Robert Walker - Final Edge

"Is that designed to make me feel guilty?" she asked, punctuating her words with the knife in her hand.

"No…just an observation."

"Well, I hear the Indian casinos are making a bundle," she countered. "So not everyone on the res is piss poor."

"Casinos pay a petty tribute to the tribe, not enough to make a difference to the common good. In effect, an Indian tribe on a modem reservation is a commune-everyone helping everyone, everyone doing his part, all that. But it doesn't ever work out that way, now does it?"

"No…it doesn't. Human nature being what it is."

"Most of the casinos are run by shrewd half-breeds who are as shameless as any CEO you have trading on Wall Street, NYC," he said.

"It can't be that bad."

"You haven't been out to the Coushatta."

"Well…perhaps we can get a little public awareness going, start a drive, have a marathon or something, generate some funds."

"You don't understand. It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"Because of who we are-American Indians. We have been made charity cases by the state-the U.S. Government-for almost two hundred years now, since the 1820s."

"What's that got to do with what I'm proposing?"

"Damn, it's got everything to do with it. The Cherokee were robbed of their Eastern ancestral lands, an area covering most of Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee, and portions of Kentucky. They were given Oklahoma before the Okies arrived, and it became an Indian state. My ancestors migrated from the Tallaquah, Oklahoma, promised lands to here, East Texas, and we cohabited with the Alabama, Coushatta, and other western tribes. What I'm saying is that the Texas Cherokee in particular didn't want any handouts from the U.S. Government. My people left the ancestral lands before Andrew Jackson forced all the southern tribes out of the Southeast on the Trail of Tears. They saw the writing on the wall, so to speak. They next left Oklahoma before the white man's treaty there was made and broken again. In Texas, we found a third home so as to not accept the white man's charity along with his worthless, stinking treaties."

"Nice history lesson, but I still don't see what it has to do with raising awareness and funds for the reservation families and children."

"They don't want your charity, however heartfelt it may be, Mere. Don't you get it?"

"You don't have to shout!"

He raised his hands as if arrested. "Sony…let's eat."

"I didn't know it was such a touchy subject with you."

"Not me…I'm no reservation Indian, remember? I got off the res a long time ago."

"I'm sorry White America has treated your people so wrongly, Lucas. I wish there was something I could do, that's all."

"Meredyth, no one, least of all this clansman, holds you responsible for the thefts and rapes and lies committed in the past by the U.S. Government and military in the name of Manifest Destiny and assimilation of the aboriginals. So let's leave it at that…and while we're at it, you've got no business feeling guilty in the least for Lauralie Blodgett's becoming a twisted and cold-blooded killer either."

"You saying that maybe I take on too much responsibility on my shoulders?"

"Precisely, yes."

They fell silent for a time, listening to the robins and sparrows circling and darting through the trees outside the kitchen window in what seemed an eternal dance, but was in fact a series of short-lived bursts of energy in a chase of give-and-take, back-and-forth. A Texas raven cried off in the distance, while hummingbirds, tasting of the nectar of oleander bushes, silently hovered about the windows. A mild scent of oleander wafted into them. Meredyth smiled and pointed at the hummingbirds, telling Lucas they had once had a family of hawks visit the cabin and take up residence for two months before they'd disappeared.

Together, they made their way out on the wide screened porch, taking their sandwiches and drinks with them. Here they looked out over the lake to one side, the horse stables to the other. "What shall we do now?" she asked. "Water play or horse play?"

A phone rang somewhere deep in the house. "That sounds like my cell phone," he said. "And I left it upstairs in the bedroom."

"It's most likely mine. I switched it back on when we woke. My secretary at the practice is likely wanting to know when she can begin scheduling patients again."

"So where's your cell?"

"Upstairs alongside yours. But I didn't activate yours again," she lied.

"So not even Sophia knows the phone number to the cabin?"

"Not even Sophia, no, since there is no phone in the house. It's my one sinful indulgence, this place, and I vow it will never be spoiled by TVs, telephones, radios, computers, E-mail, or any other gadgets of labor. If I have to make a call out from here, it's done on my cell."

"You mean to tell me you don't have one TV or radio in the entire house?"

"I thought you knew that from your last visit."

He blew out a lungful of air. "Guess I was having too much fun to notice."

"The only radio is the one in your car, Lucas."

"Hmmm…I see. And you're not curious about what's going on downtown?" he asked. "I mean with the case, any results on the APB on the girl or the car?"

"Not in the least, not today."

"I can't help but wonder if there've been any sightings of her… what her whereabouts might be… any new developments we should be paying attention to… that sort of thing, you know."

"Lucas, listen to yourself. No wonder you're so tightly wound."

"Whataya mean?"

"You left the scene of a grisly murder maybe ten, eleven hours ago, one in which you were relieved of command by your superior-remember that?"

"Yeah, yeah, but-"

"But nothing! You as much as told Lincoln to cram it."

"I did? I don't remember telling him to-"

"You told him he could rely on Jana North to assist the FBI, implying you wouldn't be available for such duty, and he took you up on it, Lucas."

"All right…I remember… but you know as well as I do that we're both too much a part of this case to simply step off."

"Lauralie has seen to that, and up to this point, she's been pulling all the strings, pal, but not anymore…at least not my strings. I'm more highly invested in this case than anyone, Lucas, but I'm not playing her game any longer. I am stepping off this lunatic's merry-go-round."

"Bravo! I think that's excellent advice you're giving yourself, Mere. Go for it."

"I intend to. Maybe Patterson and Lincoln are right, Lucas. Maybe you and I should have turned over the investigation from the moment we realized the killer's mania was focused on me and you."

"Well, now you've got your wish. Removed from the case, way out here in a place where she can't get at you…it's the right thing to do. Mere, absolutely."

"You make it sound as if I'm washing my hands of any responsibility."

"No, not at all. I don't mean to suggest anything of the sort."

"What's the alternative? Go on the offensive? Attack this crazy young woman where she lives? I might like the plan except for the fact we don't know where the fuck she is or where the fuck she will be in an hour, a day, a week. And you, Lucas 'Wolf Clansman' Stonecoat, what do you do given an opportunity to wash your hands of it? You fight it tooth and nail!"

"All I'm suggesting is we answer the cell phone, Mere."

The ringing from upstairs stopped.

"Bullshit. At least be honest with me, Lucas."

"What?"

"My restless Cherokee detective. You want to leap back into the chase with both feet. You're chomping at the bit like Says who and Yesyado when Jeff jingles their reins. You are that anxious to get back to tracking that bitch."

"All right, I admit that I'm a little eager to know what, if anything, has come to light since we put out the APB on the car."