The Whistler

8

Wilton Mace lived in a redbrick split-level on a gravel road two miles from the casino. On the phone he’d been reluctant to talk and said he would have to check with his brother. He called Hugo back the following day and agreed to a meeting. He was waiting in a lawn chair under a tree by the carport, swatting flies and drinking iced tea. The day was cloudy and not as hot. He offered Lacy and Hugo sweet tea to drink and they declined. He pointed to two other folding chairs and they sat down. A toddler in a diaper was playing in a plastic wading pool in the backyard, under the watchful eye of its grandmother.

Wilton was three years younger than Junior and could almost pass for his identical twin. Dark skin, even darker eyes, long gray hair, almost to his shoulders. He spoke with a deep voice and, like Junior, seemed to weigh every syllable.

“Is that your grandson?” Lacy asked, trying to break the ice because Wilton showed no interest in doing so.

“Granddaughter, the first one. That’s my wife, Nell.”

“We met with Junior last week at Starke,” Hugo said.

“Thank you for going to see him. I make the trip twice a month and I know it’s not the best way to spend the day. Junior has been forgotten by his people, and that’s tough on a man, especially one as proud as Junior.”

“He said that most Tappacola believe he killed his wife and Son Razko,” Lacy said.

He nodded for a long time, then said, “That’s true. It’s a good story, easy to repeat, easy to believe. He caught ’em in bed and shot ’em.”

“Can we assume you’ve talked to him since we were there?” Hugo asked.

“I called him yesterday. He gets twenty minutes a day on the phone. He told me what you’re up to.”

“He said you tried to get a job at the casino but it didn’t happen. Can you explain that?” Lacy asked.

“It’s simple. The tribe is split down the middle with both sides entrenched. Goes back to the vote on gambling. The winners built the casino and their Chief runs everything, including the hiring and firing. Me, I was on the wrong side so I couldn’t get a job. It takes two thousand people to run the casino and most of them are from the outside. The Tappacola who want to work must have their politics right to get a job there.”

“So feelings are still pretty raw?” Hugo asked.

Wilton grunted and smiled. “We may as well be two tribes, and blood enemies at that. There’s been no effort at reconciliation. No one wants it, really.”

Lacy said, “Junior says he and Son were wrong to fight the casino because it’s been good for the tribe. You agree?”

Another long pause as he arranged his thoughts. His granddaughter began crying and was taken inside. He took a sip of tea and finally said, “It’s always hard to admit you’re wrong, but I suppose we were. The casino has lifted us out of poverty and given us nice things, so that’s a positive, a big one. We are healthier, happier, secure. There’s a certain satisfaction in watching outsiders flock in here and hand us their cash. We feel like we’re finally getting something back, perhaps a bit of revenge. Some of us worry, though, about living a life that’s so grounded on handouts. Idleness leads to trouble. We’re seeing more alcohol. Our kids are using more drugs.”

Hugo asked, “If life is more prosperous, why aren’t there more children?”

“Stupidity. The council is dominated by idiots and they make bad rules. When a woman turns eighteen, she is entitled to the monthly check, which has been $5,000 for many years now. But if she marries, then it’s cut in half. I get $5,000; my wife gets $2,500. So, more and more of our young women frown on marriage. The men are drinking and causing trouble, so why bother with a husband when you get more money without one? There’s also the theory that a reduction in our population means larger checks for those who survive. Another bad plan. You have to invest in children for a healthy society.”

Lacy glanced at Hugo and said, “We should talk about McDover.”

“I know little about the judge,” Wilton said. “I sat through the trial and thought she was too young and too inexperienced. She did nothing to protect the rights of my brother. She has been attacked on appeal, but her rulings have been upheld, often by the thinnest of margins.”

“You’ve read the appeals?” Hugo asked.

“I’ve read everything, Mr. Hatch. Many times. My brother is facing death for crimes he did not commit. The least I can do is sweat the details and support him. And, obviously, I do have plenty of time.”

“Was Son Razko having an affair with Junior’s wife?” Hugo asked.

“Highly unlikely, though, as you know, when it comes to that type of behavior anything can happen. Son was a man of principle and morals and he was happily married. I have never believed he was carrying on with my sister-in-law.”

“So who killed them?”

“I do not know. Not long after the casino opened, we began receiving our slice of the pie, though in smaller amounts. At the time I was a truck driver, non-union of course, and with my salary, my wife’s wages as a cook, plus our dividend checks, we were able to save $25,000. I gave the money to a private investigator in Pensacola. He was supposed to be one of the best. He dug for the better part of a year and found nothing. My brother had a terrible lawyer at trial, a clueless kid who didn’t know his way around the courtroom, but he’s had some fine lawyers on appeal. They’ve been digging too, for many years, and they’ve found nothing. I cannot give you the name of a likely suspect, Mr. Hatch. I wish I could. My brother was framed in a perfect setup, and it looks like the State of Florida will eventually kill him.”

“Do you know a man named Vonn Dubose?” Lacy asked.

“I’ve heard the name but never met the man.”

“What’s the reputation?”

Wilton rattled the ice cubes in his glass and suddenly looked tired. Lacy felt sorry for him, and tried to imagine the weight of having a sibling on death row, especially one believed to be innocent. He finally said, “There was once a legend around here that a big-time crook named Dubose masterminded all of this-the casino, the developments around it, the rapid sprawl from here to the coast. The legend extended to the murders of Son and Eileen. But it’s all faded now, washed away in a tide of fun and games and cash and jackpots and waterslides and happy hours, not to mention the welfare state. It doesn’t matter now, because life is good. If the man really exists and has his finger in the pie, no one cares, no one wants to cause him any trouble. If he walked through the front door of the casino and told the truth, he would be worshipped like a hero. He made it happen.”

“What do you believe?”

“What I believe doesn’t matter, Mr. Hatch.”

“Okay, it doesn’t matter, but I’m still curious.”

“All right. Yes, there was an organized criminal element involved with the construction of the casino, and these guys, nameless and faceless, are still taking a cut. They use guns and they have thoroughly intimidated our Chief and his cronies.”

Lacy asked, “What are our chances of finding someone from inside the casino who’ll talk to us?”

He actually laughed, and when the moment passed he mumbled, “You just don’t understand.” He rattled his ice again and seemed to fixate on something across the road. Lacy and Hugo glanced at each other and waited. After a long gap, he said, “As a tribe, a people, a race, we don’t trust outsiders. We don’t talk. Sure, I’m sitting here talking to you, but the subjects are general in nature. We don’t tell secrets, not to anyone, not under any circumstances. It’s just not in our blood. I despise my people who are on the other side, but I would never tell you anything about them.”

Lacy said, “Perhaps a disgruntled employee, someone without your discretion. With all of this division and distrust, there must be a few people who are unhappy with the Chief and his cronies.”

“There are some people who hate the Chief, but bear in mind he got 70 percent of the vote in the last election. His inner circle is tight. They all have fingers in the pie and everyone is happy. It would be virtually impossible to find a snitch from within.” He paused and went silent. They endured another long gap, one that seemed not to bother him at all. Finally, he said, “And I would advise you to stay away from it. If Judge McDover is in with the crooks, then she’s well protected by some boys who like violence and intimidation. This is Indian land, Ms. Stoltz, and all the rules that govern an orderly society, all the things you believe in, simply don’t apply here. We govern ourselves. We make the laws. Neither the State of Florida nor the federal government has much say in what we do, especially when it comes to running the casino.”

–

They left him after an hour, after learning nothing that might help them, other than the warning, and returned to the Tappacola Tollway, the busy four-lane the county had built to rake off a few bucks. Near the entrance to the reservation, they stopped at a booth and paid five bucks for the privilege of proceeding. Hugo said, “I suppose this is the spot where Judge McDover decided to stop the traffic with her injunction.”

“Have you read that case?” Lacy asked as she accelerated.

“I read Sadelle’s summary. The judge claimed the traffic was a threat to public health and blocked the road with deputies for six days. Two thousand and one, ten years ago.”

“Can you imagine the conversations between her and Vonn Dubose?”

“She’s lucky she didn’t catch a bullet.”

“No, she’s too smart for that. So is Dubose. They managed to find common ground and the injunction was lifted.”

Immediately past the booth they were greeted with gaudy signs telling them that they were now on Tappacola land. Other signs pointed the way to Rabbit Run, and in the distance there were waves of condos and homes lining fairways. Its property line was adjacent to the reservation, and, as Greg Myers had said, a person could walk from the golf shop to the casino in five minutes. On a map, the Tappacola property had more bends and jags than a carefully gerrymandered congressional district. Dubose and company had gobbled up most of the property around it. And someone, probably Dubose himself, had picked the casino site as close to his land as possible. It was brilliant.

They rounded a sweeping curve and the massive casino was before them, its soaring entrance in the center awash with neon and swirling spotlights. It was anchored on each end with matching high-rise hotels. They parked in a crowded lot and caught a shuttle to the front, where they split and roamed the gaming floors for an hour. They met at 4:00 p.m. for coffee in a bar overlooking the craps and blackjack tables and watched the action. With the piped-in music, the constant jangle of slot machines dumping coins onto the winners, the roar of voices at a hot craps table, and the boisterous sounds of people drinking too much, it was obvious that some serious cash was changing hands.