Red Mesa (48 page)

The meeting opened with the Pledge of Allegiance, with everyone standing and participating. Ella was reminded again how patriotic the
Dineh
were, especially the elders, but there were a lot of modernists in the gathering tonight, and they were equal participants.

The Navajo equivalent of a town meeting began with a report on and discussion of the latest incidents of vandalism and the rising cost of auto repairs and insurance as a result. With many Navajos unable to afford insurance, the price of a new windshield seemed astronomical.

Ella noted that the speakers, taking their turns, spoke English, mostly, and probably considered themselves non-traditionalists.
As talk shifted to the role of the police, the discussion grew heated and people began interrupting one other, a form of behavior usually not present on the Rez except when emotions ran high.

Then one man stood up and the room fell silent. He had a presence that commanded the attention of everyone. Ella recognized Rudy Brownhat as a member of the Fierce Ones, the traditionalist group that, until
recently, had held a lot of power on this part of the Rez.

As he looked around the room before speaking, the silence was nearly absolute. “This entire crisis has tested us,” he began. “But instead of banding together to identify these criminals, we’ve allowed the incidents to divide us. That has weakened us far more than the actual crimes ever could. The
Dineh
has survived through the generations
by working together as one and that’s what we need to do now.”

Cecelia Yazzie stood. “I don’t think the problem has anything to do with a lack of unity. Most of us have day jobs and, at night when we’re tired, that’s when the vandals hit. What we need is a strong police force, but the protection we’ve been given so far is weak and ineffective.”

Ruth Tsosie stood up then, taking the floor. “I
think our police department needs new leadership—someone like Lieutenant Manuelito, perhaps. My niece lives over in Window Rock and she tells me that he’s found ways to stop the lawlessness. His district is quiet and peaceful. No one dares stir up trouble there. Although other places on the Rez are having problems, the Shiprock district is, by far, the worst.”

Ella hadn’t planned on speaking,
but she couldn’t let this slide. Big Ed didn’t deserve to be shown so little respect. Manuelito was a grade A jerk and if he’d had success curbing crime around Window Rock, it was mostly due to luck, and because communities in that part of the Rez were totally different from theirs. Shiprock was a much bigger population center.

As Ella stood up she felt everyone’s gaze shift to her. “Everyone
here has been quick to complain, but it’s time to set the record straight. Our local officers have all been working double shifts, putting in long hours because we just don’t have enough manpower to deal with everything that’s been happening. We’ve given up time with our families and done our duty because it’s our job. But we need—and deserve—community support. We want people to keep their eyes open
and report suspicious vehicles and individuals. If we work together, we can stop what’s been happening.”

“We’ve called you,” one woman challenged, “but by the time the officers show up, it’s all over.”

“Our police department is on a shoestring budget, and because we don’t have as many officers as we need, we’re spread too thin sometimes. That’s why we’re asking the public to take a more active
role,” Ella answered. “Try to get descriptions of the vehicles and the drivers, so that when an officer arrives, they have something tangible to go on.”

“So the heart of the problem is that there aren’t enough police officers, and that’s due to lack of funds?” Brownhat asked.

“That’s it in a nutshell,” Big Ed said, standing. His deep, resonant voice commanded respect, and the room grew silent.
“We’ll do the best with what we’ve got, but we need the support of the
Dineh.
The way things are now we can’t do it alone.”

Mrs. Yellowhair stood up and, in the cool, calculating manner of a politician, waited, looking over the crowd and making eye contact. “What Chief Atcitty has just told you is a hard fact we all have to face. The tribe has had to cut the budgets of nearly every branch of
government. No one needs to be reminded that this has been a hard year and many of our people have needed help with food and heat for their homes. Those efforts have depleted our treasury to the point where, now more than ever, the basic needs of the
Dineh
are not being met. That’s what finally convinced me that we need a new source of income, and that it’s time to institute tribal gaming. Until
we do, we’re going to be facing one crisis after another.”

Ella saw the glances and nods people gave each other. If there was one thing that could be said for Abigail Yellowhair, it was that she knew how to work a room.

“With the additional funds well-managed gaming would provide,” Mrs. Yellowhair continued, “we’d have enough money to hire more officers and give them better equipment and training.”

“Throwing money at the problem is an Anglo way of thinking,” Brownhat said.

“We need additional police officers and firemen, but we can’t hire them. Money—or more specifically, the lack of it—
is
the real problem,” Mrs. Yellowhair argued. “We expect miracles from our police officers, but they’re human beings and no one can be at their best when they’re outnumbered and exhausted.”

Rose stood up
and Ella stared at her mother in surprise, not having seen her come in. “Gaming could bring in more money for the police force—a very good thing, since they’ll need even more officers to combat the rise in crime that accompanies casinos and one armed bandits,” Rose said, her voice strong and insistent. “Some
will
get rich, and our tribe may have bigger bank accounts, but it will be at the expense
of others. Some will lose everything pursuing their get-rich-quick dream. That’s not living in harmony. How can anyone walk in beauty knowing that’s the path our tribe will be walking down?”

As her mother continued speaking, Ella saw a side of Rose she’d always been too close to notice before. Ella knew how much others respected her mom, but it now was clear to her that Rose was a force to be
reckoned with. No one seemed inclined to argue with her—a sentiment Ella sympathized with enormously.

“It’s true that we need to find money to meet the needs of the
Dineh,
” Rose continued. “But let’s not do that by destroying the very people we’re trying to protect.” She looked at Mrs. Yellowhair squarely. “Our tribe can find other ways to get the funds we need. There are Federal programs, grants,
and loans available if we choose to ask for help—programs supported by the taxes we all pay. But, in the long run, part of the answer lies in demanding a greater share of the profits from the fuels and natural resources that leave the
Dinetah.
And if the outside companies mining our land refuse, then we have to take over those businesses and run them ourselves.”

When Rose finally sat down, it
was quiet for some time. At length Mrs. Yellowhair stood up again. “Okay, Chief. Talk to us. How bad is the situation in the police department and what kind of financial support do you need right now?”

“We believe that the vandals are monitoring police radios, so we need to raise money so our officers can be given scrambled cell phones. This
will
give us an edge—one we need very badly.”

“All
right. One way or another, I’ll see that you get them.”

Ella wondered if it would just turn out to be another wannabe politician’s empty promise. Yet, as she studied Mrs. Yellowhair’s expression, she came to the conclusion that if it didn’t happen, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying on her part. The woman had made some powerful friends as the wife of a former state senator.

Ella stood up to speak
again, but before she could open her mouth an explosion rocked the room, rattling the windows so hard some of them cracked. Excited voices filled the room.

Ella worked her way to one of the windows, aware of the scent of burning fuel that now filled the air. A large fire lit up the parking lot and grounds outside.

Weaving through the panicked crowd, Ella left the building and drew closer to
the source of the explosion. Through the black cloud of billowing smoke, Ella could see Big Ed’s brand new white pickup engulfed in flames.

*   *   *

As Big Ed rushed past her carrying a fire extinguisher, Ella ran to stop him. It was already too late to salvage the truck. Flames reaching the gas tank had caused the explosion. Two broken beer bottles on the gravel and a familiar scent told her
exactly what had happened. Bottles filled with kerosene and plugged with rags set on fire had been hurled against the truck.

Realizing how hopeless the situation was, Big Ed never activated the extinguisher. Instead, he turned and moved to help her keep people away from the fire. His face was drawn and his eyes glittered with anger. “Don’t worry about the truck now, Shorty. Just help me keep
everyone back.”

Ella knew that this incident had been calculated to produce the most damage—not only to the vehicle, but to Big Ed’s reputation as well.

The chief suddenly glanced at her, then looked around quickly. “Shorty, go back inside right now,” he yelled over the increasing roar of the fire. “This might be a diversion to draw you out into the open. You’re illuminated right now and a sitting
duck for the sniper.”

“I understand but, first, we’ve got to get people to move their vehicles to safety so the fire can’t spread. And, after that, you’re going to need help to make sure nobody disturbs any evidence around the truck. I’ve got my vest on, and I’ll keep moving, but I’m needed out here right now.”

Big Ed held her gaze, then nodded. “All right, but stay sharp.” After finding the
nervous owners of the vehicles on both sides of the burning truck, the two officers drove cars away to a safe distance.

Justine showed up ten minutes later. The Fire Department had been called, but they were even less well-funded than the police, and were still en route with their ancient equipment. “I heard the call over the radio,” Justine said. “I was on my way home, but I figured I might
be needed here.”

“You figured right,” Ella said. “Let’s start questioning people. I want to know if anyone saw anything, or if they remember someone leaving early. I was too preoccupied with what was being said during the meeting to notice much of anything going on outside, and no one around me left early. Big Ed was closer to the windows, so talk to him first.”

Justine glanced around, spotting
the chief talking to people coming forward for a look at his burning truck. “Did Big Ed get someone at the meeting especially ticked off tonight?”

Ella considered it. “I don’t think so. He defended his viewpoint well, but he didn’t make any accusations.”

As they began to question onlookers Rose approached Ella. “I’d like to go home. Do you need me to stay?”

“Do you remember anyone around you
leaving early?” Ella asked her mother.

“No, in fact, I’m sure no one did,” Rose said. “With the seating up to capacity, everyone would have noticed something like that.”

“This was calculated to make the chief look as bad as possible tonight,” Ella said wearily, glancing back at his truck. “If they’re trying to discredit him, they’re doing a great job.”

Rose placed her hand on Ella’s arm. “Your
chief made his point well, daughter,” she said softly. “Despite what happened, it was a good thing he came tonight. Maybe the politician’s wife,” Rose said, referring to Abigail Yellowhair, “will finally realize how serious the situation is at the police department right now. She’s one of the very few people in a position to help you.”

“She does have a lot of connections,” Ella agreed. She saw
traces of exhaustion on her mother’s face. “I wish you hadn’t come. I know your injured hand is bothering you. But I have to say that you sure held everyone’s attention when you spoke,” Ella added with a touch of pride in her voice.

“I’ve walked through time longer than you and most of the people here,” Rose said, alluding to her age in the Navajo way, “and it’s time I allowed myself to be more
than just your mother, daughter,” Rose said quietly.

Ella understood. Women had always wielded the real power in the tribe. Unlike the Anglo culture, where “traditional” often meant a stay-at-home mom, in the Navajo culture, the word had a deeper meaning. To the
Dineh,
it signified a way of life defined and sustained by religious beliefs and cultural practices. It meant a basis for thought and
action, but it did not confine a person’s boundaries. If anything, it expanded them.

“I’ll talk to you when I get home, if you’re still up,” Ella said.

As Rose walked away, Justine rejoined Ella. “I’m getting nowhere, and the chief’s mood is worsening every second. Not that I blame him. His truck is completely toasted.”

“Here comes the Fire Department now,” Ella said, gesturing.

Ella watched
the firemen trying to coax a stream of water out of their second-hand equipment. The hose had been repaired in several places and the pump was barely working. “If this doesn’t prove to those still here that, without funds, we’re all fighting an impossible battle, I don’t know what will,” Ella said quietly.

While the firemen worked, Ella questioned the people still hanging around, but after ninety
minutes all she had to show for her efforts was a great deal of frustration.

At long last, out of water and with no hydrant nearby, the firemen began putting away their equipment. Justine began sorting through what little evidence there was from around the burned truck.

Ella saw Big Ed standing by the building, a scowl on his face, and walked over, intending to offer him a ride home. Before
she could reach him, the chief’s wife, Claire pulled up in her old four-wheel-drive SUV.

Big Ed saw Ella approaching and went to meet her. “Shorty, I’m going home. I’ll send a wrecker over tomorrow morning to haul what’s left of my truck to the junkyard. Let me know what you and your assistant find out after you review the evidence.”