English.”
Sedge said, “White Giant, the White Shadow Wolf.”
Service ignored her, said to the pony-tailed man, “You Katsu?”
The man nodded. “One seed of many planted by Huronicus St. Andrew, master manipulator.”
“Santinaw told me the sand is bleeding.”
“Obviously not for him, or he’d be here as a matter of honor.”
Service held up his hands. “Listen, I haven’t got a clue what any of this is about, or even what the hell ‘bleeding sand’ is. Your old man asked me to come see you, and here I am.”
Sedge said, “White Giant super dick rides in to rescue incompetent rookie CO and savage Shinobs.”
The chip on her shoulder wouldn’t fit into the bed of an oversized pickup truck.
Service added, “Santinaw doesn’t send anyone without a good reason. ’Course, sometimes he’s not too damn good about saying what those reasons are.”
Katsu chuckled and once again held out the cigar. “That’s Santinaw, the backwoods puppetmaster—certain he’s pulling all the strings, even when they don’t exist.”
Service accepted the cigar and lit it. “
Megwetch
,” he said with a head nod. “Thanks.”
Katsu offered nothing to Sedge, who harrumphed indignance.
As it grew lighter, Service saw that all the men with Katsu were painted, some of them frighteningly so.
“This public land?” Service asked after a while.
“Define ‘public,’ ” Duncan Katsu said. “There’s been Anishinaabeg here since time began.”
“Bullshit,” Sedge interjected. “If you’re referring to your people, they have
not
been in this area since time began. They migrated from northeast Canada around 1500 and pushed the Sioux westward over a hundred years or so. Your ancestors were interlopers, same as the Europeans. You, me, us—same-same, dude; run people off, take over their property.”
“You gonna bust us for trespass?” Katsu asked in a challenging voice.
Service said, “Hell, I don’t know exactly where I am, which means if you’re trespassing, I guess I am too.” He added, “You want to ask your people to all step up where I can see them? I don’t much like people hanging back in the dark when I’m in the light. Nothing personal. Think of it as an occupational courtesy.”
Katsu’s people spread out until Service counted twenty-four of them, all decked out in breechcloths or deerskin leggings, their loosened hair long, with lots of feathers, and more than a few traditional weapons, the curved clubs called “breakheads” looking especially lethal. All of the people wore paint in a wide variety of designs, but the colors tended mostly to be black and red, like Katsu’s, and Service wondered if this was meant to signify something.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say this looks like a war party,” Service said.
“Could come to that,” Katsu said. “If the others choose, we’ll happily oblige.”
Katsu glared at Sedge.
What others?
“As in
your
others, or
other
others?” Service asked.
Katsu said, “You wear a badge. It should be obvious.”
Little about tribals was ever obvious, and about the time you thought itwas, they knocked you off balance with subtleties so deep they were often inexplicable, and certainly unfathomable to one not raised in Native traditions. “I can’t even solve my granddaughter’s jigsaw puzzles,” Service said. “And she’s just going on three.”
“A white member of the Shadow Wolves can’t figure things out?” Katsu said, leering at him. “That’s bullshit,
wabish
.”
“Yeah, total bullshit,” Jingo Sedge added.
“No, it’s apples and oranges,” Service countered.
God, Sedge is a total pain in the ass. Like a damn Jack Russell always on the attack
.
At that moment Service heard a poorly muffled ATV coming down the beach toward them. Katsu’s painted and feathered people immediately charged eastward, screaming.
Sedge surged after the group and Service followed. She somehow got past the lead Ojibwa and charged into a man
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley