“I just got hungrier.” Duke patted his belly. “Nothing like letting the opposition buy you dinner.” He winked at Bernie, and she remembered where she had seen him before. In the lobby of the Pit after the explosion.
Bernie glanced in Chee’s direction. He motioned, Come on over. She filled her plate, grabbed a Coke, and headed toward his table. The seat he’d saved for her provided a clear view of Palmer and the Hopi family. She settled in. “What’s up?”
“I got a call from Largo. The FBI analyzed their surveillance photos from the demonstration and the session here yesterday. One of the people they saw resembles a man arrested several times on various charges, including stalking a lawyer who represented a resort developer. They think they saw him in the photos you took at the Shiprock bomb scene, too.”
She took a bite of the burrito she’d built. “That’s interesting. You see that tall guy, the one in the white hat?”
“Yes.”
“He’s the medic I mentioned who helped me at the blast site when the rookie freaked out.”
“Why is he here?”
Bernie took a sip of her Coke. “He told me he’s a contractor who might be taking a job with Canyonmark. Nice man.”
“Have you seen Blankenship here yet?”
“He was by the wall talking to the woman with the turquoise choker. I mentioned the envelope to him. He said he doesn’t want it.”
“Too bad. He’s getting it anyway.” Chee took the last bite of the Fritos with onions, chili, and cheese. “Did you try this? Tasty.”
“As good as at Chat and Chew?” She loved Shiprock’s little carryout-only place near the pawnshop.
“It might depend on how hungry—”
Chee rose from his chair in a single quick motion and left the table. Bernie followed him with her eyes.
The man in a yellow jacket had entered the reception room with a galvanized bucket in his right hand and headed directly toward Palmer and the Keevama family. Chee moved to intercept him.
Palmer stood up. “Hey there, what’s—”
The man lunged toward Palmer just as Chee grabbed for him. The contents of the bucket flew out as Yellow Jacket screamed obscenities. Chee felt the shock of cold water through his clothes and a thunk of something solid as it hit his torso. Palmer’s white shirt clung to his skin, but the Hopis, farther from the incident, looked mostly dry.
The bucket clanged against the tile floor and bounced, a sound track for the man’s rant. “You sellout. You jerk. You don’t give a rat’s ass . . .” Yellow Jacket struggled against Chee’s grip, trying to swing at Palmer. His voice was an angry yell. “You want to turn the water into a death trap for fish. The whole river will die unless you protect it. You and all of your phony delegates.”
The Hopi children hid behind their mother. Chee had seldom heard a Hopi man shout, but Keevama raised his voice. “Stop it. Behave yourself. Show some respect.”
The room fell quiet, as though the man’s explosion of energy had sucked the air out of the space. All eyes were on Yellow Jacket and the Hopi. Chee noticed that Palmer remained remarkably calm. A non-Native man in a polo shirt and a woman in a snug sweater, both of whom Chee labeled as FBI, had moved closer.
Yellow Jacket turned his outrage toward Keevama. “You Indians stink as bad as the developers. You talk a good line, but in the end you just want the money. You don’t care about your fellow creatures if they get in the way of your pla—” Yellow Jacket looked at Chee as if noticing him for the first time. “Let go of me.”
“You’re under arrest.” Chee kept his grip on the man’s damp arm, pulling him toward the exit. He saw something shiny on the floor. Fish. Dozens of them, small, silvery, and still. Dead. The impact he’d felt, he realized, came from some of these poor things striking his chest when the crazy man tossed out the water.
“Did you kill those fish?”
“They were already dead, man. I got them at the grocery. Got your attention, huh?” Yellow Jacket raised his voice again. “Thousands of these will die if the project is approved. Hear that, Palmer?”
Chee shivered at the jarring sight. He never ate fish and never went fishing. He shared the ancient Navajo belief that fish served as messengers between the Holy People and the five-fingered beings. He felt Yellow Jacket try to twist away.
“First Amendment rights, brother,” he yelled. “You Indians know what it’s like to be ignored, discriminated against. But now you’re working for the Man.”
Chee felt his anger build and fought the impulse to squeeze the man’s arm more tightly. He noticed a person next to him, pointing his cell phone at them, no doubt recording the whole affair. He saw Bernie next to Palmer, professional and alert for other signs of trouble.
He ushered Yellow Jacket to the door, the FBI agents right behind them.
Outside, he felt the chill of night air on his wet skin. The polo shirt man and the woman in the sweater showed him their credentials, explained that they were from Phoenix, assigned to the bombing case. “We’ll take it from here. This guy has been on our radar.”
Yellow Jacket uttered a string of obscenities that concerned the agents’ parentage. “You know you don’t have anything on me. Federal Bureau of Ineptitude.”
The man in the polo shirt said, “Let’s start with assault and resisting arrest?”
Yellow Jacket swore some more as the agent reached for his handcuffs.
“We’ve got this, Sergeant. You might want to find some dry clothes.”
“Is either of you the agent who’s replacing Cordova?”
The woman said, “I know it’s not me and it’s not my partner here. You probably have more information than we do.”
Chee jogged to his motel room. When he took off his damp jacket, he realized the envelope for Blankenship was soaked, too. He set it on the bathroom counter.
By the time Chee returned to the party, the restaurant staff had arranged yellow plastic signs around the wet places and the bucket was gone. A young Diné woman about Darleen’s age worked on the mess with the same disgust Bernie’s sister would have shown if she’d been asked to clean up dead fish.
Palmer, still in his damp shirt, was chatting with Atwell. He had a plate of food on the table in front of him now. Bernie sat next to the Hopi elder, Palmer within easy reach. Chee joined them.
Keevama said, “Your wife was telling me that she went out to talk to the Bitsois. Officer Dashee has been very patient with them.”
Bernie said, “Mrs. Bitsoi was the only one at home. I got the idea that she’s in charge and does most of the work. She spent a long time telling me about her sheep.”
“I think those sheep are the only ones she doesn’t argue with,” Keevama said.
Chee said, “Is everyone here OK?”
Palmer said, “I’m fine.”