Twenty-One

Barrett’s boots thudded on the yellowed industrial linoleum. He’d orchestrated Big Elk’s arrest to illustrate that he was CEO of more than McCreary Energy. The noble Officer Gary had no idea who gave his chief the reliable tip. Now Barrett and Big Elk would have their Come to Jesus meeting and Big Elk would deliver the vote of the Hopi Tribal Council.

Three small barred cells left room for a walkway in the cinderblock structure. Dull yellow paint covered the walls.

Big Elk had the only cot in the cell farthest from the door. A bleary-eyed drunk hung his head in the next cell. Other than that, they had the place to themselves.

Barrett’s steady footsteps down the linoleum corridor didn’t disturb the prone figure of Big Elk. He lay on his back, arms under his head, staring at the ceiling.

Barrett stopped outside the cell. “Enjoying your stay?”

Only his lips moved. “Not five-star quality, but what can you expect for the sticks?”

“As a Native of the land, one funded with the hard-earned donations of a faithful following, isn’t five stars out of your league?”

Big Elk chuckled and sat up. “Mr. Barrett McCreary. How good of you to call. And how generous to arrange my release.”

Despite the difficult things he’d been forced to do in his life, Barrett didn’t like violence. Still, he thought he might enjoy ripping this guy’s throat out. “At least you understand the chain of command here.”

The smirk on Big Elk’s face stretched Barrett’s control. “So you got the local yokels to toss me behind bars. Good for you. Now get me out.”

“Not until you guarantee prompt delivery of what I paid for.”

Big Elk rose from his cot. He stretched his arms overhead, took a deep breath, exhaled, and bent over in downward dog. When he stood, he ambled to the bars and faced Barrett. “I’ll get the Hopi Tribal Council’s endorsement for uranium mining, but not because you think you have power over me.”

“I do have the power. This incarceration is a warning. If I decide to let you out, understand that any delay in the Hopi agreement will result in something much more costly than repairs to the ski lift—which you’ll reimburse me for, by the way.”

Big Elk’s arms went overhead and he bent to his left, inhaled up and bent to the right, eyes full of malicious humor. When he straightened he said, “People of the Earth feel strongly about white men desecrating their sacred lands. But I won’t be giving you a dime, Barrett. In fact, I want another mil deposited in that account.”

Ripping out his throat might be letting him off too easy. “Do you have a death wish?”

“Like Scott Abbott?”

This prick didn’t know the first thing about Scott Abbott. He was fishing.

When Barrett didn’t react, Big Elk narrowed his eyes and considered. “I don’t know how or why, but I’ll bet my best horse you have something to do with that.”

“Get the job done and get the fuck out of my playground or rot here in jail.”

“You don’t want to threaten me, Mr. McCreary.”

“That’s not a threat.”

Big Elk appeared as casual as if he was relaxing at a picnic. “Your daughter might not be happy to see me abused like this.”

It took all of his control not to fly at the bars and smash Big Elk’s skull. Through a jaw locked as tight as Attica, Barrett said, “Leave her alone.”

Big Elk shrugged. “Okay. You ought to know, though, that I’m the only thing standing between her and considerable jail time.”

Barrett’s lungs hardened to stone.

Big Elk chuckled again. “The authorities you think you hold in your pocket might be interested to know the name of the brave eco-terrorist who blew up that ski lift.”

Barrett was riveted to the floor and his ears rang at the words he didn’t want to hear:

“Heather set that explosion, and her prints are all over the evidence.”