CH 4
Spirits Revealed
After driving another hour, the three friends found a small Trading Post just off the gravel road, which constituted an old 50's style gas station, the pumps proudly displaying the red flying Pegasus of Mobile Gasoline. A metal sign swung from one of two of its two-link chains in the prairie breeze. It read "Red Man Station" and boasted several dents and holes from someone's rifle and shotgun practice. Right next to the station, and presumably part of the whole "Post" was an ancient looking general store. It sat on a raised wooden sidewalk and smacked of the old West.
Stottlemeyer pulled up to the building several yards behind an old, battered, Chevy pickup. From the looks of the truck, it hadn't been washed in over a decade, the windows having been obscured by dirt and grime along with the rest of the dented body. There were some gunshot holes in that too. Adrian shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the site of the dirt-laden vehicle in front of them.
Stottlemeyer looked at him and knew what was going through his mind. "Don't even think about it."
"Think about what?" Monk asked innocently, tilting his head to the left with a shrug.
"You know what I'm talking about. Look, I'll let you wash my SUV when we get back, okay?"
"Thanks, Leland." Adrian sighed with gratitude.
"No problem," he answered, getting out.
Randy and Adrian followed Leland. As Adrian was about to enter the store, he glanced back at the old pickup, a chill running down his spine. He looked at the truck as if trying to see through the grime. He was drawn to it. He felt something again, that connection. After a long moment, he pulled himself away and entered the store. The store was every bit as old as it appeared to be, complete with wide pine board floors that, like the truck, had probably never seen a good cleaning. All the shelves were made of the same old pine, well-worn from years of traffic. They weren't bare but they could have used a restock. A fan spun lazily above their heads. Adrian tried not to think about the millions of dust particles and pounds of dirt being flung into the atmosphere at that moment. The tin cans on the shelves gave that information away freely.
Stottlemeyer and Randy were already perusing the isle for supplies as Adrian passed the counter. Standing at the counter, waiting patiently to be helped by an absent clerk was an old Native American Indian man. His long black hair was pulled back into a single unbraided pony- tail, down past his shoulders. He wore jeans, a jean jacket, a western shirt, and cowboy boots. Around his neck was a beautiful necklace of bone with a wolf carved into a hard, white stone. Lying on the counter was a supply list. The man looked at the visitor and nodded with a slight smile. Adrian returned the greeting, kindly.
Off in the far corner of the store, five men sat at a small table in a huddle of snickering secrecy. Adrian casually explored the store and when he passed the men, took note of their bald heads and tiny tattooed swastikas on their necks. He came to a bulletin board hanging next to a short hallway. It had only a few announcements. A picnic at someone's ranch, a meeting of "The Brotherhood" and a local rodeo. Nothing too unusual, but nothing that represented the Navajo people either. The detective felt it odd that the store was not Indian run or owned, but that was not as odd as the five out of place skinheads. For hating non-whites so much, they sure picked an interesting place to "hang their hats."
Adrian heard a truck unloading in the back and peeked to his left around the wall on which the bulletin board was hung. He saw two men unloading tools and various sundries to stock the store. He turned back and headed for the counter. He caught Stottlemeyer's eye and gave a nod in the direction of the skinheads. Stottlemeyer nodded once, acknowledging he'd seen them as well.
The clerk, a wirery Caucasian, came from the back of the store, where the delivery was taking place and finally acknowledged the old man's presence, albeit with great disdain.
"We can't fill this order. We don't have anything on this list."
Adrian made his way, slowly to the counter with a case of Sierra Springs and placed it on the counter out of the way. "Excuse me, but, there's a truck out back making a delivery right now. Maybe you saw it, since, you know, you just came from back there," he said.
Stottlemeyer and Randy carried their items for purchase and stood politely behind the old man. The old Indian gave a chuckle, amused that the clerk had been caught. This had been the third time at the store that week and could have been the third time he would have been refused if this visitor hadn't been there.
"You damned Indians!" the clerk spat at Adrian angrily.
This got the attention of the group in the back, and they took their cue, joining the crowd at the counter. They casually pushed their way past Stottlemeyer and Randy, surrounding Adrian and the old man. One of the men, apparently the leader, snatched the list from the counter. "There's nothing on that truck to match this list, is there, Carl?" he snorted.
"That's right," Carl answered.
"I don't think so," Adrian interjected, which brought a shove form one of the skinheads behind him. Stottlemeyer and Randy went on alert at that point.
"Shut up, 'Apple'!" Adrian looked at the man, knowing the derogatory statement from having read about it in his research. The old Indian remained fixed and looking straight ahead. "You Indians think we owe you. Get over it!" the menace snarled.
"I think taking their land at least constitutes an apology. Check your history," Adrian rebuffed and got another shove.
"Sorry!" his aggressor cackled sarcastically. Leland raised his brow, seeing Adrian was rapidly digging a very dangerous hole for himself. His hand instinctively went to his holstered gun.
The leader held up the list in his hands and tore it into tiny pieces and let them flutter to the floor, with a laugh. "No list, no order," he shrugged. The rest of his buddies joined in the laughter.
Stottlemeyer looked at Randy, suggesting it was time to intervene for their friend and the old man. They pushed their way forward and placed their items on the counter. Stottlemeyer looked hard at the clerk.
"I suggest you fill the order. We're paying," he said sternly, flashing his badge.
The clerk, a coward at heart, swallowed hard. The old man looked at Stottlemeyer with a slight smile and nod of thanks, and then looked at the visitor next to him, undeterred by the menacing presence behind him. Adrian nodded back at him.
"Now, why don't you kids go back to your seats?" Stottlemeyer suggested, eyeing each one as if he would be the one to happily kick their butts. Emboldened by his Captain, Randy stood beside him straight, tall, and just as menacing.
"That badge don't mean nothin' out here old man!" the leader warned. Stottlemeyer and Randy pulled their shirts aside to reveal their handguns.
"How about this? Does this carry any meaning to you?"
The leader snorted his displeasure and motioned for his pack to move out. The one behind Adrian gave him one last rough shove.
"Freakin' Indians!" he seethed with all the bravado he could muster.
"Hey!" Stottlemeyer warned, then turned to his best friend. "You alright?"
Monk put his hand up indicating he was, then rubbed his eyebrow with his forefinger. The strange and now evil sense he had in his dream again came at him as he closed his eyes. He jumped slightly and winced. He was beginning to understand that the thick bigotry that surrounded this event was possibly the spirit that kept bombarding him. The old man turned to Stottlemeyer and Randy.
"I am Ben White Wolf," he said offering his hand to them.
They each shook his hand. Randy, eyes wide with wonder, was absolutely blown away at being able to meet a real American Indian.
"It's an honor," Randy said.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," Stottlemeyer smiled happily. "This happen a lot?"
Ben reached into his pocket and placed another slip of paper on the counter. It was a copy of the list that had been destroyed. Stottlemeyer grinned at the man's preparedness and silent answer. Ben then turned to Adrian. "Thank you," he said.
"I'm Adrian. Monk. You're welcome, Ben," he acknowledged, shaking his hand without hesitation. Adrian then stepped aside and watched him head to his truck.
After paying for their items and Ben's, they stepped outside onto the wooden sidewalk and saw Ben had pulled up to the door with his pickup. Stottlemeyer and Randy came out first. As Adrian stepped out of the store, smiling at something Randy had said, he came face to face with the Old Indian Elder from his dream. His expression changed to that of surprise and concern. The Elder's eyes penetrated into Adrian's heart. The Elder spoke in his Native tongue. "This is the man from my dreams. The Great Creator has sent him," Ben translated.
"My father says you have visited his dreams often. The Great Creator has sent you to help us," Ben added. Adrian remained silent, his gaze locked on the Elder's. Randy and Stottlemeyer exchanged a glance of disbelief. The clerk passed by with several boxes, placing them begrudgingly into the back of Ben's pickup.
The Elder said one last word in Navajo. "Hwii'ts'zinnii." Ben only nodded at his father. The two men got into the truck. He gave no translation, so Adrian inquired.
"What did he say?"
"Come and see," Ben invited. Adrian knew that wasn't the translation. Ben pulled away suddenly and the three hurried to Stottlemeyer's SUV to follow.
From behind the side of the building, the group of skinheads stepped out, as the dust from the vehicles obscured their appearance. They did not like what they saw.
The sun was setting, casting a brilliant deep, red glow on the mesas as the small convoy pulled into what appeared to be a village, frozen in the early 1900's. Ten hexagonal Hagans dotted the landscape in a circle around a large open area. Four Hagans actually had an active fire inside, indicated by the smoke rising out of their chimneys. As the men exited the vehicle, they looked around in wonder. Adrian scanned the camp that was sparsely populated. Ben motioned for Adrian, Stottlemeyer and Randy to follow him. He led them to a Hogan on the East side of the circle and threw back the large blanket that served as a door for the entrance.
"This is for you. Not the Ramada, but the linens are clean," he joked. "Settle in and wait for me."
Randy eagerly explored his new temporary digs. Adrian looked at Stottlemeyer, considering sleeping in the car, rather than on the ground, but decided it was best not to offend their hosts. Stottlemeyer twisted his mustache and shrugged at his friend. Adrian stepped into the semi dark, round, mud, and log structure and was almost pleased with how neat everything was arranged. Not that there was much to arrange. The room was 23 feet in diameter, and a wood stove sat on the East side with a pipe snaking up to a hole in the ceiling to draw out the smoke. He had seen pictures of Hogans but now to be in the real thing was something entirely different. He hadn't expected such efficiency. The temperature was amazingly cool, compared to the heat outside. He decided he might be comfortable with mud, as long as he didn't have to live with it for too long. There were cots on each wall and a single cabinet to hold essentials.
Stottlemeyer and Randy went to the SUV to get their sleeping bags and lanterns. Adrian stepped outside in the last rays of light and scanned the camp again. When Stottlemeyer and Randy returned to the building, he had an interesting question for them.
"Leland, where are the children and the adults? All I see are elders."
Stottlemeyer looked around. He hadn't really noticed, but he hadn't taken the time to notice either. "That's a good question," Stottlemeyer replied giving a cursory glance around.
It was two hours later, at about 9pm, before Ben came for them. It had taken that long for Adrian to set the Hogan up in a comfortable arrangement, so he'd be able to sleep.
Ben threw the blanket back and put his lantern in the doorway. "Come on," he invited. The three men looked at each other, then to Ben and followed him. He led them to a small, but comfortable fire at the center of the camp where the eldest Indian from the truck sat waiting for them. "Sit," Ben instructed. Randy sat on the ground, eagerly, crossing his legs "Indian style" as he had as a child. Stottlemeyer took a nearby stump and Monk remained standing. He wasn't quite prepared to sit on Nature just yet, however, the Elder's eyes settled on him, and his haunting stare grabbed his attention. He shifted his neck and shoulders as if trying to work out a kink, then sat on a log positioned in front of the fire. A vision of the Elder on his horse flashed before him, then the dancing circle, the mournful song, then the unseen, uncomfortable presence. It all caused Adrian to jerk and squeeze his eyes shut quickly. He had to break the gaze and averted his eyes to the ground. After a moment of awkward silence, Adrian looked up and asked the question nagging at his mind. "Where are your children, and their parents?"
"That's what we were hoping you could tell us. About six months ago, each family just disappeared." Ben replied. "They'd go out to the Post and never return. Several months ago, those skinheads moved here. We think they have something to do with it."
The Elder leaned over to Ben and said something, then straightened and spoke in Navajo. "He has occupied my dreams many nights. He has the answer, or else the Great Creator would not have sent him to us."
"My father, Thomas, says you have the answer, or else the Great Creator would not have sent you to us. He says, you have occupied his dreams for many nights."
Monk nodded, "I have seen him in my dreams as well," he confessed.
Randy's eyes opened wide again and Stottlemeyer's were growing wider by the second at the conversation taking place.
Thomas continued "The answer is out there," he said sweeping his hand out to the sky and beyond the camp. "But you must answer the questions inside of you, first. A dark cloud hides the answers. The cloud is fear. You must face the fear with love. Love will chase the fear away," he said. Ben interpreted.
Monk nodded slightly, taking it all in. "How?"
"You have a woman who has love to give you. You have love to give her." Thomas explained, after Ben told him Adrian's query. "Do not hold back." Ben translated everything for Thomas as he rarely spoke English.
Stottlemeyer looked at Adrian, with a raised eyebrow as if confirming something everyone knew, but Adrian himself. Randy sat, nodding as well.
Ben then listened to his father as he spoke quietly to him and nodded. "The three of you will help each other as you search for our people. You will also look for the person inside of you. The white man doesn't know himself. You must know in order to be successful at anything. The Creator has a vision of who you are, inside," he said, putting a hand over his heart. "The Creator will send you guides."
"Guides?" Randy asked with extreme curiosity.
"They are animals. They will connect with your spirits and help you find your way," Ben explained "You will know them when they meet you. And you will return with the truth and a new name."
"Sweet!" Randy said excitedly looking to his friends.
Ben's father leaned over to his son again and Ben rose from his seat at the fire and walked away for a few moments, disappearing into the shadows of the surrounding camp. A moment later he reappeared with a teenaged boy of about sixteen years.
"This is Daniel Little Wolf. He is my grandson," Ben introduced.
"Where are his parents?" Adrian asked, looking at the boy. His countenance was stern, yet sad, and very distrusting. Adrian felt a pain in his heart. Not a physical pain, but a pain of loss. He already knew the answer, somehow. "His parents are dead," he said, answering aloud, his own question.
Ben and Thomas looked at him. "Hwii'ts'zinnii," Thomas said in Navajo.
Adrian looked at the elder again, then to Ben. "When the right time comes, he will tell you what it means," Ben assured him.
Adrian smiled weakly, remembering a promise to Natalie about 'the right time'. As he thought of her, he realized how much he missed her.
"What happened to Daniel?" Adrian redirected.
"He saw his parents, my son and daughter in-law being murdered, six years ago. He has not spoken since." Daniel stared at Adrian, but his stare was soft and hopeful, almost pleading.
Thomas, rose from his seat. He walked over to Adrian. "Let it go. You must love, so you may live," he spoke in Navajo, putting his hand over Adrian's heart without touching him.
Adrian and Thomas held each other's stare. Somehow, the detective knew what he said, not in its completeness, but in its essence. Thomas then turned and walked slowly off into the darkness of the camp.
Ben came up to the three men who were now all on their feet. "Goodnight. We will see you in the morning," he said and headed to his Hogan. He stopped and turned. "May the Great Creator give you good dreams," he added, then disappeared across the village.
Stottlemeyer and Randy moved toward their Hogan, but Adrian Monk stood fixed, facing Daniel from across the flames. Randy ducked into the Hogan.
Stottlemeyer stopped just before entering and looked back at his friend who was illuminated by the fire. "Hey, Monk," he called softly. "Come on, buddy. Get some sleep."
The detective didn't say a thing but turned and looked at his friend for a moment. Stottlemeyer couldn't read his expression, but he knew what his mind must have been processing at that moment. Stottlemeyer walked over to him and put an arm around his shoulder. He looked at Daniel. "Good meeting you, Daniel," he said awkwardly, and nodded with a friendly smile. Daniel turned, taking the path from the fire his grandfather had.
