Shane slammed the phone down, scaring
the shit out of the sleeping
“Bob get your ass up, and get the hell out of my house,” Shane said, yelling from inside his walk in closet. Shane grabbed his robe storming out of his room heading down stairs. Bob sat up in the bed, dazed and slightly disoriented. “What the hell is up your ass?” Bob yelled back, scratching his belly. “Just get up, now!” Shane screamed from the living room. Bob had never seen Shane act so assertive before. Bob slipped on his house shoes, heading downstairs to find out what in the hell had Shane so riled up. Shane had been following Nadia for the last few years. He subscribed to her paper, ‘You Are On Indian Land,’ in order to keep tabs on her. He bent over to pick up the newspapers from his driveway. As he began to become upright the sound of a vehicle stopped noisily in front of his residence. It was a news van from Phoenix. Shane quickly turned up the drive, beating a hasty retreat to the confines of his custom log home. The news crew piled out of the van. Captain Edwards scrambled to his front door, barely escaping the news thirsty reporter. Shane and Bob sat at the kitchen table as the front door bell rang again and again.
Bob, who wanted to go out there and threaten bodily harm on the reporter, and his cameraman, wisely stay put. Right after of course when Shane said he would shoot Bob in his ass if he did. As Shane sat reading the scathing report on him, Bob, and other officers, he began to see the hand writing on the wall. Bob sat there, pretending to be thinking. The editor, Nadia Titla, had not not minced words in regards the lack of leadership,
and accountability of Shane’s entire department. She cited many inconsistencies, as well as featuring interviews of several victims. All had filed lawsuits. Most had settled, but a few were pending. Ms. Titla was linking local law enforcement to a clear pattern of abuse in the native community. The latest victim, Jesse Coyote stood looking at them with his broken arm in a sling, seemingly staring at the two men from the pages of perdition. Shane and Bob were doing their best to calm down, as they had just went nose to nose in a screaming contest. The fact that the Mayor had called Shane had quickly ended the match, helping them to sober up to the present reality they now faced. They sat quietly drinking coffee as it now began to dawn on them the gravity of their predicament. Shane wasn’t so sure he could spin a story to whitewash his way out of this.
His self assured confidence was shaken. Bob’s wreck of a car was parked on the curb in front of his residence. They needed to separate, and put some distance between themselves. Bob slowly moved the curtain of the front window. The news crew stood loitering near his car. Shane looked out the window too. “Damn,” was all he could manage. Shane closed the curtain. He slumped down on the couch dejected. Shane knew in his heart it was over for him, for Bob, his career. Rubbed out. Finished. Shane didn’t give a care about Bob. As far as he was concerned it was mostly Bob’s inability to adapt to change that finally sealed their fate. Shane’s only concern now was to try and salvage his reputation, if possible. That was the beauty of America. You could screw up, wait a little while, hire a public relations firm, move to different city, and presto, new job, new career. He was white, professional, and articulate after all, what did he have to fear? Bob finished his coffee, walking to the living room to again look out the window. The news van was gone. Without notice the camera crew had packed it up, and vacated the area. Bob wasted no time, making a hasty departure to his has been luxury car, without a word. Shane watched as Bob drove away. He angrily returned the curtains to its place. He made a few phone calls, and then took a quick shower. He forwarded all his calls to his office. Forty five minutes later he sat at his desk, fielding calls, and trying to deflect as many detractors as he could. As the morning progressed, it was becoming more apparent that his once secure schooner which had sailed along by the prevailing white winds of his world; had now lost its tailwind, and was losing steam rapidly. Little did he realize that tomorrow his boat would hit the rocks, only to be hung up, and smashed into bite size pieces of flotsam; by the relentless crashing waves of karmic redress. Turns out; payback often does involve a female canine that bites.