Hunting Indians - Chapter Three

Chapter one can be found at: https://steemit.com/fiction/@andrewgenaille/hunting-indians-chapter-one

Chapter two can be found at: https://steemit.com/fiction/@andrewgenaille/hunting-indians-chapter-two

1. Chapter three

There was a truck-stop diner on the route back to Vancouver that Ryan and Mark always stopped at after a hunt. It was a chance for them to digest what happened during the morning and unwind before going back to the normalcy of the city. Unfortunately, in Mark's opinion, Damien joined them.
Damien was new to the field after having just been made an Indian Agent only seven months before. His assignment was housing allocation but like most newbies he was drawn to the exciting world of population control. This morning he volunteered to assist them in the field but officially wasn't allowed, so Ryan let him as long as he also volunteered to drive the meat wagon; an air-conditioned car holding the box Jacob was transported in.
Mark didn't like him. Damien looked like an early twenties average nerd right down to the curly hairs and glasses. He was half the build of Mark but dressed in black to fit in; too eager for Mark’s taste and only ended up looking more like a pipsqueak.
"It was this guy’s kid, he wouldn't give up his camera." Ryan explained why they took extra time to get out into the bush, "We told him no recording stuff of any kind but he kept bitching about how much his dad paid."
"I think his dad was a senator or something." Damien added.
"Don't..." Ryan pointed at him, "We don't care who they are, same rules for everybody, besides, people get nervous if you remember anything about them. Start learning to forget names, faces and occupations."
"So what happened?" Damien said.
"It was an overkill," Mark stated.
"What? Why?" Ryan said defensively.
"You let him get worked up, and out of control with his trigger finger."
"Me? I wasn't the one that let him loose in our direction, you were." Ryan said.
"You should've controlled him."
"It was fine." Ryan looked toward Damien, not liking being on the spot in front of guests.
"It was a high powered rifle, one bullet would've dropped him. He put two in his head and this is how we're sending him back to his mother?" Mark asked while picking at his food.
"That's probably why the animal rights groups are so pissed off," Ryan smirked, referencing other country's governments and human rights groups that suspected what they may be up to. They didn't know for sure, didn't mean they didn't argue.
"Yeah." Damien smiled but frowned when he saw the look Mark gave him.
"He was dead already," Mark continued. Jacob was shot in the chest first before the head.
"This guy was scared out of his mind," Ryan raised his voice, "Pumped full of adrenaline. He's standing there arguing with his kid, telling me about his girlfriend’s new tits then the fat ass nearly shit himself when this big Indian comes charging out of the bush at him. Three shots are wild, yeah the forth one killed the Indian but you have to give the guy some leeway after that. You'd have been worked up too."
"The Indian tried to get him?" Damien asked, "They allowed to do that?"
"No." Ryan answered, "But every once in awhile one of them gets the bright idea they should try. Just gets them killed faster."
"Let me ask you this," Mark said, "You think maybe we're making this too easy for them?"
"The Indians?" Ryan's responded.
"No...the Indians? The Indians are basically dragged out onto a firing range and propped up in front of the hunters. We might as well put frybread out and pick 'em off when they come to eat." Mark paused, "Are we making it too easy for the hunters?"
"Yeah, you think on that for awhile. I'm trying to figure out how to make it easier." Ryan honestly said.
"You're serious."
"Yeah. If they were real hunters would they need trackers? If they had any balls, would they be using rifles from sixty feet away? No." Ryan looked to Damien to let it sink in. "We want more business, we should be handing them the Indians on a silver platter."
"How?" Damien asked.
"I don't know, we could put them in a lobster tank and let people pick out the one they wanted. Hell, once we get the laws changed we just put out a bingo call and see who shows up."
"Ok, the rational part of this discussion is over," Mark pointed out. He gave up.
"You hate my ideas now, but you'd be surprised what you can get people to do. Fuck, fifteen years ago did you think you'd be allowed to do this? No." Ryan worked himself up. "But we showed them there was a need. They were taking our land, our food, hell, our whole way of life was being destroyed."
"Those days are over."
"Says who?"
"The war’s over. Nobody seriously thinks that Indians are a threat anymore. I think we've reached our limit."
"Nah, one more incident, one Indian out of place, and they'll let me do anything I want."
"God forbid they let you write any laws." Mark said dryly. It would be a bad day if they did.
"Yeah, topless Tuesday would be more than just a pipe dream my friend, mark my words." Ryan and Damien chuckled. Mark went back to his food.

Returning to the city Mark had Ryan drop him off at the Department of Indian Control office building. It was pretty evident that Ryan had no interest in the paperwork aspect of his job so he let Mark have free reign with it.
Up on the tenth level Mark had one of many cubicles that took up most of the floor. It was confining but at least his cubicle was near a window. When frustrated he could turn and look out at the city. Inside the cubicle his desk was littered with documents and files, endless red tape and rules that somehow make the system run.
He focused on the fifteen year old computer with the Incident report up on it. The official cause of death for Jacob was a fishing accident brought about by alcohol consumption.
Mark spent a few minutes staring at the report as he tried to shake the feeling it was wrong but he's written them before and he knew how to make it hold up to scrutiny. He wondered how, fifty years from now, history would judge him. There's always a time when the world would change and what was considered acceptable becomes unthinkable. Fifty years from now scholars were going to be looking over these documents trying to determine who died naturally and whose lives were taken from them. The trick was to leave no room for interpretation, and that could only be done through believability.
Mark attached the file to an email for the department head and hit send. He waited for the swooshing sound to let him know it was safely gone and then headed for the gym on the twelfth floor.
Mark changed into his sweat suit and grabbed a set of ear buds that he plugged into the treadmill. He altered the settings and warmed up at a light jog while flipping through the television channels on the machine. He went through the five available channels three times before he settled on the news network. He didn't watch it though, he became lost in his own thoughts.
Fifteen minutes later, at the tail end of the show’s cycle, it caught Mark’s attention. He missed the beginning of the report but saw stock shots of Indians.
"...the United Nations envoy is lead by Doctor Susan Smith..." The reporter said as they showed a shot of Susan Smith walking up some stairs. She moved to a small group of reporters and cameras. She held a briefcase and wore a brown trench coat. "When told that her request for a United Nations inspection of First Nations Reserves was turned down by the Prime Minister's office, she had this to say."
The image changed to Susan in full frame, dirty blonde hair slicked back as her wire frame glasses glinted the morning sun every time she turned her head. "I am...disappointed, greatly disappointed in the government of Canada. We are getting rumors, and...reports of extremely inhumane treatment of their own people. Quite honestly, if they have nothing to hide, prove it."
Mark hit the treadmill stop button to watch the report. He got the feeling that it was short on time so the editor was rushing through the facts. It wasn't unusual, stories people didn't want to talk about were usually dumped to the end of the news cycle when people were tuned out.
"Dwayne Kirkland, spokesmen for the Prime Minister’s office had this to say in response..." The image changed to Dwayne, a bulldog of a man, balding with a smirk that stood next to his underlings. It was clear he was in a scrum at the parliament buildings.
"This Canadian government is a major supporter and promoter of human rights. We're always the first to help around the world." He states what was clearly a prepared line, "But you have to realize, we are in a...you know, we're at war right now, we're fighting terrorists, an insurgency within our own borders. We can't be taking time off to let some...let people come take a look based on what? Based on the word of the very people trying to destroy our freedom? Our way of life? No, we won't have it."
The image changed to the Reporter Scott Lucas as he did a walk and talk; "This of course, comes on the heels of a non binding resolution by the United Nations last week, where the majority of member countries voted to condemn Canada's treatment of its aboriginal peoples, with only the United States, China and Australia voting against the resolution. It's now very clear that Canada is being watched more closely on the world stage. Scott Lucas, BBC Two, New York."
Mark flicked off the television. He set the treadmill to five point five miles an hour and raced himself for the next twenty minutes.

"Do you want some potatoes mom?" Amanda asked after putting mashed potatoes on her own plate. It was later in the evening and she had laid out a steak meal on the table along with steamed vegetables and gravy. Mark was cleaned up in jeans and t-shirt as he sat at the head of the table cutting up his steak.
"No, I've had quite enough potatoes," Wendy answered, a woman in her late sixties with a short bob cut, she was a petite woman from age but still lived with the confidence that a privileged life brought.
"It's alright, I've made a lot."
"Yes honey, but I've learned a long time ago that just because you can doesn't mean that you should," Wendy smiled at her daughter as the other pulled the plate back. "You're not saying much Mark."
Mark looked up at Amanda first than over to Wendy as if he forgot the other was there. "I'm sorry?"
"You're not saying much. Rough day at work?"
"We don't talk work at the table Mom." Amanda said politely as she started eating.
"I'm just showing an interest in his life. So, rough day at work?" Wendy asked again.
"For who?" Mark answered.
"For you. Why would I be worried about the savages?" Wendy said. Mark stared blankly, it's been years since he's heard that term; old movies maybe.
"I don't like that word Mom, savages." Amanda was trying to get the attention off Mark.
"What offends you about it?" Wendy asked back.
Mark wondered if there was something in her brain that switched off so she could no longer tell when people were hinting that some topics were off limits. He wanted to blame it on her age but she was this way for as long as he could remember. She has never had any tact.
"They used to be a proud people mom."
"When? Is that what they tell you?"
"I've never actually met one, no."
"Would you want to? Ask Mark, he's around them all day. They live in shacks with no indoor plumbing, covered in mud all the time. Savage is the most appropriate adjective." Wendy looked to Mark for confirmation but all he did was shrug. What Wendy was saying was true but she left out what they both knew; it wasn't by their choice. "You're too young to remember what it was like before the sterilization programs. There were Indians everywhere. They were breeding like rabbits. You couldn't go into Vancouver without feeling like a minority. Roadblocks all the time, shutting down highways, train lines, costing us all a lot of money and what for? Our land, land we lived on for decades and they just expected us to hand it to them?"
"I'm just saying mother, if it were a lion they were..." Amanda was going to say hunting but stopped herself when she saw Mark’s look, some things she was not allowed to share. "A lion kept in a zoo they'd still show it some respect."
"I show them respect," Wendy stated, "and if you must know, I'm in the sponsor program."
"The what?" Mark perked up, something new.
"There's a man that comes to my church every few months, he runs a program that helps Indians learn. He goes to the reserves and teaches them to read, maybe if we can teach them to think like us they'll be less dangerous. He asks for donations and I help them out. I do my part." Wendy said proudly. Mark smirked. He's heard of the program a Christian group put together but saw first hand that the only thing from them that reached the reserve were second hand bibles. "But Amanda, a lion isn't likely to shit on your carpet and tell you it's a present."
"What?"
"Have you ever had to sit through one of their dances?" Wendy went back to her meal.

Several hours later Mark sat on his bed with his back against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles as he read a paperback copy of 'Where the red fern grows,' not really getting into it. Amanda moved about in the large bathroom as she went about getting ready for bed.
"You set the alarm?" She asked through the doorway.
"It's set," Mark answered and then looked over at the clock to make sure, he reached over and hit the button.
"You brush your teeth?" She said as she came into the room dressed in her oversized T-shirt. Mark looked up at her.
"I...yeah," He said and waited until she sat on the bed. "Are you my mom now?"
"No, I just thought that since you've been down lately I could cheer you up by fooling around tonight." She smiled like she was up to no good.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"That's...that's what our marriage has come to? That's your best seduction technique?" Mark closed his book and put it on the dresser.
"You're a boy, is seduction really necessary?"
"Well, nobody likes to be taken for granted."
Amanda faked a sigh. She nodded her understanding and got to her feet. "Alright, hmmm."
Amanda reached up to her hair and pulled out the release, it cascaded down her back as she shook it out. She turned back with an entirely changed attitude, a sex goddess as she climbed onto the end of the bed.
"Sweetheart..."
"Yes."
Amanda crawled halfway across the bed and stopped. Mark smiled. She moved up to him and straddled his legs so they were almost chest-to-chest. "I'm going to rock your world."
Thirty minutes later Amanda was curled up against Mark’s side as he stared up at the ceiling, the two of them uncovered and naked as they cooled down.
Amanda raised her head to watch him for a bit, touching his chin.
"I'd wish you'd talk to me."
"What?" He looked at her.
"We used to just talk, you don't do that anymore, and I wish you would." She weakly smiled, sad.
"What do you want to talk about?"
"What you're thinking."
"I'm not...I'm not thinking anything."
"You're kind of a bad liar."
"Hmmm," Mark laid his head back down and stared off into space. He decided to bring up the elephant in the room. "I'm thinking about Indians."
"Oh." She said, laying her head on his chest, she could feel his heartbeat speed up. "What about them?"
"I don't know." He betrayed some emotion. "You ever wonder about what makes them so wrong?"
"No, not if I can avoid it," She answered. He nodded his understanding that it wasn't something either of them wanted to think about.
"Everything we have...our whole life Amanda."
"I know."
"How did we come this far? How do you go from relocations to legal homicide? How do we just...what did we become?" Mark thought back to the reports he's read, the news he remembered as a young man. "It was war, but the war ended. It was over. But it wasn't enough to just beat them, we needed to destroy them. We turned them into pets."
Amanda pushed herself up to look at him. She studied his face. "Are you alright?"
Mark looked at her and breathed softly, "No."

Chapter Four can be found at: https://steemit.com/fiction/@andrewgenaille/chapter-four-chapter-four