Kevin Hearne: Tricked

As you enter Kate’s, there’s a register and waiting area, and to the right of that is a long white counter with bar stools and a window to the kitchen behind it. The menu is displayed above the kitchen window on one of those old-fashioned marquees with red plastic letters spelling out items and prices. If you keep going past the counter, there’s a rectangular space that serves as the main dining room, full of gunmetal-gray vinyl booths and tables. The walls are painted a sort of burnt orange, kind of like sandstone with lots of iron oxide in it. I camouflaged Oberon, and he squeezed himself underneath one side of a booth while Granuaile and I slid in on the other side.

Oberon said.

But then I’d have to pretend to be blind, and that would be inconvenient .

I smiled. Because a lack of taste or smell isn’t considered a handicap to humans .

Nah, I doubt it. I’m sure they have frozen links or patties, just like everyone else .

I don’t see it on the menu .

A slow, drawling voice tinged with amusement interrupted. “You’re both right. They don’t have chicken-apple sausage, but it’s here.” A slim Navajo man in a black cowboy hat peered around the corner of the main dining area; a brown paper bag liberally stained with grease dangled in his hand.

“Hey, Coyote,” I chuckled, and he smiled back. “Come and join us.” Like me, Coyote could hear Oberon’s words, but his comment that we were “both right” had me wondering if he could hear my side of the conversation as well. It was uncomfortable to think that maybe he could read my mind, but perhaps I could chalk up the thought to my paranoia. He could have easily inferred what I was saying based on Oberon’s side of the conversation.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, and then he turned on the charm to greet Granuaile. “Good morning, Miss Druid. Nice to finally meet ya.” Coyote had seen Granuaile before, but at the time she’d been communing with the elemental Sonora, and she’d missed Coyote’s brief visit entirely.

“Oh. Um, I’m not a Druid yet. Call me Caitlin.” She looked a little starstruck, but that was understandable. Coyote was the first immortal she’d met.

“Caitlin?” Coyote squinted at me as he sat down gingerly so as not to disturb Oberon. “Thought you said her name was Granuaile.”

“It is, but we’re using different names now,” I said. In the past I had taken the trouble to mimic his pattern of speech, drawling my words a bit and dropping g ’s off the ends, but I saw no need to do that now. Our deal had already been struck, and any advantage that would have given me was gone. “We’re in hiding, see. It would kind of waste all your effort yesterday to make it seem like I died if you keep calling me Mr. Druid. You should call me Reilly.” Granuaile and I were supposed to be known to the world now as Reilly and Caitlin Collins, brother and sister. We had driver’s licenses and fake documents to prove it, courtesy of my lawyer down in Tempe.

“Aw, hell with that, Mr. Druid. I ain’t gonna call you anything different.”

“Think your hound might be hungry. Mind if I give him something to chew on?” he asked, pointing at the bag on the table.

“Sure, go ahead,” I said. “I appreciate the thought, and I know he does too.”

“Well, I told him I’d bring him some the next time I saw him.”

Try to snarf quietly .

I grinned. It’s a deal. You’re the best hound ever .

What? Where’d you score two?

Okay, but I was also right about the sausage, so it’s 3–1 .

Coyote opened the bag and withdrew the sausages, placing them on the seat next to him where Oberon could easily get to them. The waitress arrived at that point to take our orders, and the three of us tried to keep talking constantly to disguise the smacking, chop-licking noises that Oberon was making. She picked up on it anyway and regarded us uncertainly, trying to figure out who was making the juicy sounds and whether or not she should be concerned or even offended.

Coyote ordered four sides each of bacon, sausage, and ham, plus coffee.

“Do you want any eggs or toast?” the waitress asked.

“Hell, no, keep that shit away from me,” Coyote said, then remembered who he was talking to and added, “I mean, no, thank you. ’Scuse my language.”

Granuaile asked for a gorgeous stack of pancakes, and I ordered a fluffy omelet with cheese, bell peppers, onions, and mushrooms, with skillet potatoes and dry wheat toast on the side. I also ordered three sides of bonus bacon for Oberon.

The waitress did her best to keep her expression neutral, but I could tell she thought we were the weirdest people she’d ever served — and perhaps perverted too, considering that one of us kept making licking noises. That discomfited me; I wanted to blend in and be forgettable, and we were doing a terrible job of it. What if, in the course of their investigation, the FBI came around here asking about unusual people? As far as I knew, the killing site hadn’t been discovered yet, but it couldn’t be much longer before it was. What if they published some picture of me in the local paper and the waitress recognized it? I voiced these doubts to Coyote after the waitress left, and he scoffed.

“Ain’t nobody ’round here ever gonna talk to the feds,” Coyote said. “The way it works is, if the feds want something, we don’t wanna give it to ’em, unless they want directions off the rez. We give those out nice and easy.”

“All right, if you say so. I imagine you’d know better than anyone.”

“Yep.” Coyote grabbed a couple of napkins and courteously wiped down the seat, now that Oberon was finished with his chicken-apple sausages.

“So you held up your part of the trade very well yesterday,” I said. “The deal was, I’m supposed to move some earth for you in return, so long as it doesn’t hurt anybody physically, emotionally, or economically.”

“That’s right, Mr. Druid. You ready to hear the details?”

“Shoot.”

“All right, then. Look at this town — or, hell, anywhere on the rez — and what do you see?”

“Lots of red rock and shepherds. You see groups of houses here and there, but you can’t figure out what everybody’s doing for a living.”

“That’s right. There aren’t any jobs here. We can open casinos or we can open up mines. That’s where the jobs are. But, you know, those mines are all big companies beholden to shareholders. They don’t care about our tribe. They don’t care about anything but their bottom line. And once they’ve stripped our land clean, they’ll move on and strip somebody else. There’s no vision for a sustainable future. So I came up with one.”

The waitress came back with Coyote’s coffee and he thanked her and took a sip before continuing. “The American Southwest could be the Saudi Arabia of renewable energy, you know that? We have enough solar and wind potential on the rez alone to power most of the state, if not all of it. Problem is, nobody’s going hard after it. Everybody’s makin’ too much money off oil and coal and buyin’ congressmen with it to make sure it stays that way. Besides, you need a ton of capital to start a new energy industry. So that’s going to be your job, Mr. Druid. You get us the capital to get going, providing a few mining jobs in the short term, and then we’re going to invest all that money into renewable energy and infrastructure, creating plenty of jobs in the long term. And it’ll all be owned and operated by my people, the Diné,” he said, using the term that the Navajo called themselves.