Free The Shaman Laughs by James D. Doss

us, but I think we got a good chance to beat them out with our canyon site. I've been working on the Phase One proposal for weeks now; it's only for fifty thousand, but there's big money for whoever finally gets the installation."
    "I heard about it, but I don't see why my cattle couldn't stay in the canyon if that knuckler crap is as safe as they say it is."
    Arlo took another sip from his small flask of bourbon, scratched his crotch, and belched. "Government rules say we have to keep domestic animals and people away from the site."
    Gorman stared out the window at passing traffic. "The tribe wouldn't never allow the
matukach
to put garbage in the sacred canyon."
    "Sacred bullshit. I'll tell you what's sacred. Greenbacks, deutsche marks, yen." Arlo rabbed a beautifully manicured finger against his thumb. "That's what pays the rent. Anyway, it's not like it'll hurt that useless old canyon. I hear they'll cover the waste with enough concrete to build a freeway from here to hell and gone. And it's only temporary. When Yucca Mountain is ready, they'll move it all over to Nevada."
    "When would that happen?"
    Arlo ducked his head. "Oh, not too long." Fifteen, maybe twenty years. Maybe never.
    The rancher turned to leave. "You see I get paid for Big Ouray."
    Arlo followed him to the outer office. "Hey, is that Ben-ita? She sure has filled out."
    Gorman saw the leer on Arlo's piglike face. It had been a very bad day, and this was finally just too much. He wheeled on the smaller man. "You better get control of it, Arlo, before somebody snips it off." The rancher's hand made a cutting motion across his crotch.
    Louise Marie LaForte, an elderly French Canadian who had stopped by to renew her fire insurance, watched through slit lids.
    "
Oui
," she whispered to Herb Ecker, "a warning to take seriously."
    Arlo raised his hands in apology. "Hey, I didn't mean nothin'…"
    Ecker fumbled awkwardly with a sheaf of papers; he avoided looking at Benita.
    The rancher, with his daughter leading the way, stomped toward the door.
    Arlo's mouth dropped open. "Get a hold of yourself, old man, all I said was—"
    Gorman slammed the door hard. The plastic sign listing the daily hours of the Nightbird Insurance Agency popped loose and clattered onto the floor.
    Arlo watched Ecker replace the small sign on the door. "Hardnosed old bastard," he muttered.
    Herb Ecker cleared his throat; he moved close to his boss.
    "I'm about to take the mail to the post office. Is there anything you want before I leave?"
    Arlo waved his cigar impatiently. "Yeah, you Kraut Boy Scout, I want you to take some friendly advice. Sell insurance on automobiles and houses. Move some term life whenever you get half a chance."
    He glanced toward Louise Marie but didn't bother to lower his voice because any fool knew that all old people were half deaf. "Scare the old grannys into spending every penny they have on supplemental health insurance. But you sell one more policy on somebody's good-for-nothing livestock, and you can find yourself another job. I could replace you like that"—he attempted to snap his stubby fingers—"salesmen are a dime a half-dozen and overpriced at that." Arlo clamped his teeth, almost biting through the fat cigar. "Maybe you'd like to go back to Doc Schaid and clean up after the animals for minimum wage. I imagine he likes Krauts."
    Herb's back stiffened; there was a momentary hint of defiance in his eye. "I am not German, Mr. Nightbird. I am Belgian."
    Arlo leaned forward, his unblinking eyes like fried eggs, and shook his finger in the young man's face. "Wops, dagos, Krauts, Frogs," he rasped, "they're all the same European immigrant white trash to me."
    Louise Marie LaForte momentarily forgot that she was pretending not to hear; the mouth-filling oath spilled out between her pursed lips. "
Cochon
… stinking little swine!"
    Arlo slowly turned his head and focused his bloodshot little eyes on the old woman, who clamped a tiny hand over her mouth.