Rez Dogs and Scooter Trash

Chapter 1-2

The next day, Adam went to work as usual. He knew he should probably leave the motorcycle home and drive the old truck, but the storm had blown past, leaving only a trace of snow, so the roads were not too bad. Although he was supposed to set a positive example for a bunch of kids, many of whom were already starting down wrong paths, he could not equate motorcycle to bad-ass, even though he knew most did. He believed intensely in what he was trying to do, but some things were just too big a sacrifice. Even if some called him “scooter trash,” he could still help these boys avoid his kid brother’s fate and maybe fight some prejudices at the same time.

He’d been off with the army when Randy started down that dangerous way of gangs and drugs. The kid got in with a bad crowd, started drinking, and doing MJ before going on to worse drugs and then…Adam had to shut off that memory before he lost his focus. Hurt too fuckin’ much—still. Nothing would bring Randy back. The only way Adam could atone for not being there when his baby brother needed a firm hand was to turn lives around for all the other kids he could reach.

As he slowed to turn down the lane to reach the Grey Hills boys and girls club, he pulled in behind a beat-up van with out-of-state plates and stickers all over the back. Apparently saving stuff was the driver’s thing—whales and polar bears and the usual plea to spay and neuter. Adam appreciated some but not all of the sentiments expressed. Sometimes he felt the world held too fuckin’ many do-gooders. He did not think of himself in that light at all. He was a native working with his own tribe, not an outsider, after all.

A blasting horn very close behind him gave the only warning before a monster truck hurtled past—even though Adam had his turn signal flashing. The old van swerved, the driver clearly caught by surprise. For an instant, Adam held his breath, sure he’d see a crash, but the truck blew on by and the van steadied.

Even though it was too late, Adam threw a finger at the speeding truck. Motorcycles got little love from most drivers, but this was a town, whether it looked like one or not. There could be livestock, kids, drunks, or oldsters driving really slowly at any turn. They’d be hard to miss if you were going too fast. Just last month he’d lost a cousin to such an accident. Sure, Joe had been drunk and maybe stoned, walking down the white line so as not to get lost, or so he’d always said. He’d done it a hundred times before, but this time was one too many. The car that hit him had not even stopped and no one saw the accident.

Adam exhaled a long hard breath. Get a grip, he told himself. There’s a lot to be mad about, but just being mad doesn’t fix any of it. He made the turn and bumped down the dusty road to the steel building sitting in a barren patch of sandy ground. He and the five other directors of the youth center project had dismantled the former feed store barn and rebuilt it here since Christmas. In a few weeks, they’d start some landscaping to soften the structure’s boxy lines, lay out baseball diamonds and maybe a football field, put up some basketball goals. Rez kids really liked basketball.

He had no idea where the money would come from, but somehow they would find it. He’d said he’d get it if he had to take a gun and go rob the casino, speaking only half in jest. Other than sell his scooter, there wasn’t much he would not do for this cause.

As soon as he stepped through the door, he saw Josie Benally. She served as the Gal Friday for the project and had a stake in the game similar to his. Only it had been her son…It didn’t take a psychic to see she’d been crying and had probably hardly slept last night.

He paused, thinking a quick prayer for calm before he approached her desk. “Joz, what’s wrong?”

She swallowed and sniffed before speaking. “They busted Bobby last night. Meth. I thought we’d reached him, helped him. Now this.”

Bobby was one of their special charges. He’d lost his dad in Iraq two years ago, another unlucky member of the New Mexico National Guard. His mother had begun a drastic slip into alcoholism after that, and Bobby, then twelve, was left pretty much on his own. Such kids were fair game for the gangs.

“Fuckin’ s**t! Not Bobby! He’s been clean for six months.” Adam swallowed the sour bile of defeat. “Damn the filthy scumbags pushing this poison on our kids. We’ve gotta get them all behind bars. I’d never make a cop, but right now…” He laid a hand gently on Josie’s shoulder. The Dineh were not touchy-feely type people, and Adam less so than most, but sometimes that was the only way to tell someone you shared their anguish.

“At least he didn’t OD. We can work with live kids, even if they’re in deep s**t. Let me get on the phone and see if I can get him out of the hoosegow and fostered with me for now. Any other great news?”

“Somebody rented the old Dollar Store building, the one we thought we might get for a computer lab for the Youth Center. Some out-of-town group with a long fancy name and an acronym. Maybelle Tsosie heard it from her cousin who works in the real estate office.”

He shook his head and snorted as he headed on toward the partitioned cubicle that served as his office. “Maybe a blessing in disguise. We couldn’t afford it anyway. One step at a time.”

As he reached for the phone to make some calls on Bobby’s case, a strange image flashed across his mind. He saw the van from out on the highway parked behind the former store. A man carried boxes and bundles in through the rear door.

What the f**k? He shook his head to clear the vision and focused on the work at hand. Whatever went on there was no concern of his one way or another.