Lorenzo turned around in the driver’s seat, lighting up a cigarette, smoke coming from his nostrils. “What are you talking about?”
“The Road of Trials,” Jeff said. “The Native American way. Joseph Campbell and all that shit.”
“Oh, man,” Lorenzo said. “I almost forgot. We were just bullshitting you, man. Come on. Get in the truck, we’ll drive you back to the casino. Just don’t look at Faith again.”
“He owes us for the beer,” one of the men said. “Beer costs money.”
“And the mescal,” said the other. “He drank most of the bottle.”
“I like this Bronco,” Lorenzo said, driving fast, hitting ravines and rocks, feeling the custom wheel in his hands. Jeff had to hold on to the roll bar or he’d fall out into the endless trees. “I dreamed of this night the whole time I was in jail,” Lorenzo said. “I knew it would come.”
Jeff played blackjack in the casino most of the next day. The casino paid him out chips for what he’d lost and gave him a voucher for a full buffet breakfast. Lorenzo and his two boys said Jeff owed them fifty bucks. They said they’d come back for it at noon and he’d better have it or else. Lorenzo said he needed cash to provide refreshments for his family. Tonight, Faith would dance for ten hours without interruption. Only through a test of strength, endurance, and character would she truly become a woman. No one should go hungry waiting for all that mess.
Head in hands, Jeff kept losing. Lorenzo took a seat next to him. He had on a T-shirt that showed Geronimo and his boys. It said Homeland Security—Fighting Terrorism Since 1492.
“You know my sister can’t smile for two days.”
“I know how she feels.”
“Where are you from?” Lorenzo said.
“I told you,” he said. “California.”
“Is that where you learned to gamble?”
Jeff stared at him.
“I didn’t play cards until I went to jail,” Lorenzo said. “Lots of time to learn there.”
“I worked my way through grad school playing poker,” Jeff said. “That’s how I got my MFA and published my book.”
Jeff doubled down. The dealer snatched up the cards and the last of his chips.
“You lost again?” Lorenzo said. “Damn, man. It’s like you are cursed or something.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Jeff said. “I’ll pay you.”
“I don’t worry,” Lorenzo said. “We’ll just take the Bronco.”
“Over fifty bucks?” Jeff asked. “C’mon. Right.”
Lorenzo didn’t smile, seeming to be thinking on something new. “The most important thing is that Faith choose the right medicine woman,” he said, cigarette hanging from his mouth. “Me and the boys built her a sacred teepee and later we’ll burn it down. I guess there’s not much else I can do for her now.”
“I’ll get you your money.”
Lorenzo nodded and scooped up the keys to the Bronco. “You better.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Jeff’s brother-in-law said. “It just sounds all so fantastic.”
“As fantastic as you in a werewolf suit solving crimes?”
“I don’t solve crimes as the werewolf,” he said. “The detective turns into a werewolf only when there’s danger or he feels threatened. He can’t think rationally when he’s the werewolf. Come on, man. You’re the writer. You know how this shit works.”
“I have to stay on the rez again tonight.”
“Until the puberty dance is over?”
“Yes,” Jeff said. “Exactly. And if I can win just one hand, I’ll go back to poker. Blackjack isn’t working for me.”
“You know that truck is in a chop shop in south Phoenix right now,” Jeff’s brother-in-law said. “Or have you really lost your mind this time? Not just faked a complete mental breakdown like when you wanted to go to India.”
“They want me at the bonfire tonight,” Jeff said. “They promise I don’t have to pay for the mescal and beer. That tonight it’s on them. I’m a real invited guest of the tribe.”
“I’m so glad for you, Jeff,” the brother-in-law said. “Next time, call your sister instead of me. I don’t have time for this crap.”
Jeff walked to the bonfire at twilight, sat down on his butt, and watched the dance of the mountain gods, shirtless men wearing black hoods and what looked to be tall candlesticks on their heads jumping around and chanting to a ceaseless drum. Soon, a bunch of girls in white buckskin began to dance, moving around the fire, their faces painted a bright white, ornate necklaces jangling from their necks. Faith, one of them, pretended not to see him.
“It will stay on the woman’s mind her whole life,” said the medicine man. He’d snuck up on him. It was the same old man who’d prepped him to wrestle Faby Apache. The one who looked a lot like Chief Dan George. Hoffman had been so damn good in that movie.
“What about the boys?” Jeff said. “What do you do for them?”
“There’s not a ceremony like this for boys,” the medicine man said. “A boy is like a lost dog. He must find his own way.”
“How’s that?”