Breakup (12 page)

"Probably not."

"They look like nice people."

"They're coming around," Kate admitted.

"So maybe their shit stink like everybody else's," Auntie Vi said complacently, and Kate had to laugh. "Katya, I need a favor."

"Sure, Auntie," Kate said, displaying about as much sense of self-preservation as Kevin Bickford had that morning on her homestead. "Anything you want, you know that."

"I want you to talk to Harvey."

Kate stiffened. Harvey was Harvey Meganack, one of five board members of the Niniltna Native Association. He was pro-development to the extent that he was willing to open traditional tribal lands up to mining, logging and tourism, a subject over which he and Kate had locked horns the previous October. The board, stable and unchanging for twenty years beneath the firm hand of Kate's grandmother, had recently experienced a sea change, losing three of its members and electing a new chair. It was still sorting itself out, and no one really knew what direction the board might take in the future.

Auntie Vi was only the board secretary, not a member, but she was a tribal elder and as such had tremendous influence with both the board and the shareholders. Kate, who had been waging a lifelong battle to stay as far removed from tribal politics as possible, was thrice cursed, first in that she was the granddaughter and only direct descendant of Ekaterina Moonin Shugak, second in that she was smart, capable and a natural leader, and third in that those qualities were recognized and needed by her people. Authority is as often a burden thrust upon the reluctant recipient as it is a prize pursued by the ambitious.

Kate, resolved to serve from outside the circle of power no matter how often her elders tried to extend it far enough to draw her in, said guardedly, "What about Harvey?"

"He's almost convinced Demetri and Billy that the profits we made last year from the logging at Chokosna should go out in a supplementary dividend to the shareholders."

Normally, the dividend check was a quarterly payment representing income and interest earned on funds invested by the Niniltna Native Association, one of hundreds around the state created by ANCSA, the 1972 Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act, which had traded money and land for a right-of-way for the Trans- Alaska Pipeline across aboriginal territory. Sound counsel and some lucky investing on the part of the Niniltna board had produced dividends that had steadily increased over the years so that individual shareholders now received almost a thousand dollars four times a year. One was paid out on December 1, to help put some spirit into Christmas; one in March, to help gear up for the fishing season; one in June to help buy that new impeller the boat needed after it went over the sandbar at the mouth of the Kanuyaq River; and one in September, in case the fishing season had been lousy and there was no money for the fall grocery run to Costco in Anchorage.

It wasn't a bad arrangement. Unfortunately, a quarterly payment was also a fine way to finance a quarterly spree, as Cindy Bingley was all too well aware. And when, as this year, additional income from investments or, in this case, logging leases accumulated and had to be dispersed to the shareholders, there was a great temptation to regard the resulting funds as found money and blow it on a spree, or a third four-wheeler. You can never have too much stuff in the Alaskan Bush. "And?" Kate said.

"And," Auntie Vi said, "Joy says we should maybe earmark a few of those funds for a health clinic instead."

Kate looked at Auntie Joy, another round-shaped elder, whose chubby cheeks gave an impression of youth, especially when tw o deep dimples creased them, which happened frequently. Her cheerful front hid a deep and abiding concern for her family and friends and for the community as a whole, blood or not. For "Auntie Joy says," Kate thought, read "the majority of the elders in the Association say." She glanced at Old Sam Dementieff, the fifth, eldest and newest board member. "What does Old Sam say?"

Auntie Vi shook her head. "Nothing, yet. Will you talk to Harvey, Katya?"

"What makes you think he'll listen to me? We haven't been on good terms since last October. Hell, we've never been on good terms. He'll blow me off." Try.

Kate's hackles instinctively went up at the tone of Auntie Vi's voice. After a brief struggle, she said, "All right, auntie. I'll try."

"Try soon."

Kate took a careful breath, exhaled it. "Yes. As soon as I can."

"Good." Auntie Vi examined her critically. "I hear you almost get flattened by airplane."

"Not a whole airplane. Just one engine."

Auntie Vi's eyes twinkled again. "Oh. Just the engine. That's all right then."

Kate had to smile.

"And woman get killed by bear." Auntie Vi shook her head. "Bad thing."

"Were they staying with you?"

Auntie Vi nodded. "For a week, they said." Her smile was wide and satisfied. "Now I got federal men staying. They pay more."

"Good for you."

"That wife nice lady," Auntie Vi said, smile fading. "She been here before." She gave Kate a sly look. "But she not with him."

At that moment the door to the Roadhouse crashed open and a neon Budweiser sign hanging on the back wall shattered and cascaded to the floor in bits of glass.

In the absolutely still moment of silence that followed, Kate heard the distinct echo of a rifle shot. A .30-30 she thought, but didn't have enough time to make sure.

"Incoming!" Bobby put both hands flat on the table, vaulted across the surface and tackled Dinah, who went over backward in her chair. They both crashed to the floor with Bobby mostly on top. Kate, a nanosecond behind him, caught Auntie Vi in one arm and Auntie Joy in another and used them to take the rest of the quilting bee down. Bernie did his duty by Mr. and Mrs. Baker.

"Well, really," Kate heard Mrs. Baker say when she got her breath back.

Bernie cursed.

Mrs. Baker shut up.

A second shot, a clang and the tin-shaded light over one of the pool tables swung wildly back and forth. A figure loomed up in the open doorway, outlined against the Park's one and only streetlight, and a third shot rang out, followed by a shrill scream.

"Kay!" a man's voice screamed. "Omigod! Kay!"

The figure in the doorway disappeared. The door slammed itself shut, cutting the light off as if someone had thrown a switch.

Bernie's comment came clearly to Kate from halfway across the room.

"Breakup."

The door banged open again. "They've shot my wife!" a voice yelled from outside. "Somebody help! They've shot my wife!"

"Everybody stay down," Kate said, and got to her knees.

"Katya!" Auntie Vi said. "No!"

"Shugak!" Bobby yelled. "Now is not the time to play hero, goddammit!"

She ignored both of them and snaked a path toward the back of the room, past bodies hugging the floor, hugging beer glasses, hugging pool cues, and one uninhibited couple hugging each other as they took brazen advantage of their suddenly horizontal position. Kate took a second look. The guy was Dandy Mike. It figured.

There were more unintelligible yells from outside, more shots, more thuds as bullets impacted the wall of the Roadhouse and a lot of panicked shouts and questions from inside, chief among which was, "What the fuck is going on?"

Seemed like all day people had wanted the answer to that question.

Someone was crying and someone was cursing and somebody else was screaming and Kate looked up just in time to see the lady tourist from Pennsylvania aim her camera and take a picture. Her husband, wide grin intact, looked as if he'd gotten a bargain in front-row seats to a John Wayne shootout.

"Get down, you damn fools!" Kate shouted.

They took her picture instead.

Kate crawled beneath the television screen, opened the back door a crack and hooked one wary eye over the sill. Nobody shot at her. A belly-scraping slither got her outside and down the steps. She sidled furtively up to the corner and peered around. Nothing, but the yelling was louder. She sidled even more furtively up to the next corner and peered much more cautiously around it.

The yelling resolved itself into words. "You bastards, you shot my wife!" The speaker was kneeling on the steps to the front door, a woman draped over his lap, her left shoulder and breast stained red. He had a pistol in his hand and a feral look in his eye. "You bastards, I'll kill you for this, I'll kill you!"

"You deserve everything you get, you godless heathen!" was the response, a woman's voice, high and shrill and determined. A shot followed and a bullet hit the wall of the Roadhouse not a foot from his head.

"Get down!" Kate snarled. "Goddammit, you asshole, get down!"

He looked her way, half raising his pistol, a .357 magnum. At least it wasn't an automatic; he could only shoot her six times. It wasn't a comforting thought.

Another shot from the parking lot slammed into the building to Kate's left. She jerked back instinctively and banged her head hard enough on a protruding beam to see stars. "Ouch!" There was another shot and another. From the front of the buildin g there was a scrabble of bodies; she hoped it was the man with the pistol hauling his wife beneath the stairs.

Kate, rubbing her aching head, spared a moment to wish that Mutt was with her, so she could have launched an attack on two fronts. In the next moment she was just as glad to be alone, as not even Mutt was immune to bullets. She gathered her courage and peeked around the corner again.

"Mom!" The voice came from a jumble of vehicles a little to her left. "Mom, where are you?"

"I'm over here, Petey!" came the reply. The same woman's shrill voice, hard-edged, coming from somewhere near the Pace Arrow in the parking lot. "Are you okay?"

"Yes! Where's Dad?"

"I don't know! Joe? Joe!"

"Dad! Dad, are you okay? Dad, answer me!"

Under cover of the yelling, Kate slipped out of the shelter of the bar and ducked in between a red Suburban and a construction- orange Dodge pickup. She dropped forward on her hands and looked underneath the Suburban, getting a face full of mud and slush for her pains.

About six vehicles down she saw the bottom half of a body, clad in jeans and shoepacs and holding a rifle into which a pair of hands was feeding bullets. The hands were shaking and dropped every other bullet, but enough were making it into the rifle for the rifle to accomplish its designated task. Shit, Kate thought, and took a detour out to the perimeter of the parking lot. Her feet crunched in the snow and it was only a matter of time before Mom or Petey heard her, not to mention Joe, wherever he was. She had to move fast if she was going to get a handle on the situation before it exploded again.

She jumped when a shot boomed from beneath the front porch of the Roadhouse. Dirty Harry warming up. The other two returned fire, Petey with his rifle, the .30-30 maybe, from the sound of it, more firepower than Kate wanted to go hand to hand against, and Mom with what sounded like a popgun by comparison bu t was probably a .22 and could kill her just as dead at close range. She used their shots to cover the sound of her movements, duck- walking behind the last row of trucks. Her Nikes, soaked once already that day on the airstrip and just beginning to dry out, were soaked again. There was just no justice in the world.

Nothing to be done about it now, but any feeling of mercy she might have had in dealing with the cause of her wet feet died stillborn. A stumbling rush brought her up behind the last vehicle in the row next to the Pace Arrow, an old white International pickup the size of Rhode Island. Three more booms sounded from the Roadhouse's front porch, during which Kate crossed to the Pace Arrow, followed by a pause. Probably reloading. Kate took the opportunity to peer around the corner. A woman in jeans and sweatshirt was on her knees, leaning against the Pace Arrow, her rifle grasped in both hands.

The RV was twenty-five feet long if it was an inch, too long a distance for Kate to rush without Mom hearing, way too long for Kate to get to her before she swung the rifle around. She cast about her for something to even the odds. Nothing but half- melted snow and rotten ice and gluey mud as far as the eye could see.

She looked back at the surface of the lot. Why not? She scooped up a bunch of snow and packed it down, squeezing the muddy liquid out between her fingers, rounding off the edges, shaping the mass into a solid ball of ice, as fine a projectile as an attacker could hope for. She made half a dozen more, stockpiling her arsenal. She waited until Mom was sighting down the barrel before she raised her right arm and threw a fast, hard ball that hit with a solid thump between Mom's shoulder blades.

"What the hell!" Mom was rocked forward on her knees but she didn't drop the rifle. She turned and Kate threw again, as hard as she could, this time connecting with Mom's shoulder.

"Ouch!" Rocked off her knees, Mom sat down hard in the slush, and Kate threw again, this time adjusting trajectory for win d resistance and gravity, this time putting every ounce of force in her body behind it and this time smacking Mom squarely between the eyes. The rifle dropped into the snow, Mom's eyes rolled up in her head and Mom fell face forward into a puddle of slush, out cold.

Kate was rather pleased with herself. She was slightly less pleased when the .357 opened up again, the bullets tearing into the Pace Arrow.

"Mom?" Petey's voice was sounding quavery, which Kate took to be a good sign. "Mom? What are you doing? What do we do now? I shot somebody, Mom!"

Kate got Mom's face out of the slush before she asphyxiated and unloaded the .22, pocketing the bullets and tossing the rifle into the back of someone's pickup. The .30-30 had opened up again, exchanging desultory fire with the .357 under the porch. Crouching down next to the wheel, trying to make herself as small as possible in case the shooting started coming at her from both directions, she raised her voice. "Petey! Petey, stop shooting! And Wayne, if that's you under the porch, you do the same!"

A bullet hit the tire three feet from her head and the air sighed out of it. "Goddammit, you two, this is Kate Shugak!" she roared furiously. "You two idiots put down your weapons! Do it! NOW!"