The United States of Americans

By jmax young

Officer Eric Ruiz responded to the frantic call from the campground on his reservation. As a Native American policeman, he was used to calls regarding typical reservation crime, theft, brawling, as well as domestic and foreign violence, mostly fueled by alcohol. But this call started the metamorphosis that would transform Officer Ruiz completely to his real identity, Swift Deer. And there was never a large enough can of frijoles opened to predict the events this vicious crime would set in motion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781644626597

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The United States of Americans

jmax young

Copyright © 2019 jmax young

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2019

ISBN 978-1-64462-657-3 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64462-658-0 (Hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-64462-659-7 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

The Massacre in the Village

The Military Responds

Back at the Massacre Site or Thereabouts

The Old Navajo

The Massacre in the Village

The Conspirators

The Military Responds

The Massacre in the Village, Redux

The Casino

Military

The Conspirators

Casinos

The Massacre

Iron Eagle

Lieutenant Virginia Wallace

Donny Bismarck

Watson

Cactus Fighter

Colonel Sprague

A Military Base

What you have inherited from your fathers, earn over again for yourselves or it will not be yours.

—Goethe

Other stuff by jmax young (give or take a few)

The She Devil from Fire Island

Ribald Reader Trilogy

The Ribald Reader

The Ribald Revolutionary

The Ribald Roamer

A Stroll in the Park

Ash Street with Attitude*

Some Beech Street Business*

Cedar Streeters are Old*

Wanna Date!?*

Birdy Head Trilogy

Birdy Heads

Birdy Brains

Birds of a Further

The Great Maine Down East Revue and Medicine Show

The Prism

*A Denise Delgardo Adventure

The Massacre in the Village

* * *

Swift Deer

The tribe had issued the old jeep as my transport and at its age, it showed its displeasure as I raced toward the hectic source of the 911 call. Running Doe’s message was filled with static but seemed to speak of some horror inside the tourist campground. Horror at the campground usually was limited to an excess of drugs and/or alcohol by my drunken brethren, screaming through the tent sites and motorized camper sites, vowing revenge for whatever massacre of us by whatever group of white men the drunks could remember at the time.

I was the second vehicle to respond. Bad Elk (Sergeant Camino) arrived just before I did. Running Doe must have been in some sort of panic mode to request the both of us. He was huddled over a fire circle, outside of an expensive-looking tent.

I hope you skipped lunch.

When I stood next to him, I too was glad I hadn’t eaten lunch yet. The man and woman were laid out in a neat coupling, side by side. They were naked and both had been disemboweled. As we tried to examine and remember clues, we noted the woman’s breasts and labia had also been removed. There were some carvings on the man’s chest. I tried to decipher any recognizable marks from the carvings. We had an arrangement with the state police to assist us if needed.

I think we need some state help, Bad Elk.

He agreed and tried to reach Running Doe for the request. I recognized Hot Sand, the campground manager, as the onlookers grew.

Get everyone out of here. I mean, close the campground. Yes, close the campground. Give them refunds or whatever, but I want everyone gone except you, for now.

He started the hustling. I watched for a few minutes to make sure he was making it happen. I rejoined Bad Elk, Sergeant Camino.

This is nasty, Eric. I’ve never seen anything like this! You have any ideas?

One, but I wasn’t ready to share it.

It was an understanding that we would refer to each other by our native name. It was good for the tourists. Sergeant Camino, Bad Elk and now Brian, called me Eric. This wasn’t a drive-by, drunken episode, or a show for the white people. This was a horrible massacre of some white people.

I knelt down to examine the dead. I was no expert at forensics but I had studied the science and wanted to see what I could determine before the state troopers arrived.

The weapon used was big and sharp. The carvings were probably done by a smaller knife. But I needed to understand the carvings. Were they random butchering or some message in some language?

Bad Elk, do you have your camera? I want some pics of these marks.

He did and he took a bunch of photos. We’d keep them as the state police would collect their own and with a better camera.

Was it Slow Wolf (Andrew Aquino)? I think I had predicted that he would go off his nut at some point. Alcohol, unemployment and all the usual stereotypical issues on reservations he displayed—no, he glamorized!

His mother tried to corral him. Feeding, clothing, and supporting him, hoping that succor would tame his evil intent. I had chased him away from a couple bars off the reservation. He would thank me sometimes but threaten me other times.

I hoped I wasn’t seeing his handiwork, yet I couldn’t think of any other suspect. Maybe it was some outsider, some white man. I, we, didn’t want this to be the actions of one of us.

I looked through the tent at the couples’ belongings. All expensive and all untaken.

Brian, Eric, who went through their stuff?

I knew that Sergeant Johnson would know, but I didn’t care. We needed, wanted their help but I also wanted to do my job.

You know when it becomes a crime scene, hands off, right!

I was very careful, Arthur. Left no prints, didn’t move much, and it’s our crime scene as well.

Yeah, yeah, you were very careful. The perp might have been very careful too. You two have any ideas?

I wasn’t ready to share yet, and Bad Elk said nothing though I knew he thought the same as I did.

What about, what’s his name, that troublemaker? You think he would have gone this far?

I shrugged my shoulders neither yay or nay. Bad Elk took it further.

Aquino’s a bad ass but not this bad.

Pick him up anyway. I’ll want to question him.

State forensic crew had arrived and started their routine. I found Hot Sand and asked him what he knew. I did this out of sight of the staties. They would not appreciate my participation.

His answers were not particularly helpful. He hadn’t seen Aquino, heard no disturbances, the couple kept to themselves. They had done a couple hikes, one to Blood Mesa, and that was about it. The state investigator dismissed me with a sneer/snarl combination and started in on Hot Sand. I lingered until he was done and asked Hot Sand to call me with anything else he could think of.

Swift Deer, we should go if you don’t have anything else to discover. Johnson’s getting antsy.

You want me to find Slow Wolf?

Yes, and be careful.

My house was adobe and the biggest on the reservation. It was of my father’s, Two Deers (Charlie Ruiz). He was the village elder, so reservation elder and tribal elder. His sister Little Doe and her husband Fish Finder also lived there and saw to my father’s needs. I benefited from the communal cooking and laundering. It was late when I got home. A plate of chicken and beans was on the table and my father also awaited me.

Did that crazy bastard kill them?

There was a radio that monitored all police activity.

We don’t know yet, Dad.

Aw, you know he did it. He was gonna do something like that sooner or later. You gonna go after him or the staties?

My job, Dad.

I’ll go with you.

I knew this argument was coming.

Police business, Dad, You can’t keep up, Dad, Don’t need your help, Dad—all tried and with little success. If I have to, I’ll remove the distributor cap from his old truck when the time comes. That worked once.

My mother, Water Bird (or Rebecca Ruiz, née Salazar as she preferred now), lived off the reservation in the white man’s city. As the village elder, my father had a habit of visiting the young single women to a fault, his. My mother tired of it and the tribe approved their separation, father thought he was going to get a free pass, but he missed her now. I had used her as a distraction during one difficult case but that was held in reserve for a real challenge, maybe this.

I could tell the sound of Broken Wing’s truck as it sputtered outside the front door.

Don’t shoot!

I received him and his ongoing joke.

Are you going to kill Slow Wolf?

Right after you, Broken Record.

Ha ha, I must see your father. That puma is getting busy again!

My first thought was to send him packing because he was bringing some misadventure for my father. But if he recruited my dad to chase some cat, he might not insist on chasing Slow Wolf with me. The cat less of a danger than Slow Wolf. Nope, I was wrong.

Come in, come in.

My father became animated, and they exchanged strategies and old tales well into the evening. I packed for my own misadventure.

The Military Responds

* * *

Technical Sergeant Madison considered his job, his command, the most boring station ever. He monitored all of the computer intelligence and operations in the southwest. The Cold War had come and gone with safeguards that were continually refined. His shift did not include watching or interference from some foreign power like the Russians or Chinese or even the North Koreans who were a long way off from having technical know-how to interfere with our systems. So one screen displayed the ongoing data monitoring every missile station in his sector, most of the country, and the other screen challenging him with his favorite video game.

There was an anomaly that he almost missed, his hero being under attack and all. He thought it nonspecific and unimportant but he was required to inform the duty officer, a big pain in the ass, Lieutenant Wallace. She was cute but a real hard-ass who’s a stickler for regulations. He never got over her dress code dressing down of him. Even in his lonely bunker, she insisted that he wear his uniform and properly.

Lieutenant, there’s some sort of spike in communication across the grid. I don’t think it means anything, sir, but I wanted you to know.

Thank you, Sergeant. I plan on being at your location tomorrow so I’ll be able to review your records.

Oh great! The bitch is coming here. I better iron my fucking necktie!

Virginia Wallace knew that she was a bitch to her staff and didn’t care. Too much. Reaching any rank and commanding mostly men had proved to her that this was still a man’s world. Through boot camp and subsequent trainings, she had dealt with a number of military men who assumed she was a sex toy. Her high marks were in hand to hand, and she practiced on the pigs. She hadn’t damaged anyone of rank so made it through officer’s school and beyond. That pissant Madison was a gold brick coasting in an incredibly easy assignment, but his post and its tasks seemed relevant.

In the morning, she found Madison dressed like a recruitment poster for the Air Force. She praised him as much as she could muster.

Tech Sergeant, I compliment you on your appearance. I realize that most of you find it excessive but believe me, it enhances your status in the Air Force.

She could see through to his smirk but carried on.

At first, the anomaly spikes seemed like simple static. She studied the tapes and computer soundings, but couldn’t find any significance. She instructed Madison to send any and all data regarding this event to her office.

Of course, Lieutenant! Your wish is my command!

That’s enough, Madison. Just send the data, today.

She felt his vile facial expressions on her back as she left the facility. At one of the facilities she heard the term, Fucking redskin. She ignored the comment but wondered what the individual knew or thought they knew.

They knew when she enlisted. They knew everything about her, including her background. She was an Indian from Oklahoma. Maybe that fast tracked her or slow tracked her! But she had made grade and commanded a vast expanse of our/her government’s operations, security, and first response when and if the Big Event occurred.

Back at her post in Central Oklahoma, she settled into her room where she had all info rerouted so that she could stare at dull, idle screens. Maybe this time, this time, she could identify something of note.

She woke to bleeps and blips accosting her from the twenty-inch-screen. She shook off that same old dream that had her sipping tea on a veranda. Some old gentleman had joined her and she thought she heard him offering marriage. He was old, too old, but the scenario persisted. This time, the servant who climbed the stairs to offer a different beverage wasn’t some plantation slave, but a warrior from the tribe she was told she belonged to. He was not too tall but he was too tanned and muscled. He pushed the dainty china cup aside and offered something in a crudely thrown and baked vessel. As the dainty cup splintered into pieces on the veranda’s hard wood floor, she sipped at the cup and found the taste off. Her dreaming then took a wild ride.

She was sweaty and showered, partly to cover any embarrassment she might have left anywhere.

Those bleeps and blips seemed worth deciphering. Like the rest of her command, she could easily dismiss them as she had learned to dismiss anything. No one wanted a puzzle.

But her command, like Madison’s or any other of her subordinates, felt like there was never going to be anything to be concerned about. We would all retire here with decent pensions and lie to our grandchildren about what we didn’t do to protect America.

Was there a pattern or a lack? Either could identify something or nothing. Our hope.

She pulled out all the stops and started to investigate these minor bleeps and blips.

She was tugging on her long black hair, her Indian giveaway, when she finally agreed with herself to pass on a weak theory. There might be, maybe, maybe not, some intentional signals appearing on our grid.

She shuddered with anticipation. Her CO was Major Grandal. She waited until his office hours, a five-hour day. He had admonished her for communicating too early before. Right after ten in the morning, she gave her report. As she expected, he dismissed all of her data. She wasn’t sure, but it meant that like her subordinate, like Madison, she was obligated to present her findings. What he would do with those findings, was up to him.

After her duty was done, the data was transmitted with comments. She could back away and move on or move still. There was something about the pattern of signals that intrigued her. And she couldn’t dismiss it, nor did she want to. She had something to explore, figure out, unravel, and decipher. If there was something to identify, she wanted to be the female Air Force officer to unveil it. She determined that some of the signals came near or from a small Indian reservation in Southern Arizona.

What an opportunity to leave her office. She would travel to the source and investigate the best she could. It was also an opportunity to reward one of the airmen under her command. David Redbone was one of if not the best person in her unit. He never complained, never shirked and treated her like an officer and not a female officer. He would be good company and probably also relieved to leave the office for a few.

He was some Native American, full, half, partial so that might be helpful.

She courtesied a message to Major Grandal without being too specific. He probably wouldn’t care but she informed Redbone and he did seem pleased. She sent all the data to his station, his request, good on him.

In the morning, they took a hill hopper to Tucson and rented an SUV there. Redbone didn’t attempt to be the man, but waited for Virginia’s orders.

Lieutenant, I may be a little crazy but some of the data appears to be in Morse code format but I can’t decipher it and I’m fluent in Morse code, if fluent applies.

Fluent’s good, I’m not in it, but it’s worth looking into. Good job, Redbone.

She had chosen wisely. He didn’t blush or get all gee-whiz. He did his job and well.

But could it be Morse code? If he couldn’t decipher it, then it probably wasn’t, just some sort of confusing static, organized static.

They had brought some rudimentary tracking devices, nothing too high-tech but serviceable. They took two rooms in a motel close to ground zero.

Back at the Massacre Site or Thereabouts

* * *

Swift Deer

Ialmost got away before Dad and Broken Wing joined me at the vehicle.

I can join up and let Broken Wing start without me if you need me that bad.

Dad, you help Broken Wind. Believe me, he needs you a lot more than I do.

He’s funny!

Slow Wind is bad, real bad, son. I can help.

No problem, Dad. I can handle him. You take care of that cat. If he gets any of Little Doe’s chickens or sheep, we won’t hear the end of it.

They were in Broken Wing’s truck. Five of its six cylinders were still functioning compared to my dad’s four out of six. My jeep had eight, I think they all worked, and I was ready to tow anything, especially the crippled vehicles we all owned and nursed along in the reservation. I waited until their dust settled before I set out to find Slow Wolf.

I’m sure Bad Elk was questioning everyone to find Slow Wolf. I thought I knew where he might hang out or show up. I had to trust my instincts.

His sister, Sun Wolf, cried—no wailed, but I believed her. She hadn’t seen him since before the horror.

Eric! If you find him, kill him quickly. Don’t bring him in!

I couldn’t answer her. We had dated when