Zuni Stew: A Novel (15 page)

“There’s one big problem—the radioactive stuff will have to sit around for a while, it could be discovered as radioactivity builds up. They need a place where radioactivity pre-exists—like here, in New Mexico.”

She looked at the ground. “Your family—had to have been killed for a reason. Your family—could they have been a part of...”

“Fuck you!” He was on the run, legs pumping, head back.

A sudden, emboldened voice thundered through the canyon. “Stop, Doctor. Stop!”

Jack spun around. Tito was standing fifty feet away. Long hair shining, looking strangely huge to him.



Dressed like a general contractor in khaki slacks, blue shirt, boots, Gabriel waited in the shadows, baseball hat low on his forehead. Bill Newman and a big black dog were jogging in the early light toward the reservoir. Disappearing into the willows and tamaracks. Half an hour later, they returned. The dog wanted more, but Newman was covered with sweat.

Gabriel waited a few minutes, before slipping across the quiet street. A small frosted window was cracked open a few inches. He heard the shower running.

A rustle caught his attention. He turned to see the big Newf wandering toward him, wagging his tail, on the other side of a chain-link fence. He reached over and ruffled the soft fur behind the dog’s ears. The dog lifted up on his hind legs and licked his face. Gabriel withdrew a stiletto-like knife, plunged the knife into the dog’s chest, puncturing the left ventricle.

The dog let out a soft groan, then dropped heavily to the ground.



Mr. K stood on the wharf watching the Laker maneuver into its slip at Lake Calumet Harbor. The captain waved from the forward house of the ship, a bulk carrier designed for traversing the Great Lakes, also capable of negotiating river locks.

The Laker was at the larger end of lake carriers, capable of bulk loads of ore weighing ten-thousand DWT. All five holds were filled with gravel taken from a uranium mine in the Athabasca Basin. The newly discovered McArthur River Mine in the Northwest Territories was proving to be the world’s largest high-grade source of uranium. Prices were soaring. The bill of lading, facilitated with Knapp’s kick-backs, declared the cargo as fossil-rich shale. Clearing US Customs was a piece of cake—literally.

Dump trucks waited. Huge gantry cranes removed the cargo, dumping at a rate of one-hundred tons per hour. As each truck filled to capacity, the driver cranked a canvas cover over the cargo and departed for the processing plant. An empty truck immediately moved forward to take its place.

A huge shipment this time, enough to supply world demand. At today’s rate of thirty to forty dollars a pound, worth multimillions.

Back at his office, he placed a call to Senator Trask. “Joseph, the biggest load of ore has just arrived. We’ve got to get this stuff out of here as soon as we process it.”

“The House has passed an amended version of the Senate bill. It’s coming back to us today.”

“Finally—will it pass?” asked Knapp.

The senator said he had a guarantee. A colleague. Senator Richard Phillips of New Mexico.



“Father sent supplies for the two of you,” said Tito. “You guys hungry?”

“How did you know Lori was here?” Jack asked. Tito shrugged. “Any messages from your father?”

Tito shook his head. “No. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I’m going back with you.”

“No, you’re not,” snapped Lori, placing her hand on her pistol. “I’m not going to kill you. Just maim you. I mean it.”

“I must leave,” Tito said. “Father is waiting.”

“No, hold on,” said Jack. “What is anyone doing to find out who murdered my family? Why the hell are they after me? I’m damned tired of hiding like some chicken-shit rabbit, stuck in a hole.”

“I understand,” said Tito, glancing at Lori’s drawn pistol. “It’s hard for a man like you. You must trust us. We are working for you.”

“He’s right,” said Lori

“Why are you all sounding so caring all of a sudden?” Jack glared at Lori.

“Agent Wilson, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. He’s tired. I’ll take care of him.”

Tito disappeared into a vast shadow. Heat radiated from red sandstone cliffs to the west. A minute later, his outline re-appeared against the metamorphic rocks a mile away.

Lori sighed as she slipped her gun into her holster. “Give it up. You need to rest. There’s a lot ahead of us.”

Jack refused, screaming, “What the hell is going on with you? If I’ve got it straight, you think my family has something to do with the Mob. How could you?”

Signaling with the palm of her hand, Jack became silent. “Listen, Jack, I’m FBI. I have to ask. Did you ever hear anything that would connect your father to them?”

“No! Goddamnit! Stop asking me questions!”

“Are you being truthful with me?” pressed Lori.

“Excuse me? Who are you to talk about being truthful? By the way, when I threatened to leave with Tito, you weren’t really going to shoot me, were you?”

No reply.

Trying to remain calm, he said in a level tone, “Why do you suspect my family was involved?”

She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “It all goes back to motive—why kill an entire family? There was no evidence of robbery, the house was essentially undisturbed. What were they involved in to get them all murdered?”

“I don’t know.” His face was twisted with confusion and loss. “But I sure as hell know they weren’t involved with the Mob, not my father, or my brother.” He began to cry, which only made him angrier.

“What about Gabriel, your uncle?”

“Yeah, he had some rocky times, but he made good. Some trouble once with local politicians, the unions. You know they play tough in Chicago—the construction business is not for sissies.”

“You bet I know that. Corruption there isn’t just normal, it’s a fine-tuned art.”

“I didn’t say Uncle Gabe was corrupt. He bids well, comes in on time. He’s trusted.”

“Trusted by whom?”

Jack slumped to the ground and leaned against one of the knapsacks, his eyes avoiding hers.

“You need to eat, we both do.” She fished around in the other bag, finding a jar of what looked like stew. She opened the Mason jar, found two spoons. They shared the meal in silence. Darkness engulfed the valley.

28

J
ack stood, pulled off his shirt and shoes, took off the rest of his clothes.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to take a bath in the lake.”

“Good idea,” Lori said, dropping her work shirt to the ground, and peeling off her T-shirt.

The water was cold and fresh. Wordlessly, they floated side-by-side.

Against the indigo sky, stars seemed to appear from nowhere. In minutes the sky became a canopy. Dots of light, each emitting energy. Jack knew his constellations. The Big Dipper. The two stars in the cup pointing at the North Star. He outlined the Belt of Orion, the great hunter. The Pleiades, daughters of Atlas.

She wasn’t watching or listening, lost in her own thoughts. Thoughts far from astronomy.

They walked out of the shallow lake together, ducked into the hut. Thick furs were spread on the earthen floor. The smell of sweet tobacco permeated the pelts.

29

A
t the sound of toast popping up, Bill jumped. Mr. D’Amico, or whoever he was, had rattled him. He took a sip of coffee, reached for the butter.

Flapper ambled in beside him and let out a big sigh. He got up, opened the back door, calling for Flipper. There was no response. He called again, walking along the chain link fence. At the far corner of the yard, he stopped abruptly.

“Oh, no!” He ran the last five feet to the big dog. He carefully rolled him over. Felt warm, sticky blood on his hand. There was no pulse.

“That bastard!” he screamed.



Jack awakened to the feel of cool air streaming into the shelter. He pushed back a goatskin, eased his way past Lori, and ducked. Ground fog drifted over the shallow lake, moisture beaded on the grass.

His splashing sounds woke Lori. She parted the hide. Watched him for several minutes. The sun was in front of him, glinting off his body. A great butt, she thought, and immediately felt a warmness engulf her. She reached for her T-shirt.

She found a fire pit safely away from the wind. Dry splinters of juniper, a chunk of pitch. The match sparked, the flame caught, flared.

Two goatskins by the fire, she sat down cross-legged and wrapped the hide around her bare feet. A dragonfly. Bees. The smell of mountain sage. She found a tin of pungent dried leaves.
Ha;k’yawe.

“Good morning,” Jack said. He knelt beside her. Placed a kiss behind her ear.

He was in his jeans, still slightly damp. He traced his finger down her nose. An optimistic up-tip.

She knew what he was thinking. “Bob Hope.”

“No, Romanesque, like the Borgia’s.”

“More like the Duke of Alba,” she said with a laugh. “I’m pretty sure this is tea.” Using a stick to hook the handles, she teased two tin mugs close to the flames.

“Anything to eat?”

“I found some burritos. This needs to brew for a while,” Lori said, spooning leaves into the cups. “It’s beautiful out here. It seems like you can touch everything miles away. Even shadows have color, an intensity I’m not used to in the city.” She touched his thigh. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

“What would that be?”

“Tito left, we fought, we ate, then we went swimming. No, it was too shallow—we floated.”

“I remember that.”

“And then...”

“Is there something worrying you?”

“Not really, I feel the best I’ve felt in a long, long time,” Lori said with a smile. He smiled, too. Finally. She noticed.

She reached for the brass button on his jeans. He leaned toward her, gently pushing her back on the goatskin, ready to make love to this mysterious woman again. This time he committed to memory every second of their intimacy. All the while, she said only one word: ‘Yes.’

Later, Jack said, “I think my butt is sunburned.”

“The water is salty, let’s go.”

He raced her to the shallow lake, catching her in his arms, carrying her into the frigid water. She shrieked; he laughed. A very different sound.

He helped her slip on a black T-shirt. Mrs. Jahata had thoughtfully added some clothing to their supplies. How did she know?

She ran her hand through her wet hair. “Time to dump the FBI dress code.” She found the knife in the backpack and handed it to him. He gave her a choppy haircut. She scraped off the remains of her red nail polish.

“I need something to keep the sweat and hair out of my eyes,” said Jack.

She took the knife, sliced off the bottom three inches of her T-shirt, then tied it around his forehead. Suddenly a rattle sounded all too close to them. He held his palm up. Her hand went to her pistol lying on the goatskin.

A rattlesnake coiled under a clump of chamisa four feet away.

“No,” he whispered. “Wait.”

They watched the snake, head darting, when it uncoiled as fast as either of them had seen anything move. Fangs buried in a jack rabbit. Barely a struggle. Separated jaws drew the entire animal into its mouth.

Jack tapped the fetish in his pocket. “Bill was here. He wants us to know that.”



Bill thought about calling the tribal police, but knew he couldn’t prove Gabriel D’Amico had done anything. Besides, the bastard knew it. He cringed, fighting his fury.

He fed Flapper and her puppies, made them all comfortable in the garage. She returned to her nest amongst a pile of blankets, garden hoses, a tennis racket, a bucket of well-chewed balls. She looked exhausted, her big brown eyes watery, glistening in the dim light. It was all he could do to keep from crying. He didn’t dare upset her.

“I’ll check on you every hour or so. If I can’t make it, Stan said to tell you he’ll come by. Take it easy, everything’s going to be okay,” he said to the dog. He left the lights on and locked the door.

He forced himself to go to work. He and the red-haired doctor finished clinics. Began collecting inpatient charts. The head nurse knocked. “There’s a man here. Wants to see you. Should I let him in?”

“Yup, and after he comes in, call the tribal police. Tell them to get here quick, but keep it quiet. Leave my door open.”

Gabriel D’Amico entered the office. Bill refused to shake his hand. He tossed the stack of charts into a bin. Half-sat on his desk.

“I’m not here to take much of your time, Bill,” D’Amico said, taking a step forward. “Just a few questions and I’ll be on my way.” Their faces were no more than a foot apart.

Bill had dug the hole a mere hour ago and buried his beautiful, innocent dog.

“Mr. D’Amico, do you like dogs?” Bill asked in a nearly inaudible voice.

“What?”

“Dogs...do you like them?” Bill asked, staring hard at the man.

“Well, yes. Dogs have masters, masters have their dogs, but they must obey us, right, Doctor?”