Authors: Dana Stabenow
Bill raised her head and gave him a considering stare. “I fail to see the problem here, Liam.
“Come to think of it, so do I, he said, pushing his plate away and finishing his Coke. “I need a couple of arrest warrants, Bill.
She put down the street map she'd been looking at and got up to refill his glass. “I heard, she said, climbing back up on her stool. “You've been busy.
His smile was smug. “Yup.
The door opened behind him and momentarily flooded the dim room with light. A raven cawed raucously, the sound cut off abruptly when the door shut again. “Noisy bastard, Moses muttered, and climbed up to sit beside Liam.
Bill smiled at him, the tender smile she reserved only for him. “Hey.
“Hey, yourself. Gimme a beer.
The smile didn't waver. She got him a beer, a squat brown bottle full, and poured it in his lap.
“Hey! Moses leapt to his feet. “Goddamn it, woman, what the hell are you doing? Jesus!
“Teaching you some manners, she replied sweetly. She climbed back up on her stool and said to Liam, “Warrants for whom?
Liam, struggling to repress a grin and not succeeding very well, said, “One for Frank Petla. I need that one right away, his twenty-four hours are about up.
“What for?
Moses, still cursing, climbed off his stool and headed for the john.
“Two counts of felony assault, for starters.
She raised a brow. “Not murder?
“No. The face of Charlene Taylor flashed before his eyes. “Not yet, he said. Not until he'd dotted that lastiand crossed that lastt.
Bill grunted. “There's time, I guess. Long as we keep him locked up. Who's the second one for?
“Walter Larsgaard.
“Old or Young?
“Young.
“The tribal chief?
“Yeah.
She winced. “Ouch. That's going to come back and bite us in the ass.
“I know.
Moses emerged from the bathroom, his lap drier than it had been. A cell phone wentbrriiiinnnngsomewhere in the bar and his head came up like he was on point. He zeroed in on Jim Earl. Jim Earl saw him coming and tried to get the phone folded up and back in his pocket in time but it was too late; Moses snatched it from his hand. The antenna was still out and it waggled an inch in front of Jim Earl's nose as Moses gave forth.
“I hate these things. I hate anything to do with them. I ain't never getting me one, I ain't never irritating no one by talking on one in a bar, I ain't never disrupting the band when mine goes off, I ain't never trying to talk on one the same time I run into the back of the car in front of me, I ain't never having calls forwarded to one from my home phone
“You don't have a home phone, Moses, Jim Earl said, but the interruption was a feeble one and was ignored with the disdain it deserved.
“I ain't ever gonna have caller ID so I can see who's calling me on one, andMoses wound up for a big finish“if someone ever calls me and I get a beep to tell me someone's waiting to talk to me on another line, I'm letting them fucking WAIT!
He marched to the door, opened it, went into a pitcher's windup and launched the cell phone into low earth orbit. “FUCK the twenty-first century!
There was a startled squawk and a flurry of indignant croaks and clicks before the door shut. Moses dusted his hands and climbed back up on his stool. “May I have a beer, please?
Bill's smile was radiant. “Certainly. She got him a beer. This time it made to Moses in the bottle. He drank it down in one long swallow. “May I have a refill, please?
Bill had been waiting to do just that. “Certainly. She brought another bottle to him. Moses showed no inclination to drink this one dry right away, too, so she sat down again.
The door opened and Moses looked over his shoulder. “Oh, shit. He raised his voice. “I told you, not today!
Malcolm Dorris came up behind him, his hat in his hands. His expression was apologetic but determined. “Uncle, I need to know now. Please.
Moses buried his nose in his beer and didn't reply. Nobody said anything for a minute or two. Malcolm waited. He was a stocky young man, maybe eighteen, maybe nineteen, with clear skin and neat black hair. He'd laid on the aftershave a little heavy that morning, and the strong smell of English Leather interfered with the far more seductive aroma of deep-fried grease.
Liam frowned and nudged Moses with his elbow. “What's he want?
Moses rolled his eyes and held his bottle out to Bill. “The answer.
“What was the question?
Moses huffed out an impatient breath. “His father wants him to stay home and fish and hunt and keep to the old ways. Malcolm wants to go away to school.
“And the question?
Moses drank from his new beer. “Should he go?
“Oh. Bill pored over her map. Malcolm waited. Moses drank beer. The smell of English Leather got stronger. “Well? Should he?
Moses slammed down his glass. “How the hell should I know?
“Because you always do, uncle, Malcolm said.
“Go, said Bill, not looking up from her map. “It doesn't take the resident shaman to figure that out. Go to school. Learn a trade for when the runs are bad. Like last summer. Like this summer. Maybe like next summer.
Malcolm hesitated. “It's tough, uncle. I'm a Yupik in a white world.
Moses said nothing.
“I'm a woman in a man's world, Bill said. This time she looked up, her stare so piercing Liam saw the boy flinch away from it. “I need all the edges I can get. You're Yupik in a white man's world. You need all the edges you can get, too. Go to school.
“Oh for crissake, go to fucking school, Moses shouted.
It was enough. “Thank you, uncle, Malcolm murmured, and backed out of the building.
“Don't ever be a Native, Moses told them. “Have you ever wanted to be a Native? he demanded of Bill.
“God, no, Bill said.
“Why not? Liam said.
Bill took her time replying, polishing a couple of glasses with a bar rag and lining them up at attention. “I'm the laziest person on earth. I don't want to have to work that hard to get up to go.
Moses gave a short bark of laughter.
“Somebody explain, Liam said.
Bill picked up a glass that didn't need it and started polishing. “What do you see when you look at me, Liam?
A brief but mighty struggle kept Liam's eyes from dropping to her breasts, today enfolded in the loving embrace of a T-shirt touting Jimmy Buffett'sBanana Windtour.
Moses growled. Liam felt the heat rising up the back of his neck.
“After that, Bill said dryly.
“Magistrate, Liam said. “Barkeep.
“No, she said. “First off, before everything else, I'm white. I'm as white as you can get without bleach. Before I'm a woman, before I'm a bartender, before I'm a magistrate, before I'm a goddamn Alaskan, I'm white. And because I'm white, I wasbornat go. I don't have to work my ass off just to get that far.
“And Malcolm does, Liam said to Moses.
Moses raised his glass in a toast. “I may have to change my estimation of your intelligence, boy.
“Gee, thanks.
Bill wasn't done. “People look at boys like Malcolm, they see Native and think Fourth Avenue. Outside, they'd look at you and see a nigger. In South Africa they'd see a kaffer; in India, a Muslim; in Pakistan, a Hindu. The color of your skin isn't an asset, it's something you have to overcome. She gave the glass a final rub and held it up to admire the sparkle. “Whereas I, because my ancestors were so kind as to spend the last two thousand years terrorizing the people of color of this world into submission and servitude and too often downright slavery . . . She shrugged, and repeated, “I was born at go. She set the glass down and looked at Moses. “Only place in the world for a lazy person.
She looked at Liam. “What's the charge on Larsgaard?
“Who? Oh. Flight to avoid prosecution, Liam said.
“Prosecution for what?
“Mass murder, Liam said, and Moses erupted again.
“Goddamn it, you are the worst I ever saw for jumping to conclusions! A son owes his father, goddamn it!
Which reminded Liam that he had to get back to the post and call his father's office in Florida.
Moses stared at him. “He's no different that any other stick-uphis-ass officer I ever ran across in the service, and I wasn't talking about your father, anyway.
In spite of himself, Liam felt his dander rise, enough to blot out Moses' last words. “He's a career officer, he said, careful to keep any hint of defense out of his tone. “They are very . . .
“Proper, Bill suggested, and he gave a grateful nod.
Moses snorted. “ Proper. Yeah, right. If you can't stick to the point, boy, you've gone as far as you'll go in your service.
Liam stood up. “Moses, I never know what the hell the point is when I'm around you, and I'm not sure I want to go anywhere in my service anymore. He tossed some bills on the bar. “Thanks for lunch, Bill. I'll be back in for dinner this evening, with my stick-up-his-ass dad.
“See you then, she said, unperturbed.
He walked toward the door, and behind him Moses said to Bill, “Malcolm won't ever come home, you know.
“He goes to school, he's gone for good.
SEVENTEEN
“Doctors are lousy pilots, Wy said. “Pisspoor, actually. They don't listen worth shit. You can't tell them anything, they're used to doing the telling. Guy says he's a doctor, he's not driving my plane and I ain't riding in his.
Tim committed this to memory, and handed her a socket wrench.
“Thanks. Wy tightened down the nut, wiped her hands on the legs of her overalls and closed the cowling before descending the stepladder perched at the nose of the Cub.
“How about troopers? Tim said.
Wy looked at him, and he grinned. “Yeah, okay, smarty, she said, “it was fine, she didn't hurt our baby any.
“She better not've. Tim sounded cocky and threatening and very proprietary as he put the wrench back in the red upright toolbox.
Wy eyed his back for a moment. “You want to learn?
He looked around. “Learn what?
She hooked a thumb at the plane. “You want to learn to fly?
He stood straight up, the toolbox drawer left open. “Learn to fly? His voice scaled up and ended on a squeak of disbelief.
“Yeah.
He stared from her to the plane and back again. He looked dazzled. “You'd teach me?
“Yeah.
“To fly?
She grinned. “Hey. It's what I do.
A warm wave of color washed up over his face. “You're just kidding, he said gruffly. “Aren't you? I'm too young. Aren't I?
“Younger than me when I started, she agreed. “But then I started awful late. I was practically an old lady.
“How old? he demanded.
“Sixteen.
“Do you mean it? he said again.
He threw the question down like a gauntlet, a challenge to her to take it up. Promises had been made to him before, many promises over the twelve long years of his young life, promises made and promises broken. “Yes, she said soberly. “I mean it.
He still didn't quite believe her, she could see it in his eyes. “Next Sunday morning, she said, turning back to the plane. “I don't have anything booked until four that afternoon. We'll take the Cessna up. She's got dual controls. She thought about mentioning ground school, and left it for later. If she could get him hooked on flying, he wouldn't have a choice.
After a moment or two, she heard him wheel the toolbox back into the shed.
There was a shed just like it in back of every one of the light planes drawn up at the edge of the tarmac at Newenham General Airport, but theirs was the only one currently in use. The open door revealed shelves packed with tools and parts, as well as camping and fishing gear. A fifty-five-gallon Chevron fuel drum, cut in half, sat in one corner, filled to the brim with Japanese fishing floats made of green glass. Wy picked them up whenever she made a beach landing and sold them to tourists for as much as the traffic would bear.
“Wy?
“Yeah? Wy was in the shed, smearing Goop on her hands, trying and failing to get the oil that invariably migrated beneath her fingernails.
The possibility of slipping the surly bonds of earth had faded from his face. “You remember the Malones?
Her hands stilled, and she looked over her shoulder. Tim had one hand on the Cub's right strut, watching an Alaska Airlines 737 bank left out over the river in preparation for landing. “You mean the people who were killed on the boat in Kulukak?
“Yeah.
Wy reached for a rag and went out to stand next to him. “I didn't know them, Tim. I don't think I ever met them. I don't think I ever flew them anywhere.
The 737 lined up on final.
“I knew the boy. Mike.
“Did you?
“He played basketball.
“What position?
“Guard.
“Like you.
“Yeah. I had to guard him last time the Kulukak team was in town. Our last game of the season.
“When was that, March?
“Yeah.
Wy thought back, in her mind trying to distinguish one adolescent from another on a court that seemed remarkably full of them. “Number twenty-two, right? Hands like catcher's mitts, arms that stretched from here to Icky, and a good sport?
“Yeah.
Mike Malone had guarded Tim like Tim was Bastogne and Mike was the entire 501st Airborne. “You played really well against him.
Tim's shoulders rose in a faint shrug. “Have to, against a guy like that.