«What the hell is all this?»
«I can only tell ya that the hoity-toity went into the pantry for her teapot but she didn’t order no tea.»
«Son of a bitch!» cried Devereaux, racing across the marble hall and flinging open both French doors of the living room as he burst inside.
«You!» shouted Jennifer Redwing, lurching out of the brocaded chair.
«You!» yelled the furious son and attorney. «How did you get here so quickly?»
«I used to live in Boston. I know several shortcuts.»
«Several …?»
«You!» shrieked Eleanor Devereaux, rising from the brocaded couch, her mouth agape as she stared at Sam. «Your trousers, you terrible, incontinent boy!»
«It’s coffee, Mother!»
«It’s coffee,» said the bronzed Aphrodite. «He says.»
12
«Now you’ve got the broad outlines of the Mac-and-Sam international blackmail carnival as it pertains to the general’s ability to dig way down deep and come up with indictable dirt,» said Devereaux. They had moved to his château’s lair, into his office now stripped of all photographs and newspaper articles, without his mother, who found it imperative to take to her bed with «the vapors.» Sam sat at his desk, Jennifer Redwing in the chair in front of him, which still had strips of torn sheets tied to the arms.
«It’s only incredible, but you have to know that.» She slowly opened her purse, a bright lady in shock. «Good God, forty million dollars!»
«No Mace!» cried Devereaux, pushing his swivel chair back into the wall.
«No Mace,» confirmed Redwing, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes. «It’s only a vice I give up every other week until something like this happens, but then nothing like this has ever happened… At least, I cut down.»
«It’s a crutch, you know. You should have stronger discipline.»
«All things considered, Counselor, I don’t think you’re in a position to be holier-than-me. Do you have an ashtray, or shall I set this expensive rug on fire?»
«Since you’re adamant,» said Sam, opening a desk drawer and pulling out two ashtrays, along with a pack of cigarettes. «I guess I’ll concede… I see we both use low-tar.»
«Let’s get back to the low blows, Mr. Devereaux.» Both lawyers lighted their crutches and Miss Redwing continued. «This brief to the Court is all nonsense, you also have to know that, too.»
«Redundancy, Counselor. ‘Also’ and ‘too’ are redundant.»
«Not when used for emphasis in front of a jury by a competent attorney, Counselor.»
«Agreed. Who’s which?»
«We’re both both,» said Redwing. «Speaking as the latter on behalf of the Wopotamis, the tribe’s interests are not served by this frivolous litigation, which has gone entirely too far.»
«Speaking as an equal once disastrously associated with General Hawkins,» countered Sam, «the litigation is not at all frivolous. Realistically, it doesn’t have a chance, but the tribe’s case against the government is pretty damn convincing.»
«What?» Redwing locked eyes with Devereaux, her cigarette poised in front of her, the smoke suspended as if caught in a still photograph. «You’ve got to be kidding.»
«I wish I were. Life would be a lot easier.»
«Come again?»
«The evidence unearthed in the sealed archives appears to be authentic. Territorial treaties executed in good faith were replaced by legislated relocations without regard to prior agreements—existing rights of land ownership.»
«‘Legislated relocations’? Made to move?»
«That’s it, and the government had no authority to abrogate the legally arrived-at doctrine of ownership and force the Wopotamis off their lands. Certainly not without a federal court hearing, with full tribal representation.»
«They did that? No court, no hearing for the tribe? How could they?»
«The government lied—specifically with regard to the Treaty of 1878, finalized between the Wopotamis and the Forty-ninth Congress.»
«But how?»
«The Department of the Interior, obviously with a little help from the Bureau of Indian Affairs, claimed that such a treaty never existed, that it was a fantasy dreamed up by swacked-out medicine men pouring zombie-water down their throats while prancing around campfires… The brief goes so far as to speculate on the origins of the fire that destroyed the First Bank of Omaha in 1912.»
«That rings a bell,» said Redwing, frowning and crushing out her cigarette.
«It should. It’s where the Wopotamis kept all their tribal records, none of which survived, of course.»
«What was the speculation?»
«That it was torched by federal agents acting on orders from Washington.»
«That’s pretty heavy, Counselor, even eighty years later. On what basis was the speculation?»
«The bank was supposedly broken into in the middle of the night, all the cash and valuables cleaned out, and the robbers escaped without a trace. Yet before they ran for it, they apparently decided to set fire to the bank, which was pretty stupid, since they were making a clean getaway and a fire like that might just wake up a few citizens.»
«Stupid but not unheard of, Mr. Devereaux. Pathological personalities aren’t a recent phenomenon, and the hatred of banks has a long history.»
«Granted, but when the initial source of the conflagration was determined to be the bank’s basement, where the document files were located, said files overturned, scattered, and the rooms soaked with lamp oil, it makes you kind of wonder, doesn’t it? If the whole structure didn’t go up, those rooms certainly would… Also, it was the shortest abandoned manhunt in the annals of crime, as the perpetrators were reported to be seen in South America. Of course, Cassidy and Sundance said they’d never been to Omaha, and they were the only American bank robbers ever known to have surfaced down there in those days… Naturally, I’ve just given you a quick overview, as my sainted employer would say—did say.»
«It’s disastrously convincing.» The lovely Indian attorney suddenly shook her head back and forth in rapid stabs. «It can’t go forward, you must understand that.»
«I’m not sure it can be stopped,» said Sam.
«Of course it can! This general, this catastrophic troublemaker Hawkins, can simply withdraw—take my word for it, the Court adores withdrawals, even my brother learned that while he was down there.»
«He’s the one?»
«The one who?»
«The young brave of the tribe who worked with Mac but didn’t pass the bar.»
«Didn’t pass? I’ll have you know my little bro—my brother—passed in the highest percentile!»
«So did I.»
«It figures,» said Redwing, no enthusiasm whatsoever in her concession. «It seems you’re cut from the same crazy quilt.»
«He’s the one I remind you of? Is that what you meant before?»
«It means, Counselor, that your goddamned General Hawkins found another Samuel Devereaux for his latest cataclysmic frolic.»
«Your brother was in the army?»
«No, he was on a reservation—the wrong one… Back to the mad general.»
«Actually, the ‘mad’ was part of his military nickname.»
«Why do I find that not totally surprising?» Jennifer fumbled in her purse for another cigarette.
«Hey, Counselor,» interrupted Devereaux as Redwing withdrew her pack. «You were doing so well; you only had a couple of puffs and you put it out. I did, too, sort of to help you.»