CHAPTER FOUR
Arthur had driven back to Farmington, picked up Sharon, and they were sitting at one of the small-tiled, square tables clustered around the four-tiered alabaster water fountain of the Si Señor restaurant on East 30th Street. They were enjoying two glasses of cabernet sauvignon and sitting on sky-blue wooden chairs painted with bright-yellow sun faces on the back of each.
“Have you heard anything about the Desert Patriots recently?”
“I can check with Jacob Reins tomorrow,” Sharon said. “He would know. He’s the one following the C and Cs.”
Arthur looked puzzled. “C and Cs?”
Sharon chuckled. “Crimes and Crazies.”
Arthur grinned as he worked his way through his La Plata Combination, alternating between the taco, the cheese enchilada, the tamale, and the rice and beans with the green chile and meat.
Sharon said, “So how’s Margaret doing?”
“Lost,” Arthur said. “Her whole world is gone now. She feels like she has nothing left.”
“Do the police think the Patriots have something to do with the boys’ deaths?”
Arthur scooped some refried beans onto his fork and dipped them into his Spanish rice. “I don’t know. Anything’s possible. Jake says they’ve been causing some trouble in the Checkerboard. They’ve even been implicated in a man’s disappearance.”
“Whose disappearance?” Sharon asked.
“Is that question coming from my wife or the reporter who inhabits her delicious body?”
Sharon gave an impish grin. “Both.” She picked at her grilled chicken breast with Cajun seasoning with her knife and fork.
“I don’t know,” Arthur told her. “He wouldn’t tell me. But his men are going to be checking with everyone living around the Flat Iron to see if they saw or heard anything unusual last night.”
“What kind of trouble are they causing?”
Arthur took a bite of tamale. “You just don’t stop, do you?”
Sharon’s eyes flashed seductively. “I’m tenacious. I believe you find that trait stimulating during certain activities I cannot mention in public.”
Arthur smiled broadly. “And what would those be?”
Suddenly, he felt the toes of one of her feet sliding up the inside of his right pant leg. “Tell me what you know, and you’ll find out.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, my love, but Jake really didn’t say. He only mentioned that they’ve gotten into the security business now. They’re calling themselves Patriot Security. I guess they’re providing services for some of the oil and gas companies down the 550 corridor.”
Sharon pouted playfully, then said, “My friend Rachel over at the Navajo Times did a story on the corridor a while back. Hundreds of needles are already in the ground, and she says that more are coming.”
“Needles?”
“Oil and gas wells,” Sharon replied. “Do you ever pay attention to anything I say when I’m talking to you?”
Arthur paused in midchew, just like when he was a child and got caught tasting the mutton before it was tabled. “Most of the time …” he said.
Sharon sighed and feigned disgust. “Listen, the San Juan Basin has been the largest producer of oil and gas since the early twentieth century. There are at least three hundred oil fields with around forty thousand needles sucking our land dry every day.”
Arthur listened intently as she continued, laying out all the facts and statistics while they ate. He wasn’t sure, but there might be a quiz later.
“Anyway,” Sharon went on, “some of our people who own their land signed leasing agreements with the oil and gas companies. But others, those who don’t own the land they live on, can’t. I’ve also heard rumors that someone has been pressuring some owners to sell if they don’t take the leasing offer given to them. Rachel says that tensions are growing in the Navajo communities because of it, and that chapter houses have become forums for discussion about whether or not it’s healthy or safe for our people to even live near these fracking sites.”
Arthur took a bite of his taco. “What health issues are being raised?”
Sharon pursed her lips. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“What am I, five?”
Sharon grinned. “Sometimes.”
Sharon added some butter into her mashed potatoes and stirred them with her fork. “It’s all about the chemicals being introduced into the soil and how they affect the water table. During the course of her investigation, she found no evidence that any water samples were taken before drilling began. That means there’s no scientific baseline on which to grade any current water samples against.” She shook her head. “And the only water samples being collected now are those done by some of the locals. They showed her photos proving how a lot of the plants near the sites are growing smaller than normal. Plus, there are fissures in the ground opening up in some areas that might be the result of the fracking.”
Arthur nodded and finished chewing.
Sharon cut and ate some more of her chicken. “Did Margaret tell you why her boys were out there?”
Arthur shook his head. “Probably drinking, like most kids these days.” He told her about the empty beer bottles scattered around the scene.
“But you can’t buy alcohol on the rez.”
“That’s right,” Arthur said, “but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. People are always going to find a way. The area where Tsela and Tahoma were killed is a known place to party.”
Sharon said, “Did she mention any girls? Where there’s boys, there’s always girls. Especially when you’re eighteen.”
“She couldn’t say for sure if any were there, but yeah, I agree, it’s a possibility. I couldn’t cut any sign because the FDMI for San Juan County was there doing her investigation, and the place was loaded with cops.”
Sharon looked surprised. “Delores Mendoza was there?”
Arthur detected a hint of something in her tone, so he merely nodded and ate some more of his enchilada.
Sharon sat back in her chair, a look of entrapment in her eyes. “So what did you think of her? Do you think she’s attractive?”
Arthur stopped chewing. Suddenly the restaurant had become very quiet, and he knew he was on dangerous ground, so he hoped his mind would work quickly. “Jake thought so,” he blurted out. Ahhh, sweet deflection.
“You lie like a rug,” Sharon replied, picking up her wine glass. “She’s only thirty-two, you know. And that blond hair is a dye-job.”
Arthur lifted his wine glass and said, “I hadn’t noticed,” then took a long sip, washing down the enchilada. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy?”
Sharon drank another sip of wine and held her glass with the fingers of both hands, her elbows resting on the table. “Her tits are fake too,” she said glibly.
Arthur sat back in his chair and patted his lips with a napkin, smiling only on the inside. “How do you know her?”
“She was the lead investigator a couple of years ago when those two hikers were murdered around Huerfano Mountain. I ran across her then. She kept some information from me. Information I needed to file my report. Because of that, KZRV got scooped. What can I say? I dislike her. Fake tits and all.”
Arthur chuckled. “Well, she seems to know her job. She thinks Tsela and Tahoma were killed with a high-caliber rifle from about four hundred yards. It seemed to me she was right since we found the location where the killer had set up to take his shots.” Arthur paused. “I’m going to go back out to Flat Iron in the morning and do some sign cutting when there won’t be anyone around. I should be able to tell if someone else was there with the boys before they were killed, provided the scene hasn’t been trampled to death.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“Trade secret,” Arthur said. “Afterward I think I’ll head out to Ojo Amarillo and have a talk with Margaret, see how she’s holding up and if she knows who the boys hung out with—any girls they may have been close to.”
Sharon nodded, then changed the subject. “By the way, I saw you talking to your old team at the wake. How are they doing?”
“You saw me?” Arthur took a bite of taco.
“I walked past the door on my way to the ladies’ room and peeked in. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Arthur smiled. “Some good, some not so good. But all of them still fighting their own war.”
“I’m glad your head was clear when I met you the first time,” Sharon said. “I don’t know if I could handle the types of things Kathy Derrick was telling us about.” Sharon sipped her wine purposefully then cut a piece of chicken breast. “Did you know that he almost killed himself last year?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“She walked into the garage one day and found him sitting in their car in his dress blues with that same gun to his head.” Arthur closed his eyes in disbelief. “She pleaded with him for a good twenty minutes to give her the gun. When he finally did, he started crying. The VA had him on a line of drugs, but she said after a few months he flushed them and disappeared back into his own world again.”
“That’s why we call the VA ‘Candy Land,’ ” Arthur told her. “Because all anyone there knows how to do is hand out pills like they were candy. That’s supposed to be changing.” He took another sip of his wine and ate the last of his taco. “I wish there was something I could do.”
“I read a story a month or so ago about a group of vets who counted on each other by connecting on Messenger. They would do a group text or sometimes call each other when they needed help coping with a problem.” She took another sip of wine. “It seemed to really help. Maybe you could do something like that?”
Arthur shrugged, scooped up the last of his enchilada. “Sounds like a good idea. If I can stop any more of my guys from ending up like Derrick, I’ll do anything.”
“What are we going to do about the people you have booked for back country rides this week?” Sharon said. “Do you think Billy can handle it?”
“I have no doubt,” Arthur said, finishing the rest of his plate. “He knows what he’s doing. I’ll make sure he has no truck runs to make, but I think we’re good.” Then he asked about Kathy Derrick.
Sharon sighed. “She’s devastated, of course. Even though she knew this was how it might end, she’s still in shock.” Sharon glanced absently at the quiet fountain sitting beneath the clouded, azure sky mural. “She feels guilty because she thinks she somehow could have stopped it.”
“She couldn’t have stopped it,” Arthur said quickly. “No one could’ve. Because no one knows what it’s like over there. People here see snippets on TV or read about it in the papers or online and the idiots in Washington talk about it, but no one here at home really knows what is going on in the CZ.”
“CZ?”
“Combat zone,” Arthur explained.
Sharon reached a soft hand across the table and laid it over Arthur’s as he continued. “And you know what sucks? You come back home and try to be normal again because everyone expects you to, but you can’t. You know why? Because everyone back here is just walking around in their own little world, worrying about shit that doesn’t even matter.”
“But you came home,” Sharon said softly, “and you’re all right.”
Arthur pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. “I had my own demons long before you came along. I served my country for almost ten years. First in Bosnia, then Serbia, then Afghanistan. After a while, it felt like we were just fighting over oil and sand … then 9/11 happened. I stayed another year after that. I saw and did things that no one else can understand except another combat vet.” He drank a mouthful of wine and swallowed. “And when I got home, I walked with my own ghosts every day.”
Sharon had never asked him before, but now, since he was opening up, she decided it was time. “The ghosts of men you killed? How many were there?”
Arthur looked at her across the table. “I stopped counting after my first tour.” He swallowed some more wine. “Let’s just say, enough.”
“I just want to try to understand you better,” Sharon whispered.
“But that’s just it,” Arthur insisted. “You can’t. You will never be able to understand unless you had actually been outside the fence.”
“Outside the fence?”
“That’s someone who’s been off the base in a combat situation.”
She lowered her face slightly. “I see.”
“Before I met you,” Arthur said, “I spent a lot of time learning the healing power of the flute, working during the day and spending my nights in ceremony asking the Creator to heal me and reveal my purpose. Once it was revealed, I took it into my heart and let it shape me. But these guys don’t have anything like that. Most of them are just trying to keep their heads above water and not drown in a lake of depression.”
Sharon shivered briefly because she knew what Arthur was talking about. Because her own demons had been stalking her ever since she had been kidnapped. There were times she could still see the look on Gloria Sanchez’s dead face in her nightmares, could still feel the ropes that had bound her and cut into her skin, and could still feel Leonard Kanesewah’s hot breath on her neck that night in the snow as he held her against him. In fact, she could still feel the warm liquidity of his blood as it spattered across the side of her face when Abraham Fasthorse’s arrow pierced his skull. And what was worse—there were times she could swear she still smelled him all over her.
Arthur noticed Sharon’s faraway look. “You okay?”
She startled at the question. “I’m fine.”
“You looked like you were off somewhere else just then.”
“No, no,” she said. “I was listening. Go on.”
Arthur looked at her as she sat across the table. He studied the black hair that fell long over her left eye, just enough to bring out her intrigue before trailing off into dancing curls that spilled over the front of her shoulder. He noticed how her dark eyes seemed to reach somewhere deep inside him and touch his soul. And he felt her hand on his too, soft and tender. Of all the things the Creator had blessed him with, she had been his greatest gift.
“War isn’t about making you a man,” Arthur said. “I know people get that impression. It’s about staying alive. And it’s about keeping your guys alive.” He paused to reflect. “I guess somewhere along the line I failed them, too. I failed my men and I failed Margaret’s two boys.” Arthur slammed back the last of his wine. “Great dinner conversation, huh? Real romantic.”
“It’s all right,” Sharon said softly. “You should get hold of your guys and set something up. I think it might be good therapy for all of you. That way you can still have each other’s six.”
Arthur grinned. “Look at you, talkin’ all jarhead.”
Sharon’s smile grew. “I’ve listened to you a lot over the years.” She gently picked up his hand in hers and held it in her palm, rubbing her thumb lightly over the top of it. “And when you see Delores Mendoza again, try not to stare at those fake tits.”