The Removal

CW: Themes of racism.

In Sagebrush, Wyoming, the regular source of excitement and entertainment usually involved gathering with the mid-afternoon regulars before the large plate glass window of Bar None & Then Some, to watch an unsuspecting tourist being attacked by tumbleweed in the midst of the perpetual windstorms the town was known for. But not so, today.

The patrons at the window watched as a gust of wind blew the well-known scrawny man in the oversized cowboy hat and white knee-high boots down the street. It seemed that the only thing that kept him grounded was the oversized camera bag slung over his shoulder. The door to the bar swung open and the man stumbled in. He turned, out of breath, and struggled to close the door. He was losing the battle until Chief vacated his perch at the bar and calmly walked over and closed the door with little effort.

Nobody knew Chief’s real name, but he claimed, without evidence, to be Native American. Very few challenged his assertion given the fact that he was six feet five inches tall and weighed nearly three hundred pounds. Even if his claimed heritage was questionable, no one disputed that Chief spent plenty of time at the reservation outside town, where two of his three confirmed girlfriends resided.

“What’s up, Scoop?” someone asked the diminutive man who was still trying to catch his breath after his fray with the door. Scoop was the nickname given to Forrest Pecker, the owner/publisher/reporter and sole employee of the Sagebrush Gazette. He hated the name but years of trying to change it only resulted in less acceptable substitutions, like Pecker Head and Flash Pecker.

“Something big is happening at the town hall.” Scoop said. “The mayor is in a secret closed-door meeting with the sheriff and Luke. They kicked me out of the town hall, so I know something’s going on.” Luke owned the biggest ranch in the county, and he ran the town. Everyone knew the mayor and the sheriff took their orders from Luke.

“Maybe they kicked you out because they just don’t like you,” Irma, the bartender, suggested.

“That can’t be it. Nobody likes Scoop,” someone shouted, setting off a ripple of laughter through the assembled patrons.

“Now it’s all beginning to make sense,” Chief said to no one in particular.

“What do you mean. What did you hear?” Scoop asked suspiciously as he climbed up onto a barstool next to Chief. The bar went silent and all eyes turned to Chief.

“Just something I overheard on the rez. We’re not allowed to share it with white people.”

“What the hell are you talking about Chief?” Scoop cajoled. “C’mon, you know I am going to find out eventually, through my sources.”

“Scoop, we know the only source you have is Myrtle, who runs the coffee stand in the town hall,” someone yelled.

“I have nothing to say about that. I don’t divulge my sources. Besides, Myrtle is very reliable.”

A low murmur rumbled through the bar, everyone speaking at once. Irma’s voice rang out from the behind the bar. “Chief, you either tell us what this is about, or I’ll close out your tab and cut you off.”

There was an eerie silence as Chief contemplated that threat before saying, “All right but you didn’t hear this from me.” A dozen customers of the bar crowded around Chief, anxious to be sworn to secrecy. “I was outside the assembly room where the Council that runs the reservation was meeting. I heard them say they were serving legal papers on the town.”

“What kind of legal papers?” the man with the thick glasses and buck teeth asked.

“For removal. That’s what I heard them say. I was listening right outside the door.”

“Removal of what?” the man asked.

Chief shrugged. “It’s pretty obvious.”

“What do you mean?” someone asked.

Chief shrugged, again.

“Irma, get him another drink on me,” Scoop said.

Chief downed the shot of whiskey in one gulp and slammed the glass down on the bar resulting in the bar becoming totally quiet. “Removal of illegal aliens,” he whispered.

A collective gasp echoed throughout the bar.

“Hell, what’s wrong with that? We don’t want no illegal aliens here. What the hell we whisperin’ about?” the man with the thick glasses and buck teeth asked.

Scoop stared at the man with a look of disbelief. "They’re talking about us,” Scoop said quietly.

“Us? What the hell you talkin’ about? Ain’t no Mexicans here-well, except maybe on Luke’s ranch.”

“Don’t you understand?” Scoop asked. “Removal is the term the federal government used when they relocated the Indians to reservations after taking their land. The Council is saying our ancestors had no right to be here, which would make us the illegal aliens in this country. They want to retake the land and force us out.”

“You and that Indian have had too much to drink. No offense Chief. What the hell kind of legal papers could they even get to serve on the town?” the man scoffed.

All eyes returned to Chief. “They got lawyers. Indian lawyers. I saw them go into the meeting room.”

“That’s the worst kind,” someone said. “Indian lawyers.”

“They can’t do that,” the man with the thick glasses and buck teeth said. “We own this land and we got it fair and square.”

“And, if I recollect my history correctly,” the owner of the local jewelry store noted, “they got some damn fine necklaces out of the deal, too.”

“We need a legal opinion,” someone suggested. “We need to get Julius down here right now!”

“He’s not allowed in here,” Irma said. “He stiffed me on his bar tab.”

“Oh c’mon, Irma. The man got unbarred. He can’t even practice law no more. Have a heart,” a voice from the back of the crowd said.

“The term is disbarred not unbarred,” Scoop said, correcting the voice from the back.

“Well, he got disbarred by the State, but he got unbarred by Irma,” someone remarked to the delight of the crowd.

“Irma, how about we all chip in to pay his tab and get him down here to give us his legal opinion?” Scoop suggested.

“As long as I get my money. I’m just tired of being the only charity in town every time somebody loses their job around this god forsaken town.” Irma picked up an empty coffee can that she began circulating among the assembled patrons.

A volunteer left the bar in search of Julius, while the crowd continued its conjecture. “I mean, how would the damn Indians even force us to leave?” asked the man in the thick glasses and buck teeth. “We outnumber the sons-a-bitches. No offense, Chief.”

A wry smile came across Chief’s face. “You notice Luke’s been bringing more Mexicans in to work the ranch? Anyone happen to notice the Mexican restaurant across town is packed every day?”

Scoop pondered the question. “Are you saying Luke’s in on this?”

“Think about it,” Chief replied. “You said yourself that Luke’s in that private meeting with the mayor and the sheriff right now. Maybe he’s worked a deal to exempt himself from removal and keep his land. Maybe all three of them are working a deal for themselves.”

Scoop shook his head. “The sheriff only has six deputies for the whole county. He couldn’t force our removal.”

“Not alone,” Chief remarked, “but what if he had the assistance of a small army of Mexicans…”

“Jesus! Like Mexican ICE!” someone shouted.

“Just a theory,” Chief said smugly, “but you didn’t hear it from me.”

The volunteer returned with Julius, who promptly assumed his place of honor at his usual first barstool closest to the door. Irma placed a beer in front of him, frowning at the satisfied smile on his face. He sat sipping his beer-seemingly holding court-and listening intently.

Scoop provided a synopsis of the situation, interspersed with input from the assembled concerned citizens. Julius ordered a second beer before addressing the group. The bespectacled former lawyer cleared his throat and inserted his thumbs under his suspenders, thoroughly enjoying the attention he was receiving. “As I see it,” he intoned in a booming voice, “this is an outrage that cannot be tolerated.” He stood and began to pace, across the room, to the window and back, in front of his assembled jury. All eyes followed him as if they were watching a tennis match. “From a legal standpoint, I can see a number of options-not that I am giving any legal advice until the administrative action involving my license has been cleared up…”

“The disbarment,” Scoop clarified.

“The innocent accounting error involving the estate I was administering…” he corrected, glaring at Scoop.

“Sorry, go on,” Scoop said with a wave of his hand.

“It would seem to me that an injunction would be in order.”

“Could you, like, ghost write that…” someone asked.

“Of course he can’t,” Scoop said before Julius could answer.

Julius signaled to Irma asking for another beer. “No, I can’t ghost write anything under the circumstances, however…”

The group seemed to hold their collective breath in anticipation of the completion of that sentence. “I might, theoretically, school a learned person on the elements of such a motion to the court.” All eyes shifted to Scoop.

“I need to get more information,” Scoop declared. “I’m going down to the town hall to snoop around. I’ll check with my sources and report back before we decide on a course of action.”

“We’ll go with you,” someone said.

“No, this has to be done quietly,” Scoop warned. “We don’t want them to know that we are on to them. We’ll confront the mayor, the sheriff and Luke after we have all our ducks in order. Don’t you think that is the best course, Julius?”

Julius nodded, unable to respond verbally as he raised the fourth beer to his lips. Irma scowled, looking into the coffee can that was barely half full.

Despite the plea for secrecy, Scoop made his way toward the town hall followed by all the occupants of the bar with the exception of Irma and Julius. Scoop turned and signaled, ineffectively, to the crowd to follow at a more discreet distance.

Arriving at the town hall steps, Scoop made one last plea for a clandestine approach, instructing the participants to, at the very least, appear like they were not together. For a building that seldom saw more than a handful of visitors at once, the sudden arrival of nearly a dozen people, shattered that illusion. The individual members of the group drifted through the main hallway, pretending to study the pictures, announcements, and bulletin board postings on the walls. The fact that they belonged to the same group could not have been more obvious.

The door to the mayor’s office was still closed and the mayor’s very stern-looking secretary was sitting guard at her desk outside the door, eyeing the group suspiciously. Scoop smiled at her but received no reciprocal gesture. He made his way toward Myrtle’s coffee stand at the midpoint of the main hallway.

“What’s going on in there?” he whispered to Myrtle as he pretended to order coffee.

“The mayor is in there with the Sheriff and Luke. They were joined by two men in suits about twenty minutes ago,” she said, without looking directly at Scoop.

“Were the men in suits Indian lawyers?” someone asked from behind him. Scoop realized for the first time that six people had gathered behind him to listen to his conversation with Myrtle.

“Indian lawyers? How would I know?” she said with a puzzled look.

“Were they wearing moccasins?” the man with the thick glasses and buck teeth asked.

“I don’t think so-I didn’t really notice.”

“All right, Scoop. What the hell is going on?” the mayor’s secretary demanded as she strode toward him, accusation sharp in her voice.

One of Scoop’s co-conspirators answered for him. “Maybe you should tell us!”

“All of you need to leave right now,” she said, turning away from the group at the coffee stand, as they were joined by the remaining people posing as spectators. “I’m going to get the sheriff.”

Scoop reached into his camera bag and took out an antiquated thirty-five-millimeter camera. He hastily assembled the group in the hallway and began taking pictures as he envisioned a headline that included the word riot.

The door to the mayor’s office burst open as the angry faces of the mayor, the sheriff and Luke emerged. Their angry expressions turned to a look of surprise, like the unsuspecting subjects of a police sting operation, as they were nearly blinded by the repeated flashes from Scoop’s camera.

“What the hell is this, Scoop?” the mayor boomed. Two men in suits appeared behind the mayor with puzzled looks on their faces.

Scoop reached into his bag and pulled out a recorder that he thrust toward the face of the mayor. “The citizens of this town demand to know about these plans for removal! What is your comment?”

“The plans for what?” the mayor asked, turning to his meeting participants with a bewildered look.

“Removal. Removal of the citizens of this town. That’s what this secret meeting is about, isn’t it?”

“Removal? No, the tribe is seeking approval for a casino they want to build. They want to do that without alienating the townspeople.”

“Approval? Not removal?” Scoop asked meekly.

“Yes, approval.”

“Oh.” Scoops face turned red. He turned and looked at Chief, who shrugged.

“I thought I heard them say removal and something about aliens,” Chief said. “My bad. We should all head back to the bar before Julius runs up a bigger tab.”

“You’re paying, Chief!” Scoop said with no attempt to conceal the fury in his voice.

“Me? You’re the one who got everyone riled up,” Chief replied as the argument continued on the way back to the bar. “Besides, you didn’t hear any of this from me.”

“Maybe Irma has already kicked Julius out of the bar…”