out
pretty quickly that he had been skunked at the lake. They put on an act like
they were practically starving to death and ready to eat any old bottom fish he
might have been able to drag up. Melina, her sister and all those kids were
sitting there at the table with a knife in one hand and a fork in the other.
They were pounding on the table, making a great big scene. When he told them
he didn’t have any fish, they chased him out of the house. He said they were
screaming that they were going to cut off his leg, cook it up with some sour
greens and eat it for dinner. Poor old Eugene hopped back into his truck,
rolled up the windows and locked the doors. He was sure they had gone crazy.
He started honking the horn and shouting at them. Finally, he got up enough
courage, opened the window just a crack and asked them if they had eaten
locoweed. When those sisters heard that, they started laughing so hard they
fell down on the ground and started rolling around. That’s when Melina noticed
it.”
“Noticed what?” asked Kate.
“When she was rolling around on the ground, she looked
up and noticed the license plate on the truck was missing. Eugene bought the
truck over in Tucson. He never bothered to get new plates when the old ones
expired. Maybe he didn’t want to pay for them. Maybe his wife wouldn’t give
him the money. Who knows? He never got arrested because he only drove the
back roads from his house to the lake.”
“But now without any plate at all, Melina figured he
might get pulled over?” asked Kate.
“Exactly,” said Eskadi. “I guess she scolded him so
bad it didn’t take him long to make the decision to come into the tribal office
and tell me about it.”
“What did he think you were going to do?”
“He figured if he told the tribal police he had been
driving the truck for over three years without legitimate reservation plates,
they might run him in. He asked me what to do. He wanted me to straighten out
his mess for him.”
“What did you tell him?” asked Kate.
“I told him if he brought me the truck’s registration,
I would help him get some valid plates. He didn’t have the registration card.
I don’t think he even knew what it was. So we got the vehicle identification
number off the truck and I called the motor vehicle department in Tucson. That
was yesterday morning.”
“What exactly is this leading to?”
“You were telling me about all the stolen cars. It
seemed ironic to me. Whites steal cars, Hispanics steal hubcaps and Indians
just steal the license plates. Now that’s what I call progressive poverty.”
“Is that part of your shtick for the talent show too?”
“It wasn’t. But now that you mention it…”
Kate rolled her eyes.
“About the DMV?”
“The DMV called me back this morning. They wanted to
know who owned the truck. I explained all I wanted was to transfer the title.
I told them since it was a reservation vehicle it was none of their damn
business who owned it. Which, it isn’t. I was polite as punch. They demanded
to know who owned the truck.”
Kate shook her head.
“I’ll just bet, knowing how much you like government
officials, nothing they said sat too well with you…especially after how you
tried to be so cooperative.”
“When I wouldn’t kowtow to their jack boot style of
questioning, they got all huffy. I hung up on them. All ghost skins want to
do is make life miserable for the rest of us.”
“Did you ever hear the old saying, ‘You attract more
flies with honey than with vinegar’?”
“Why should I be nice to them? When was the last time
the government did anything to help America’s First People?”
Kate knew Eskdai had a bit of a point. “Was that the
end of it?” asked Kate.
“Hell no. About two minutes later a detective with
Arizona Highway Patrol called. He asked me a bunch of questions about the
truck. According to him it wasn’t
pretty quickly that he had been skunked at the lake. They put on an act like
they were practically starving to death and ready to eat any old bottom fish he
might have been able to drag up. Melina, her sister and all those kids were
sitting there at the table with a knife in one hand and a fork in the other.
They were pounding on the table, making a great big scene. When he told them
he didn’t have any fish, they chased him out of the house. He said they were
screaming that they were going to cut off his leg, cook it up with some sour
greens and eat it for dinner. Poor old Eugene hopped back into his truck,
rolled up the windows and locked the doors. He was sure they had gone crazy.
He started honking the horn and shouting at them. Finally, he got up enough
courage, opened the window just a crack and asked them if they had eaten
locoweed. When those sisters heard that, they started laughing so hard they
fell down on the ground and started rolling around. That’s when Melina noticed
it.”
“Noticed what?” asked Kate.
“When she was rolling around on the ground, she looked
up and noticed the license plate on the truck was missing. Eugene bought the
truck over in Tucson. He never bothered to get new plates when the old ones
expired. Maybe he didn’t want to pay for them. Maybe his wife wouldn’t give
him the money. Who knows? He never got arrested because he only drove the
back roads from his house to the lake.”
“But now without any plate at all, Melina figured he
might get pulled over?” asked Kate.
“Exactly,” said Eskadi. “I guess she scolded him so
bad it didn’t take him long to make the decision to come into the tribal office
and tell me about it.”
“What did he think you were going to do?”
“He figured if he told the tribal police he had been
driving the truck for over three years without legitimate reservation plates,
they might run him in. He asked me what to do. He wanted me to straighten out
his mess for him.”
“What did you tell him?” asked Kate.
“I told him if he brought me the truck’s registration,
I would help him get some valid plates. He didn’t have the registration card.
I don’t think he even knew what it was. So we got the vehicle identification
number off the truck and I called the motor vehicle department in Tucson. That
was yesterday morning.”
“What exactly is this leading to?”
“You were telling me about all the stolen cars. It
seemed ironic to me. Whites steal cars, Hispanics steal hubcaps and Indians
just steal the license plates. Now that’s what I call progressive poverty.”
“Is that part of your shtick for the talent show too?”
“It wasn’t. But now that you mention it…”
Kate rolled her eyes.
“About the DMV?”
“The DMV called me back this morning. They wanted to
know who owned the truck. I explained all I wanted was to transfer the title.
I told them since it was a reservation vehicle it was none of their damn
business who owned it. Which, it isn’t. I was polite as punch. They demanded
to know who owned the truck.”
Kate shook her head.
“I’ll just bet, knowing how much you like government
officials, nothing they said sat too well with you…especially after how you
tried to be so cooperative.”
“When I wouldn’t kowtow to their jack boot style of
questioning, they got all huffy. I hung up on them. All ghost skins want to
do is make life miserable for the rest of us.”
“Did you ever hear the old saying, ‘You attract more
flies with honey than with vinegar’?”
“Why should I be nice to them? When was the last time
the government did anything to help America’s First People?”
Kate knew Eskdai had a bit of a point. “Was that the
end of it?” asked Kate.
“Hell no. About two minutes later a detective with
Arizona Highway Patrol called. He asked me a bunch of questions about the
truck. According to him it wasn’t
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