Homicide My Own - Anne Argula [9]
King George made up his mind that some action was necessary. Casino security, indeed, the tribal police, had long suffered disrespect from the sheriff’s department and the white population of the island. Though sovereign, the tribal efforts at law enforcement, especially as it applied to non-tribal members, were for the most part ignored. Traffic tickets, for example, were routinely torn up and scattered in the wind. It was embarrassing.
King George was surprised that when they finished their food, the lovers went in two different directions. He chose to follow the girl to the bank of three public phones where she placed a collect call. King George picked up one of the other phones, turned his back to her, and listened.
“Hi, Mom, how’re you? Look, I’m okay, okay? I’m with a friend, okay? No, a girlfriend…you don’t know her, okay? I have lots of friends you don’t know. Nancy, all right? Her name is fucking Nancy, and we’re in California, okay? I’m not sure…between San Francisco and Los Angeles.”
Seems she got busted on that because the operator must have told the mother where the call was coming from. There was a little bit of controlled screaming, from both ends of the line. The girl turned it back on her mother, blaming her for always making her lie. There was hissing and half-said rebuttals and counter-accusations before the mother said something that stopped the daughter and changed her tone of voice. “They are? The cops? It’s none of their business! I don’t know where he is, okay? I thought he was back there. Tell the cops I’m all right and I don’t know where he is, okay? How do you know? You think you know everything. All right, all right, yeah, we’re together, but nobody is ever gonna separate us. Mom? Listen, Mom? You ought to give us permission to get married.”
Apparently the mother thought that was a terrible idea, because the girl kept repeating the words why not with growing intensity until she split them with the word fucking.
King George hung up his phone and walked slowly toward the man, who was at the craps table, and, coincidentally, winning. He paused halfway there and spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Sidney? King. Craps table. The man with the dice. He’s with an under-aged girl. Get Bobby, just in case.”
. The girl slammed down the phone and went to the craps table.
King George took his time, then stood behind the croupier for a moment.
The girl squeezed in next to the man and draped an arm over his shoulder. The man said, “I’m winning, sweetie! Blow on these puppies.” She blew on the dice and he tossed them. Seven, a winner.
“I asked my mom. She went ballistic.”
“Huh?”
“About getting married and stuff.”
“Stacey, didn’t I tell you…?”
“I think maybe we’d better go to Canada or somewhere. That’s a different country, right? We can do stuff there we can’t do here, right?”
King George nodded to Sidney Everybodytalksabout, who approached the table, and to Bobby Young Elk, who was drawing toward them. Before Charles could make another pass, King George asked him to hold up. “Is this young lady with you?”
Charles and Stacey looked at each other. She quickly withdrew her arm. “No,” they said simultaneously.
“I know that’s a lie, so I’ll ask another question. Young lady, are you eighteen?”
“Eighteen? I wish,” said Stacey. “I’m twenty-two.”
“Please pick up your chips and leave the floor with me.”
The thrill of the gamble, what thrill there is in watching your money raked away, was put on hold as everyone observed the unfolding of this encounter. Charles, in no rush, gathered up his chips in two handfuls.
“Where’re we going?” he asked, in a pleasant, unconcerned voice.
“We’d like to talk to you, maybe make a phone call.”
Stacey brought her foot down hard on King George’s instep, and though she weighed only 98 pounds with a Discman hanging around her neck, he felt every ounce of it. They ran for the door, where Sidney Everybodytalksabout