blithely accepted, restored the relatively noiseless tenor of their way and Kate's sense of equilibrium. Over Jim's shoulder she spotted Harvey Meganack, the ruby-eyed ram's heads on his gold nugget watchband flashing in the setting sun.

What the hell, if she had the Alaska State Troopers on the run she had to be on a roll. "Harvey! Hold up there, I need to talk to you!"

Harvey had started backing up as soon as he registered in her direct line of sight, but she was too quick for him. He halted, trying not to look like the stag at bay and not succeeding very well. "What?" he muttered.

"Nice to see you, too," she said blandly, and he flushed. She let him see her enjoying his discomfort before she said, "Auntie Vi wanted me to talk to you about the dividend the board is thinking about issuing for the Chokosna timber profits."

He didn't like the sound of that. "What about it?" he said guardedly.

"She and Auntie Joy think that some of it ought to be spent on a health clinic."

His face changed. "We've got a compact with the health clinic in Ahtna."

"Fifty miles away," Kate agreed.

"It's close enough for minor health problems," he said.

If he'd looked any more stubborn, she could have accused him of having a jackass for a father. Harvey Meganack had the high, flat cheekbones of his Aleut ancestors combined with the height of his Norwegian ones. He was further distinguished from his fellow Park rats by affecting the dapper in dress. True, he wore jeans, but they were pressed, as was his oxford shirt with the button- down collar. The latest in Eddie Bauer parkas topped the ensemble, and he wore a baseball cap with an Alyeska logo covering a bald spot he hid when the cap was off by parting the rest of his hair just above his right ear and combing it over. His smile was toothy and full of empty charm.

Harvey was a commercial fisherman and self-proclaimed independent businessman, whose pockets were frankly to let to the highest bidder when it came time to assign construction contracts on tribal lands, and who knew just enough about business to get the Association into real trouble. Kate was pleased not to be related to Harvey in any way at all, although that probably only held if she didn't climb her family tree more than two generations.

"Fishing was lousy last summer," Harvey added, "and it's been a tough winter. The money should go out to the individual families."

Kate held his gaze for a moment, and then deliberately looked beyond him to the Bingley house. When she looked back at him , he'd flushed again, the brown of his skin darkening to an uncomfortable bronze.

Unwisely, he attempted bluster. "Dammit, Kate, that don't happen all the time, it don't even happen most of the time. So Ben Bingley went on a tear with his kids' dividend checks, so what's new? All shareholders aren't Ben Bingley. Association money should go into the hands of the shareholders by as straight a line as possible, not be spent on some health clinic it'll cost us most of our logging profits to build and most of the yearly dividends for the rest of our lives to maintain."

It was the same line of reasoning he spouted at every Association meeting, an effective line that had gotten him elected to the board for four consecutive terms. Kate did not burst into applause, so he cast about for support. Demetri Totemoff stood stolidly at his elbow, looking at Kate out of tranquil eyes. A square-bodied, blunt-featured man with a permanently cautious expression, Demetri was a big-game guide who specialized in European hunters, spoke fluent German from his twenty years of Army service in Diisseldorf and was Kate's second cousin once removed.

"Maybe you'd better think this over, Harvey," Kate said. "And maybe you'd better talk it over with the board, the whole board, before you start spending your dividend." She nodded at the Bingleys' house. "We could use a substance-abuse counselor in Niniltna."

Involuntarily, he followed her gaze. He couldn't deny it, but he wasn't convinced, either. Fine, she hadn't expected de Lawd to pass a miracle; she had only promised Auntie Vi she would try. About to make good her escape, she was halted by Demetri's voice.

"Harvey, the girls are all out to the Roadhouse today, working on their quilt." Kate remembered that Luba Totemoff, Demetri's wife, had been one of the quilters the day before. "Joyce is visiting, so she'll be there, and you know Old Sam practically lives at the Roadhouse this time of year. Maybe we should head on out there, talk it over." He raised an eyebrow at the board's chairman. "Billy?"

Face as blank as a pane of glass, armed like Rambo about to head into the jungle-or Steven Seagal into the Alaskan Bush- Billy nodded obediently.

"Good," Kate said, "great," and headed for her brand-new, much-abused truck. "Good luck. See you all later." Later in the year, she thought, but didn't say.

"Kate." Again Demetri's voice stopped her in her tracks.

Without turning she said, "What?"

"You've taken an interest in the subject. Seems only right you should attend."

Her tired brain chased itself in circles trying to find a way to get out if it, but her synapses were starting to close down, and besides, this was an elder making a request. "Sure," she said, turning and mustering up a smile, albeit one that could have used work on its sincerity. "I'm right behind you."

Harvey reluctantly and Demetri inexorably shepherded Billy into his pickup, and climbed into Harvey's brand-new Eddie Bauer Ford Explorer. They moved off down the road, the Yuppiemobile in the lead.

"You know, I think I'll come along," Jim said, readjusting the set of his hat. Beneath the brim his eyes laughed at her. "I'd like to see the end of this story." He looked back at the cab of his borrowed truck, where Mark Stewart still sat, motionless, expressionless, a graven image to loss. In a lower voice he added, "And I just might get to the end of another story while I'm at it."

In no mood to suffer gladly the all too often painfully observant eye of the Alaska Department of Public Safety's finest representative, still Kate could think of no way to prohibit Chopper Jim's attendance at what showed every sign of being a knockdown, drag-out family fight in which, if Demetri had his way, she feared she was meant to figure prominently. "It's a public bar," she said ungraciously. "Mutt! Come!"

Mutt, sitting in blissful inattention with her head pressed adoringly against Chopper Jim's knee, came awake with a snort and launched herself at the open door of the truck.

The convoy pulled into the Roadhouse parking lot and parked in the last row closest to the road. Kate sat for a few moments, examining the various vehicles and the surrounding area with care. Demetri, Harvey and Billy waited for a moment, shrugged and went inside. Mutt looked over, head cocked. "In a minute," Kate said. She completed her inspection, listened for shots and heard none, and decided it was safe to turn off the engine.

Silent still, silent all, and Kate relaxed and climbed out. The first thing she saw was Frank Scully's Cherokee Chief, brazenly sporting its green-and-white Washington plates. She approached for a closer look. Its out-of-date green-and-white Washington plates. That did it. She wheeled and went back to the truck. Aha. Like every good sourdough, Mandy had a tool chest built into the back. The key was on the ring.

Inside the tool chest was a pair of vise grips. Mutt looked a little alarmed.

Kate returned to Frank Scully's truck, fastened the vise grips to his back license plate and ripped it off. She went around to the front of the truck and performed the same service for the front license plate. Both plates went sailing across the road to disappear into a stand of alders.

"There." Kate strode to the truck, replaced the vise grips, closed and locked the toolbox. She dusted her hands. "All done."

Bonnie Jeppsen's truck pulled in next to hers, and Chopper Jim and Mark Stewart climbed out. "You took your time," Kate said.

"This thing needs a new gearbox."

"Oh. Good thing Bonnie's got a steady job."

"Yeah."

He started to head for the bar and Kate touched his elbow. "Look at this, Jim, here's a vehicle with no license plates."

"Why, so it is," Jim said happily, and extracted a book of tickets from an inside pocket. The Chief was unlocked, and the registration-Washington state, Kate noted-was in the glove compartment. Jim positively glowed. Chopper Jim was never so happy as when he was writing someone a ticket. He'd been ecstatic when two years before the state had changed the law so he could write tickets on private property.

For her part, Kate just loved keeping Chopper Jim happy, and her sense of well-being increased as she walked in the door of the Roadhouse and the first person she saw was Frank Scully.

"Ah, my good Eskimo friend," he said, lurching forward to drape a friendly arm around Kate's shoulders. "How ya doing, Katie?"

Oozing cordiality, Kate said, "I'm not an Eskimo, Frank, I'm an Aleut. Try to keep up."

Clearing a nearby table, Bernie blinked and poked a finger in his ear to see if it was still working.

Frank blinked bleary eyes. "Aloot. Right. Sorry. Keep forgetting." He weaved off to annoy someone else.

"Is it safe?" Kate said, peering into the bar's gloomy corners. "Have the Hatfields and the McCoys all gone home?"

"So far," Bernie said darkly. A new thought brought a hopeful sparkle to his eye. "Maybe they've killed each other and there's nothing left to do but bury the bodies."

"The sooner the better," Kate agreed.

Unfortunately, Demetri was right. Auntie Joy and Old Sam were both members of the Roadhouse quorum that evening, Auntie Joy sitting between Auntie Vi, who had abandoned Velveeta pizza sales for handwork, and Enid Koslowski, who was looking in a much better humor this afternoon than she had at the previous day's meeting of the quilting bee. Probably got lucky last night, Kate thought disagreeably, and didn't pause to speculate on whether that cranky little internal comment might arise from jealousy. Luba, Demetri's wife, rounded out the circle. Quiet, a little shy, she kept her neatly braided head bent over her work.

Harvey, Demetri and Billy sat at a table a safe distance from the quilters. The old women had a tendency to start in on the nearest man just for the pure enjoyment of it, and since Auntie Joy and Auntie Vi had changed all three men's diapers, a safe distance in this case meant all the way across the room.

Old Sam was seated at his usual table, surrounded by the usual suspects, watching more television. Today the arts had been abandoned for sport, in this case basketball, and from the hooraw going on in that corner of the room it would appear some money was riding on the outcome.

Ralph Estes was passed out with his head on the bar. Must be Saturday, Kate thought. If he was running true to form, he'd been drinking since Bernie had opened the front door at eight that morning, and had been asleep since three or four that afternoon.

In a far corner Dandy Mike licked the tip of one finger and ran it across Karen Kompkoff's collarbone. From the dazed look in Karen's eyes, it wouldn't be long before Dandy was beating feet out back. Dandy's custom alone probably paid the overhead on Bernie's cabins.

At Kate's entrance, Billy stood up and went over to murmur something in Old Sam's ear. The old man, eyes on the television screen, ignored him. Billy was insistent. Old Sam swore loud enough to be heard over the Unitarian congregation practicing their hymns in the opposite corner, and shoved his chair back. Meanwhile, Demetri went to talk to Auntie Vi and Auntie Joy. Auntie Vi gave her crisp nod, Auntie Joy her joyous smile, and both rose to follow him back to his table, from which he actually crooked his finger at Kate.