Apocalypse in Hon-Dah
Tread carefully near the casino.
By DAVE THORPE

They were heading out east of Pinetop toward the wasted gambling casino in Hon-Dah. Victor hated cross-country skiing but in these deep snow-swells and the uncertain terrain, it was the easiest way to travel. Not that his partner, Cincinnatus, trailing in snow shoes, was doing a bad job of it. He was wearing a pair of orange plastic hearing protectors stuffed with a black velveteen material as ear muffs. They'd been scrounged from the flight line at Luke Air Force Base. Military bases had been among the last governmental bastions to be abandoned when the paper money the Treasury kept printing became worthless.

They were going to traverse Devil's Canyon and enter the casino from the backside. Charley Redburn, the erstwhile blackjack dealer and only Native bookie the reservation had ever known, had united the Ripple River clans. They had commandeered the casino making a sometime fortress of it. This was after Victor had stashed the gold——melted down jewelry and gold-capped teeth——they had scavenged from the bodies of the flatlanders caught stranded in Show Low as well as those gamblers stupid enough to wait out the infighting in the casino. The Apaches were relentless in picking them off if they tried Highway 90. In any case, the Apaches took the cash and left the jewelry and gold teeth to Victor and Cincinnatus.

Victor wasn't necessarily making better time than Cincinnatus but he knew the way. The wind was ripping through the trees coughing up tufts of snow and giving little visibility. Victor was zigzagging more than advancing straight ahead. Somehow he missed stepping into the trap. Cincinnatus, plowing straight forward, stepped directly into the buried noose. It gripped his leg just below the calf causing the flattened pine to catapult up, leaving him dangling upside down some 20 feet into the air.

After bouncing a couple of times and coming to a stop, he said, "Heads up, man. Whoever set this thing might be around." He jack-knifed back up and released himself from the noose, then dropped agilely but gingerly to the ground. Breathless more from fear than the activity, he stood defensively next to Victor who was still trying to unsheathe the 12-gauge from his back. That's when the pistol-toting Indian camouflaged in bearskin sidled up to Victor from behind a snow blind. There were four others who remained 10 meters back as silent sentries. After confiscating the shotgun, a quick search of both men revealed only the Schrade tool which Cincinnatus had used to extract the gold teeth from the dead gamblers. The lead Indian never said a word after disarming the men. He motioned them to follow as he headed up the trail toward the casino.


Charley Redburn stood behind the dais in the conference room. The now tied-up white men twisted uncomfortably around, groaning unintelligibly in pain from the wrist and ankle ties. Charley looked down and smiled benevolently. "So what you been up to Victor? You know I never got to pay off that bet you made against the Redskins. That was the weekend that all hell broke out. Here's the six hundred bucks." Charley threw down the six worthless C notes. He continued in a mocking voice. "What's that you used to say? The word Redskin is a euphemism for loser? Was that it?"

Victor answered. "I was using the phrase to describe a football team. It wasn't racial for Christ's sake. You know that."

Charley answered. "Well, maybe so. But I hear you been yanking out some teeth and otherwise divesting our clients of their gold."

"They were dead, Charley. Gold is the only universal currency now. The damn border guards won't let you in Mexico without it."

Charley answered, "Yeah, ain't that the pits? The only rule of law practiced, such as it is, is in Mexico. Ah, Christ. We finally figure a way to get the white man to give back a little of what he stole over six centuries, and the damn dollar becomes worthless. Now tell me where the gold is and I won't scalp you before I kill you."

Charley grasped Cincinnatus by his thick hair and yanked his head up. He touched the point of the knife to a spot just where the hair meets the forehead causing a tiny trickle of blood to flow down.

Finally Cincinnatus spoke. "Actually my mother is full blooded Sac-Fox. Victor is obviously a racist and you really don't want to scalp..."

"So you think I'm going to give a half-white who turns on his partner some slack, huh?" Charley interrupted. "Damn, I hate pompous Sac-Fox jerks." He motioned for one of his cohorts to gag Cincinnatus. Then turning toward Victor, he continued. "Take me to the gold. We'll let you keep enough for Mexico. You're not gonna have to split with this whining weasel in any case. You want to watch?"

Victor answered, "Um, no Charley. I trust you'll do the right thing. We've always had a good relationship. Damn, I miss Monday Night Football."

Victor turned his face away as Charley went back to work on Cincinnatus who commenced moaning through the gag. Charley answered. "Me too, Victor, me too."


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