“Moratorium. Right,” says Connor.

Sonia regards him with the sort of mock contempt usually displayed by people his own age. “It means a temporary break.”

“I knew that,” says Connor, which he didn’t.

Sonia shakes her head dismissively and sighs. “It’s Sunday morning—do your parents go to church?” Until then Connor had no idea the day of the week.

“Only on holidays and when someone dies.”

“Well,” says Sonia, “let’s hope nobody dies today.”

23 • Lev

Hennessey is dead, and Fretwell will face justice. The unwinding of Wil Tashi’ne will be avenged. Lev couldn’t ask for more.

Una calls ahead so the Rez is expecting them—and intends to play it for all it’s worth. The Royal Gorge Bridge is closed to traffic for the transfer. A phalanx of guards is there as Morton Fretwell, the Arápache’s public enemy number one, is taken from the trunk of Una and Lev’s car and into police custody. They remove the gag and plastic ties restraining him, and place his hands and feet in steel restraints that seem like overkill for his ugly, emaciated frame.

Then he is walked across the bridge, in perhaps the greatest perp walk of all time. The Arápache are nothing if not dramatic.

“You and Una will lead the procession,” Chal Tashi’ne told them over the phone. “It will be a public event, and the first thing the public will see coming over the bridge will be you.”

Chal is not there when they arrive. Lev is not surprised. As an accomplished attorney for the tribe, Chal might put on a professional façade, but as Wil’s father he couldn’t bring himself to face the last living parts pirate responsible for his son’s unwinding. At least not yet.

At the far end of the bridge is a large turnout of the Arápache people. Five hundred at least.

“Don’t wave or smile or anything,” Una tells Lev as they cross the bridge toward the crowd. “Show no emotion. This is a somber event.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Lev responds. “I’m not an idiot.”

“But you’ve never faced the Arápache as a hero. There are expectations. A demeanor that goes back a thousand years.”

When they reach the end of the bridge, the cheers begin. Una was right to tell Lev how to comport himself, because he does have an urge to bask in glory. Then as they get closer, the cheers drop off and are replaced by boos and jeers. It takes a moment for Lev to realize that this communal vitriol is for Fretwell, who hobbles behind them, with multiple sets of guards on either side.

The crowd shouts epithets in both Arápache and in English, to make sure he understands the nature and level of their hatred. The crowd makes as if to push through the wall of guards holding them back, but Lev suspects it’s also just for show. Yes, they want to tear him apart, but they won’t. They want him to suffer, and suffering requires many more opportunities for public humiliation.

“You people suck,” Fretwell shouts, which thrills the crowd because it allows them to hate him even more.

The chief of police comes over to check out Fretwell. Lev finds himself disappointed that the tribal chief isn’t here, but perhaps he had his expectations too high. As the police chief assesses Fretwell, the parts pirate makes that familiar guttural sound, dredging phlegm from the back of his throat.

“Spit at him and you die right here, right now,” says one of the guards holding him. Fretwell’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows the substantial loogie.

The police chief turns to Lev and Una, shaking both of their hands. “Well done,” he says. Then Fretwell is put into a squad car, driven off, and the party ends. Lev can’t hide his disappointment.

“What did you expect?” Una asks him. “A medal of honor? The key to the Rez?”

“I don’t know,” Lev tells her. “But something more than a handshake.”

“Handshakes from the right people mean a lot around here.”

And there are plenty of handshakes.

First from members of the crowd before they disperse. People of all ages come forward to shake Lev’s hand, and offer words of thanks and congratulations—and Lev begins to realize this is what he needs more than official recognition. What he needs is grassroots acceptance from the Arápache people, one person, one handshake at a time. Only with that sort of support—support on a personal, visceral level—will he find himself the clout to be taken seriously by the Tribal Council.

In the days following Fretwell’s arrest, Lev makes every effort to be as visible as possible in town.

At diners and restaurants, he is given his food for free. He accepts the generosity but leaves an even more generous tip. He is stopped on the street by families who want to take pictures with him. Children want the occasional autograph. He is gracious and accommodating to everyone who approaches him. He handles his own emotion with reserve, just as Una told him. The deportment of a warrior hero, sublimated to modern times.

“I don’t understand you,” says Elina Tashi’ne—Wil’s mother, and a woman whom Lev has come to love like a mother too. “You came here to escape attention, and now you bathe in it like a pig in mud. Perhaps your spirit animal should be the hog instead of that monkey creature.”

“A pig rolls in the mud for a reason,” he points out. “I have a reason too.” She knows that reason, but Lev knows she’s also worried for him. “You are one boy. You can’t expect yourself to move heaven and earth.”