Chapter 12: Adverse Outcomes

“Dude, I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Alan exclaimed in his ear. “And you’re telling me that skinny black dude with the suave pimp suits did this?”

It was New Year’s Day and Peter had just faxed some sample pages from the ledger to the Korean supergeek. He was seated behind Sue’s desk in the run-down trading post. The small store had been filled to the rafters with miscellaneous items before she had hooked up with the trader. Now there was barely room to move around, with the addition of her wares from her Holbrook shop where she processed and sold petrified wood. She had a computer with a modem, allowing it to log onto the internet. She also had a fax machine that enabled him to photocopy and send the pages to his childhood friend.

“Yep, blows my mind too,” he replied as he sat back in the squeaky swivel chair. “So, what can you make of it?” The phone was sitting next to her keyboard, on speaker.

“Damn, Sonny, give me a sec,” the Asian sensation muttered. “One thing that stands out is those breaks you mentioned. Hold on, dude, let me study this for a sec...” There was a long pause and then a sigh. “Y’know what? I need a minute with this. Let me call you back in a few, that squeaking chair is riding on my nerves.” He hung up abruptly and Peter ceased his impatient rocking with a guilty expression.

Sue reappeared and handed him some coffee in a paper cup. “Did it go through?” she asked casually.

He nodded and sipped his drink appreciatively. “He’s a little sensitive sometimes,” he replied. “I made him mad with my squeaking.” He leaned back in the old wooden swivel chair grinning as it squeaked noisily.

“He’s gotta be pretty smart if he can make anything out of this,” she remarked as she touched the open page of the ledger.

“Calling Al ‘pretty smart’ is sort of like comparing that Kachina doll to a live grizzly bear,” he smiled as he recalled their numerous debates and arguments over the years. “This guy’s brain works on a level utterly...” he stopped when his phone buzzed. He reached over to answer it, “Go, for Shoe.”

“Dude, a couple of things right off the bat,” the Korean boy answered.

“Talk to me Goose,” Peter replied sitting forward carefully.

“Well for starters, you’re pimp-stylin’ friend was left-handed. And he wrote each of these pages from right to left which is ... just fucking crazy when you think about it.”

He caught a faint whiff of Sue’s perfume as she leaned over the ledger beside him nearly touching cheeks.

“Also, even though he wrote right to left, the pages progress numerically from front to back.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Hell, if I know,” he heard. “But the text pattern gives us a clue which brings up my next question — was Jeremiah a polymath? Do you know if he was fluent in any other languages ... besides French? Like maybe Sanskrit?”

Peter furrowed his brow. “I don’t know. Maybe his assistant does. Let’s just assume for now that he was and did,” he replied cautiously. “Where are you going with this? Why Sanskrit?”

“I think this is a fracture cipher.”

Peter and Sue looked at each other with matching looks of bewilderment.

“What the what?”

“You know, like when we were kids, we would break the letters of the alphabet into pieces ... the letter K became a vertical line and a ‘less than’ sign. Except this is not in English.”

Peter shook his head in amazement as he studied the characters in this new light.

“Take the first page you sent me and the first four characters in the upper right corner,” Alan stated. “When you link them together in the logical pattern as they appear they become a totally different character.”

Peter grabbed a pen and quickly sketched the first character by placing each of the ‘fractures’ in place. “Holy shit! How’d you figure that out so fast?”

“Because I’m smarter than you,” came the confident response which made Sue giggle silently.

“Yeah, but I’ve never seen a character like that,” he responded dubiously.

“I have,” his friend replied smugly. “That’s why I asked you if he knew Sanskrit or one of its derivatives.”

Peter dipped his head in frustration and then gazed over at Sue with a patient smile. “Okay dude, you’ve proven that you’re smarter. Now can you dumb it down for a mere mortal?”

There was a snort on the other end. “Look, I’ll be honest with you, Sonny. I may just be pulling this out of my butt right now. But so far, I’ve worked out ... one, two, three...” he paused for a nanosecond, “twelve characters that are unique to Urdu, or Devanagari which both use Sanskrit style lettering. And from what I can see here, there are dozens more.”

Peter rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and saw the woman beside him swipe her hand over her head with a bewildered shake. He covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “Oh he’s just getting started. Now he wants me to work for it.” Into the phone, he replied, “But there are only twenty-six letters in the alphabet.”

“In the English alphabet,” the Korean boy stated smugly.

Peter sighed. “And how many letters are there in Sanskrit?” He glanced at Sue and pointed at the phone, ‘wait for it... ‘ he mouthed.

“Fifty-four,” Alan replied quickly, “Ten vowels, or svaras, and forty-four consonants, called vyansas.”

He whistled. “Still, that doesn’t seem too bad,” he mused. “Only about twice as many letters to figure...”

“Four times,” he heard over the speaker.

“What? Why?” he demanded.

“Because in Hindi tradition, each letter has a masculine and feminine variant. Or Shiva and Shakti respectively.”

Sue put a comforting hand on his shoulder as he grabbed his face with his free hand. “Dude, you’re killing me here!”

“Hey I gave you something to go on, didn’t I? I hope it leads you somewhere.”

“You’re gonna help me with this right?”

“Sonny, I can’t,” his friend replied, sounding apologetic. “Seriously, dude. I’m up to my ass in alligators right now. I already spent too much time away from my studying with this.”

“But, how am I supposed to know if it’s Krav Maga or Urdu or...”

“Devanagari,” Al corrected. “And I’d go with Urdu first.”

“Why?”

“Because he wrote it right to left, stupid!”

“What does that have to do with the price of rice in China?” Peter groaned as he rubbed his temples.

“You’ll have to ask your friend,” he heard quietly. “But by following the traditional Babylonian cuneiforms, it suggests Urdu rather than Devanagari.”

“Babylonian what?”

They heard a sigh. “Look it’s not germane, okay? But in ancient Babylonian times, they used scribes to etch letters into stone tablets. Most scribes were right-handed, dig?” They could hear the impatience in his voice. “So, the scribe would hold the mallet in his right hand and the chisel in his left. The natural tendency therefore was to carve letters from right to left.”

“I ... see,” he replied.

“It’s worse for you because I don’t know of any programming language that translates from Urdu, so you are gonna have to do it all with pen and paper until you figure it out.”

Peter buried his face in his hands and groaned.

Fifteen minutes later he logged off her computer and rose to leave. “Do you mind if I have a few packages delivered here?” he asked as he gathered the ledger and his notes. “I am going to have to build a new computer and I don’t think UPS or FedEx will go all the way out to Len’s.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Sue replied from the front counter where she was making sandwiches for herself and Bradly. “Why did he keep calling you, Sonny?”

Peter smiled, “It’s a stupid little thing he made up when Kathy and I started dating,” he explained. “I’m Sonny, she’s Cher.”

She clapped her hands and giggled delightfully, “Oh I totally see it!”

“You guys are gonna have to expand things a bit if you’re gonna go into business together,” he remarked as he squeezed between two loaded shelving units.

“Actually,” she replied, suddenly reticent, “That was something that we wanted to talk with you about.”

Standing in front of the counter he could tell that her husband didn’t share her enthusiasm. He looked down and appeared exceedingly uncomfortable all of a sudden.

Peter took a stool across from them and set his ledger and notes aside. Sue handed him a baloney sandwich and pulled a Coke from the cooler. “What’s up?” he asked.

“You’re right,” she sighed as she put together another sandwich and handed it to her husband. “About this shop.” She paused as she made herself a sandwich and cut it in half. “It’s too old and beat up for our needs. There’s no way to upgrade or remodel the place without tearing it down and — because of the Chamber of Elders next door — it’s a historic landmark.” She took a small bite and chewed thoughtfully. “We need a bigger place, closer to town.” Bradly remained conspicuously silent as she spoke her piece.

“What did you have in mind?” Peter asked.

She looked at her husband and sighed, resigned to going it alone. “Maybe leasing a bigger building near the river, over on Potter.”

Peter pictured the area in his head and made a subtle wince.

“What?” She asked.

“Not a very active area for tourist exposure,” he replied.

“Yeah, but it’s not so expensive as to force us to put our stuff in storage either,” she replied.

“How much traffic goes by your shop in Holbrook?”

She shrugged. “It’s constant. I’m located right on the main thoroughfare.”

“That’s my point,” he replied. “Down by the fishery, you might be lucky to see more than a dozen cars a day.”

“What do you propose?” she asked, setting her food aside. Bradly gazed at him quietly.

“Do you have a map of the area?” he asked, making room on the counter. Sue grabbed one and placed it before him. He pointed to an intersection half a mile north of their current location.

“There’s nothing there,” Bradly finally spoke up.

“Exactly,” Peter replied. “That would be a perfect spot to build your new Trading Post.”

“Build?” Sue gasped. “Honey, we can’t afford to build, anything...”

He smiled as he took another bite of his sandwich. “You wanted my help, didn’t you?” he asked as he chewed.

“Yeah, but with a lease,” she exclaimed.

“Look guys,” he said confidently. “You need to think bigger. Picture that intersection and imagine all the potential.” He tore a sheet of paper from his notebook and sketched a four-way crossroad on it. “What could you put here if you had the means?” he asked them. “Think big. A gas station? Maybe across from it put in a Maverik franchise,” he drew in some squares for buildings. “Can you see something like that in your mind’s eye?” he asked.

Both of them nodded dubiously.

“Across the road from Maverik would be a great location for your rock shop and trading post,” he added the building to the paper. “What else would fit in around here?” He quizzed them as he continued sketching rapidly. “A carwash? Tourists love having clean cars after driving around a dusty Rez. Where is the closest laundry mat? That would fit perfectly next to the carwash, don’t you think?” He chewed his lip as he continued sketching. “Now think even bigger. How about a restaurant, or a bar and grill? Call it... ‘Scalps’,” he grinned as he added the bigger building in the only remaining corner.

He spun the paper around and set the pencil atop it. “You gotta think big.”

Sue gazed at her husband and sighed with a defeated expression. “It sounds wonderful,” she said softly. “But you are talking about tens of thousands of dollars...”

Peter pursed his lip, “Probably hundreds of thousands, maybe even a million or more.” He snapped his fingers and snatched the paper back. “You know every time I come into town, I see at least a handful of folks selling their wares on the side of the road.” He drew a big circle behind the trading post. “Wouldn’t it be great to offer them a free venue ... an open market, where they could set up tables and not have to lay their pots and jewelry on towels in the dirt?”

Brad nodded, “My brother Zeb sells blankets and belts down by the airport.”

Sue was holding her head with both her hands, shaking it side to side. “But? How?” she exclaimed. “Where do you even begin?”

Peter hooked his thumb toward the building next door. “We start by purchasing that entire lot. Every bit of it. That goes through them. Maybe tribal law prevents the sale of the land if it’s zoned for something like agriculture or housing. So, we would have to petition to rezone it for commercial use. Maybe they will just give it to us on the condition that a percentage of the proceeds finds its way into the tribal council coffers.

“I won’t lie, I don’t know much about that. But there are people we can hire who do. But it comes down to one simple thing. They have something we want so we have to offer them something they want. Maybe it is money, maybe a newer contemporary Chamber of Elders, overlooking the river. Maybe they would like an expanded Native cultural center added to the high school,” he shrugged his shoulders. “It all comes down to communication and negotiation.” He tapped his eyebrow. “But always with your eye on the prize.”

Sue blew out her air in frustration and slumped back in her seat. “Now you are talking millions of dollars,” she sighed.

“Yes, probably so,” he replied casually. They both stared at him incredulously.

“Jesus, Pete,” Bradly quipped in his deep voice. “What exactly are you trying to say here?”

Peter calmly leaned forward and looked at each of them directly. “Guys, I’m with you. I’m One hundred percent behind you on this.”

“How can you come up with that kind of money though,” Sue asked incredulously.

He smiled. “You already know the answer to that.”

Her cheeks developed a reddish shade as she looked down. “I ... there has been talk. After you bought Lenna’s home, the truck, and everything, we all figured you were...”

“Stinking rich?” he smirked.

Bradly stared at him suspiciously. “Brother, are you really buying a castle over in Europe or thereabouts?”

Peter pursed his lips and slowly nodded. “Not exactly,” he replied. “I am a venture capitalist and I’m working with a couple of partners. We pool our resources to invest in real estate, develop it, and make money off it.”

“How do you make money off a castle?” Sue asked as she gawked at him.

“We are actually buying an island,” he replied casually. “There just happens to be a castle on it. Along with a couple thousand sheep and some fishermen who could use a helping hand to market a particular savory brand of kippers,” he made a face and shuddered.

“An ... island,” Brad stated.

“So, this,” she pointed at the paper. “You’re truly serious about this.”

He nodded. “As an investor, I look for ventures that have the potential for the most growth and offer the greatest opportunity for the surrounding community.” He tapped the sketch, “This could help out a lot of people in a lot of different ways.”

She nodded and gazed at the drawing, wistfully. “I know you are right, Peter. It just seems so ... fantastical.”

“Look,” he replied. “I don’t have a crystal ball in my pocket, but I can offer you a pretty sure bet here. Look ahead a decade.” He tapped the sketched intersection. “Someone will buy up that land and develop it and make a ton of money leasing out the houses, buildings, shops, or whatever they put there. Can you see that?”

They both nodded.

“So why can’t or shouldn’t it be the two of you?”

They stared at each other in disbelief.

“But, how would it all work?” she asked him as she struggled to come to terms with his proposal. “You would just pay for all of this upfront in exchange for what? How much of a percentage would you need to justify your ... capital venturing?”

He sat back and pondered her question for a moment while they gazed at him uncertainly. They both saw the phenomenon that Kathy and Lenna had mentioned where he appeared to age before their eyes.

“All I ask in return is three things,” he replied firmly. “First, I asked that you call the development ‘Kathy’s Corner’.”

Sue gasped and put a hand to her mouth.

“Second, everything you develop you do for the betterment of the Whiteriver community. Like that open market.”

He could tell that she was struggling to keep her composure as tears filled her eyes. Bradly had become still as a statue as he listened.

“And third, I want a lifetime supply of frybread.”

Snowball had been lying asleep in a wide sunny spot in the living room, with her three remaining adolescent pups, when they all bolted to their feet, barking and growling excitedly. Peter was seated on his and Kathy’s bed with the ledger and several notebooks and ignored the outcry as they scrambled through the doggy gate onto the deck. A sudden frantic bleating distracted him from his work and he glanced toward the window. It was Lenna’s outraged scream that brought him to his feet and out into the living room. The side door from the kitchen was slowly drawing closed when the loud blast of a shotgun boomed from just beyond. With his heart in his throat, he dashed to the door and stepped outside just in time to see three woolly butts disappear over a rise with four eager canines giving chase. A cloud of gun smoke dissipated slowly as the woman lowered the gun. She stared beyond the deck and gave a harsh cry of dismay.

“Mother fucker!” she screamed angrily as she slammed the shotgun onto the deck rail and stormed down the side steps toward the ruins of her small garden. Peter stepped over to the rail and gasped at the wreckage. “I’m gonna kill the fucking pig-eater!” she yelled in a strangled voice as she stooped to examine what remained of her winter squash and cabbages. There was nothing but torn-up dirt and scattered vines and foliage.

Charity joined him on the deck and covered her mouth with her hands as she gaped wide-eyed at the destruction.

‘Might not be the best time to ask her how she feels about some new sheep,’ he thought to himself as he studied what remained of her once vibrant garden. The fence that had surrounded the small plot had been trampled, and the metal stakes that once supported it lay bent over and twisted. They could hear the excited barks echoing from the far side of the rise as the four mutts gave chase to the offending sheep. The sharp crack of a rifle echoed from over the rise, followed quickly by a second. The barks turned into frightened yelps and Charity screamed in dismay as she bolted for the gate.

“Char! No!” Peter cried out fearfully as the teenager dashed through the once garden, racing across the sparse rise toward the terrified yips of her dogs. He grabbed Lenna’s arm as she ran for the shotgun. “No!” he yelled as she gazed back at him with fear in her eyes. “No more shooting!” The barks grew louder as they stared and the four white and gray shapes quickly appeared rushing toward the girl who dropped to her knees to welcome them with hugs and kisses. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned just as Kathy stepped onto the deck. She had returned from her hair appointment with Trink. “Were those gunshots I heard?” she asked with concern as she carried two large grocery sacks in her arms. Her eyes grew wide as she spotted the wreckage of the garden, “Oh, my God!” she subconsciously handed the sacks to Peter as she passed him. “What in the world?”

“A bunch of sheep broke down the fence and had a smorgasbord,” he answered as he turned to take the bags inside. Another gunshot sounded off in the distance and he grimaced as he dumped the bags on the table and ran back outside.

“Charity, come back!” Kathy yelled with her hands cupped around her mouth.

He saw the girl holding two of the pups in her arms while the other two led the way back to the house.

“What the fuck?” he grumbled angrily as he stepped off the porch and began jogging towards the rise.

“Peter! Don’t!” Lenna cried after him. “It’s old man Begay and he’s in a killing mood!”

“Peter!” Kathy shouted after him more frantically.

He raced past Charity with an encouraging nod and disappeared over the rise.

“We need to call the tribal police!” Kathy insisted as she wrung her hands.

Lenna snorted as she took up the shotgun once more. “Like they’re so helpful,” she griped.

Charity skipped up the steps and shooed her dogs into the house entering after them. “I’m locking the dog gate,” she panted as she slid the kitchen door closed.

“Sheep did this?” Kathy gazed in aghast at the destruction.

“It’s all they do,” Lenna retorted. “I can’t stand the damn things. All they do is stink, eat, and shit!”

The kitchen door slid open again and Charity rejoined the two women. “That fucker’s gonna pay for shooting at my dogs!” she hissed.

“Where does he even live?” Kathy asked sweeping her hand toward the rise. “There’s nothing out there for miles.”

Lenna pointed to the northwest. “His hogan is a couple of miles over there,” she replied dismissively. “Who knows what his animals were doing down there.”

“Look!” the girl pointed. They all turned to see two figures appear at the top of the rise. One was Peter, standing beside a shorter, stockier man. Peter was carrying a rifle in his hand. The women watched them approach and Lenna began spitting and cursing under her breath as they drew closer.

Finally, she grew impatient and swung her arms around wildly, “Look at what your goddam sheep did to my garden!” she yelled across the field toward them. Peter held up his hand in a quelling gesture and she bit off her next words.

The man who accompanied him could have been a character straight out of an old John Ford film. He was ancient, to say the least, with dark wrinkled skin and a face frozen into a caricature of eternal strife and hard living. His clothes were threadbare but bulky as if he kept adding layers as they wore out. He wore a patchy woolen sheepskin around his shoulders with a ragged brimless hat. His feet were covered by long strips of hide that wound around his calves, up to his knees.

As soon as they were in earshot he began cursing and yelling out unintelligently, shaking a fist at Lenna who bristled at his verbal attack and started to retaliate. Peter raised his hand again in a placating manner and uttered a single word in Navajo that silenced the old man.

“Why did you bring that filthy bastard here?” she demanded turning her rage onto him. Kathy placed a light hand on her shoulder but she shook it off angrily.

“What did he say, babe?” Kathy asked as he led the man into the ruined garden where he glanced around without expression.

Peter leaned the rifle against the deck rail and gave Lenna a sharp look, prompting her to set her shotgun back down as well. “He is upset because the dogs chased his sheep across the chasm back there.” He was referring to a rift in the ground caused by rushing water that eroded the soil, leaving a steep jagged gully. The rents were typical of the land and the locals referred to them as arroyos. “All of the flock made it over except for one that he had to put down because it shattered its legs when it fell in.”

Kathy gasped but Lenna and Charity scoffed without concern.

“Serves him right for letting them graze this far,” the teenager muttered.

The old Navajo lifted a finger at her and muttered something back at her with disdain. His voice was surprisingly high-pitched.

Peter stifled a grin as he translated, “He says you are but a child who speaks with your mouth and not your head.”

Charity responded with her middle finger.

“Why did you bring him here?” Lenna demanded. “He is not welcome in my home, or on my land.”

“Will you please just stop?” he asked with a frustrated tone. “And Listen?” He stared directly into her angry eyes, daring her to challenge him. “Or will you continue talking with your mouth too?” He ignored the shock and indignation that flashed across her face and continued, “He never meant for his sheep to wander this far. They escaped from their paddock...”

“Then he should have built a stronger one...” she snapped back, then her words froze in her throat as he stared intently at her.

“As I was saying ... they escaped because the rails were knocked down, by a group of ‘punks’,” he continued firmly, “Right after they set fire to his hogan.”

“What?” Kathy gasped. “Who? When?” she snapped angrily. “Why?”

“That is what I am hoping to get to the bottom of,” he replied calmly, glancing at Lenna once more. Her expression was distraught as if she were at odds with her emotions. “May we come inside?”

Charity turned to stare back down at the two of them with a guilty expression while her aunt grumbled to herself as she considered the implications of everything she had just heard. Finally, she sighed and grabbed her shotgun back off the rail. “Yeah, I suppose,” she muttered as she turned to the sliding door. She stepped inside and set the shotgun on its rack by the doorway. “Come in!” she griped with finality as she backed into the kitchen. She glanced down at the ancient Indian’s muddy feet. With a shake of her head, she turned to make coffee. “Never mind, just come in,” she muttered.

Peter stepped over to join her as she made a fresh pot of coffee, using some of the blends Kathy brought her from New Orleans. “Thank you,” he told her earnestly with a low voice.

She blew a lock of hair out of her face, “You have no idea what you are asking of me.”

He grabbed her by her shoulders and gently turned her toward him. “I get that there is history here,” he muttered firmly. “And I get you are pissed as hell about your garden. But do me a favor and please try to keep an open mind.” He gazed into each of her eyes. “You have every right to be mad, Len, I just want you to direct your anger in the right direction.”

As she gazed back at him, he saw her eyes soften. She sighed in resignation before lowering her face and pressing her forehead into his chest submissively. He hugged her briefly and released her.

“Thank you again. Could you also call your cousin? Explain to him what you know and ask him to bring Sue here,” he asked. “I can’t understand half of what he is saying.”

Charity grew bored and returned to her room to draw (she was proving to be a gifted sketch artist). When that failed to settle her she turned to her portable CD player and headphones. Once C+C Music Factory was blasting through her ears she began her typical crazy dance which led her back out into the living room singing, “Everybody Dance Now” as she stomped her groove and whirled around people and furniture.

She caught Old Begay staring at her and she sidled across the room toward him, strutting and shaking provocatively until she struck a pose between him and Peter. “Give me the music!” she cried out in her high-pitched imitation of Zelma Davis, as she reached for the ceiling and spun around.

Kathy giggled while Lenna shook her head at the girl’s antics. Both of them stood in the kitchen preparing Indian tacos for lunch.

The teenager froze facing the old man and slipped the headphones down to her neck. He stared back at her and glanced curiously at the CD play in her hand. “Ain’t you ever heard Pop Dance, Grandpa?” she asked him blatantly.

“Honey, I doubt he’s ever heard headphones before,” Lenna replied.

“Huh,” Charity muttered pulling them off her neck. She stopped the song, pondering the playlist in her hand. “Let’s start you off with some Mariah then. Might as well experience the greatest voice in history for the first time,” she muttered. Setting the player on the table before him, she placed the earphones over his head, ensuring that they covered his ears properly. “There we go...” she murmured. “Ready Grandpa? Hold on tight.” She pressed the play button and stepped back to watch.

Peter surreptitiously reached over and took the steaming coffee cup from the old man’s hands, setting it on the coaster before him.

The ancient Navajo blinked several times and then he’s eyes grew wide as the music began. He sat up sharply and began looking around wildly. Charity giggled delightfully as he glanced up and down trying to locate the source of voices singing inside his head. She began grooving to the whisper-quiet sound that leaked around the earphones. She shook her finger at him with her best Mariah impersonation as she mouthed the lyrics back at him. Peter grinned at his incredulous expression as he touched the foamy cushions touching his ears.

“Brad and Sue are here,” Lenna called as the dirty truck appeared from around the bend behind the house.

“Sorry, grampa,” Charity murmured as she halted the music and pulled the headphones off his ears. She patted his head before turning to skip into the kitchen. The doors to the truck could be heard closing out front and the dogs began barking excitedly just to assure everyone they were still relevant. They grew instantly quiet with a sharp whistle from Peter.

A disheveled and cross-looking Nana Shima limped into the room, her dark eyes bearing down on the old man seated at the table. Lenna moaned and placed a hand over her face as the couple followed her inside and began removing their coats. “I told you not to bring her!” she grumbled at Sue as she removed the old woman’s heavy shawl, while she glared balefully at the old Navajo.