Free War of the Eagles by Eric Walters Page B

that’s where you’d want to be left off. It gets to be like the wild west there.”
    â€œNaw,” muttered Murdock, “worse than that. I just hope everybody can hang on to their body parts tonight.”
    â€œBody parts?” I asked.
    â€œYeah. Last Saturday night one guy got his nose half cut off in a knife fight.”
    â€œNot to mention that other guy who had his ear bit–ten off,” Rylance added. “Blood everywhere.”
    â€œCome on,” I said, “quit kidding.”
    â€œHe’s not kidding, Jed,” Smitty said. “I was on leave last Saturday night. There was one big brawl. Couple of those American sailors got fighting with a couple of natives. Fight ended when one of the Tsimshians ended up with a mouthful of American ear.”
    â€œThat’s disgusting.”
    â€œSure was, kid. Blood everywhere. I think that injun would’ve scalped him next if we hadn’t jumped in,”
    Murdock chuckled.
    â€œIndians don’t scalp people,” I said.
    â€œNo? Don’t you ever go to the movies, kid?” Murdock continued. “Don’t you know nothing about injuns?”
    â€œJust what I’m told,” I replied through clenched teeth.
    â€œThen you’re real lucky to have me set you right,”
    Murdock thundered. “After breaking up fights every Saturday night, I’m an expert on injuns. An expert.
    Anyway, it serves that guy right. Any fool who would turn his back on a liquored injun deserves to lose his ear.”
    Smitty and Rylance were staring straight ahead, out the window. Murdock wasn’t stupid. He knew my mother was native. He was trying to be an ignorant goof. Actually I didn’t think he had to try very hard to be a big goof.
    It was probably a natural talent.
    Turning on to Third Avenue, I could sense things would be getting busy before the night was out. Al–though it was only seven-thirty, there were already lots of soldiers, sailors, merchant marine and a smattering of locals, wandering the streets. Judging from the con–versations floating in through the window of the truck, a few had already been drinking.
    Smitty eased the big truck over to the side of the street, right in front of the hotel. The brakes squealed as it slowed down. Even before we’d come to a complete stop, Murdock flung open the door, climbed out onto the step and leapt to the ground.
    â€œHave no fear, I am here!” he bellowed to a group of other MPs and a couple of RCMP officers who were stand–ing there. I guess he wanted to make a big entrance.
    Rylance turned to me and shrugged. “Don’t waste any time on anything he says, Jed. He’s just that way.”
    I nodded.
    â€œThanks for the ride, guys,” he said and climbed down from the truck.
    Smitty put the truck back into motion and we con–tinued down the main street.
    â€œHe’s right, Jed. Most people are pretty good about things. Others are just jerks. It wouldn’t matter if it was
    Indians or Germans or women or Martians. People like Murdock got to have somebody to hate. It makes it easier to bust their heads if he don’t like them, and that’s probably what he really likes, busting heads.”
    â€œHow come jerks like him can always get away with it?”
    â€œNot always, it just seems like always,” Smitty an–swered. “Matter of fact I was thinking about beating the crap out of him myself.
    I looked at Smitty in amazement.
    â€œCourse then I remembered he’s big enough and mean enough to break me into little bite-sized pieces,” he chuckled. “You got to remember there are other ways of getting back at people like him.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWell, let’s say the next time he orders you around or demands something different from the kitchen, you know, like a hotter cup of coffee. You just take that cup, and when there ain’t anybody looking, you just