Double eagle, p.5
Double Eagle, page 5
“Mr. DreadfulWater.”
“Thumps.”
“You’ve come to sign up?”
There were brochures on the table, pens laid out in a fan, a small poster on a portable stand of a happy girl with braids. As well as a box of cheek swabs in sterile packages.
“Looking for Claire.”
“Just missed her,” said Scoop. “Pull up a chair. You can be my decoy.”
“Decoy?”
Scoop tore a form off a pad, slid it in front of Thumps. “People see you in here, they may decide to stop by as well.”
“The Human Genome Project?”
“No,” said Scoop. “They wrapped that up in 2003. The HGP was interested in the base pairs that make up human DNA. I’m looking at relationships within Indian communities.”
“Lot of communities.”
Scoop rubbed her head. “You have no idea.”
“Moses said you’re looking for relatives.”
“Couple of centuries of cultural genocide. You know how many aboriginal children were taken from their families? You know how many just disappeared into the child welfare system? You know how many have no idea who they are or where their home communities might be?”
Thumps sat back, away from the sorrow in Scoop’s voice, the sound of loss.
“Yeah, I have to be careful,” said Scoop. “I start in, and I put people off.”
“You won’t put me off.”
Scoop smiled. “I already have.”
“Lot of resistance?”
“The people who support the project think I’m an angel, that I’ll flap my wings and every aboriginal community in North America will be miraculously made whole.”
Scoop sat back in the chair, rubbed at an eye.
“The rest call me Auntie Snoop,” said Scoop. “Sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. Stirring up shit. Trying to force square people into round holes.”
“Rock and a hard place.”
“There was an old woman out in the Dakotas who told me I was no better than the Whites who had caused the problem. She said it was too late for the ones who had been lost, that there was no room, that they had no business trying to come home.”
“Moses wouldn’t agree,” said Thumps.
“He’s great,” said Scoop. “I was hoping I might be related to him.”
“But you’re not?”
“Happy ending like that only happens in bad movies.” Scoop leaned forward on her elbows. “Did Moses tell you my story? Left at the Igloo in Fort Macleod, Alberta? Bounced around foster care until I was eighteen?”
“No.”
“The double scoop,” said Scoop. “That’s what the Igloo is noted for. Family came back from burgers and ice cream to find me on the front seat of their crew cab. Surprise.”
“Fort Macleod?”
“That’s right. Scoop Macleod. Story has all the makings of a romantic comedy, don’t you think?”
Thumps turned the form around, so he didn’t have to read it upside down.
“You’re wondering why I was never adopted.”
“Somebody missed out.”
“I was six or seven when I figured out that it was never going to happen.” Scoop touched the small birthmark on her cheek. “Nobody wants defective goods.”
Thumps picked up one of the pens. “Do I qualify?”
“Absolutely.” Scoop put on a pair of blue gloves, took one of the swabs out of the box. “Sit back. Open your mouth.”
THE DINING ROOM was busy now. Thumps expected to find Claire holding court at one of the tables. The return of Deep House and the surrounding land had been a tangle of state, federal, and band council jurisdictions, and over the years that the controversy had been winding its way through the courts, little had changed. Federal and state authorities wanted oversight and the tribe wanted the both of them tied to horses and dragged out of town for cause.
There was, Thumps discovered, no limit to the number of times you can ask the courts the same question and expect to get a different answer, no limit to the amount of public money that people in power were willing to waste in order to maintain that power.
“Thumps.”
Thumps felt his heart sink.
“You’re just in time.” Archie waved at him from a table with five other people. Three men and two women. As well as the sheriff. “Come. Come. Meet everyone.”
Thumps took his time. If there was any justice in the world, Claire would suddenly appear and rescue him.
“Folks,” said Archie, “you’ve met the sheriff. This is his special deputy, Thumps DreadfulWater.”
“‘I shot the sheriff,’” sang the younger woman. “‘But I did not shoot the deputy.’”
No luck. No Claire. No salvation.
“This,” said Archie, “is the irrepressible Emily Hunter of Hunter Gold.”
“Of the Chicago Hunters,” said Hunter.
“Along with Otto Myers of Myers Coin and Stamp in Salt Lake City.” Archie moved his hand around the table. “Atticus Poe, Katheryn Souto, and Nicodemus Eliopoulos.”
“Nico,” said Eliopoulos. “You must call me Nico.”
When Thumps was a cop in Northern California, he had been intrigued by last names and what they might suggest about a person’s family background. He was reasonably sure that Eliopoulos was Greek. Myers might be Jewish. Souto was a Portuguese name. Hunter and Poe were British.
And while Hunter looked the part—chestnut hair, hazel eyes, fine features—Poe did not. He was a tall, light-skinned Black man who might well have been from Kenya or Jamaica or the plantations of Georgia, anywhere that imperialism and colonization had flourished.
“Mr. Eliopoulos owns Omega Coin and Stamp, with offices in Toronto and Athens. Ms. Souto comes to us from Golden Gate Bullion in San Francisco, and Mr. Poe is the proprietor of Central Park Currency in Manhattan.”
Thumps smiled.
Emily Hunter swung her legs out from under the table and crossed them at the knees.
“Are you providing security for the exhibition?”
Thumps wondered if women were able to control just how far up their thighs a dress would ride. They could walk in heels, so he guessed that anything was possible.
“No,” said Thumps. “I’m actually a photographer.”
Myers made a sharp, barking sound.
“You take pictures of . . . money?” said Souto.
“Landscapes,” said Thumps. “I mostly do landscapes.”
Eliopoulos was a short man with a broad chest and thick legs. Curly hair that was more grey than black. When Thumps was growing up, he had waited patiently for hair to appear on his face. It never did. Eliopoulos looked as though he had to shave twice a day.
Archie moved quickly. “But he used to be in law enforcement. And he helps the sheriff whenever there is a particularly difficult situation.”
“That’s true,” said Duke. “At times, he can be handy.”
Poe held his cup aloft. “Maybe he can save us from this dreadful espresso.”
“It is a bit sour,” said Eliopoulos. “If you want good espresso, you have to make it yourself.”
“Don’t know why we need security at all,” said Myers. “Not much to steal.”
Otto Myers reminded Thumps of the giant beetles you see on the Discovery Channel. Short and compact. Thick through the middle with thin legs and a neckless head that came to a point.
“I’m going to take a nap,” said Souto. “All this fresh air is exhausting.”
Katheryn Souto was somewhere in her sixties. Tall and stately, a heritage building that had managed to survive the ravages of urban renewal.
“And I’m going to the casino.” Hunter uncrossed her legs. The effect was much the same. “What about it, Mr. Poe? You want to join me?”
“It would be ungentlemanly to say no,” said Atticus.
“Yes, it would,” said Hunter.
Everyone stood on cue.
“If you have no objection,” said Myers, “I’ll follow you to the casino.”
“Fedya and Pauline,” said Hunter. “1949. Robert Siodmak. The Great Sinner.”
“From the novel The Gambler by Fyodor Dostoevsky,” said Poe. “Do you like old movies?”
Thumps had already decided that Emily Hunter looked to be an easy woman to misjudge. And that you did so at your peril.
“Perhaps Special Deputy DreadfulWater would like to accompany us,” said Hunter. “To protect us from outlaws and wild Indians.”
“Thumps is Indian,” said Duke, “but he’s no longer all that wild.”
“I can be pretty wild,” said Myers.
“Besides,” said Archie, “Thumps is working, and he’s married.”
THUMPS WAITED UNTIL the coin dealers had left before he turned on Archie.
“I’m not married.”
“You’ll thank me later,” said Archie. “Hunter would eat you alive.”
“And if she didn’t,” said Duke, “Claire would finish the job.”
Archie clicked his tongue. “You looked at her thighs.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I looked at her thighs,” said Duke. “And I am married.”
“Come on you two.” Archie herded Thumps and Duke to the elevators. “We have serious business to discuss.”
THE CONDO WAS on the eighth floor, a corner unit with a view of White Goat Canyon and the river. Thumps walked the living area. There were bookshelves filled with books, several of Thumps’s photographs on the walls, a large globe on a table.
“You bought a condo?”
“Business investment,” said Archie. “Bought it when they first came on the market. It’s already appreciated about twenty percent.”
“And you never bothered to tell me?” said Thumps.
“Or me,” said Duke.
“And if you had known?” said Archie.
Thumps looked at Duke. Duke looked at Thumps.
“Exactly,” said Archie. “The two of you would have wanted to ‘borrow’ the place, and I’d have lost my sanctuary.”
“But now we know,” said Duke.
“He’s going to throw us off the balcony before we leave and can spread the word,” said Thumps.
“If only.” Archie went to the kitchen, took a fruit plate out of the refrigerator, turned on the coffee machine. “But the fact of the matter is, I need your help.”
8
Archie brought the fruit platter and the coffee to the table, along with small plates and flatware.
“Help yourself,” he said. “I need your A game.”
Thumps looked at Duke. “What happened to the two dozen doughnuts?”
“They weren’t for me,” said Duke. “Macy’s book club is meeting at our place today.”
“But you must have saved a chocolate-coated or two.”
“Maybe.”
“And you didn’t bring me an unglazed old-fashioned?”
Archie tapped a spoon on the table. “Can we focus?”
“I’m saving Thumps from himself.”
“Admirable,” said Archie, “but the important things first. What do you two bandersnatches know about gold coins?”
Thumps shrugged. “They’re made out of gold.”
“Not funny,” said Archie.
Duke took a section of orange. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, “I’ve always found Thumps frightfully amusing.”
Thumps helped himself to a couple of grapes. “Frightfully?”
“It could be nothing,” said Archie.
Duke poured himself a cup of coffee. “I find when people start off a sentence like that, they already know that something is wrong.”
Archie puffed out his cheeks. “Let’s try this again. What do you two know about gold coins?”
“Well, I, for one, know shit,” said Duke.
“Ditto,” said Thumps.
“Except that they’re worth more than silver coins,” said Duke.
“My grandfather was a small-time collector,” said Archie. “Gold mostly. Some silver. He tried to get me interested, but I was into sports and girls.”
“Imagine some of it still rubbed off,” said Duke.
“He left me his collection,” said Archie. “I still have it. A few nice pieces. About fifteen years back, I got involved with the Intermountain Numismatics Association. It’s fun. We get together once a year or so. Talk coins. Share stories.”
Duke took a strawberry. “I had an uncle who was in the merchant marine. He’d send me stamps from around the world. My mother got me a book to stick them in.”
Archie closed his eyes and waited.
“Don’t really know what happened to those stamps.”
“Let me guess,” said Thumps. “You’re worried that the exhibition is going to be robbed.”
Archie opened his eyes. “This is a nice show. Not a big show. No really valuable coins. Mostly at the shallow end of the pool, a few deepwater. Two- to three-thousand-dollar range. Six or so could go as high as fifty thousand.”
“Fifty thousand for a coin?”
“That’s nothing of real value?” said Duke. “I’m in the wrong profession.”
“If we had a 1909 S ten-dollar gold eagle or a 1927 Saint-Gaudens double eagle in uncirculated condition with a sharp strike, then we’d be talking serious money.”
Thumps was intrigued. “As in a hundred thousand?”
Archie smiled. “As in two million.”
“But we don’t have any of those,” said Duke.
“No,” said Archie, “we don’t have any of those.”
“So, what do we have?”
“Half a million total,” said Archie. “No more than that.”
“Still a decent score,” said Thumps. “Bad guys steal for a lot less.”
“I’m not worried about a robbery,” said Archie. “Security is solid.”
Thumps took a moment to work it out. “There’s something wrong with our guests?”
Archie got up and walked to the sliding doors that opened onto the balcony, then turned back.
“Let’s say you’re a Major League Baseball scout. It’s your job to go around the country to all the first-rate baseball programs to look for talent. You’re in Los Angeles. The Fayetteville Woodpeckers are playing in North Carolina. Are you going to drop everything and catch the first plane to Atlanta?”
“Who are the Fayetteville Woodpeckers?”
“Exactly,” said Archie.
“Low-end show,” said Thumps. “High-end dealers.”
“Simplistic but accurate,” said Archie. “Therein lies my problem.”
Duke took a second strawberry. “The folks we met shouldn’t be here.”
“You see why I’m worried.”
“Have to admit it,” said Duke. “Old Archimedes does look worried.”
“One or two whales might be an anomaly,” said Archie. “Maybe Atticus Poe always wanted to see the Wild West. Maybe Katheryn Souto wanted to get out of the City by the Bay.”
Thumps pushed his cup off to one side. “But five whales beaching themselves on our shores all at the same time is something else.”
Archie took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes. “And I have no idea what that something else is.”
THUMPS AND THE sheriff left Archie to stew in his two-bedroom, deluxe suite with its river view.
They were in the elevator before Duke broke the silence.
“What do you think Archie paid for that place?”
“No idea.”
“What do you think it’s worth now?”
“You thinking about buying?”
“Maybe.” Duke pressed the button for the main floor. “You remember back when I had that little blip.”
“You mean your prostate operation?”
“Jesus, DreadfulWater. Keep it down.”
“We’re in the elevator.”
“You have to practise discretion if you want to be discreet.”
“You find that inside a fortune cookie?”
“Can we stay on point?”
“Right,” said Thumps. “Little blip.”
“Remember I thought about retiring?”
Thumps checked the floor indicator. The elevator wasn’t moving fast enough.
“I’m thinking about it again.”
Six, five, four, three . . . Thumps watched the indicator lights, as the floors counted down.
“I thought you couldn’t retire. Because of Macy. Because of the medical coverage.”
“Deanna is too new for the job,” said Duke. “And I don’t want to leave the office in the hands of some political clown city council tosses in from left field.”
“I’m a photographer.”
“Hell, DreadfulWater, we both know that’s not a living. If it weren’t for your pension, you’d be on the street.”
The elevator reached the main floor. The doors opened.
“I have to head back into town,” said Duke. “Just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”
THUMPS HEADED FOR the front desk. He didn’t glance over his shoulder to see if Duke was following him, but he did make use of the reflections in the glass and the surface of the granite veneer to make sure that he had escaped the sheriff alive and intact.
The woman at the front desk was all smiles. The tag on her jacket said “Lainey.”
“Hi, do you have a reservation?”
Yes, he wanted to say, it’s where a rapacious and deceitful government dumped me after they stole my land.
Instead, he said, “No, but I have a friend who is staying here.”
Lainey waited.
“And I was wondering if he checked in.”
“Name?”
“Cisco Cruz.”
Lainey looked at the monitor. “He hasn’t checked in yet.”
“But he is staying here.”
“You’re a friend of Ms. Merchant’s, aren’t you?”
“I am. Mr. Cruz is a friend of hers as well.”
“He hasn’t checked in,” said Lainey, “and he doesn’t appear to have a reservation.”
Of course he doesn’t. Thumps tried to keep the annoyance off his face. Why did he think that Cruz was going to play straight with him? After all this time, he should know better.
“Could you check to see if there’s a reservation for a Duncan Renaldo?”
“Is that Mr. Cruz’s alias?”
