Government Men by Gary J. Davies
CHAPTER 28
THE CHIEFS
Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
Be though a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee
- Shakespeare
While Flood was driving the Bus in accordance with Elizabeth's directions, the others were continuing to research the cubes.
"Eureka!” shouted Bates. "Mel, look in Section 11.1.3 of the DOD cube!”
When he did, Mel found that he was looking at a group picture of himself and Air Force General Mike Therman, standing side by side with two very odd looking companions. The two strange creatures were clearly the space aliens that Mel had described to the Team earlier. The little short one was a dead ringer for the Haspa illustrated in the Ra cube, while the big one looked a bit like a heavyset bipedal turtle, sans shell. To their disappointment, however, the text that went with the photo told them even less than Mel had about the intent of the alien's visit, and stated that the aliens left Earth shortly after the photo.
In the meantime however, the Bus had arrived in Clifton Arizona. "This is it," declared Elizabeth. "According to the report, this town developed at the birth place of the Indian whose ghost we are seeking."
Besides a few houses along the highway, there were of course a bar, a 7-Eleven, a church, and a gas station. Actually, it was more civilization than they had seen in one area for most of the afternoon.
"What now?" asked Bates?
"According to the VISICOM directory, the man who did the research for the DOD still lives here, though for some reason, the COM directory lists a few other names for the man besides Chief Winnebago. Turn right onto this next side street."
It was an exaggeration to call this a street, thought Bates. To him, the term 'street' connoted a city, or at least a town. This place would hardly qualify as a truck stop, at least by Eastern standards. The so-called street was nothing but a deserted, dusty, dirt road. "Who's spirit does the report say this Chief Winnebago guy contacted?" asked Bates.
"Somebody named Goyahkla," replied Elizabeth.
"Sounds Indian, all right," said Bates. "Anybody ever hear of him?” Everyone shook their heads no.
To the amazement of all, after winding around a small sandy knoll they discovered a lone house, a surprisingly upper middle class looking colonial home at the very end of the street. An automatic sprinkling system watered a well-manicured lawn and numerous eastern looking shrubs. In fact, the whole thing looked Eastern. There were no horse shoes nailed over the doorway or rattle snakes painted on the mailbox. It was as if someone had tried to create a little oasis of Eastern USA suburbia here, surrounded by desert.
Elizabeth verified the address. "This is it," she said. "The home of Chief Winnebago.”
"Is he a real Indian chief?" asked Bates, as he, Mel, and Elizabeth walked to the front door and Milo did his best to contribute to the greenery in the front yard.
"Let’s ask him," suggested Mel. They rang the bell and knocked several times.
"What the Hell do you want?” asked a grumpy, disembodied, male voice from the other side of the unopened door.
"We just want to talk to Chief Winnebago, alias Jake Tioga, alias John Smith," said Elizabeth.
"Who the heck are you guys?" asked the voice, in a sleepy, Brooklyn accent.
By now Mel had located and pointed out to the others an overhead speaker and video camera. "We're from the Federal Government," answered Bates, speaking up at the camera, smiling and waving.
There was no reply, nor was there any response to the subsequent door pounding, bell ringing, and vocal admonitions of the group. However, perhaps a minute later, the sound of a motor vehicle engine cranking-over was heard from somewhere in back of the house.
After several struggling, coughing tries, the engine started up raggedly, and very shortly thereafter, with its motor roaring and backfiring, a huge, battered, rusty old recreational vehicle came hurdling down the curvy, shrub-surrounded driveway, which happened to be totally blocked by the parked Bus, much to the surprise of the RV driver. The driver applied squeaking brakes and the RV slowed somewhat, but it had no hope of stopping in time, and was clearly destined to slam into the ill-fated Bus.
At the last second a blue-white, bubble like translucent surface appeared to surround the Bus and cushion the impact, such that the RV came only within about two meters of the Bus before bouncing back several more and coming to a full stop. At the same time, bright beams of laser light flashed from below the Bus's right headlight, and the RV's front tires popped and disintegrated into black cinders and smoke.
The Bus's automatic protective capabilities had been triggered by the charging RV. Whoever was in the RV was fortunate that the Bus software decided that destruction of merely the front tires was a satisfactory defense strategy.
The Bus itself had been pushed back and sideways several feet by the impact with its force field, but was apparently unharmed. Moments later Hank came storming out of the still open Bus door brandishing his assault rifle, followed by the others, who though apparently unharmed, were definitely startled and unhappy. "All right you, geit out-o thet there Winne-bay-go, NOW! I see yah in there! So come on out with yer hands up, red skin!” shouted Hank, with his rifle trained on the RV.
In response a short middle-aged man with long graying hair tied together in the back came out with his shaking hands raised high. He wore loose fitting, contemporary, obviously expensive leisure clothing. Other than reddish skin and pony tail, he didn't fit any of Bates' expectations for an Apache Indian chief at all. Of course, he had never met a real Apache Indian chief, so maybe his corresponding stereotype needed a little work.
"There must be some mistake officers," the man began, but then he noticed his RV tires, or rather their absence. Oblivious of Hank's assault rifle, he rushed to inspect the damage. "Holy Moses! What the hell did you do to my tires? They're gone! Warrant or no warrant, you people aren't going to get away with this! I want your badge numbers. I want my lawyers! I’ll COM my Philly lawyers, that’s what I’ll do!”
In response, Hank poked him in the back with the rifle. "Tires be hanged! After fix'n to ram us with that rust bucket yer lucky I don't pepper yer red ass with hot lead!”
Bates and the others who were at the front door of the house had by now rushed to the scene. Bates noticed the famous Winnebago logo on the side of the vintage RV, the same name as the man they sought. What a coincidence, he thought. "Take it easy Hank," he said. "After all, our Bus was blocking the driveway.” He carefully deflected Hank’s gun barrel down and away from the red man. "Who are you?" asked Bates.
"Who are you?" answered the man. "You don't act like cops, except for the old fart with the blunderbuss.” He pointed at Hank.
"We asked you first," returned Bates.
"Who wants to know?" rejoined the man.
"Oh, all right!” said Bates, in exasperation. "We're Federal Government folks doing an investigation for the Government. We need to talk to a 'Chief Winnebago' about some work he did for the Government 20 years ago.”
"You mean you aren't here to arrest him?" asked the incredulous man.
"Why would we do that?" asked Bates. "We're not police, we're scientists! Is Winnebago wanted for something?”
"Well, you never know these days, do you?" the man replied, visibly relaxing and smiling. Then he was staring at Mel. His smile disappeared, replaced by genuine astonishment. "Scientists! You're Dr. Melvin Phineas Guthery, the Physicist! I've seen you on PBS! Where's the three piece suit, Doc? I almost didn't recognize you! Hey, wait! You're the guys with the flying Bus! HOLLY SHIT!” The man was suddenly extremely excited.
"How do you know all that?" asked Bates.
"Are you kidding?" the man answered. "You’re all over the VISICOM! You guys are an absolute sensation! You're w
orth millions!” He looked with critical interest at the Bus. "Plain as hell, isn't it! You guys don't know what you're doing at all, do you? Nobody on the COM seems to know either, but you should play up the alien rumors.” He slapped himself on the forehead. "That's why you guys looked me up! Well, you came to the right guy.” His cheap smile returned. “The Chief can get things going for you fast, big time. I've got all the connections you need! Ever hear of Bradley Green? The Bradley Green, PepsiCo Assistant vice-president? He and I are golfing buddies. We're like this.” He held up a pair of fingers, twisted tightly together.
"A Pepsi logo on this Bus of yours will get you five-mil, minimum, and that's just for starters! We'll do a couple of local gigs, and then set up a world tour and sell tee shirts, ball-caps, VISICOM cubes with interviews and out-takes of your next movie, and other collectibles.” He walked over to Barns, who was looking at him with open disgust. "You'll need some new threads, pops!” he said, tugging at Barns' soiled and torn jacket.
Barns pushed the Chief away from him. "This is a complete waste of our time! I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm going back to work.” Without a backward glance, he climbed back into the Bus, followed by Norma and Sandra.
Bates, shaking his head, once again approached the 'Chief'. "No, no, that's not what we need from you at all, and we aren't interested in money.” Winnebago, if that's who he was, made a sour face. "But we do need your help, if you're the Chief Winnebago that did a report for the Government on contacting the spirit world twenty years ago."
The slippery Cheshire cat smile had disappeared. "Hey! That was a long time ago! I can't be held responsible. You Government types signed off the official Government DD250 form approving payment. Now you probably want your money back, or you want something more from me for nothing! I know you Government guys, you're as cheap as hell, every last one of you! No way! Twenty years ago is past history. It's dead and gone, no pun intended, like the Old West. But come on inside and let’s talk you future will aliens and your Bus, OK? I can't stand the heat and sight of the desert.” He started towards his front door with his arm around Bates' shoulder, followed by Mel, Elizabeth, and Janet.
On the way, Bates introduced himself and the others. "Mr. Winnebago, you don't understand. We liked the report!” explained Elizabeth. "Your experiment contacted a real spirit!”
"We want you to help us re-do it today, right now, so we can talk to that spirit," concluded Bates.
Winnebago's jaw dropped open, he turned several shades lighter, his knees buckled out from under him, and he would have collapsed onto his sidewalk if Bates hadn't grabbed and supported him. He and Mel helped him to the shade of his front steps where they sat him down.
"What's wrong?" asked Mel.
"No, no, NO!” the Chief exclaimed, shaking his head vigorously. "No way! Call Goyahkla's spirit on purpose? Are you nuts? No way, Jose! And it wouldn't pay anyway, believe me, I've tried it! It's a losing proposition all the way!”
"Can't you do it anymore?" asked Elizabeth.
For the first time he seemed to take a good look at Elizabeth and Janet just then, because he visibly regained more of his composure. Beautiful women often tend to effect men that way. "I can still do lots of things Liz, including contacting Goyahkla, but that just ain't a wise thing to do. Stick to flying busses and saucers; that's the big money stuff!”
Winnebago got up and herded Bates into the house, continuing to shake his head negatively. The inside of the house was nothing short of spectacular. Expensive looking paintings and furnishings filled the rooms. Several paintings were of New York City, while others were of what may have been the Poconos and Atlantic City. Window drapes were pulled, shutting off any view of the desert outside. They entered the living room and sat down on the extremely contemporary furniture.
"I'm still confused, let’s start all over again," said Bates. "Is your name Chief Winnebago?”
"Not really," said the Chief.
"Twenty years ago did you call forth the spirit of a long dead Apache named Goyahkla?" asked Bates.
"Not exactly," replied the Chief.
"Could you do so now?" asked Bates.
"Maybe, well sort of," replied the Chief. "But I certainly wouldn't want to try!”
"Could you explain those answers so we know what the heck you're talking about?" asked Bates, exasperated.
"OK, listen, I'm trying to be straight with you guys. You seem like nice folks, for Government types. The Government doesn't pay much, does it? It's not fair; you really have something here, so you really need me. But first off, you've got to forget the ghost angle and stick with flying busses and saucers; then I can really help you out.” Again, Winnebago gave Bates a pat on the back.
For just a moment, Déjà Vu struck Bates. This man and this circumstance reminded the scientist of a regrettable incident years ago when an insurance salesman somehow slipped in to haunt his own living room for an entire torturous afternoon. Bates had somehow forgotten the rule against inviting vampires or insurance salesmen into the home. The memory was unsettling, but Bates assured himself that this time escape through use of a flying Bus was only moments away. He simply had to be firm and stick to his agenda.
"OK," conceded Bates, in his most resolute tone of voice "I promise you that we'll talk about that, but first, I must insist that we tackle the questions we just went through.”
"Oh sure. OK! You're the boss! I work for you. I'm your man! Anything you say.” He patted Bates on the back yet again, and then tried to pet Milo, but Milo dodged him.
"The mutt's house broken, I assume? OK, that's cool. The Chief Winnebago thing is the name the locals came up with for me when I moved here from the East. It probably doesn't still show, but my folks moved from the reservation to New York City when I was little. After I grew up, I came back to find my kin. A 'roots' kind of gig, get it? Thought I could teach these folks a thing or two, move them into the twenty-first century, and maybe make a few bucks for myself along the way. Hah! Little did I know that they’re poor as church mice. They admire me of course, so I am actually sort of an honorary chief. And I lived in the Winnebago when I first moved out here; hence the nifty name.”
"You were named after that old rusty RV?" asked Bates.
"It used to be newer," he explained. "Now about that report I wrote. I had contact with Goyahkla all right, but it was all his idea.”
"But the report says that you called him!” interjected Elizabeth.
"Well, OK, so I slanted things just a little bit in the report. The Government liked callings better than hauntings, so I gave them what they wanted, that's all. It made everyone happy. That’s just the kind of guy I am.”
"You lied!” retorted Elizabeth.
"I was young and corruptible back then," explained the Chief, smiling. "Now I'm fully mature and completely one-hundred-percent reliable."
"So you can't call Goyahkla?” asked Bates, disappointed.
"Well," admitted Winnebago, "I've actually been trying for twenty years to not call him. The sick bastard wouldn't leave me alone. But I have figured out ways to avoid him. I haven't seen him in three years now. But he's still around; I can tell! We've simply come to an understanding.”
"What's that?" asked Bates.
"I don't piss him off, and he leaves me alone," explained Winnebago.
"What angers him?" asked Janet.
This seemed to be a sore point with the Chief. He stood up and started pacing the floor. "Plenty! If I make a deal with whites, that's OK! If I deal with Indians, he's on me! If I try to perform an Indian ceremony for some tourist money, he's on me! If I even look at an Indian woman, forget it, and there aren't many women out this way of any kind, believe you me! If I try an exorcism to get rid of him using witch doctors or priests, he has a fit! If I try to leave the area, he's on me until I come back! You think anyone in their right mind would want to live out here in this desert? So try to figure!”
"So you've stayed here for twenty years due to
a ghost?" asked Bates, incredulous.
"Yeah. Whoopee. Twenty-three years in Apache territory. This is where he hangs. It's like he wants to keep me here so he can torment me. I haven't been to a city in twenty-three years. Not even to Phoenix, which doesn't even qualify as a real city in my book. Isn't that a pisser? He won't let me near anything but empty desert. But as long as I stick to ancient Apache territory and keep my nose clean, I'm OK."
"So then it's a curse on you personally.” exclaimed Elizabeth. "It's not the haunting of a place.”
"Tell me about it, Liz," admitted Winnebago sarcastically. "So you guys can see why I don't want to encourage this guy. Sorry, but the last thing I have in mind for a Saturday night is to spend it with that crazy bastard!”
"You'd be advancing science,” said Mel.
"No way!” he replied, with a laugh.
"You'd be helping your Government," added Bates.
"You've got to be kidding!” he replied.
"We'll pay you," suggested Janet.
"How much?" he asked.
The Team members all looked at each other, recalling that their last 7-Eleven stop that left them all nearly broke. "How about 10% of our advertising and movie net income?" asked Elizabeth. "Assuming of course that someday we have some income."
"How about 20% of total gross?" he countered.
"Sold!” declared Bates.
To their amazement, Winnebago went to a VISICOM terminal and had a contract printed out in two minutes. They all signed it. If by doing this they could survive Dannos, they should be able to tolerate this guy for a little while. It seemed like a reasonable trade-off at the time. The important thing right now was to show some progress so that the effort to save Earth had a chance of continuing.
Winnebago went to a closed door and unlocked it. Inside was stored all manner of authentic looking Indian paraphernalia, including clothing, head dresses, beads, blankets, weapons, and pottery. He carried armfuls of the stuff back into the living room and began placing the objects all around.
"This really gets him going," remarked the Chief. "He seems to object when I try to make use of any Apache stuff.” Winnebago produced an ancient looking pipe, shredded a filtered cigarette and stuffed it into the pipe, and then lit it using a flashy gold cigarette lighter. Then he put on an elaborately feathered headdress. "All right, let’s all sit on the floor in a circle the way they did back in the old days," the Chief said. "I'll do some authentic chanting while we all pass the good old peace pipe around."
"A-toy-oat-ta is dog-gone-nice, won-ton-soup be toooo-hott, sisss boom ba," the Chief's voice droned on and on in gibberish, for all Bates could tell, but then what did he know about Apache? Whatever it was, it was pretty annoying, and Bates could see why the guy might deserve to be haunted by ghosts, if there was such a thing. Except as necessary to pass the pipe around, the others in the circle, Elizabeth, Mel, Janet and Chief Winnebago, had their eyes closed and appeared to be concentrating, on what Bates didn't know. Maybe they were just trying not to up-chuck on the white rug, thought Bates; the pipe and its smoke were really disgusting; almost as bad as the inane chanting.
Minutes passed with no results. Bates yawned but kept his eyes open in an effort to stay awake, and checked his watch for perhaps the tenth time. The chanting did seem to slow time; maybe that was a sign they were getting somewhere. Still, if concrete results didn't start happening soon, they would have to give it up. God that tobacco smell was terrible!
"Tee-nee-wee-nee chili-beanie, shish-ka-bob unt un petite weenie, plop-plop, fizz-fizz," chanted the Chief.
Suddenly Milo, who had been lying on the floor next to Bates munching a Milk-Bone, sat up and started howling. At the same time shimmering wisps of mist started to form over the center of the circle, and an unidentifiable voice was heard! It seemed to be in Spanish and in something else even more foreign sounding, neither of which Bates understood, but in any language it was clearly an angry voice, and it grew louder and louder, as did Chief Winnebago, until Winnebago and the spirit seemed to be simply yelling at each other at the top of their lungs, with Winnebago cursing in Brooklynese!
At the same time, the mist solidified until a perfectly solid Apache brave appeared to be sitting cross-legged on the middle of the table, facing Winnebago. The apparition was an above mid-sized, well-muscled, Native American clothed, middle aged, fierce eyed warrior that waved a rifle menacingly in one hand and a large knife in the other. This was enough to cow the wide-eyed Winnebago, who shut up and crab-walked back and away in a hopeless attempt to put significant distance between him and the spirit. The spirit abruptly stopped yelling and laughed mockingly at Winnebago.
"Is that him?" asked Bates. "What's he saying?” The fierce warrior turned to face Bates. He certainly looked real, aside from the blazing red eyes; and definitely unfriendly!
"That's Geronimo all right. But how the hell would I know what he said?" replied the white faced Winnebago. The ghost snarled at him. "I don't understand his Apache or Spanish gibberish; this is twenty-first century United States of America for Christ sake!”
The spirit said something to Bates in Spanish. Bates sat dumbfounded. He had enough trouble with English; through careful planning he had managed to totally avoid learning any other languages.
"Elizabeth and I know some Spanish," said Janet. "He just called Winnebago a foot licking son of a turkey vulture! And he advises all white men to run in terror and shame from this land."
"Wait just a minute, Winnebago," said Bates, "a minute ago you called him Geronimo!”
The apparition snarled at both Bates and Winnebago. Winnebago paled even further. "I did? No, no, I'm sorry Goyahkla; it was a slip of the tongue. That's his Spanish name, people! Don't use it! He hates the Mexicans! They killed his family!”
Geronimo? "Fudge Winkies!” muttered Bates; sitting before them was the ghostly spirit of most feared Indian in white-American history!
The fierce warrior then looked rather closely at Elizabeth and Janet and said something else in a much friendlier tone. "He says the white women can stay!” interpreted Elizabeth, with a little smile.
"Talk to him, Elizabeth!” said Bates. "You're a medium! Tell him the Earth is in danger! Tell him the Earth is about to be destroyed and we came here for his help!”
Goyahkla started laughing and laughing. Finally, he was able to pause long enough to explain the joke in Spanish. Oddly enough, he reached out towards Milo as he talked, and the dog came to him calmly to be petted and scratched. This greatly impressed Bates, as Milo was an excellent judge of character.
Elizabeth translated. Apparently Goyahkla thought it was a good joke, for whites to ask him to help prevent the destruction of the white men's world. Then he said something about the Ghost Dancers being right, and started laughing again, as Elizabeth finished translating, and as he suddenly faded away to nothingness.
The witnesses were left sitting on the floor, staring at each other. "Well at least he has a sense of humor and Milo liked him," commented Bates. "He didn't appear to be very cooperative though, did he?"
"Cooperative?” said Winnebago. "He probably hates your guts, though not as much as he hates mine. On the other hand, he liked the ladies and the dog. That was the friendliest I ever saw him! He didn't even knock me silly or hang me by my ankles over a smoking fire or anything! And he actually talked to you in response to what you asked him! He even seemed to respond to your English! What a breakthrough! Cooperative? That's too strong a term; but hey, he didn't even slime me or anything, did he? Look at me everyone, did he turn me purple or cause my hair to fall out or anything?” He stood and turned himself around in front of the others, and a quick check-up revealed no apparent physical damage.
"What did he mean by Ghost Dancers?" asked Elizabeth.
Winnebago had the answer. "That was a religion the Peyote came up with around 1870. It was embraced by some desperate Apaches and their prophet Nakaidoklin during the wars with the whites around 1880. Later the
Sioux and others took it up, but most Apaches shunned it. The basic idea was that the whites would die or vanish, and that the red men would return from the grave and inherit the Earth that the whites had lost.”
"Apaches didn't like that idea?" asked Janet.
"Apaches didn't like the part about the dead returning from the grave. So Goyahkla might figure that if the Earth gets destroyed, that's what happens. The Ghost Dancer prophecy might not look so bad to him as a dead person though, so he might be rethinking his religion right now. Maybe that's why he was so mild with me; you confused him. By the way, that destruction of the Earth stuff you guys are into is a loser; I'd drop it. It will just get people scared and conservative with their money. Stick with the space alien story and we'll make us some big bucks. Within six months we'll be rich!"
"What is his religion?" asked Mel.
"Good question," answered Winnebago. "It's said that he actually became a Christian later in life, but his spirit reflects his whole life, and he wasn't particularly religious for most of it, in my opinion. Hard to be subject to senseless killing by the whites and do all that killing yourself in return and still be strongly religious I suppose, except to be a wild-eyed, zealous, medicine man like him. On the other hand, if he embraces characteristics of the late Ghost Dancers, it could improve his disposition."
"How so?" asked Bates.
"Well, they actually preached for peace between all people.”
By the time they finished talking, it was mid-evening. When Bates thanked Winnebago for his help the Chief told them that he wanted to join the Team immediately to protect his investment, even if it brought on further contact with Goyahkla. Hopefully, the Team could again persuade the spirit to refrain from harming him. In the meantime, Winnebago wanted to get them started on several money-making schemes.
Bates could only tell Winnebago that if the Team voted the next morning to follow his plan, they would return to get him.
After leaving Winnebago's home, they drove the Bus to a nearby remote spot for the night. Despite their success in contacting the spirit of a famous dead Indian, what any of the Goyahkla business had to do with stopping Dannos wasn't apparent to Bates. As far as he could tell, they had just wasted most of the day, and there weren’t many more days left.
****
THE CHIEFS
Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
Be though a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee
- Shakespeare
While Flood was driving the Bus in accordance with Elizabeth's directions, the others were continuing to research the cubes.
"Eureka!” shouted Bates. "Mel, look in Section 11.1.3 of the DOD cube!”
When he did, Mel found that he was looking at a group picture of himself and Air Force General Mike Therman, standing side by side with two very odd looking companions. The two strange creatures were clearly the space aliens that Mel had described to the Team earlier. The little short one was a dead ringer for the Haspa illustrated in the Ra cube, while the big one looked a bit like a heavyset bipedal turtle, sans shell. To their disappointment, however, the text that went with the photo told them even less than Mel had about the intent of the alien's visit, and stated that the aliens left Earth shortly after the photo.
In the meantime however, the Bus had arrived in Clifton Arizona. "This is it," declared Elizabeth. "According to the report, this town developed at the birth place of the Indian whose ghost we are seeking."
Besides a few houses along the highway, there were of course a bar, a 7-Eleven, a church, and a gas station. Actually, it was more civilization than they had seen in one area for most of the afternoon.
"What now?" asked Bates?
"According to the VISICOM directory, the man who did the research for the DOD still lives here, though for some reason, the COM directory lists a few other names for the man besides Chief Winnebago. Turn right onto this next side street."
It was an exaggeration to call this a street, thought Bates. To him, the term 'street' connoted a city, or at least a town. This place would hardly qualify as a truck stop, at least by Eastern standards. The so-called street was nothing but a deserted, dusty, dirt road. "Who's spirit does the report say this Chief Winnebago guy contacted?" asked Bates.
"Somebody named Goyahkla," replied Elizabeth.
"Sounds Indian, all right," said Bates. "Anybody ever hear of him?” Everyone shook their heads no.
To the amazement of all, after winding around a small sandy knoll they discovered a lone house, a surprisingly upper middle class looking colonial home at the very end of the street. An automatic sprinkling system watered a well-manicured lawn and numerous eastern looking shrubs. In fact, the whole thing looked Eastern. There were no horse shoes nailed over the doorway or rattle snakes painted on the mailbox. It was as if someone had tried to create a little oasis of Eastern USA suburbia here, surrounded by desert.
Elizabeth verified the address. "This is it," she said. "The home of Chief Winnebago.”
"Is he a real Indian chief?" asked Bates, as he, Mel, and Elizabeth walked to the front door and Milo did his best to contribute to the greenery in the front yard.
"Let’s ask him," suggested Mel. They rang the bell and knocked several times.
"What the Hell do you want?” asked a grumpy, disembodied, male voice from the other side of the unopened door.
"We just want to talk to Chief Winnebago, alias Jake Tioga, alias John Smith," said Elizabeth.
"Who the heck are you guys?" asked the voice, in a sleepy, Brooklyn accent.
By now Mel had located and pointed out to the others an overhead speaker and video camera. "We're from the Federal Government," answered Bates, speaking up at the camera, smiling and waving.
There was no reply, nor was there any response to the subsequent door pounding, bell ringing, and vocal admonitions of the group. However, perhaps a minute later, the sound of a motor vehicle engine cranking-over was heard from somewhere in back of the house.
After several struggling, coughing tries, the engine started up raggedly, and very shortly thereafter, with its motor roaring and backfiring, a huge, battered, rusty old recreational vehicle came hurdling down the curvy, shrub-surrounded driveway, which happened to be totally blocked by the parked Bus, much to the surprise of the RV driver. The driver applied squeaking brakes and the RV slowed somewhat, but it had no hope of stopping in time, and was clearly destined to slam into the ill-fated Bus.
At the last second a blue-white, bubble like translucent surface appeared to surround the Bus and cushion the impact, such that the RV came only within about two meters of the Bus before bouncing back several more and coming to a full stop. At the same time, bright beams of laser light flashed from below the Bus's right headlight, and the RV's front tires popped and disintegrated into black cinders and smoke.
The Bus's automatic protective capabilities had been triggered by the charging RV. Whoever was in the RV was fortunate that the Bus software decided that destruction of merely the front tires was a satisfactory defense strategy.
The Bus itself had been pushed back and sideways several feet by the impact with its force field, but was apparently unharmed. Moments later Hank came storming out of the still open Bus door brandishing his assault rifle, followed by the others, who though apparently unharmed, were definitely startled and unhappy. "All right you, geit out-o thet there Winne-bay-go, NOW! I see yah in there! So come on out with yer hands up, red skin!” shouted Hank, with his rifle trained on the RV.
In response a short middle-aged man with long graying hair tied together in the back came out with his shaking hands raised high. He wore loose fitting, contemporary, obviously expensive leisure clothing. Other than reddish skin and pony tail, he didn't fit any of Bates' expectations for an Apache Indian chief at all. Of course, he had never met a real Apache Indian chief, so maybe his corresponding stereotype needed a little work.
"There must be some mistake officers," the man began, but then he noticed his RV tires, or rather their absence. Oblivious of Hank's assault rifle, he rushed to inspect the damage. "Holy Moses! What the hell did you do to my tires? They're gone! Warrant or no warrant, you people aren't going to get away with this! I want your badge numbers. I want my lawyers! I’ll COM my Philly lawyers, that’s what I’ll do!”
In response, Hank poked him in the back with the rifle. "Tires be hanged! After fix'n to ram us with that rust bucket yer lucky I don't pepper yer red ass with hot lead!”
Bates and the others who were at the front door of the house had by now rushed to the scene. Bates noticed the famous Winnebago logo on the side of the vintage RV, the same name as the man they sought. What a coincidence, he thought. "Take it easy Hank," he said. "After all, our Bus was blocking the driveway.” He carefully deflected Hank’s gun barrel down and away from the red man. "Who are you?" asked Bates.
"Who are you?" answered the man. "You don't act like cops, except for the old fart with the blunderbuss.” He pointed at Hank.
"We asked you first," returned Bates.
"Who wants to know?" rejoined the man.
"Oh, all right!” said Bates, in exasperation. "We're Federal Government folks doing an investigation for the Government. We need to talk to a 'Chief Winnebago' about some work he did for the Government 20 years ago.”
"You mean you aren't here to arrest him?" asked the incredulous man.
"Why would we do that?" asked Bates. "We're not police, we're scientists! Is Winnebago wanted for something?”
"Well, you never know these days, do you?" the man replied, visibly relaxing and smiling. Then he was staring at Mel. His smile disappeared, replaced by genuine astonishment. "Scientists! You're Dr. Melvin Phineas Guthery, the Physicist! I've seen you on PBS! Where's the three piece suit, Doc? I almost didn't recognize you! Hey, wait! You're the guys with the flying Bus! HOLLY SHIT!” The man was suddenly extremely excited.
"How do you know all that?" asked Bates.
"Are you kidding?" the man answered. "You’re all over the VISICOM! You guys are an absolute sensation! You're w
"A Pepsi logo on this Bus of yours will get you five-mil, minimum, and that's just for starters! We'll do a couple of local gigs, and then set up a world tour and sell tee shirts, ball-caps, VISICOM cubes with interviews and out-takes of your next movie, and other collectibles.” He walked over to Barns, who was looking at him with open disgust. "You'll need some new threads, pops!” he said, tugging at Barns' soiled and torn jacket.
Barns pushed the Chief away from him. "This is a complete waste of our time! I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm going back to work.” Without a backward glance, he climbed back into the Bus, followed by Norma and Sandra.
Bates, shaking his head, once again approached the 'Chief'. "No, no, that's not what we need from you at all, and we aren't interested in money.” Winnebago, if that's who he was, made a sour face. "But we do need your help, if you're the Chief Winnebago that did a report for the Government on contacting the spirit world twenty years ago."
The slippery Cheshire cat smile had disappeared. "Hey! That was a long time ago! I can't be held responsible. You Government types signed off the official Government DD250 form approving payment. Now you probably want your money back, or you want something more from me for nothing! I know you Government guys, you're as cheap as hell, every last one of you! No way! Twenty years ago is past history. It's dead and gone, no pun intended, like the Old West. But come on inside and let’s talk you future will aliens and your Bus, OK? I can't stand the heat and sight of the desert.” He started towards his front door with his arm around Bates' shoulder, followed by Mel, Elizabeth, and Janet.
On the way, Bates introduced himself and the others. "Mr. Winnebago, you don't understand. We liked the report!” explained Elizabeth. "Your experiment contacted a real spirit!”
"We want you to help us re-do it today, right now, so we can talk to that spirit," concluded Bates.
Winnebago's jaw dropped open, he turned several shades lighter, his knees buckled out from under him, and he would have collapsed onto his sidewalk if Bates hadn't grabbed and supported him. He and Mel helped him to the shade of his front steps where they sat him down.
"What's wrong?" asked Mel.
"No, no, NO!” the Chief exclaimed, shaking his head vigorously. "No way! Call Goyahkla's spirit on purpose? Are you nuts? No way, Jose! And it wouldn't pay anyway, believe me, I've tried it! It's a losing proposition all the way!”
"Can't you do it anymore?" asked Elizabeth.
For the first time he seemed to take a good look at Elizabeth and Janet just then, because he visibly regained more of his composure. Beautiful women often tend to effect men that way. "I can still do lots of things Liz, including contacting Goyahkla, but that just ain't a wise thing to do. Stick to flying busses and saucers; that's the big money stuff!”
Winnebago got up and herded Bates into the house, continuing to shake his head negatively. The inside of the house was nothing short of spectacular. Expensive looking paintings and furnishings filled the rooms. Several paintings were of New York City, while others were of what may have been the Poconos and Atlantic City. Window drapes were pulled, shutting off any view of the desert outside. They entered the living room and sat down on the extremely contemporary furniture.
"I'm still confused, let’s start all over again," said Bates. "Is your name Chief Winnebago?”
"Not really," said the Chief.
"Twenty years ago did you call forth the spirit of a long dead Apache named Goyahkla?" asked Bates.
"Not exactly," replied the Chief.
"Could you do so now?" asked Bates.
"Maybe, well sort of," replied the Chief. "But I certainly wouldn't want to try!”
"Could you explain those answers so we know what the heck you're talking about?" asked Bates, exasperated.
"OK, listen, I'm trying to be straight with you guys. You seem like nice folks, for Government types. The Government doesn't pay much, does it? It's not fair; you really have something here, so you really need me. But first off, you've got to forget the ghost angle and stick with flying busses and saucers; then I can really help you out.” Again, Winnebago gave Bates a pat on the back.
For just a moment, Déjà Vu struck Bates. This man and this circumstance reminded the scientist of a regrettable incident years ago when an insurance salesman somehow slipped in to haunt his own living room for an entire torturous afternoon. Bates had somehow forgotten the rule against inviting vampires or insurance salesmen into the home. The memory was unsettling, but Bates assured himself that this time escape through use of a flying Bus was only moments away. He simply had to be firm and stick to his agenda.
"OK," conceded Bates, in his most resolute tone of voice "I promise you that we'll talk about that, but first, I must insist that we tackle the questions we just went through.”
"Oh sure. OK! You're the boss! I work for you. I'm your man! Anything you say.” He patted Bates on the back yet again, and then tried to pet Milo, but Milo dodged him.
"The mutt's house broken, I assume? OK, that's cool. The Chief Winnebago thing is the name the locals came up with for me when I moved here from the East. It probably doesn't still show, but my folks moved from the reservation to New York City when I was little. After I grew up, I came back to find my kin. A 'roots' kind of gig, get it? Thought I could teach these folks a thing or two, move them into the twenty-first century, and maybe make a few bucks for myself along the way. Hah! Little did I know that they’re poor as church mice. They admire me of course, so I am actually sort of an honorary chief. And I lived in the Winnebago when I first moved out here; hence the nifty name.”
"You were named after that old rusty RV?" asked Bates.
"It used to be newer," he explained. "Now about that report I wrote. I had contact with Goyahkla all right, but it was all his idea.”
"But the report says that you called him!” interjected Elizabeth.
"Well, OK, so I slanted things just a little bit in the report. The Government liked callings better than hauntings, so I gave them what they wanted, that's all. It made everyone happy. That’s just the kind of guy I am.”
"You lied!” retorted Elizabeth.
"I was young and corruptible back then," explained the Chief, smiling. "Now I'm fully mature and completely one-hundred-percent reliable."
"So you can't call Goyahkla?” asked Bates, disappointed.
"Well," admitted Winnebago, "I've actually been trying for twenty years to not call him. The sick bastard wouldn't leave me alone. But I have figured out ways to avoid him. I haven't seen him in three years now. But he's still around; I can tell! We've simply come to an understanding.”
"What's that?" asked Bates.
"I don't piss him off, and he leaves me alone," explained Winnebago.
"What angers him?" asked Janet.
This seemed to be a sore point with the Chief. He stood up and started pacing the floor. "Plenty! If I make a deal with whites, that's OK! If I deal with Indians, he's on me! If I try to perform an Indian ceremony for some tourist money, he's on me! If I even look at an Indian woman, forget it, and there aren't many women out this way of any kind, believe you me! If I try an exorcism to get rid of him using witch doctors or priests, he has a fit! If I try to leave the area, he's on me until I come back! You think anyone in their right mind would want to live out here in this desert? So try to figure!”
"So you've stayed here for twenty years due to
"Yeah. Whoopee. Twenty-three years in Apache territory. This is where he hangs. It's like he wants to keep me here so he can torment me. I haven't been to a city in twenty-three years. Not even to Phoenix, which doesn't even qualify as a real city in my book. Isn't that a pisser? He won't let me near anything but empty desert. But as long as I stick to ancient Apache territory and keep my nose clean, I'm OK."
"So then it's a curse on you personally.” exclaimed Elizabeth. "It's not the haunting of a place.”
"Tell me about it, Liz," admitted Winnebago sarcastically. "So you guys can see why I don't want to encourage this guy. Sorry, but the last thing I have in mind for a Saturday night is to spend it with that crazy bastard!”
"You'd be advancing science,” said Mel.
"No way!” he replied, with a laugh.
"You'd be helping your Government," added Bates.
"You've got to be kidding!” he replied.
"We'll pay you," suggested Janet.
"How much?" he asked.
The Team members all looked at each other, recalling that their last 7-Eleven stop that left them all nearly broke. "How about 10% of our advertising and movie net income?" asked Elizabeth. "Assuming of course that someday we have some income."
"How about 20% of total gross?" he countered.
"Sold!” declared Bates.
To their amazement, Winnebago went to a VISICOM terminal and had a contract printed out in two minutes. They all signed it. If by doing this they could survive Dannos, they should be able to tolerate this guy for a little while. It seemed like a reasonable trade-off at the time. The important thing right now was to show some progress so that the effort to save Earth had a chance of continuing.
Winnebago went to a closed door and unlocked it. Inside was stored all manner of authentic looking Indian paraphernalia, including clothing, head dresses, beads, blankets, weapons, and pottery. He carried armfuls of the stuff back into the living room and began placing the objects all around.
"This really gets him going," remarked the Chief. "He seems to object when I try to make use of any Apache stuff.” Winnebago produced an ancient looking pipe, shredded a filtered cigarette and stuffed it into the pipe, and then lit it using a flashy gold cigarette lighter. Then he put on an elaborately feathered headdress. "All right, let’s all sit on the floor in a circle the way they did back in the old days," the Chief said. "I'll do some authentic chanting while we all pass the good old peace pipe around."
"A-toy-oat-ta is dog-gone-nice, won-ton-soup be toooo-hott, sisss boom ba," the Chief's voice droned on and on in gibberish, for all Bates could tell, but then what did he know about Apache? Whatever it was, it was pretty annoying, and Bates could see why the guy might deserve to be haunted by ghosts, if there was such a thing. Except as necessary to pass the pipe around, the others in the circle, Elizabeth, Mel, Janet and Chief Winnebago, had their eyes closed and appeared to be concentrating, on what Bates didn't know. Maybe they were just trying not to up-chuck on the white rug, thought Bates; the pipe and its smoke were really disgusting; almost as bad as the inane chanting.
Minutes passed with no results. Bates yawned but kept his eyes open in an effort to stay awake, and checked his watch for perhaps the tenth time. The chanting did seem to slow time; maybe that was a sign they were getting somewhere. Still, if concrete results didn't start happening soon, they would have to give it up. God that tobacco smell was terrible!
"Tee-nee-wee-nee chili-beanie, shish-ka-bob unt un petite weenie, plop-plop, fizz-fizz," chanted the Chief.
Suddenly Milo, who had been lying on the floor next to Bates munching a Milk-Bone, sat up and started howling. At the same time shimmering wisps of mist started to form over the center of the circle, and an unidentifiable voice was heard! It seemed to be in Spanish and in something else even more foreign sounding, neither of which Bates understood, but in any language it was clearly an angry voice, and it grew louder and louder, as did Chief Winnebago, until Winnebago and the spirit seemed to be simply yelling at each other at the top of their lungs, with Winnebago cursing in Brooklynese!
At the same time, the mist solidified until a perfectly solid Apache brave appeared to be sitting cross-legged on the middle of the table, facing Winnebago. The apparition was an above mid-sized, well-muscled, Native American clothed, middle aged, fierce eyed warrior that waved a rifle menacingly in one hand and a large knife in the other. This was enough to cow the wide-eyed Winnebago, who shut up and crab-walked back and away in a hopeless attempt to put significant distance between him and the spirit. The spirit abruptly stopped yelling and laughed mockingly at Winnebago.
"Is that him?" asked Bates. "What's he saying?” The fierce warrior turned to face Bates. He certainly looked real, aside from the blazing red eyes; and definitely unfriendly!
"That's Geronimo all right. But how the hell would I know what he said?" replied the white faced Winnebago. The ghost snarled at him. "I don't understand his Apache or Spanish gibberish; this is twenty-first century United States of America for Christ sake!”
The spirit said something to Bates in Spanish. Bates sat dumbfounded. He had enough trouble with English; through careful planning he had managed to totally avoid learning any other languages.
"Elizabeth and I know some Spanish," said Janet. "He just called Winnebago a foot licking son of a turkey vulture! And he advises all white men to run in terror and shame from this land."
"Wait just a minute, Winnebago," said Bates, "a minute ago you called him Geronimo!”
The apparition snarled at both Bates and Winnebago. Winnebago paled even further. "I did? No, no, I'm sorry Goyahkla; it was a slip of the tongue. That's his Spanish name, people! Don't use it! He hates the Mexicans! They killed his family!”
Geronimo? "Fudge Winkies!” muttered Bates; sitting before them was the ghostly spirit of most feared Indian in white-American history!
The fierce warrior then looked rather closely at Elizabeth and Janet and said something else in a much friendlier tone. "He says the white women can stay!” interpreted Elizabeth, with a little smile.
"Talk to him, Elizabeth!” said Bates. "You're a medium! Tell him the Earth is in danger! Tell him the Earth is about to be destroyed and we came here for his help!”
Goyahkla started laughing and laughing. Finally, he was able to pause long enough to explain the joke in Spanish. Oddly enough, he reached out towards Milo as he talked, and the dog came to him calmly to be petted and scratched. This greatly impressed Bates, as Milo was an excellent judge of character.
Elizabeth translated. Apparently Goyahkla thought it was a good joke, for whites to ask him to help prevent the destruction of the white men's world. Then he said something about the Ghost Dancers being right, and started laughing again, as Elizabeth finished translating, and as he suddenly faded away to nothingness.
The witnesses were left sitting on the floor, staring at each other. "Well at least he has a sense of humor and Milo liked him," commented Bates. "He didn't appear to be very cooperative though, did he?"
"Cooperative?” said Winnebago. "He probably hates your guts, though not as much as he hates mine. On the other hand, he liked the ladies and the dog. That was the friendliest I ever saw him! He didn't even knock me silly or hang me by my ankles over a smoking fire or anything! And he actually talked to you in response to what you asked him! He even seemed to respond to your English! What a breakthrough! Cooperative? That's too strong a term; but hey, he didn't even slime me or anything, did he? Look at me everyone, did he turn me purple or cause my hair to fall out or anything?” He stood and turned himself around in front of the others, and a quick check-up revealed no apparent physical damage.
"What did he mean by Ghost Dancers?" asked Elizabeth.
Winnebago had the answer. "That was a religion the Peyote came up with around 1870. It was embraced by some desperate Apaches and their prophet Nakaidoklin during the wars with the whites around 1880. Later the
"Apaches didn't like that idea?" asked Janet.
"Apaches didn't like the part about the dead returning from the grave. So Goyahkla might figure that if the Earth gets destroyed, that's what happens. The Ghost Dancer prophecy might not look so bad to him as a dead person though, so he might be rethinking his religion right now. Maybe that's why he was so mild with me; you confused him. By the way, that destruction of the Earth stuff you guys are into is a loser; I'd drop it. It will just get people scared and conservative with their money. Stick with the space alien story and we'll make us some big bucks. Within six months we'll be rich!"
"What is his religion?" asked Mel.
"Good question," answered Winnebago. "It's said that he actually became a Christian later in life, but his spirit reflects his whole life, and he wasn't particularly religious for most of it, in my opinion. Hard to be subject to senseless killing by the whites and do all that killing yourself in return and still be strongly religious I suppose, except to be a wild-eyed, zealous, medicine man like him. On the other hand, if he embraces characteristics of the late Ghost Dancers, it could improve his disposition."
"How so?" asked Bates.
"Well, they actually preached for peace between all people.”
By the time they finished talking, it was mid-evening. When Bates thanked Winnebago for his help the Chief told them that he wanted to join the Team immediately to protect his investment, even if it brought on further contact with Goyahkla. Hopefully, the Team could again persuade the spirit to refrain from harming him. In the meantime, Winnebago wanted to get them started on several money-making schemes.
Bates could only tell Winnebago that if the Team voted the next morning to follow his plan, they would return to get him.
After leaving Winnebago's home, they drove the Bus to a nearby remote spot for the night. Despite their success in contacting the spirit of a famous dead Indian, what any of the Goyahkla business had to do with stopping Dannos wasn't apparent to Bates. As far as he could tell, they had just wasted most of the day, and there weren’t many more days left.
****