Sherman Alexie - Indian Killer

His brother, Aaron, and his other housemates, Barry Church and Sean Ward, hadn’t wanted to come with him.

“I’m not going on some reservation,” Aaron had said. “You don’t know what those Indians might do. Hell, they already killed one white guy. And you better not go either. What would Dad say if he knew you were going up there?”

So, with neither his brother’s help nor his father’s permission, David found himself alone and more than a little jumpy as he walked into the Tulalip Tribal Casino, just forty miles north of Seattle. David had expected to find something more illicit and foreign inside. From all the newspaper editorials, the public outcry, and his father’s rantings, David had assumed the casino would be filled with drunk Indian men, half-naked Indian women, and Italian mobsters. Instead, on this weeknight, David saw a couple dozen white farmers losing money at the poker and blackjack tables while the farmers’ wives dropped buckets of quarters into the slot machines. He was probably the youngest man in the casino, but he certainly wasn’t the only white one. He looked like most of the other gamblers. All of the Indians, dressed formally in tuxedos and evening gowns, were working as dealers, cashiers, and waiters. David was vaguely disappointed. He’d come for some cheap, rebellious thrills, a white boy slumming it among the Indians, but he soon discovered that the most dangerous thing in the casino was the thick cloud of cigarette smoke.

Still, once he realized he was safe, David proceeded to have a great time. He’d brought only forty dollars with him and he intended to gamble until he was broke. He lost twenty bucks at blackjack, five at poker, spent five on a hamburger and french fries, and was down to his last ten when he decided to have a spin on the slot machines. There must have been a hundred machines lined up in a far corner of the casino. Most machines took quarters, but a few took silver dollars. Bright lights, flashing bulbs, sirens announcing wins. The whirr-whirr-whirr of the slots spinning, the thuk-thuk-thuk of the jackpot-jackpot-apple, a loser, falling into place. The housewives, with white buckets of quarters balanced in their laps, pumped money into the slots. It was all so loud, irritating, and irresistible. A few minutes before midnight, David sat at a one-dollar baseball-themed slot machine, beside a housewife who briefly glanced at him before turning back, with a loud sigh, to her own efforts. Her luck had been bad that night. With his no better, David soon lost nine dollars with nine spins of the slots.

“It’s been that kind of night,” the housewife announced.

“Yeah,” David said, holding his last silver dollar. “This is it. Wish me luck.”

“Luck.”

David dropped the silver dollar into the machine, pulled the handle, and watched the Single-Single-Single drop into place. The housewife screamed as one hundred dollars’ worth of silver dollars spilled onto the floor. A few other women jealously peered around corners as David scooped up his money. He’d won his money back! And then some.

“For luck,” he said to the housewife as he handed her one of his silver dollars.

“You’re not quitting, are you?” she asked.

“Well, maybe not. Maybe just one more.”

He dropped one more dollar into the machine and pulled the handle, realizing this was exactly how casinos made their money. The slots spun, dropped. Home Run — Home Run — Home Run. The housewife was shrieking now and hugging David, who hugged her back. The sirens were deafening. Flashing red lights. The sudden appearance of two beefy Indian security guards. A crowd of white farm folk. Two thousand dollars! Two thousand dollars! Two thousand dollars!

After turning down management’s attempts to give him a check, David walked out of the casino with two thousand dollars in small bills. He knew it was foolish, but he felt like a character in a Hemingway novel. Daring, masculine, without the slightest hint of fear. Or reveling in his fear, staring into the eyes of the charging beast. He wondered what Marie would say. What if she thought he was stealing from the Indians?

David, feeling wealthy and untouchable, walked past the Indian security guards, who were busy calming down a drunken farmer. David couldn’t believe his luck. Aaron would go crazy. They’d party all night, skip class tomorrow, and drink through the weekend. Hell, they could go rent a hotel room and drink it up in style, paper the walls with twenty-dollar bills. David was laughing to himself, lost in fantasy, when he bumped into an Indian man standing near an advertising kiosk outside the casino.

“Excuse me,” David said. He barely looked at the Indian, but noticed a funny sign on the kiosk. WELCOME TO THE SIXTH ANNUAL TULALIP INDIAN NATION ALL–INDIAN BASKETBALL TOURNAMENT.

“Hey,” David said, pointing at the sign. “Gets pretty specific, doesn’t it?”

The Indian didn’t respond, which made David a little tense. He placed his hand on the large envelope of money in his coat pocket. He suddenly felt very white. The Indian, with a curious, canine twist of his head, looked at David. The Indian could smell the white boy’s fear.

“Well,” David said. “See you later.”

David could see his pickup in the parking lot. About a hundred feet away. Twenty seconds to get there. Remain calm, he thought. As he walked toward the pickup, David dug through his pockets. He found the right key, and readied it for quick use. Then he glanced back toward the casino and saw that the Indian was gone. The parking lot was dark. No people. The hum of the freeway a few hundred feet to the east. Increasingly nervous now, David began to hurry. He reached his pickup and tried to insert the key, but his hands were shaking and he dropped it. Jesus, David asked himself, what are you so scared of? He bent down to pick up the keys, felt a sudden, sharp pain at the back of his head, and then felt nothing at all.

“MRS. JOHNSON, DID YOU see anything or anybody suspicious in the casino?”

“No.”

“Are you okay, Mrs. Johnson? Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes. It’s just. I mean, he seemed like such a sweet boy. What was his name?”

“David. David Rogers.”

“Yes, that’s it. He give me a silver dollar. I have it right here. He said it was for luck and then he hit the jackpot. I guess he wasn’t so lucky, was he?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Do you know what happened to him? Do you know anything at all?”

“We’re working on it, ma’am. Right now, we just know he left his pickup in the parking lot. That’s all we know.”

“It’s like he just disappeared, isn’t it?”

“Something like that.”

“And all that’s left of him is this silver dollar, isn’t it?”

“Right now, it looks that way.”

“But it’s so small.”

“Very small, ma’am.”

“Does this have anything to do with that boy who was scalped down in Seattle?”

“We don’t know, ma’am.”

AFTER OLIVIA HEARD THE news about the young man who had disappeared from the Indian casino, she called Daniel at work.

“Daniel, have you heard about that boy who disappeared? From the reservation?”

“Yes,” said Daniel impatiently.

“What do you think happened to him?”

“I don’t know. It sounds like a robbery.”

“I bet his family is worried sick,” said Olivia, thinking about how John had often disappeared from her life, only to reappear at unexpected times. She wondered how she would feel if John disappeared forever. She thought about the white man who had been scalped and murdered. She wondered how his family felt about his death.