60 Days of Pleasure

1

SEATTLE’S HIDDEN SECRET

"Dallas Avery might be the solution to our problems," Yuma proudly proclaimed.

Chief Joseph scanned the area that made up their reservation. These homes are made of plywood, they are overcrowded, and we are still having issues with basic electricity and homelessness throughout our community.

He let out a forceful sigh, then asked, How is one man going to help our situation? Son, I know you mean well, but the protest will go forward as planned.

Yuma focused on his father’s dark brown eyes. You know the police and Mayor Starr have warned us that there will be great trouble if you tried shutting the city down that way.

I’m trying to avoid the protest, so our people don’t end up on the wrong end of needing bail. I can do that if you’ll give me a chance.

Chief Joseph shook his head. We have no choice. Our voice has been silent for too long. Our issues have become far too great. It is time for us to take action.

That’s why I wanted to bring Dallas Avery in on our side. He can bring attention to our cause without any clashes with the police, Yuma whispered.

The Chief turned to face his son. You know better than to trust outsiders. He placed one hand on his shoulder, then said, We know our history. You have seen how we have been betrayed, misused, and abandoned for centuries.

Yuma’s father was unapologetic about his distrust for crooked politicians and the government as a rule. Chief Joseph had many seasons of leadership where his family suffered because most of his time was spent righting the wrongs done to the indigenous community. It wasn’t a good position for him or his family because the police had no problems throwing any of them in jail and lobbying false charges against them that took weeks, sometimes months to get sorted out. One thing Yuma was certain of—it was hard to fight for justice from behind bars. Though the right to protest was a given, when the two worlds collide, it would be a recipe for disaster.

Do you know who he is?

Yuma paused, waiting on a response from his father. Chief Joseph frowned and folded his arms, so Yuma ended the silence by saying, He’s a famous basketball player who is very much into charitable causes and things of this kind. Do you know what that could mean for our tribe?

Something akin to hope flashed behind the chief’s weary brown eyes, but it went away as quickly as it appeared. The protest is the only way. Dallas Avery means nothing to me, The Chief muttered as he gave a dismissive wave. We live in one of the top ten desirable cities in the United States; yet some of our people are on the streets and some live without any type of proper shelter. That will not change, if all the money in the city is going to the wealthy and not to those in need.

Dallas is always down for a good cause, Yuma protested, placing a hand over his father’s more weathered one. And ours is definitely one of them. I paid a lot of my hard-earned money to switch assignments with Avery’s driver so I could have direct access to him. I believe that he can help us sway the mayor into providing more equitable housing for our people and persuade him to keep those promises, he’s been burying year after year.

Chief Joseph shook his hands in the air, Enough son. Millionaires don't care about helping us. Just do your job and quit fixating on an outsider helping us.

When Yuma averted his gaze, the Chief clinched his jaw before adding, Son, you are too trusting. We have always been in this fight alone. Look around. He gestured to the community, We do not have adequate housing. The homes look like large cardboard boxes. Yes, we own the land, but we do not own our future. The earth is the mother of all people and all people should have equal rights.

We have to break the cycle of mistrust, Yuma said, angling his cell to show a photo of Dallas.

We have every reason—

I have a good feeling about him. Yuma pressed the cellphone with Dallas ‘photo into his father’s hand. All men were made by the same Great Spirit Chief. We are all brothers.  If we can get him to understand our plight, there is no way this generous man wouldn’t help us to let the world know what’s going on here.

Chief Joseph snapped, Son, we will never agree on this topic.

Yuma drew a breath and released it before speaking, So, I gave the dispatcher and the driver my entire paycheck to assign me as his driver. He didn’t want to miss out on all the tips, so it cost much more than it should, but that’s how strongly I believe in his influence.

The Chief gave a low chuckle, but there was no warmth in it. "You’ve wasted your money. How many people have helped our community so far? The mayor is focused on creating a recreational facility for the wealthy instead of where his interests should be. He smiled before musing, I am sure your Dallas Avery will help him before he even thinks about helping us."

Yuma couldn’t keep belaboring the point, but instinct said otherwise. Everyone knows that the mayor is crooked as a three-dollar bill, he continued, watching as his father’s eyes glittered with unspoken anger.

I have faith in mankind. Yuma said, My spirit tells me Dallas Avery is the person that we need on our side. You watch and see.

Your instincts about people are unreliable. No powerful person or organization is trustworthy. If there is nothing else, we have learned from our history, this always remains true, The Chief warned, as he walked away, and returned to the house. The protest will happen in a few days. Our voices will be like a spark in a prairie making a big fire to help our people. You are either with us or you will need to move out of our way.

Yuma watched his father’s retreating form. One day when it’s over, father will thank me.

2

ALL BET’S ASIDE

"If I don’t pay them, my whole world will come tumbling down," Mayor Edwin Starr muttered to himself as he wiped away the sweat from his thin upper lip.

I used to have thick curly black hair and was a handsome fellow. Now my hair is balding, my mid-section looks like I swallowed an inner tube.

Politics had taken its toll. He adjusted his clothing and attempted to comb over his sparse hairline to one side. "Now that looks better," he thought.

I’ve tried to do a lot of good for this community, and it’s time for the citizens to take care of me.

Mayor Starr walked over to the window to gaze at the city.

I’ve encouraged major companies to make Seattle their headquarters, now thousands of residents are employed because of me. My bank account should reflect the hard work I’ve done, instead, I’m broke, busted, and disgusted.

His phone vibrated and, he stared blankly at it, fearing it was his bookie or the city’s treasurer. Both of whom were trying to recover the funds from him that he didn’t have.

He let it go to voicemail.

A moment later, his mobile device rang again. He hesitated before answering it.

May I help you?

When are you going to replace the missing money from your fundraiser? You know that we are being audited soon, the familiar voice said. The content of the conversation was just as bad as he feared."

Look, I know that you are the treasurer of our city, but I am still your boss, he sternly replied.

Mayor Starr’s complexation suddenly became pale, as he imagined the worst-case scenario of his actions. He had gambled on investing in a Pre IPO-Tech Company that was supposed to net millions only to find out that it filed for bankruptcy protection. He’d borrowed from a Vegas outfit that had ties to the mob. Unfortunately, he hadn’t made good on their money and the interest alone meant he would never see the end of it.

I am the chief investment and cash management officer. It’s my fiscal duty to make sure that our books are balanced, the treasurer sternly stated. I’m not going down for your project being in the red. I have all receipts of the funds that were deposited in the bank. In addition to that, copies of your withdrawals can be easily leaked to the press.

He glanced at his watch wishing time would speed up. I’m working on it. Get back to you shortly,

Edwin couldn’t help the nervous habit of wringing his hands, as he contemplated the next move. Stress was one of the triggers for his gambling problem. Suddenly, the urge to call Micky increased. Going to the casino was never an option for him because it would publicly expose a major character flaw. The impulse to place a bet became more intense.

He’d been on a slight winning streak. Things had to get better.

He picked up the telephone.

After hearing the deep voice greeting, Starr instructed Micky to put twenty-five thousand on the Atlanta game.

You already owe a hundred grand. Are you sure you want to add more to your debt? Micky asked, as the sound of cheering, exuberant fans was heard in the background.

"The odds on that game is one thousand to one. Winning this wager will