Free Sacred Clowns by Tony Hillerman Page B

Management has agreed to withdraw the acreage they hold from grazing—with a payoff to the leaseholders of course. That’s bad, but it’s what we expected. That leaves the Navajo Nation and Tano.”
    He paused, acknowledged the waitress standing beside him, and ordered a hamburger.
    “Coffee?”
    “What kind of tea do you have?”
    The waitress was a plump Navajo teenager from Two Grey Hills who had often waited on Chee since his transfer to Window Rock. She raised her eyebrows, puzzled. “Iced,” she said. “Iced tea.”
    “No. No. I mean what kind of herb tea. Do you have Lemon Zinger? Almond Sunset? Or any of those Celestial flavors? And hot tea. Just bring me a cup of hot water and the tea bag.” Applebee looked back at Janet. “We also think we have some hope in Tano. Governor Penitewa is still favoring the idea as far as we can tell, but they have their election coming up in January and a lot of people in that pueblo don’t want that dump on Pueblo land. The governor can be beaten. There’s a way we can beat him.”
    Applebee paused. The waitress was still standing there, looking indecisive. “Just bring me a cup, and a pot of hot water, and any tea bag you can find in the kitchen,” he said.
    “How about here?” Chee asked. “Will the Tribal Council approve moving that toxic stuff across our land?”
    “Not so good, here, by the looks of it,” Applebee said. “Councilman Chester is working hard for the dump. We’re worried about that.”
    Chee was watching Janet. She said nothing, which pleased him. That was properly polite Navajo. Like Blizzard, she was an urban product. City bred, city raised, Navajo only by her father’s blood. She had to learn what it was like to be one of the Dineh. He would help teach her. Happily. Lovingly. If she would let him.
    Applebee decided he wasn’t getting the expected sounds of support and approval. “Well,” he said, “let’s talk about Mr. Chester.” He looked at Chee. “Do you know him?”
    “From Horse Mesa Chapter?” Chee asked. “Jimmy Chester? I know him a little.”
    “What do you think of him?”
    Chee shrugged. “I’m a policeman,” he said. “We don’t have opinions about politicians.”
    “How about your aunt?” Janet asked. “The councilwoman.”
    “She’s a former councilwoman now,” Chee corrected. “It’s allowed to have opinions about kinfolks.”
    “I just didn’t want to say the wrong thing if Chester was a friend. Or something,” Applebee said.
    “Nope,” Chee said. “I can say I know he’s a big operator in the cattle business out in the Checkerboard. And the people I knew when I was working out of Crownpoint thought Chester was a jerk.”
    Applebee seemed relieved to hear this.
    “Well,” he began, voice lowered, “We hear . . .” He stopped, and waited silently while the waitress deposited cup, saucer, tea bag, a large coffee thermos from which steam was rising, and a slice of lemon. He read the label on the tea bag, frowned, and made tea. “We hear that Councilman Chester is a consultant for Continental.”
    He looked at Janet and then at Chee. Clearly this was the reason for this meeting, the message to be delivered. It seemed to Chee more of a firecracker than a bombshell. But Applebee was checking their faces, looking for reaction. “Taking money,” he explained.
    “It’s probably legal enough,” Janet said. “But it can be bad politics and he’s up for reelection in the spring.”
    Applebee looked surprised. “Really? You think it’s legal?”
    “I’d have to check the tribal code. It prohibits councilmembers from voting on anything in which they have a personal financial interest. I doubt if it goes beyond that, but I’ll check.”
    Applebee looked disappointed. “So it would just mean Chester couldn’t vote on the dump issue. I was hoping we could put the son-of-a-bitch in jail.”
    “You have some evidence?” Janet asked. “Do you know how much they’re paying him? Any details?