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CHAPTER
1
"Hey chief!" "Don't call me 'chief'. How's business?" The two old friends smiled as they shook hands and walked to a booth in the back of the brewpub, out of the way of the boisterous lunch crowd milling about the bar. The taller of the two, a breath under six feet, with broad shoulders, a ruddy complexion and tawny brown hair flecked with grey, removed a cowboy hat and waved to the friendly faces in the dining room. "Who's on today?" "Diane. She'll be a few minutes. She's got a bunch of out-of-town exec's up there who are clearly through with their meetings for the day." Ben Kane nodded, placed his hat on the seat next to him, and started fiddling with a paper bar napkin left on the table. A moment later he sat back and looked up, taking in the sights and sounds of his fabulously successful American Outback Brewing Company. "I miss this place. I really do." "You want to switch jobs, boss? There are people who'll pay real money to see me in a suit!" Joe Adams chuckled. His unruly mop of jet-black hair -- now flecked with gray -- framed an otherwise youthful face sporting a perpetual five o¹clock shadow.A former party animal now in his early 40's, Joe worked for Ben as the general manager for the popular boutique brewery and restaurant. "Not today. Ask me again in a couple of months." "Gentleman, what can I get you?" Diane, a brassy blond of indeterminate middle-age, nimbly swept up the old napkin from in front of her boss and placed fresh place settings on the pine tabletop. "Hey! Diane! Good to see you! How's life treating you?" Ben hadn't seen her in several weeks. "Oh, same old stuff. Things could be a little quieter, I suppose." She motioned to the rowdy crowd at the bar. "Should we send the wild man here up front to smack them around a bit?" Ben winked and nodded in Joe's direction. The three laughed. "No, they're fine. Just enjoying the home brew a bit more than we're used to at this time of day." She pulled out her order pad. "What'll it be?" "Why don't you get me a buffalo burger with a short beer. I've got a 1:30 I have to get back to." "You got it! Joe?" "Nothing, Dee, thanks. I'm just keepin' the boss company. You know how people talk when he drinks alone." "They talk no matter whom I'm drinking with." "OK, funny boys, I'll be back in a few minutes." Diane swiveled her chunky hips around and went to fetch Ben's glass of his own American Outback beer. "Where do you think this One Nation thing is going?" Joe asked. Ben sat back, shook his head and stared out the window at the Sanders Street mid-afternoon traffic. "I really don't know. I've been so wrong for so long about how far people would let this kind of thing progress. I mean, I wouldn't think you could find 10 people in a thousand-mile radius who would even suggest such a thing, much less vote for it. But here we are. That son-of-a-bitch Henderson has got an even-money chance of taking over the entire social inner-workings of the whole country. And he makes people feel cheated if we stand in his way. It would be wonderful theater if we weren't talking about our lives here." "I was in Billings last week," Joe said, "visiting the Crow buffalo operation. Nobody's happy about this, and everybody's getting less shy about letting their feelings known. Even the Crow are laughing at us! They think it's funny -- they say all the white men are going to end up working for the federal government, just like them. But the folks in Billings, Ben, not pretty." "Who'd you see?" "I stopped into Hawk's place for lunch, then to Rino's parts yard to pick up some hardware for the Norton. Rino sees a lot of the motorcycle element -- you know, not really your typical political policy-wonk discussion group." Joe lowered his voice. "He says everybody's pissin' blood over this thing. True, these are people who'd be prone to an 'us-against-them' attitude under the best of conditions. But they're pissed. Everybody's pissed." "What about the non-outlaw types in town?" "Not a whole lot better. The local business owners understand we have more federal money flowing into the state than we have going out in taxes. These aren't stupid people. But if Washington takes over education and law enforcement it means local officials lose control over their own tax policy, along with everything else. Nobody likes their life being yanked out of their hands and being treated like a child." Ben was staring out the window again, considering Joe's comments. The approaching aroma of a sizzling buffalo burger and a pile of home fries commandeered his attention. "Thanks, Diane. Tell your boss you deserve a raise." "Very funny. Enjoy!" She hurried off to attend to her paying customers. Ben glanced at his watch and made quick work of his lunch. Joe flipped through paperwork, organizing it for later in the day when he would have to take a more serious look at it. Chewing the last of his meal, Ben looked up at the crowd at the bar as they started moving toward the door, cheerfully saying their good-byes to anyone who would listen. He drained his beer and started collecting the papers he'd scattered across the table. "I've got to get back. Keep your ear to the ground for me. Things are going to get worse before they get better. And I'm not sure how they're ever going to get better." "I'll walk you out. I have to run to the bank and pick up some change." The two slid out of the booth and headed for the door. Joe waved to Diane to signal their departure; Ben stopped and said a few words to some friends at the bar. As they exited and entered the bright sunlight, both slipped on sunglasses. Ben snugged his cowboy hat to his head; Joe walked to the sleek, black motorcycle with gold lettering parked at the curb. "I'll talk to you later, chief." Joe opened the fuel petcock, switched on the ignition, and with two swift kicks, started his vintage, meticulously restored 1972 Norton Commando and coaxed it to a throaty, rhythmic idle. "Stop calling me 'chief'. Take care." Ben watched Joe roar off, gently shook his head and smiled. He turned and headed south on Sanders Street. The Capitol building was only five minutes away, just one block over on Sixth Avenue. Benjamin Kane, the 25th Governor of the State of Montana, needed to get back to the office.
A half hour later, Joe was back at the bar, spread out in a booth doing the food order for the weekend, including a sizable supply of buffalo meat from local Crow meatpackers. The Crow Reservation was less than four hours southeast of Helena. The tribe owned a nifty portable meatpacking plant -- a large, specialized trailer they could truck out into the field to process freshly killed bison. The resulting product was as fresh as it gets, and was a huge hit with both the local patrons and the tourist trade. The Governor's brewpub moved some steaks and sausage, but it was the buffalo burgers everybody was crazy about: Big 12-ounce patties with almost no fat, grilled to perfection on the well-seasoned, open flame grill. Served with a frosty pint of fresh-draft American Outback beer, it was the simplest expression of gastronomical perfection one could casually enjoy in downtown Helena. The television caught Joe's attention. The CNN talking head was pontificating on the promised benefits of the President's "One Nation" program presently working its way through Congress. The bill had just easily been passed in the House; the only question remaining was whether there were the necessary 60 votes in the Senate to break the threatened filibuster (promised by Montana's Senator Nancy Taylor, and a few others). Joe dropped his pencil and sat back against the red cushioned bench. "Damn," he said out loud, to nobody in particular. Behind him, the entire bar was watching the broadcast in silence. * |
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