They arrive at the body -- the Indian man who was shot in the back -- facedown in a shallow grave, and kneel beside it. Ray sets his case down; he has a file in his hands.
RAY:
Leo Fast Elk.
COUTELLE:
Not fast enough, I guess.
Ray opens his file, studies the first page.
RAY:
Raised on the reservation.
COUTELLE:
That's key.
RAY:
Thirty-seven, single, resident of
Community Three housing--
COUTELLE:
That's penny ante stuff, Sal.
Coutelle gets up, starts walking away. Ray continues reading over his raw data, unperturbed.
RAY:
Fifth member of the tribal council.
COUTELLE:
What do you make of the damages?
Ray's oral tic as he studies the bullet holes.
RAY:
Automatic, M-1, M-16. Two
twenty-three, high velocity. Soft
tip, maybe.
Coutelle comes back to the body. Ray stands to meet him, unbuttoning his jacket.
COUTELLE:
Very clinical. You're not that
fancy.
Coutelle rustles in his pocket for cigarettes, sticks one in his mouth.
COUTELLE:
That's a thirty-thirty lever-action.
No frills, five times, maybe five
feet away.
A shot of the body, facedown and crawling with flies. Back up to Ray and Coutelle. Coutelle makes a circular motion with the hand not fumbling for his lighter.
COUTELLE:
Spiral. We want casings.
Coutelle walks away. Ray takes a long look at the body, frowning slightly. He can't believe he was that far off with the weapon. Cooch, spiraling, comes across a circle in the sand. In the center, an eagle feather. He stops walking and points at the symbol with his cigarette.
COUTELLE:
Here you go.
COUTELLE (OS):
Eagle feather inside a circle.
That's the ARM symbol.
Ray looks up from Leo's body, but not to see the eagle feather. There's the low growl of a motorcycle engine from beyond the hill. Ray grabs his case; Coutelle takes his gun from his holster and runs up the hill. Cut to an Indian man, Walter Crow Horse, in a black cowboy hat, riding a beat up 1968 Triumph T 100 C. The small road bike is equipped with a black saddlebag and dragging a small platform. Cut to Ray and Coutelle, watching the bike from where they are crouched behind a dune. They duck as the rider approaches. Crow Horse, on foot, approaching Leo's body. He has a pack in one hand, which he sets on the ground as he kneels beside Leo. He pulls some loose tobacco from a pouch and shows it to the sky; he is making an offering over Leo's body. Coutelle, gun drawn, comes out from behind the dune. There is a click as he pulls the hammer back.
COUTELLE:
Federal officer, hands on your head.
Do it!
Crow Horse puts his hands on his heads. Barely a second after, he cries out as he is knocked to his face: Ray, handcuffs at the ready. He is on the man in seconds, pulling his arms behind his back and cuffing him. Coutelle mosies down from the dune, holstering his weapon. His tone is relaxed now, amused.
COUTELLE:
Come back to cover your tracks, pal?
CROW HORSE:
Leo's been out here too long, man.
I'm taking him to ceremonial burial
grounds.
Ray pats Crow Horse down, pulls a wallet from his pocket.
RAY:
You're in a restricted area,
Geronimo.
CROW HORSE:
This is Indian land.
Ray finds a knife on Crow Horse and his anger flares. He tosses the knife aside and pulls Crow Horse up by his hair.
RAY:
What's your name?
COUTELLE:
Hey, easy, Sal.
CROW HORSE:
It sure as hell ain't Geronimo,
chief.
Ray hands Crow Horse's wallet to Coutelle.
CROW HORSE:
Think maybe you guys got off the
wrong exit, yeah? You looking for
Mount Rushmore?
Ray continues to pat Crow Horse down, but the bite's gone out of his voice; he's calming down some.
RAY:
What's your name?
CROW HORSE:
I'm a full-blooded Oglala Sioux born
and raised on this reservation--
Ray's anger fires up again, and he pulls Crow Horse up by the hair again.
RAY:
You're a murder suspect and you're
under arrest, now answer my fucking
question. Who are you?
Coutelle wanders back by with Crow Horse's wallet.
COUTELLE:
He's a fucking cop, is what he is.
Ray looks up, shocked.
RAY:
A fucking cop?
COUTELLE:
Yup, Walter Crow Horse, tribal
police.
Coutelle drops Crow Horse's wallet to Crow Horse's back. The wallet lands open, Crow Horse's badge shining in the sun. Crow Horse laughs.
RAY:
Shit.
COUTELLE:
Sorry about that, Walter.
Ray uncuffs Crow Horse and helps him to his feet. Coutelle collects Crow Horse's gun from where Ray, in his frisking, had thrown it aside. He rechambers the cartridge.
COUTELLE:
He's new on the block, kind of gung
ho.
Crow Horse comes to his feet and accepts his sidearm from Coutelle.
CROW HORSE:
Yeah, we got wind he was coming.
Crow Horse extends his still-cuffed hand to Ray, who dutifully unlocks it.
CROW HORSE:
Sure, Indian official, yeah?
Crow Horse puts his sidearm back in his shoulder holster.
COUTELLE:
Yeah. This is Ray, here.
Coutelle steps behind Ray, claps hands on both Ray's shoulders.
COUTELLE:
Ray . . . Little Weasel.
Ray makes a face, but doesn't correct him. He walks away, though.
CROW HORSE:
Little Weasel?
COUTELLE:
Mm-hmm.
Ray puts his cuffs back, bends to collect Crow Horse's knife from where he'd thrown it. Crow Horse follows Ray, speaking to him instead of Coutelle.
CROW HORSE:
Yeah, well, Leo's gotta make the
ceremony. He's gotta make the
journey.
Ray straightens up, extends the knife.
RAY:
What journey?
Crow Horse takes his knife, and hits Ray with such a look that he begins to backpedal. He nods.
RAY:
Oh. The journey. Right.
Ray glances at Coutelle, who looks none too pleased with Ray's lack of Indianness. Crow Horse puts his knife away.
CROW HORSE:
Yeah. It's time.
COUTELLE:
Lookit, Crow Foot. The only journey
your buddy Leo's going to make is to
the medical examiner in Rapid City.
Coutelle pokes Crow Horse's chest with his middle finger; as soon as Coutelle pulls away, Crow Horse dusts the spot off like Coutelle's left something unsavory behind.
COUTELLE:
And in case you didn't know it,
officer, violation of the Major
Crimes--
CROW HORSE (speaking over him):
--Major Crimes Act on an Indian
reservation is within the
jurisdiction of the Federal Bureau
of Intimidation. I know that.
COUTELLE:
That's very good. Now vamoose.
Crow Horse collects his hat, and turns to Ray.
CROW HORSE:
(speaks Lakota)
Crow Horse puts his hat back on. Ray hands him his wallet.
RAY:
Sorry?
CROW HORSE:
Yeah, right. I said, when can Leo
take the ceremony?
RAY:
We'll, uh, let you know.
He turns to go, then stops.
RAY:
Have you known Leo long?
CROW HORSE:
Nice shades.
Ray makes a face. Cut to the Diplomat running down more unpaved rez roads.
COUTELLE (OS):
There's more homicide right here
than in the whole rest of the state
of South Dakota.
Cut to Ray and Coutelle in the car. Coutelle is driving as per usual; Ray has removed his Raybans. Ray does not look impressed, but he's needled, doing his oral tic some more.
RAY:
Over what?
COUTELLE:
Civil war. You got the so-called
traditionalists mixed in with
outside agitators -- they wanna go
back to the teepee and the buffalo
hunt -- against the pro-government
Natives.
RAY:
Like Leo Fast Elk?
COUTELLE:
Right.
RAY:
Well, he was a council member, so
offing him would be a major coup for
these militant traditionalists.
COUTELLE:
That's right. They wanna overthrow
the reservation council and
reinstate the old chief system. And
then reclaim the Americas all the
way down to Argentina or some damn
thing.
RAY:
Well, if they wanna do some good,
they should clean up the garbage in
their front yards first.
Cut to several shots of garbage in front yards: major garbage, abandoned appliances, tires, abandoned bicycles, etc. Cut back to the men. Coutelle laughs.
COUTELLE:
Nothing to be ashamed of, Ray.
They're your own people, aren't
they?
RAY:
They are not my people.
Coutelle smiles, and when he next speaks, it's the gentlest his tone has been yet speaking to Ray.
COUTELLE:
Well, just don't go overboard trying
to prove that point. I thought you
were gonna snuff old Crow Horse back
there.
Ray laughs. Cut to the Diplomat taking the left prong of a fork. They come upon a roadblock, several old trucks parked across the road. Ray starts, hands reaching for his sidearm. Coutelle puts a hand out to tether Ray, to settle him.
COUTELLE:
Hey, easy now. Just take it easy.
Coutelle stops the car a few feet from the roadblock. Several Indian men, all wearing black cowboy hats and carrying shotguns, advance on them. Ray puts his sunglasses back on.
COUTELLE:
Stay calm, chief. It's just a road
inspection.
The Feds stay in the car as the men advance on them, but Ray cannot sit still; he fidgets in his seat. Jack Milton hands one of the other black hats his shotgun and comes up to the window of the Diplomat, which Coutelle has rolled down. He is short and thin, the darkest of the men, wearing a bolo tie and a leather jacket.
MILTON:
Coutelle. Found your way back.
Was-te.
COUTELLE:
Ray, this is Jack Milton, tribal
president.
MILTON:
You're the Indian official they sent
us.
COUTELLE:
Yeah, this is Ray Little--
Ray preempts him, and reaches across Coutelle to shake Milton's hand.
RAY:
Ray Levoi, Mr. . . . Milton?
Cut to the other black hats taking traditional dress items -- headdresses, etc. -- out of the back of a station wagon. The items' owners protest, but they are held at bay by more black hats with guns. Ray gets out of the car.
RAY:
What's going on?
MILTON:
Traditionals, supporters of ARM.
We're looking for some people.
Coutelle gets out of the car, mostly to run interference between Ray and the black hats.
COUTELLE:
ARM left a mark at the body site,
you know that?
MILTON:
I know. It's gone too far out here.
Trying to catch these murderers
and take care of them. Indian way.
He looks Ray straight in the eye.
MILTON:
Know what I mean, kola?
COUTELLE:
Yeah, well, it's got to be taken
care of the legal way, you know
that, Jack. Federal jurisdiction.
RAY:
Are these tribal cops?
MILTON:
Guardians of the Oglala Nation.
COUTELLE:
"GOONs" for short.
Coutelle smiles a little, cheerlessly.
MILTON:
Tribal rangers. Auxiliary security.
They've been employed to run these
so-called warriors off before any
more of our people die.
Ray's POV. He watches the GOONs grab screaming children from the station wagon, watches them hustle an old woman against a car to frisk her. Cut back to Ray, looking bothered. Coutelle's eyes are on him as he speaks to Milton.
COUTELLE:
Just tell them to put their guns
away, Jack, all right? There's been
enough shooting around here already.
Coutelle pats Ray's arm.
COUTELLE:
Come on.
Ray follows Coutelle back to the car. Milton trails after them, hot and bothered in a Yosemite Sam kind of way.
MILTON:
The Federals don't get rid of them,
we will. The ARM is gonna be the
busted ARM!
He slips his shades back on.
MILTON:
Hey, Louis!
The GOON behind him hands Milton his shotgun back. The GOONS part, taking their traditionalist prisoners -- children and old women and all -- to the sides of the road to let the Feds through. The Diplomat eases through the roadblock. On the road again. Cut to inside the car. Ray is rattled. He takes a deep breath before speaking, and even then, his voice shakes.
RAY:
Where the hell did they send us?
COUTELLE:
Long way from home, Ray.
Exterior shot of the A-1 Motel. It is decorated with carboard cutouts of teepees, and a waving Indian brave in full regalia. There are only two cars in the parking lot: the Diplomat, and an old red truck.
COUTELLE (OS):
Okay, now here's the deal.
Cut to an inside shot, Ray and Coutelle in Coutelle's hotel room. Ray has a cup of coffee. Coutelle has untied his tie; it hangs loose around his neck, like vestments. A lit cigarette hangs from his lips, and he goes through his file boxes with both hands. The cigarette dangles with practiced ease.
COUTELLE:
ARM's on its last legs, Ray. Most
of their leaders are either in jail,
or they're dead.
Coutelle puts the lid on one of his file boxes. We can see the television on in the background, but the sound is off.
COUTELLE:
We got two key extremists left.
Maggie Eagle Bear. Local school
teacher.
Cut to one of Dawes' black and white photos, a glossy picture of a lovely Indian woman. We can see many more similar photos -- not just of Maggie, but of other suspects -- beneath it.
COUTELLE:
Central. Propensity for armed
protests and inflammatory acts;
openly advocates systematic violence.
Coutelle finally addresses the cigarette, removing it with one deep drag as he bends to pick up a file.
COUTELLE:
Now we got Jimmy.
Coutelle slaps the file into Ray's hands. He reads.
RAY:
James Looks Twice.
Cut to the file in Ray's hands. In his left, he holds a typed description of Looks Twice's misdeeds; in the other, more black and white photos. The one on top is a thin Indian man with long hair, holding a rifle.
COUTELLE (OS):
The last messiah of the movement.
National leader.
Pull back. We see Coutelle behind Ray's shoulder; the cigarette is back in his mouth.
RAY:
Felony record.
COUTELLE:
Well, he burned the American flag
three weeks ago in front of the
council offices.
Coutelle smokes his cigarette down to the filter, flicking ash on the floor despite the availability of several styrofoam cups nearby. He then tosses the cigarette and moves to the sink.
COUTELLE:
And pledged to overthrow Milton's
GOONs.
RAY:
Affidavits?
Coutelle looks down grimly at the shuddering stream of brown water the sink is spitting out, and then looks up at Ray, fanning his hand.
COUTELLE:
Five.
Coutelle begins washing his hands.
COUTELLE:
Plus, we got a data match between
him and Leo Fast Elk.
Ray looks up from Look Twice's file.
COUTELLE:
Two assaults in the last month.
Coutelle dries his hands on a towel near the sink.
COUTELLE:
He's my doer, Ray. Now, what's
gonna happen is, this afternoon
we're gonna move into one of their
guerilla camps and bust his ass.
RAY:
Two assaults on Leo?
Coutelle laughs. He bends down to pick up another black and white photograph from the table. He hands it to Ray.
COUTELLE:
Well. Three.
Close up on the photographs: the old one of Jimmy and his rifle, and the new one from Coutelle. It's a sexy shot of Leo's dump site, flies and all. Cut to men in police uniforms, armed with rifles, sneaking through the brush. A tribal police cruiser and the Diplomat can be seen in the background; somewhere, a bird cries. Ray and Coutelle, similarly armed, cut in front of the GOONs; they are leaving the brush, entering a clearing where a fire and a small tent sit.
RAY:
What the hell is that?
COUTELLE:
Sweat meet.
An Indian man with a long ponytail is moving rocks from the fire with a pitchfork. Ray appears before him as he turns around; more precisely, the barrel of Ray's shotgun appears before him. The click of the gun priming.
RAY:
On the ground.
The man hits the ground, lying prone. The tent is surrounded on all sides by heavily armed men. Coutelle opens the fabric flap that serves as a door to the tent. Steam billows out.
COUTELLE:
FBI. Come out easy.
Off screen, men chatter in Lakota. Slowly they begin to emerge, starting with Grampa Samuel Reaches. The old man must be nearing ninety, but could be older, as old as the Black Hills. He is wearing nothing but a towel, and it is difficult for him to crawl out of the tent and come to his feet unassisted.
COUTELLE:
Come on, Grampa. Move it.
Grampa looks at him.
COUTELLE:
Come on, let's go.
Grampa looks at the GOONs, and then he looks at Ray, standing behind him, shotgun raised.
GRAMPA:
(speaking Lakota)
Other men stream out of the tent, wearing only towels, their long hair limp with steam. Grampa turns to look at Ray.
GRAMPA:
(speaking Lakota) . . . FBI.
RAY:
We'll do the talking.
Grampa lingers, looking at him. Finally, Ray motions with his gun.
RAY:
Go on.
Coutelle is getting impatient, and makes a let's move this along motion with his hand to the men streaming out of the tent.
COUTELLE:
Come on!
Finally, Looks Twice emerges. He has cut his hair; he now sports a mohawk. Coutelle spots his quarry, and smiles. Looks Twice comes to his feet.
LOOKS TWICE:
Aw, man.
COUTELLE:
I like your haircut, Jimmy.
LOOKS TWICE:
This is a spiritual ceremony you're
desecrating.
Ray comes behind him, slaps cuffs on him.
RAY:
You're under arrest.
Looks Twice pulls away from Ray.
LOOKS TWICE:
Get away from me!
Coutelle and his shotgun get real cozy with Looks Twice; Coutelle nuzzles Looks Twice's face with the barrel of his gun.
COUTELLE:
Look, you resist, it all gets real
simple, real fast. You know,
subject resisted; subject is dead.
You get it?
Coutelle takes Looks Twice from Ray, starts leading him away from the tent.
COUTELLE:
Come on.
LOOKS TWICE:
We're in the middle of an inipi
ceremony. You drag people out of
their churches while they're
praying?
Coutelle shoves him.
COUTELLE:
Get your damn clothes on.
They walk by Grampa, still hanging out in his towel. He says something to Jimmy in Lakota as Coutelle drags him by.
RAY:
Go on home.
Grampa does not go on home. He trails Ray back to the car. Ray, feeling the old man's eyes on him, stops, turns around. They look at each other a long moment before Ray tears himself away to follow Coutelle. Cut to a long shot of tract housing. Husks of old cars, topped with mattresses and other debris, sit in too-long grass. Some children are playing nearby, one running after a ball.
CHILD 1:
Got it!
CHILD 2:
My turn!
Child 2 bounces the ball off a tract house; they race to catch it.
CHILD 1:
It's mine!
The Diplomat, attended by three tribal PD cars, drive past the children playing to a tract house with an American flag, hung upside down, out front. Ray gets out of the car. He goes to the front seat to retrieve his shotgun, then goes back to the back and then drags Looks Twice out.
LOOKS TWICE:
You got nothing on me.
RAY:
Don't be so sure, Jimmy. Hanging
that flag upside down is a federal
offense.
LOOKS TWICE:
Hey, I was in the service, man.
RAY:
Oh yeah?
LOOKS TWICE:
Nam. Decorated.
Coutelle comes around the car to join them.
COUTELLE:
Yeah, me too, Jimmy. You're not
alone.
LOOKS TWICE:
Then you should know. An upside
down flag's a distress signal.
RAY:
Cut the militant bullshit.
Looks Twice stops in his tracks, spins around to face the Feds.
LOOKS TWICE:
I'm not a militant. I'm a warrior.
Coutelle reaches the door.
COUTELLE:
Yeah, and I'm John Wayne.
LOOKS TWICE:
It's the five hundred year
resistance. You can't break the
connection. Follow? It's
a five-hundred-year-old voice.
Coutelle motions to the door.
COUTELLE:
Do you have a key?
Looks Twice just looks at him.
COUTELLE:
All right. Agent Levoi, the
federal master key, please.
Ray goes to break down the door. Looks Twice intercepts him, standing between Ray and the door.
LOOKS TWICE:
No, don't. You GOONs just busted my
door Sunday. It's in the can.
He nods toward the stoop.
LOOKS TWICE:
The key. Use the key. It's in the
coffee can.
Coutelle approaches the stoop, smiling incredulously.
COUTELLE:
Coffee can.
LOOKS TWICE:
Yeah. The key's in the coffee can,
in the hole.
Cut to the hole separating the sidewalk from the stoop. Coutelle kneels, sticks his arm in there, feels for the key. Cut to Ray watching Jimmy watching Coutelle. Cut to Coutelle, feeling around for the key. A scream, a growl: a badger shoots out of the hole, latching down on Coutelle's hand. Coutelle jumps up; the badger is hanging from his hand.
COUTELLE:
Shit!
Ray takes his eyes from Jimmy to look at Coutelle; Jimmy takes the opportunity to kick Ray in the chest. Ray falls against the house; the gun goes off; Looks Twice runs off. Coutelle and Ray and the GOONs shoot at Jimmy; children scream. Ray and the GOONs pursue. Jimmy takes a shotgun from one of the many dead cars on his property, and returns fire. Ray ducks just as a shot hits a windshield inches from him. He jumps up and returns fire, but Looks Twice has run behind some hanging laundry; sheets and blankets obscure him, and Ray's shots do nothing but send up smoke and rock the laundry on the line. Ray shoots until his shotgun is empty and then drops it, feeling for his sidearm, the gun on his right hip. He does not break stride running after Jimmy.
COUTELLE (OS):
Fugitive alert, fugitive alert:
assault on a federal officer, one
officer down. Over.
Cut to before Jimmy's house, which now resembles a block party; the whole neighborhood has turned up to catch the show. Coutelle, right hand swaddled in a bloody rag, is on the Diplomat's radio.
DISPATCH (VO):
Has the officer been shot? Over.
COUTELLE:
No, the officer has been bit by a
fucking badger!
A siren. Cut to more tribal backup running through the fields surrounding Looks Twice's house. Ray is still shooting out, using the abandoned cars as cover. He finds cover between two pickup trucks as he observes an old camper at the edge of the field. Some return fire bursts out of the camper's window. Ray sneaks between the trucks -- a spot thick with vegetation; uncomfortable, but good cover -- and then weaves around more abandoned cars, approaching the camper. He fires a few shots, and then, hiding behind an old red truck, motions to the GOONs, who do some firing of their own. Eventually the return fire from the camper stops. Ray stands up, waves off the GOONs.
RAY:
Okay, okay!
The shooting doesn't stop completely.
RAY:
I said hold it!
Ray approaches the camper, now riddled with bullet holes. He kicks in the door -- utilizing the federal master key. It's a wreck inside, and not just because it has taken some serious fire over the past few minutes. It is also empty of any possible fugitives; the camper's back door is open, flapping in the breeze. What is in there is an eagle feather, lying on its own on the floor. Ray walks around the outside perimeter of the camper; nothing there, either. He grits his teeth, and waves off the GOONs. He hears a noise, and raises his gun, but it's only a deer, jumping over the fence and running away. Ray lowers his gun slowly, panting. Cut to a convoy of GOONs prowling the rez roads. People watch as homes are tossed and people are searched.
GOON:
We know Jimmy's here, we know you're
hiding him!
A thick Indian man in a wheelchair, Richard Yellow Hawk, rolls angrily away from the GOONs tossing his house.
YELLOW HAWK:
You goddamn GOONs, get off my
property!
Cut to Jack Milton and his trusty shotgun, overseeing the mayhem. The GOONs pull plywood away from crawl spaces beneath trailers, shoot beneath them. They kick in outhouse doors, and turn over desks in the local schoolhouse.
WHITE FEMALE TEACHER:
What do you think you're doing?
This is a school!
GOON:
Come on, let's go.
The GOON drags the teacher away; in her classroom, all the children have their heads down on their desks. Some are holding their ears. Cut to the GOONs outside, turning over an outhouse. Cut to outside the schoolhouse. Ray is interviewing a GOON, taking notes on a small pad.
RAY:
Jimmy have any kids?
GOON:
Yeah, three as far as we know.
The door to the schoolhouse opens. A GOON is leading out a group of children, headed by the Indian woman from Coutelle's photographs: Maggie Eagle Bear. She wears jeans and a flannel shirt, and her long hair is pulled back. She and the GOONs shout unintelligibly back and forth.
GOON:
You, come on!
MAGGIE:
Leave her alone!
Cut to Ray and the GOON watching Maggie have it out with another GOON. Then the growl of the Triumph; Ray turns to see Crow Horse driving by behind him. Once he's sure he has Ray's eyes on him, Crow Horse flips him off, and then drives away. Cut back to Maggie, trying to reenter the schoolhouse, stopped by two GOONs with shotguns.
MAGGIE:
Get your hands off me! I just need
to get some things!
Cut to a gorgeous aerial shot of the Badlands. Cut to Crow Horse at Leo's dump site, kneeling on the ground. Without turning around, he comes to his feet, puts his hands up.
CROW HORSE:
Raymond Levoi Little Weiner!
Federal Bureau of Interpretation!
You snuck up on me just like a real
city Indian!
Ray walks into frame.
RAY:
You don't listen so good, do you,
Crow Horse?
CROW HORSE:
Watch it!
Ray freezes.
CROW HORSE:
You're stepping on sign.
Ray examines the ground beneath his feet. Crow Horse comes up the dune to talk to him.
CROW HORSE:
Leo wasn't killed here, man. He was
dumped here. Out of a car, bald
tread, bumper held on with baling
wire, nineteen and sixty Chevrolet,
blue and white. Leo's own car; it's
still missing.
Crow Horse crests the hill; they are now literally on equal footing.
CROW HORSE:
The man you want dragged Leo out on
his back, turned him face down.
Made a circle in the earth with a
large pole pine bough. Dusted his
prints with it back to Leo's
vehicle. But he missed one.
They kneel. Crow Horse rests his fingers inside the shoeprint left in the earth; Ray takes off his sunglasses, watches Crow Horse.
CROW HORSE:
Whoever killed Leo walks heel-toe.
RAY:
Plantigrade.
Crow Horse is surprised enough to look up from his work.
CROW HORSE:
Yeah. Like a white man. Jimmy has
a real serious Indian walk.
Carries, what, a hundred and forty
pounds. This guy was a big son of
a buck. Based on the pressure
releases, depth of that print, I'd
say he goes two-ten, two-fifteen.
RAY:
You gonna tell me how much change he
had in his pockets?
Crow Horse meets Ray's skepticism with a purposefully annoying level of sincerity.
CROW HORSE:
Sixty-three cents.
Ray frowns. He stands, and with a sweep of his foot, destroys the print, sending the sand back to its natural entropy.
RAY:
You're out of your jurisdiction.
Ray jerks his thumb to point behind himself. Crow Horse stands.
RAY:
Let's go.
CROW HORSE:
Jurisdiction is the only thing you
got.
Crow Horse makes a face at Ray, but starts off in the direction he indicated. At a leisurely pace, though; he is clearly not too worried about Ray's FBI gravitas.
CROW HORSE:
You gotta listen to the trees, hoss.
Gotta stop and listen to the wind.
It'll tell you things, kola.
Ray has been dragging his feet, loitering around the dump site. Crow Horse stops leaving until Ray gets his ass in gear, and then they finish walking up the hill together.
RAY:
Crow Horse, I flew in here from a
place called the twentieth century.
I don't need to listen to the trees
or talk to the sand to get answers.
CROW HORSE:
Well, you go back to the ME and take
a good look inside of Leo's wounds.
And you tell me how he got red
limestone in there. You'll only
find that in the bed of the Little
Walking River; that's where he was
killed, across from Maggie Eagle
Bear's place in Metoska. You tell
007 when he's finished getting
stitched up--
Crow Horse has stopped walking. Ray wheels around on him, stabbing his index finger at Crow Horse.
RAY:
Watch your mouth. You couldn't dust
Frank Coutelle's badge.
Crow Horse does not feel threatened; he almost laughs.
CROW HORSE:
Yeah, or his badger, for that matter.
He kneels, takes a look at Ray's tracks.
CROW HORSE:
You weigh one seventy-three, eh?
You're not a beer drinker; you're one
of those tofu and pilaf characters.
You wear your gun on your right hip,
but you got a backup -- a little
thirty-two, thirty-eight -- in an
ankle holster; gives you a left foot
drag. You're wearing new shoes a
little too tight on the instep, but
man they look cool, and that's what's
important, am I right?
Ray pauses beside the door of his car -- it's not the Diplomat; somewhere, Ray has picked up a 1981 Chevrolet Impala sedan, burgundy or dark brown -- for a long moment, digesting.
RAY:
Crow Horse?
Crow Horse looks up.
RAY:
Fuck you.
Crow Horse chuckles.
CROW HORSE:
Yeah, you'd love to.
Ray gets in his car, starts it up, and Crow Horse gets on his bike and starts it up, sunglasses dangling from his mouth. Cut to Ray on the bank of the Little Walking River across from Maggie Eagle Bear's place in Metoska. Cut to several meticulously labeled evidence bags, full of bullet casings and other paydirt physical evidence, lying atop Ray's open kit. Beside it: his shotgun. Beside it: yet more evidence bags. Cut to Ray, walking slowly, crouched low to the ground, parsing the tall prairie grass for more evidence. He is intent in his task, and chewing gum, which for the moment takes the place of his oral tic. He hears a noise and straightens, looks up. An old woman walking to the house, leaning on a cane.
RAY:
Ma'am! Ma'am, wait! Please, I'd
like to talk to you for a moment!
Ma'am!
The old woman looks at him for a moment, and then continues on her way -- faster. Ray hears another noise, and turns to see a truck coming up the gravel road. Ray grabs his shotgun and runs after the old woman.
Maggie Eagle Bear's yard, too, is full of abandoned vehicles, and Ray finds cover behind one to get a bead on the truck until it is close enough to judge as non-hostile. He sees Richard Yellow Hawk -- his wheelchair in the truck's bed -- in the passenger's seat; Maggie Eagle Bear is driving. There are several children in the front seat. Maggie comes out of the truck with her hands up.
MAGGIE:
We're unarmed.
Ray puts his gun down, and takes off his sunglasses.
RAY:
Everything's fine.
Maggie starts toward the house.
MAGGIE:
Gramma! Gramma, you all right?
RAY:
I gave her a little start, she's,
she's fine.
He comes to meet her.
MAGGIE (OS):
Don't worry, Gramma.
YELLOW HAWK:
Well, well, well. The Washington
Redskin.
Ray looks after him, but doesn't say anything. Yellow Hawk stays in the truck while the children get his wheelchair down. Ray finally comes to meet Maggie, taking his Federal ID out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He folds it out for her.
MAGGIE:
You must be the Indian FBI.
RAY:
That's right.
He put the ID back in the pocket he pulled it out of.
MAGGIE:
You looking for Jimmy?
RAY:
Why? Have you seen him?
He goes to the inside pocket on the other side for his pad and pen. The children help Yellow Hawk into his wheelchair.
MAGGIE:
I think so. He crossed the road in
front of me about two miles back.
And then he flew away.
Ray looks up from his notes.
RAY:
Flew away?
MAGGIE:
Yeah, well. He can shapeshift.
RAY:
Shapeshift?
MAGGIE:
Into different animals.
Maggie shrugs and smiles.
MAGGIE:
You know. Deer, elk, porcupine.
Crow, sometimes.
Ray stops his note-taking; his expression suggests he has finally caught on to the joke, and he's not happy to be the butt of it. He chomps down hard on his gum.
RAY:
Is that a hereditary thing, or can
one take classes?
Maggie does not look amused. She goes to help her children at the truck.
MAGGIE:
Get off. Here, take her in.
Ray follows Maggie to Yellow Hawk. One of the children pushes Yellow Hawk's wheelchair toward the house.
RAY (to Yellow Hawk):
You live here?
YELLOW HAWK:
Why?
MAGGIE:
No, he doesn't.
The children and Yellow Hawk enter the house. Ray trails after Maggie.
RAY:
Can you tell me where you were two
days ago, six thirty in the morning?
MAGGIE:
You got a warrant?
RAY:
No. You want to take a drive with
me--
He motions to his car.
RAY:
--or tell me where you were at six
thirty in the morning two days ago?
CHILD (OS):
Mommy! Mommy!
Maggie goes to help one of the children, her son Hobart, who hasn't quite made it out of the truck. Ray starts taking notes again.
MAGGIE:
I was in Rapid City. I had an eight
o'clock interview with a TV reporter.
Maggie opens the truck door and takes Hobart into her arms.
MAGGIE:
Desecration of tribal burial grounds.
She walks back over to Ray, and then sets Hobart on the ground.
MAGGIE:
Go inside. He's not gonna hurt you.
Hobart runs off for the house. Maggie straightens and addresses Ray again.
MAGGIE:
The children were with me. We
stocked up on drinking water while
we were there and drove back to the
rez around noon.
RAY:
Okay. And, uh, the old woman was
with you?
Maggie looks surprised.
MAGGIE:
No. Why?
RAY:
I'd like to talk to her.
Ray heads for the house. Maggie intercepts him.
MAGGIE:
No! She's afraid of the FBI's.
Maggie stands between Ray and the door, arms crossed over her chest. The door is open; inside, Yellow Hawk and the children watch the conversation.
RAY:
Look, I have reason to believe that
a murder was committed on your
property. Now, I'm sure if you just
explain that we're here as a service
to the community, she'll cooperate.
MAGGIE:
She doesn't talk to Wasi'chu's.
But then, you're Indian.
RAY:
That's correct.
MAGGIE:
Oh, what nation?
RAY:
The United States.
Maggie and Yellow Hawk exchange a look; clearly, that is not the answer they were after. Ray sighs.
RAY:
I'm a Sioux.
MAGGIE:
Where do you get your blood from?
Ray is becoming visually agitated. Maggie is enjoying it.
RAY:
I, uh--
MAGGIE:
Who's your father?
RAY:
Look, this doesn't really matter,
does it?
MAGGIE:
Gramma's very, very traditional.
I don't think she'll understand--
Maggie smiles and shrugs. Ray is out of tether.
RAY:
I'm very traditional, too. Why
don't you bring her out; she can
explain to me about shapeshifting,
and I'll explain to her about the
airplane. Well, you're from the
reservation--
Maggie is no longer amused. She and Ray talk over each other.
RAY:
--perhaps you can explain to her
about being a material witness, or
aiding and abetting a felony, or
withholding evidence--
MAGGIE:
You asshole. I'm from Minneapolis.
I spent four years at Dartmouth
before I came back to the
reservation. I know my rights and I
know your world. Gramma's not
coming out unless you've got a
warrant. And you're trespassing on
my property, so hit the road, chief.
Maggie goes in the house and slams the door. Ray sighs and walks back to his car. He knew exactly how that would end as the words were leaving his mouth; he just couldn't help himself. Walking back, he catches a glimpse of something on the plateau across the field: ghost dancers in full regalia. They're gone, just as soon as they'd appeared. Ray goggles for a moment and then blinks, heavily, like that will reset his internal aperture. Cut to the Buffalo Beauty, a building near Coutelle's hotel with a sign advertising GAS out front. The building itself is decorated with a large cutout of a buffalo and the words DINE and DANCE. A neon sign over the doorway says LOUNGE. Crickets chirp. Cut to inside the Buffalo Beauty; men in cowboy hats watch a Western on a tiny, blue-tinted TV mounted behind the bar.
RAY (OS):
SA Coutelle and SA Levoi apprehended
Looks Twice at a militant rally but
were attacked--
COUTELLE (OS):
Ambushed.
Pan down to Ray and Coutelle in a booth behind the bar. They are drinking coffee, and the remains of dinner are still on the table. Coutelle's right arm is hugely bandaged, and both men have removed their jackets; they are slung over the backs of their respective seats. Coutelle is looking over some files, and Ray is writing the report he's narrating on a legal pad.
RAY:
Ambushed, that's good. Ambushed by
five, six . . . maybe three--
COUTELLE:
Three.
RAY:
--unidentified Indian males. SA
Coutelle was . . .
Ray pauses, waiting from input from Coutelle. Coutelle is only half listening, and it takes him a moment to clue in.
COUTELLE:
Stabbed.
RAY:
Stabbed in the arm during the
ambush. Looks Twice assaulted SA
Levoi and then took unlawful flight
to avoid prosecution. SA Coutelle
issued an all points bulletin,
et cetera.
COUTELLE:
I wanna nail this sumbitch before
that three-oh-two reaches Dawes'
desk.
There's a commotion at the bar, breaking glass; Ray looks back over his shoulder. He's always on, and can't sit still, besides.
COUTELLE:
Our three days aren't up yet, Ray.
Did you get anything out there?
Ray reaches into his pants pocket and removes an evidence bag, the one with the shell casing from Maggie's place. He holds it out for Coutelle's inspection; Coutelle takes it, studies it.
COUTELLE:
Two twenty-three M-16. Where'd you
get this?
Ray flips through his notepad.
RAY:
Property of Maggie Eagle Bear's.
The commotion at the bar is becoming an actual fight.
COWBOY:
Get your hands off me!
RAY:
There's substantial evidence--
Ray gets distracted by the fight, which the bartender is trying to push out the door.
COUTELLE:
Yeah, and.
Ray looks back. Focuses.
RAY:
There's substantial evidence there
to indicate that's the murder site.
This Looks Twice fellow is very sloppy.
COUTELLE:
How'd you get this?
RAY:
Fraternizing.
COUTELLE:
Who?
RAY:
The, uh, Indian cop, Crow Horse.
Coutelle chuckles, and tosses the evidence bag to the table.
COUTELLE:
You're barking up the wrong tree,
Ray. He plays with FBI heads;
that's his MO. He's got no
jurisdiction over there.
RAY:
Crystal clear, but it happened there.
The DB was transported in his own
vehicle, a sixty Chevy that's still
missing. If we find that vehicle,
we'll have all the evidence we need.
COUTELLE:
Anybody at her camp?
RAY:
She was. Six kids, two of them are
hers.
The waitress comes by to refill coffees.
RAY:
Thank you. (to Coutelle) An old lady
she called Gramma, and, uh--
Ray pauses until the waitress is out of earshot.
RAY:
An ARM member, Richard . . . last
name unknown.
COUTELLE:
Wheelchair?
RAY:
Mm-hmm.
COUTELLE:
Yeah, Richard Yellow Hawk.
Coutelle takes a pill.
RAY:
Yellow Hawk.
COUTELLE:
Let's hear the tape on Maggie.
RAY:
I didn't get tape.
COUTELLE:
Hey, Ray, we're trying to build a
case, here, Ray. Get tape, all
right? All I know is, we don't nail
this sucker in the next twenty-four
hours, this is no longer an
in-and-out. You understand?
Ray looks suitably chastised. Coutelle points a finger at him.
COUTELLE:
You're gonna be eating frybread and
dog soup for many moons to come, Ray.
Now get the fuck out there, and get
the traditionals talking. They're
hiding him.
RAY:
How about a real job? Nobody's
gonna talk to me.
There's a crack of glass breaking. Ray turns just in time to see the Molotov cocktail thrown through the window behind him burst into flames. Ray, Coutelle, and half the bar run outside, weapons drawn. They are just in time to see a 1976 Oldsmobile Cutlass tears out of the parking lot. The bartender and a patron take some shots at the Oldsmobile with shotguns, but they give up chase after not too long.
BARTENDER:
(in Ray's face, but not to him)
Goddamn prairie niggers.
He limps back into the bar. Most of the customers follow; Ray and Coutelle walk back to their hotel, where a crowd of white people has gathered, watching the action from afar.
CHILD:
What's all that shooting?
Ray and Coutelle pause in front of their rooms.
COUTELLE:
Looks like somebody's trying to tell
us it's checkout time.
Pull back, Ray's POV. Someone has painted the ARM symbol on Ray's door. Cut to the Impala driving through the Badlands. Cut to Ray at the wheel; a tribal PD cruiser is visible through the rear window. The sirens go on; Ray checks the rearview and pulls over. The cruiser stops behind him; Crow Horse gets out.
RAY:
You gotta be kidding me.
Crow Horse waves to a car driving by, headed the opposite direction, and then sidles up to Ray's window. He flips his ticket pad to a fresh page, and pulls a pen out of his breast pocket. He's practically skipping.
CROW HORSE:
License and registration, please,
sir.
RAY:
Kiss my ass.
Crow Horse leans in close, resting his forearms on Ray's window.
CROW HORSE:
This is my jurisdiction. And you
were doing fifty-nine in a
fifty-five.
RAY:
Let me see the radar.
CROW HORSE:
I don't need no radar; I can tell.
Ray reaches for his wallet.
RAY:
You are so full of shit.
CROW HORSE:
No! I listened to the wind when you
went by.
Crow Horse cups his hand by his mouth (echo!) and affects his The Wind voice.
CROW HORSE:
It said, "Fifty-nine, nail him.
Before the traditionals do."
Ray holds his wallet up for inspection. Crow Horse begins writing things in his pad.
CROW HORSE:
You know, you guys are just the
second coming of the same old
cavalry.
Ray looks away, and chews his gum aggressively.
CROW HORSE:
They don't want you here. Ain't
nobody gonna talk to you.
RAY:
Fine.
Ray puts his wallet away as Crow Horse walks to the front of the car to take down Ray's plate number.
CROW HORSE:
Except for the wichasa wakhan, and I
don't know why.
Ray sticks his head out the Impala's window.
RAY:
The who?
CROW HORSE:
Man who sent me to find you. Says
he has some information for the FBI.
RAY:
Where is he?
Crow Horse returns to the driver's side window. He tears a ticket out of his book and hands it to Ray through the open window.
CROW HORSE:
Now, you can mail that puppy in, or
you can appear in tribal court, if
you wish to contest it. Follow me.
Cut to the Impala following the cruiser down a dusty, winding road that cuts down a steep hill. There are more abandoned vehicles, the trademark of rez lawns. Cut to Ray and Crow Horse getting out of their respective cars and walking toward a trailer. Originally on different footing, they soon fall in step.
CROW HORSE:
Grampa Samuel Reaches. Heavy duty
medicine.
RAY:
What do you mean, 'medicine?' Like
a medicine man?
CROW HORSE:
Yeah. Bring some tobacco?
RAY:
What?
Crow Horse stops walking, turns on Ray.
CROW HORSE:
When you go and visit an elder, you
always bring some tobacco as a gift.
Ray straightens a little too much.
RAY:
I knew that.
Crow Horse frowns. He reaches into his breast pocket and removes a pack of cigarettes. He tosses them to Ray, who catches them without any more fumbling.
CROW HORSE:
Yeah, right.
They finish their walk to the trailer. Once up on the porch, Crow Horse removes his hat. Cut to an elderly television set playing Mr. Magoo. It might be the Christmas episode; Mr. Magoo appears to be in the midst of a mighty blizzard. No, wait. That's just the static. Grampa needs some rabbit ears.
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
Grampa is seated before the television; he motions with his hands as he speaks. Crow Horse sits across from Grampa, beside the television. Ray stands behind Crow Horse, jacket and shades still on.
RAY:
What'd he say?
Crow Horse laughs.
CROW HORSE:
He wants to know if you ever watch
Mr. Magoo. Says he's not to be
trusted. He's crazy.
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
CROW HORSE:
Says Magoo needs to go up on the
mountain and get himself focused.
Crow Horse gestures, holding a peace sign horizontally and thrusting forward. Ray forces a smile; Crow Horse laughs.
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
Grampa motions by his eyes, holds up a rock. Crow Horse leaves his seat, goes to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Ray. He puts a hand on Ray's back, moves in conspiratorially close.
CROW HORSE:
Uh, Grampa likes to trade.
RAY:
Mm-hmm.
CROW HORSE:
Nobody stops by here without getting
stuck in the old Indian barter.
He motions with his hand, close to the Italian sign for "money."
CROW HORSE:
Know what I mean?
Grampa motions to his eyes again, miming removing a pair of glasses. He holds out the rock.
CROW HORSE:
He likes your eyeglasses.
Crow Horse pats Ray on the back, and walks forward, pushing Ray along, until they are both within a foot of Grampa. Ray smiles, removes his sunglasses, and hands them to Grampa. Grampa extends his hand, closed around an object; Ray holds out his hand, palm up. Grampa deposits the rock there. Ray examines his prize, and makes a face: "Oh, a rock! Just what I've always wanted." Crow Horse laughs. Grampa makes a sort of horizontal karate chop: the signal for a good trade. Grampa laughs. Crow Horse comes to sit beside him, moving the cigarettes Ray brought from the seat of the chair to a small, cluttered table beside Grampa.
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
CROW HORSE:
He says you stopped the inipi a few
days ago. But he's not unhappy with
you, because he says he knows you.
RAY:
He knows me?
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
CROW HORSE:
He says he saw you in a vision some
time back.
Crow Horse's expression slowly turns to shock, and he says something to Grampa in Lakota that we can translate, with no knowledge of the language, to, "Seriously? This guy?" He jerks his thumb at Ray.
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
CROW HORSE:
He says you come from a Wasi'chu
city in the east. But your people
way back are Minniconjou Sioux. But
you yourself don't know that,
because you're as far from yourself
as a hawk from the moon. He says he
knew you were coming here; he was
told.
RAY:
Who told him?
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
CROW HORSE:
The spirits.
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
CROW HORSE:
It is their will that you come here.
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
Grampa pulls out a long pipe, decorated with beads and feathers. Crow Horse takes a box of matches from off the table where he put the cigarettes.
CROW HORSE:
So we will smoke the pipe, and there
will be no lies between us.
Grampa puts the pipe to his mouth; Crow Horse lights it for him with a match. Crow Horse blows out the match, and looks up at Ray.
CROW HORSE:
Don't worry, Ray. It ain't no
Mexican agriculture.
Grampa puffs on the pipe.
CROW HORSE:
Tobacco offering; smoke'll carry
your prayers up. If you don't
smoke, he's gonna think you're
hiding something.
Grampa hands the pipe to Ray. Ray takes it, examines it, smells the bowl to make sure it really isn't any "Mexican agriculture." Then he hands the pipe to Crow Horse, who takes a drag. Grampa picks up a rattle made from tortoise shells, shakes it gently while speaking.
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
CROW HORSE:
Very sacred, he says. Five hundred
years old turtle shell rattle.
Ray frowns and checks his watch. He's been penned up too long; he starts pacing the trailer.
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
CROW HORSE:
Handed down from four grandfathers.
Powerful. "I see a man, half
Indian," he says. Dirty clothes,
bad teeth. Standing near a
mission--no, a school.
Ray has stopped his pacing. He is listening to Grampa talk and Crow Horse translate, the dual melodies intertwining, playing off each other. Between this and the rattle, it's mesmerizing.
CROW HORSE:
He's waiting for somebody. A boy
leaves the school with other
Wasi'chu boys, playing like boys do.
This boy sees the Indian man waiting.
Ray is way past mesmerized. He is transfixed, and going pale.
CROW HORSE:
The other boys are laughing, making
names at the Indian man. This boy
pretends his eyes do not see him,
runs past him.
Crow Horse is watching Ray. He understands the relevance of the story, too.
CROW HORSE:
The Indian man stands alone, sad.
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
Ray is sweating, but he isn't moving, none of his tics or fidgeting. He looks like he's seen a ghost.
CROW HORSE (OS):
This Indian man with the dirty
clothes and bad teeth, somewhere
else. He's on the floor--yeah, on
the floor.
Grampa shakes his rattle, and he pinches his neck, rasps dramatically.
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
CROW HORSE:
He can't breathe. He cannot . . .
breathe.
Ray swallows thickly. Grampa is watching him, waiting. Ray shudders slowly back to life.
RAY:
Does he have any in-in-information,
or not?
Crow Horse looks disappointed.
CROW HORSE:
He gave it to you.
Crow Horse gets up to leave. Ray dabs at his face with his handkerchief, and when he speaks, Crow Horse stops to listen.
RAY:
Ask him, uh, if he knows anything
about the murder.
CROW HORSE:
(speaks Lakota)
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
Ray has thawed enough to remember his gum. Crow Horse is putting his jacket and sunglasses back on. When the old man finishes speaking, Crow Horse doesn't automatically translate; Ray turns to face him.
RAY:
Huh?
CROW HORSE:
He said, "I don't know."
Crow Horse slams his hat on his head, and storms out of the trailer. Grampa and Ray look at one another for a moment, and then Ray turns and follows Crow Horse.
RAY:
He reciting the Gettysburg Address
in there. Now what was he saying?
Crow Horse sighs heavily, but he stops walking, lets Ray catch up.
CROW HORSE:
The old man saw an owl last week.
RAY:
So what?
CROW HORSE:
The owl is a messenger. It means
somebody's gonna die. The owl told
him about Leo.
Out in the sun, away from the hypnotic rhythm of the rattle, it's easy to forget your fear. Ray is back to himself, defensive and cynical.
RAY:
The owl told him about Leo.
CROW HORSE:
He also said, "Listen to the water."
RAY:
Listen to the water. Listen to the
owl.
Ray tosses the rock Grampa traded him, catches it in the same movement. He's all right enough to fidget again.
RAY:
He also said, "Don't trust Mr. Magoo."
Ray starts back to his Impala. Crow Horse follows him.
CROW HORSE:
He said you're chasing the wrong
man. Jimmy didn't do it. He said
we should follow this.
Crow Horse taps his chest, right above his heart. Ray turns briefly to observe him, and then flips him off.
RAY:
Follow this.
CROW HORSE:
Best part of his life a medicine
man, communing with the earth; he
can read you like last month's
Sears Catalogue, kola.
Ray stops before getting into his car, leaning against the driver's side door. Something catches his eye and he stops. He nods, to guide Crow Horse's eye. Crow Horse looks, too. Cut to Grampa, on the porch of the trailer. He puts on Ray's sunglasses, smiles, and sits in a chair on the porch. Ray makes a sour face, and gets in the car. Crow Horse laughs. Cut to the prairie at dawn, the sun bleeding over the dunes. Cut to a box of groceries: bread, salt, corn, some fruit, and four cartons of cigarettes. It is being carried by Ray, up to Maggie Eagle Bear's front door. Maggie's children watch his approach through the open window. Ray knocks; Gramma opens the door, smiling. Behind her, Maggie waits with a shotgun, aimed and ready to fire.
RAY:
Hello.
Gramma unlocks the screen door, opens it. She turns and shuffles back inside, to Maggie.
RAY:
Oh, hello.
MAGGIE:
You can't be serious.
Gramma pats Maggie's gun.
GRAMMA:
(speaks Lakota)
Maggie takes her bead off Ray. Gramma shuffles back to the door.
MAGGIE:
Grampa Reaches says you come from
heavy Indian blood. Trying to
manipulate an old man now?
RAY:
It's the other way around. (To
Gramma) These are for you.
GRAMMA:
(speaks Lakota)
MAGGIE:
Gramma wants to know if you'd like
to come in for a cup of
wahpekhalyapi.
Ray smiles.
RAY:
Love one.
Maggie rolls her eyes. Cut to Ray and Gramma and their wahpekhalyapi.
RAY (OS):
There's been a lot of trouble around
here.
GRAMMA:
Yes, I hear the gunshot.
Ray is taking notes on his pad.
RAY:
When?
GRAMMA:
Every night. I just sit in my chair
and pray Tunkasila will help us.
But it's the water, the children
getting sick.
RAY:
That's terrible. What's wrong with
the water?
Pull back to show the children at the table, watching the goings on, and Maggie in the corner, her gun gone, but not her vigilance.
MAGGIE:
It's contaminated. Ranchers are
finding stillborn calves all over
the rez.
RAY:
Gramma, do you remember the last
time you saw Leo Fast Elk?
GRAMMA:
I've got something.
Gramma gets up, leaves the room.
MAGGIE (OS):
(speaks Lakota)
Maggie comes up to the table to address Ray.
MAGGIE:
Why don't you just leave her alone?
She didn't see anything.
RAY:
A man was murdered here. It's my
job.
MAGGIE:
All right.
She leaves the room, and returns with an enormous stack of folders. She slaps them down on the table before Ray.
MAGGIE:
Do your job. Sixty-one traditionals
and ARM supporters who were murdered
and never investigated.
She takes a file from the pile.
MAGGIE:
Oh, you don't want this one. This
is a suicide. Somehow he managed to
shoot himself in the back of the
head.
Ray regards her earnestly, and he speaks quietly. None of this eases Maggie's anger.
RAY:
I'll look into it, Maggie. I
promise.
MAGGIE:
Good. And while you're at it, why
don't you find out what happens to
tribal funds that don't make it past
Jack Milton, and what he's done to
our schools and health programs.
Just stop pretending that you don't
know what's going on--
RAY:
I know what's going on, Maggie.
You're trying to use your honors
degree in education from Dartmouth
to help your people. I understand.
First thing you did was organize the
local control of schools. Then you
co-founded the Oglala Battered
Women's Shelter, a couple of months
after you were raped. You're
considered one of the most effective
representatives of ARM with the
media, even though you consistently
vote against violent action. That
must be hard.
Maggie's face is an open wound. She is not used to being listened to, least of all by slick PR Indians. She turns and walks away, hides her face.
RAY:
You do a lot of good work, Maggie.
You're very brave.
Gramma shuffles back into the room. Maggie turns to look at Ray.
RAY:
You wanna keep doing it?
Gramma takes Maggie by the arm, drags her back to Ray at the table. Gramma presents Ray with a little charm, a talisman like the one Ray saw in the display case at the airport, like the one in Crow Horse's hatband.
GRAMMA:
(speaks Lakota)
Maggie is fighting back tears.
MAGGIE:
She says she made that for you.
Ray swallows, and studies the talisman.
MAGGIE:
She said Grampa Reaches told her you
come from brave people.
Ray can't stand to look at Maggie, so he looks out the window instead. Clouds of dust; two GOON trucks tearing up Maggie's driveway. Ray jumps up, tackles Maggie to the ground.
MAGGIE:
What do you think you're doing?
The shooting starts. There is the noise of shattering glass as bullets pass through windows; the children scream. Gramma stands in a corner, her hands covering her ears.
MAGGIE:
Get off of me!
The children hit the ground. Bullets ricochet in the kitchen.
MAGGIE:
Get down! Get down! Everybody, get
down!
Close shot of a bullet hole in the glass of the window Ray was just looking out of. Behind the glass, we can see the GOON truck chugging along. Ray returns fire out a different window. Maggie crawls out of the room to see to the children, who are screaming.
CHILD:
Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!
Hobart crawls to the table where Ray was just sitting, the table where he abandoned his doll. Ray turns back briefly, sees Hobart.
RAY:
Stay down!
Ray turns back to the shots still coming. Hobart crawls to the table.
MAGGIE (OS):
Get down!
Hobart sneaks up, grabs for his doll. He takes a bullet through the arm. He screams, and falls to the floor. Glass shatters above Ray's head, and he ducks. Cut to Hobart, lying on the kitchen floor, his shirt darkening with blood.
HOBART:
Mommy!
Cut to Maggie, shielding her other child.
MAGGIE:
Oh God!
Maggie is too emotional to think about avoiding the bullets herself; she jumps up and runs into the kitchen.
MAGGIE:
Hobart! Hobart! Hobart! Oh my
God, he's been shot!
Ray scoots back along the linoleum until he's with Maggie and Hobart. His sidearm is out of ammo; he pulls his backup off his ankle. Ray goes to the window to return fire, just to see the trucks driving off.
MAGGIE:
They shot him. Help me!
Ray snaps to. He drops his gun, hurries over to Maggie. He takes Hobart in his arms. Maggie is wailing; Ray is calm, focused.
RAY:
All right, let me take him.
MAGGIE:
My baby--
RAY:
Take his head.
MAGGIE:
They shot him!
RAY:
Take his head.
Ray and Maggie run to the car, Ray cradling Hobart in his arms.
RAY:
Where's the hospital?
MAGGIE:
Clinic! Main village.
Maggie gets in the back seat of the Impala, and Ray hands Hobart to her. Cut to the Impala speeding down the rez roads. Cut to inside the car, Ray driving like hell and yelling into the handset of his radio.
RAY:
Shooting at Eagle Bear residence in
Metoska.
MAGGIE (OS):
He won't stop bleeding!
RAY:
(into the radio) Hold.
Ray puts the radio down, and jerks off his tie. He hands it back to Maggie in the back seat.
RAY:
Here. Wrap that around him, and
don't put it on too tight.
Cut to Maggie and Hobart in the back. They are both covered in blood. Maggie uses Ray's tie as a tourniquet. Cut to the front seat; Ray is on the radio again.
RAY:
I have an injured child en route to
the reservation health clinic. Over.
Ray looks back at Maggie.
RAY:
He's gonna be all right.
Maggie nods.
MAGGIE:
Stay awake with me, now. That's a
good boy. That's a good boy.
Cut to the Impala speeding down the roads, kicking up plumes of dirt. Cut to the Impala on a paved road. Ray is driving the way he did on the freeway in DC: quickly, impatiently, laying on the horn. He turns into a parking lot, parks, and then jumps out of the car to collect Hobart from the back. Cut to inside the clinic, two Wasi'chu's, a man and a woman, in white coats and latex gloves suturing an old woman's forehead.
MAGGIE (OS):
He's been shot!
Maggie, Ray, and Hobart burst into the operating room.
RAY:
We need another table.
MALE DOCTOR:
There is no other table.
RAY:
We need another table!
MALE DOCTOR:
Hold on.
Ray turns back to Maggie.
RAY:
Hold his head.
Maggie holds Hobart's head, freeing one of Ray's hands. He uses it to sweep all the clutter from the operating room desk. They lay Hobart on the desk.
RAY:
He's lost a lot of blood, come on.
MALE DOCTOR (OS):
Be right there.
Ray puts an arm around Maggie, and this time she bears his touch.
RAY:
He's not gonna die. He's all right.
He'll be all right.
The male doctor comes over.
MALE DOCTOR:
Here, let me take a look.
The doctor pushes between Maggie and Ray; Ray steps back to give the man room.
MALE DOCTOR:
What happened?
MAGGIE:
He's been shot.
Something catches Ray's attention; he walks to the door.
MALE DOCTOR (OS):
What's his name?
MAGGIE (OS):
Hobart.
MALE DOCTOR (OS):
Hobart, can you hear me?
The GOON trucks from Maggie's, circling into the parking lot. The GOONs are hooting and shouting.
MALE DOCTOR (OS):
Hobart! Now, breathe in and out as
big as you can. All right. That's
good.
Ray passes by Maggie on his way outside.
RAY:
He's gonna be all right.
Maggie is crying, but she watches Ray go. You can see in her face that she understands what's about to happen. Cut to Ray, blood-soaked and driven by the clarity of true rage, outside the clinic, walking toward the GOONs.
GOON (OS):
I got some cold ones up here in
front.
Cut to the GOONs hanging around, drinking in the truck.
GOON 2:
I'll take one.
GOON:
Here you go.
Cut to Maggie coming to the window to watch the fireworks. Cut to Ray reaching the truck. The first GOON he reaches is facing away from him; Ray kicks him in the back of the knees. The GOON cries out, and Ray grabs him by the shoulders, slams him into the truck. Then Ray goes to pull the GOON sitting in the bed of the truck to the ground, beer and all. The GOON hits the ground, his shotgun flying off somewhere. The GOON in the cab gets out, approaches Ray with his weapon drawn; Ray forces the gun hand up, where the gun discharges safely, and then wrestles the man to the ground. Cut to Maggie, watching from the window. Cut to Ray cuffing the GOON. Behind him, a horn honks, long and low; the Diplomat drives up. Ray looks up, goes to meet Coutelle. Jack Milton jumps out of the Diplomat's passenger door.
COUTELLE:
Were you hit?
RAY:
No!
COUTELLE:
Are you out of your fucking mind?
Milton jogs over to check on the fallen GOONs.
RAY:
What?
COUTELLE:
I told you Eagle Bear was key, and
now you just screwed it up. You got
the ARM people thinking she's an
informant--
Ray's anger bursts out anew.
RAY:
That wasn't ARM!
Cut to Milton, turning from the damage done to his GOONs, pointing an accusatory finger at Coutelle.
MILTON:
Coutelle, you better keep your boy
on a leash!
Ray loses it. He charges at Milton; Coutelle intercepts him, pushing him away, back towards the Diplomat.
RAY:
You're the one that needs a fucking
leash!
COUTELLE:
Pull yourself together, buddy.
Coutelle pushes Ray against the car. Ray escapes his grasp, begins to pace.
COUTELLE:
These guys are on our team, okay?
You set off a powder keg, here. I
told you not to go over there;
what's the matter, you getting
horny or something? Shooting for
rank?
Coutelle shoves him, but all it does it knock Ray off his pacing for a second.
COUTELLE:
I don't give two shits what went on
between you and Dawes in some office
in DC. This is the battlefield
right here, and this is my case.
Okay?
Ray paces. Cut to another truckful of GOONs; we hear them hooting before we ever see the car. Ray looks prepared to take on the lot of them. Coutelle catches his expression, and opens the Diplomat's passenger side door.
COUTELLE:
Get in the fucking car.
Ray heels. Coutelle shuts the door after him. The new truckful of GOONs shows up, pull up beside the other truck. Ray stews in the car.
MILTON (OS):
Let's get on out of here.
Coutelle watches the trucks drive off. He waves half-heartedly. When they're far enough away that Ray can't do any damage, Coutelle bends down to talk to him, resting one arm on the door.
COUTELLE:
We just got the lab report on that
eagle feather you found in the
trailer at Jimmy's. It's a genetic
ditto to the one at the DB site.
Now stick to the assignment, pal.
Ray blinks, fidgets in his seat a little.
RAY:
Sensitive Operations Unit.
COUTELLE:
Very good.
Ray nods to himself several times, getting himself back into the Fed rhythm.
RAY:
Well, let's just catch this Tonto
and get out of here.
Ray gets out of the car, brushes by Coutelle on his way to the Impala. Coutelle trails him.
COUTELLE:
You filled out a three-oh-two this
morning, subject Indian male,
elderly. Samuel Reaches.
Ray begins unbuttoning his blood-soaked shirt.
RAY:
He ain't elderly, Cooch. Petrified.
It's just bullshit.
COUTELLE:
Not exactly. The old man's a
spiritual leader of ARM.
Ray reaches the Impala; the driver's side door is still hanging open. He takes his shirt off. His undershirt is spotted with blood, too.
COUTELLE:
They all go to him to get their
semiautomatics blessed or something.
Ray throws his ruined shirt in the car.
COUTELLE:
Now, I want you to code five out at
his residence.
Ray sighs. He grips the doorframe, and leans against the body of the car, lets it take his weary weight.
RAY:
Look, um, Cooch . . .
COUTELLE:
Hey, look, let's get back on track
here. The heat's coming down on
Jimmy, and when that happens, he
goes to get holy. You get it?
Ray nods, but he doesn't look happy.
COUTELLE:
Now get yourself a cold shower, and
get on over there.
Coutelle walks away, leaving Ray to his rage. Cut to Grampa Reaches' place. Grampa is offering a paper plate full of half-eaten delicacies to the sky.
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
Cut to Ray, sitting in one of the decrepit vehicles lining Grampa's driveway: a 1967 Chevrolet C-series, light blue with a white top. Ray is drinking from a carton of milk, the kind children get with their school lunches; he has a shotgun riding shotgun. Cut to Grampa lowering the paper plate to the ground. He raises his empty hands to the sky.
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
Grampa picks up a large, metal bucket and begins the long trek up the hill to the water pump. We see Ray's truck in the background, several feet behind the pump, further up the hill. Cut to a three-legged dog scampering through the prairie scrub. Cut to Ray in the cab of the Chevy. He sighs, ruminates on the last of his lunch. He is holding a pair of binoculars in his left hand, but not using them. They're more a prop. He hears a scuffling outside, and peers out the passenger's side window. The dog. The dog sees the milk in Ray's hand and sits at attention.
RAY:
James Looks Twice? You're under
arrest.
The dog licks its lips.
RAY:
Shapeshift and you can have some
milk.
The dog whines, and raises a paw. Ray sighs and opens the car door. He opens up the carton of milk all the way. The dog licks its lips.
RAY:
Just checking.
Ray sets the carton of milk on the ground for the dog. The dog sticks its face in, lapping eagerly. He whines and ducks when Ray closes the door, and then goes back to his feasting, knocking the carton over and spilling milk in the brush in his eagerness. He licks the milk from the ground. Cut to Ray, back in the truck by himself. Ray's POV: watching Grampa struggle to pick up his bucket, now heavy with water. Ray fidgets, sighs loudly. Cut to Grampa, inching down the hill with his bucket. He has to stop and set the bucket down after only a few steps. Cut to Ray, near exploding with idleness. He makes a "Come on!" face once, twice. He sighs again. Cut to Grampa. He picks up the bucket, walks a few steps. Puts the bucket down to rest again. Cut to Ray, over it. He grabs his shotgun and steps out of the truck. He leaves the Chevy's door open and jogs down the hill to Grampa. He picks up the bucket, on the ground again.
RAY:
Okay.
Ray carries the bucket down the hill, but he's too impatient to shuffle down at Grampa's pace. He gives the old man a look, and then heads down to the trailer ahead of him. Pull back; Crow Horse is on another hill overlooking the trailer, obviously out of Ray's sight from his Chevy stakeout post. Crow Horse watches Ray helping Grampa. Cut to Grampa and Ray on ground level at the trailer. Ray puts the bucket down and then starts his jog back up the hill. Grampa intercepts him; Ray stops. Grampa hands Ray an apple, mimes for him to eat it. Ray spits his gum on the ground and takes a bite of the apple.
RAY:
Thanks.
Ray starts back up the hill.
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
Ray turns around. Grampa is pointing down at the paper plate. Ray looks at him. He looks at the apple. He looks back at Grampa.
RAY:
What?
Grampa points again. Ray takes another bite of the apple and then abandons it to the plate. Grampa smiles and nods. Cut to Crow Horse on the hill, watching Ray and laughing. Cut to Ray at the crest of the hill. He comes back to find the three-legged dog sitting in the passenger's seat of the Chevy. He shouldn't have left the door open. The dog licks its lips and looks pleased with itself. It has probably finished off whatever was left of Ray's lunch.
RAY:
Oh no. Come on. Get out.
The growl of the Triumph's engine. Crow Horse drives by the truck, flipping Ray off. He drives down the hill to the trailer. Ray's POV: Grampa gets on the back of Crow Horse's bike, and they drive off. Cut to Ray and his shotgun getting back in the Chevy. He shuts the door, starts her up.
RAY:
Hang on, Jimmy.
Cut to dancers in full regalia and face paint. They are dancing beneath an American flag. There are drums, rattles, and singing. As the camera pulls back, we see more dancers, and more flags--flags from different nations. Cut to a crowd watching the dancers. Among them, Grampa, sitting in a lawn chair, and Crow Horse, behind him, leaning on the chair's arms. Something catches his attention; he walks around the dancers to the parking lot, where Ray is sitting in his Chevy. As Crow Horse approaches, Jimmy -- still in the passenger's seat -- takes off, jumping out through the window. Ray watches him go.
CROW HORSE:
Nice truck, Ray. Where'd you steal
it?
Ray turns to see Crow Horse as he reaches the window. Crow Horse leans on the doorframe.
CROW HORSE:
Thought you might wanna see this.
RAY:
What's going on?
Crow Horse is surprised, but, as he answers, not unkind.
CROW HORSE:
It's a powwow. Bet that eagle
feather you found gave you a little
chub, didn't it? Well, we all have
feathers from the same eagle.
We share everything on the rez.
Crow Horse adjusts his sunglasses, and Ray finally notices that they're the Raybans he himself traded Grampa.
RAY:
Those are my sunglasses.
Crow Horse shakes his head.
CROW HORSE:
You traded Grampa.
Ray frowns.
RAY:
I'll trade with you.
Ray digs the rock he received for his sunglasses out of his pocket, presents it to Crow Horse. Crow Horse laughs.
CROW HORSE:
That's a rock. You nuts? These are
Raybans.
Crow Horse walks away.
RAY:
Jesus.
Ray gets out of the car, follows Crow Horse to the powwow. He slips the rock back into his pocket, slips into his jacket, as he walks.
CROW HORSE:
You ain't got nothing on Jimmy, do
you?
RAY:
You're no cop. Fleeing justice.
Assault with a deadly weapon.
Assault with intent to kill, is
nothing? Sedition? That scum is an
enemy of the United States.
CROW HORSE:
You know, Ray, when we were kids we
used to play cowboys and Indians. I
was always Gary Cooper. I didn't
want to be an Indian. Government
boarding school made sure of that.
Cut off my hair, washed my mouth out
with soap when I spoke my own
language. My own language, Ray.
When the ARM warriors came here, it
was like an awakening. It got the
people proud of their heritage.
Their elders, language. And you
call them enemies. Tough call all
the way around, enit, Ray? Well,
you just keep on doing that.
Tomorrow morning, I'll have Leo's
murderer in the Bear Creek tribal
Crow Horse starts away, but Ray's hot on his heels.
RAY:
Listen, if you're withholding
evidence, you're in deep shit.
CROW HORSE:
So sue me.
Crow Horse walks away, and this time Ray lets him go. Cut to Maggie, handing a cup to her daughter, who is seated and watching the dancers. Hobart, his arm in a sling, smiles and stands up. Maggie picks him up.
MAGGIE:
Oh, oh. You're a big boy.
Ray, wandering through the powwow, catches sight of Maggie, and stops. They just look at each other for a long moment, unspeaking. Maggie turns away; Ray may be going to follow her, but he is stopped by Richard Yellow Hawk, who rolls up, attended by several Indian men.
YELLOW HAWK:
Nice to run into you, Washington--
RAY:
Yeah, yeah, the Washington Redskin.
How are you, Yellow Hawk?
YELLOW HAWK:
Man, you better watch yourself.
Around here, I'm the FBI.
Ray looks stung, confused.
YELLOW HAWK:
Full-blooded Indian.
Yellow Hawk and his friends depart. Ray looks up to see Crow Horse, attended by half a dozen Indian men, beckoning. Ray follows. Cut to a close shot of the drummers, dancers behind them. Cut to Grampa, watching the festivities.
CROW HORSE:
Grampa.
Grampa turns to regard Crow Horse and Ray as they walk up. Ray checks his watch; without missing a beat, Grampa taps his own wrist where a watch would sit. Crow Horse laughs.
CROW HORSE:
He wants to trade. He likes your
watch.
RAY:
Oh, no. Impossible. Explain to him
. . . it's, uh . . . my grandmother
gave it to me when she was dying.
Explain that.
CROW HORSE:
Yeah. (speaks Lakota) . . . Rolex.
Ray does not look amused. Crow Horse does, though. Grampa offers a broken cigarette as trade.
RAY:
No way.
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
CROW HORSE:
He says you need to go on Indian
time. White man time will give you
stomach cancer.
Ray smiles.
RAY:
No deal.
Ray walks away. Crow Horse trails after him.
RAY (OS):
Look, I don't know who you're after,
but I'm not looking for a white guy.
CROW HORSE:
Good, cuz neither am I. It's an old
Lakota belief that if you turn a
dead man facedown, his spirit won't
come back. Now, that's a Sioux
thing a white man wouldn't know.
RAY:
Well, if you know something, you
better tell me. Look, I can help
you. Now, just tell me what you
know.
Ray stops walking beside Crow Horse; he comes around in front of him and stops, blocking Crow Horse's path. Crow Horse stops walking, regards Ray with his hands on his hips.
CROW HORSE:
I won't really know anything 'til
tonight. They're coming to Grampa's.
RAY:
Who's "they?"
CROW HORSE:
They are.
RAY:
Who?
CROW HORSE:
Well, you can either come to Grampa's
and find out for yourself . . .
Crow Horse looks at something very interesting in the distance, and points.
CROW HORSE:
Or you can go chase Jimmy!
Ray takes the bait; he turns to look for Looks Twice. When he turns back, Crow Horse is gone. There's only Grampa, who looks at Ray, and nods. Cut to a close up of the drummers. Cut to the full moon in an inky night sky. Cut to a wide shot of a campfire on the hills near Grampa's trailer. Cut to a close shot of a drum, near the fire; beyond the drum's tempo we can hear singing. Cut to Grampa, sitting by the fire. Cut to the drummer, the singers. Follow their gaze: cut to Ray, sitting by the fire. Cut to more singers, looking suspiciously at Ray. Cut to Crow Horse, just watching Ray, who looks uncomfortable, uptight.
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
Grampa speaks and motions with a little fan made of feathers. We can see now that Crow Horse is sitting right next to Ray, and when he speaks, it's only for Ray's benefit.
CROW HORSE:
He says back behind Red Deer Table,
there are strange beings from
another world who eat stones, and
the dirt, and who will kill anyone
who crosses into this place. This
is what the spirits say. He says
they saw you going back into the
land behind Red Deer Table. I was
with you. But that's all they tell,
so he doesn't know if you were
killed or not. He thinks you
probably were, but it was a good
day to die.
Close up on the drum. Back to Ray, looking bothered.
CROW HORSE:
"Go to Red Deer Table. Go to the
land where the elk people used to
live. But you must go as two. This
is the vision I received. I have
spoken, and it is so."
Close up on the drum. Back to Ray, looking bothered. Grampa throws a handful of sediment on the fire; it makes the flames flare up high. When they die down, we see Ray. Another handful. Close on the drum. Close on Ray. He's sweating, despite the cool desert night. Maybe he should have taken his suit jacket off; maybe he shouldn't have come at all. Another handful. Ray's POV: this time, when the flames die down, instead of Grampa sitting across from him, it is a half-blood Indian man, holding a small, blonde boy. The man is out of his mind drunk, his eyes bleary and unfocused.
RAY'S MOTHER (OS):
Raymond! Raymond!
Back to Ray. He shakes his head, like he can shake the images loose. He works his mouth, his oral tic. He chances a look back at the flames; it's only Grampa. But then the flames flare back up, and when they flicker down, it is his father again, holding himself as a child.
RAY'S MOTHER (OS):
Get away from him, Raymond. Come
here to me.
The flames. Grampa. His father. His mother coming up behind his father, reaching down to pull her son from his father's arms.
RAY'S MOTHER (OS):
He's drunk; get away from him!
Ray's mother tries to pull Ray away from his father, but the man holds him tight. Ray's small body is pulled taut between them both.
RAY'S MOTHER (OS):
Let go of him! Come on, come here--
let go!
The flames flare up, and when they die down, it's only Grampa and his feather fan. Close up on Ray; he is sweating, slack-jawed. He blinks; his oral tic. He studies Grampa, but the old man doesn't change back into a half-blood Indian man and his Wasi'chu family. Without preamble, Ray gets up and leaves the circle. Crow Horse, very surprised, follows after him. Ray is breathing like he's just run a marathon, and reeling, unsteady on his feet; he almost takes a wrong step and tumbles down the hill to Grampa's trailer, but Crow Horse catches him just in time, pulls him back to earth.
CROW HORSE:
Whoa whoa whoa whoa, easy, hoss!
Where ya going? Red Deer Table,
Ray--
Ray tries to pull away from him.
RAY:
(softly, desperately) Let go.
CROW HORSE:
We have to go together. That's the
vision!
Ray breaks away from Crow Horse, starts walking up the hill, walking away.
CROW HORSE:
You can't mess with the visions!
Ray sounds like he's drunk, his voice desperate, words slurred.
RAY: Someone was supposed to talk.
He points an accusatory finger at Crow Horse.
CROW HORSE:
They did.
Crow Horse grabs Ray again, tries to settle him, to stop him from leaving. Ray pushes him away.
RAY:
Bullshit.
CROW HORSE:
No, you're bullshit!
Ray continues trying to flee; Crow Horse continues following him. Ray stops, takes an aggressive step toward Crow Horse, to force him back. Crow Horse pauses for a moment, his hands raised and open -- like approaching an unfamiliar animal -- and then continues after him. When he speaks to Ray, it's softly, evenly, a horse whisperer's voice.
CROW HORSE:
It's okay. Look, I know you're
scared. It's okay. Just don't be
scared. Don't fight it, man. Just
don't fight it. Okay? Okay,
Raymond? Huh?
Crow Horse's gentle tone does nothing to soothe Ray. He grabs his pistol out of his holster, aims at Crow Horse's face. Crow Horse puts his hands up -- surrender -- and Ray uses the gun to drive him back.
RAY:
Get out of my face!
GRAMPA (OS):
Knock it off! Knock it off!
Both men turn to look. Grampa and his feather fan are standing at the edge of the clearing, watching them make fools of themselves.
GRAMPA:
You remind me of couple of old women.
RAY:
He speaks English.
CROW HORSE:
Yeah. Only when he's really pissed
off.
Grampa laughs. Slowly, Ray puts the gun down. He chances a small smile.
GRAMPA:
Come on up, and watch TV.
Grampa starts up to the trailer. Crow Horse laughs, and after a moment, so does Ray. He puts his gun down. A moment over, Crow Horse puts his hands down.
CROW HORSE:
Jesus, you gave me a scare.
Crow Horse claps his hand on Ray's back, and they walk like that, side by side, up to Grampa's trailer.
CROW HORSE:
You okay?
Cut to a streetlight-less rez road, lit little by little by a single pair of headlights. The Chevy, driving through the dark night. Cut to inside the cab. Ray is driving; Jimmy is by his side. Jimmy whines, and Ray slows down, as they approach another GOON road inspection.
GOON:
Hold it right there!
GOON 2:
Stop it!
Ray stops the truck. There are several guns on him, nightscopes beaded on him; the click of guns being primed. Ray holds up one hand to show he's unarmed; with the other, he holds up his FBI ID.
RAY:
FBI!
GOON 3:
Get him out of there!
A GOON opens Ray's door, menaces him with the barrel of his shotgun. Ray holds out his FBI ID
GOON:
Get out!
RAY:
FBI!
The GOON studies his ID a moment.
GOON:
Sorry. (to the GOONs) Fed, let him
through!
The GOON closes Ray's door, steps away. Ray drives through the blockade. Cut to the A-1 Motel, now crawling with people. There are now ten vehicles, give or take, in the parking lot, and a dozen people. Most of them have guns; there are also a few German shepherds. Ray's Chevy carefully maneuvers all the commotion.
AGENT:
Those go around back! Put that
stuff in bungalow five.
AGENT 2:
He's on his way back. He'll be here
in about an hour.
Ray and his kit walk slowly through the throng, into Coutelle's room. He looks like a cartoon character who's just been hit by a bus: not injured, but severely dazed. There are practically little stars zooming around his head.
COUTELLE (OS):
Yeah, I can hear you. Can you hear
me?
Coutelle's room is now Looks Twice Hunting Central. There are maps and photographs pinned to the walls, equipment and FBI agents everywhere. Coutelle himself is on the phone in the background.
COUTELLE:
Pretty soon, I think.
He catches sight of Ray and snaps to get his attention. Ray makes his way over to Coutelle.
COUTELLE:
(into the phone) Yeah, me too. (to
Ray) How'd it go at Reaches'?
Ray throws up a hand, batting the suggestion away.
RAY:
Nothing.
COUTELLE:
(into the phone) What? No, I'm
losing to you; talk louder.
Ray sets his case down. Coutelle wanders away from the mess of agents, trying to find a spot quiet enough to hear his phone call. Ray follows a couple steps behind him, like a child trailing his parent in a new place. He is clearly unsettled by all the commotion.
COUTELLE:
(into the phone) Yeah. Are you
locking the garage door at night?
RAY:
Something happen?
Coutelle puts a hand over the receiver.
COUTELLE:
Field support from Rapid. We're
setting up a net. (into the phone)
No, no, no. Not the mudroom door.
No, the overhead. Yeah, I know.
Look, it's just easier for someone
to break in if you've got a remote.
Ray picks up a semiautomatic from the table of evidence, files, and other Net Setting Up accoutrement.
COUTELLE:
We blew our three day, Ray. (into
the phone) Yeah, look. Okay, honey.
Ray and the semiautomatic wander away to the only quiet spot in the room. He examines the gun.
COUTELLE:
(into the phone) Yeah, I gotta run.
Okay. Yeah. Real soon. Me too.
Coutelle hangs up the phone and comes to join Ray.
RAY:
Where'd you get this?
Coutelle smiles.
COUTELLE:
Well, I had him, Ray. I had his ass
over at a traditional's place in Red
Crow. But he, uh, just slipped out
before I could move in. But he left
that.
Coutelle points at the semiautomatic. Ray nods. His oral tic.
COUTELLE:
That's the animal.
Ray sets the gun down, but he takes a piece of it with him, following Coutelle over to the window.
RAY:
Pin test?
COUTELLE:
Yeah, you bet. The whole works.
We're sending it off to Rapid in a
minute. We got something hard on
him now. Conclusive.
Ray forces a smile.
RAY:
Fantastic.
Coutelle squeezes Ray's shoulder, holds up the 302.
COUTELLE:
You did a good job. Your name's on
the three-oh-two. (to Brian) Hey,
Brian?
BRIAN (OS):
Yeah?
COUTELLE:
Get that to DC.
Brian takes the 302 from Coutelle, nods. Coutelle watches Ray, who has wandered back over to examine the semiautomatic again.
AGENT (OS):
Ray, who we got up in Belle Fourche?
AGENT 2 (OS):
I think that Jackson's up there.
AGENT (OS):
All right. Get him on the horn.
COUTELLE:
You okay?
RAY (OS):
Sure.
Ray studies the gun myopically; he is kneeling on the floor to be close to it. Coutelle comes to kneel beside him.
COUTELLE:
You don't look so hot.
Ray doesn't say anything. He manipulates the gun's moving parts.
COUTELLE:
Come on, let's go get some air. You
want a soda?
They walk outside, passing Ray's truck. Jimmy is still in the passenger's seat, his head out the window. Coutelle points at him.
COUTELLE:
You got a dog in your truck.
Ray smiles.
RAY:
It's Jimmy.
Coutelle gives him a look.
RAY:
I, uh, fed it, can't get rid of it.
COUTELLE:
Look like you've seen a fucking
ghost, Ray.
They reach the Coke machine, and stop walking. Coutelle fumbles for coins.
RAY:
Seen things out here, Cooch.
COUTELLE:
Yeah, this place'll do that to you.
RAY:
I, uh--have you?
Coutelle just looks at him.
RAY:
I passed a roadblock on the way in
here. The GOONs are armed like the
fucking Marines.
Coutelle deals with the Coke machine.
COUTELLE:
Fugitive alert.
RAY:
Can you tell me what's really going
on?
Coutelle just looks at him.
RAY:
I mean . . . we're here to do a mop
up, right?
COUTELLE:
Yeah. Yeah, we're here to do a mop
up. We're mopping up a homicide,
okay? These people can't seem to
take care of their own messes, Ray.
Internal civil conflict. They've
been at each other's throats for
over a hundred years. We can't get
suckered into that. We're here to
take our man and go home. All
right?
Ray nods, but he still looks upset.
RAY:
This Milton, does he check out?
COUTELLE:
Well, you know, a situation like
this, it's hard to tell the good
guys from the bad guys. I mean,
they're all Indians. It's a mess.
Coutelle hands Ray his Coke, and goes to sit down on the sidewalk. Ray joins him.
COUTELLE:
I've been studying this field for
nine years, Ray. I know more about
the law and the history out here
than the people themselves. And let
me tell you something: I feel for
them, I really do. They're a proud
people. But they're also a
conquered people. And that means
that their future is dictated by the
nation that conquered them. Now,
rightly or wrongly, that's the way
it works, down through history.
Ray is not comforted by Coutelle's logic, or by the reasonable tone of his voice. He's not drinking his soda; he's doing his oral tic instead.
COUTELLE:
I've seen some field agents break
the rules out here. I've seen
excess and error. But I've also
seen two agents, family men, laying
belly down in the grass out there
with their heads blown off. Now,
they were just doing their job, Ray.
Idealistic agents, like all the
rest of us.
RAY:
Protecting the integrity of the
American dream.
COUTELLE:
Looks Twice is an enemy of the
United States, Ray. And that's all
there is to it.
RAY:
Sensitive Operations Unit.
COUTELLE:
You better believe it.
Coutelle stands. He claps Ray on the shoulder.
COUTELLE:
Now, get in the chute, put your vest
on, and let's get ready to take him.
Ray doesn't move.
COUTELLE:
You okay about this?
RAY:
Sure.
COUTELLE:
Put your game face on, and get out
there to the old man's.
Coutelle walks away, leaving Ray sitting on the sidewalk by himself. Cut to Grampa Reaches'; Grampa is standing in the clearing before his trailer, hands raised to heaven, singing. Cut to Ray drowsing in the truck. Jimmy, in the passenger's seat beside him, is far more alert, ears pricked, eyes on Grampa. If only he could take notes; he'd be the perfect partner. Cut to a cemetery at night. A monument: names carved into the stone. Ray startles awake, looks around. Ray's POV: Grampa is still singing. Ray checks his watch, picks up his tape recorder. He clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice is cottony with sleep.
RAY:
(into the recorder) 4:16 AM,
Sam Reaches' residence. Subject is
. . . singing.
Ray clicks the recorder off.
RAY:
Outstanding.
Jimmy whines as Ray begins to hum in tune with Grampa. He stops, sighs. Grampa bends to pick up the bucket again. Ray sighs.
RAY:
Oh, Christ.
Ray gets out of the car to help Grampa with the water situation, just in time to miss the bullet that crashes through the rear window, right where the driver's side headrest would be, if the Chevy had such a thing. Right where Ray's head was, seconds before. Ray hits the ground. Jimmy runs away.
RAY (OS):
Shooting at Sam Reaches' residence!
Shooting at Sam Reaches' residence!
Over!
Cut to Grampa Reaches' residence at dawn. It is crawling with FBI agents; they are tearing the place apart, shouting back and forth to each other over the din of the helicopter, which for the moment we can hear but cannot see.
AGENT (OS):
Shot came from over here!
AGENT 2:
I wanna take this place apart! Got
a bunker over here, let's check it
out!
AGENT 3 (OS):
Yes, sir!
The helicopter flies by, very low.
AGENT 2:
I want casings! Casings! Spiral
out and find me some casings!
AGENT 3 (OS):
Got something over here!
Cut to follow the helicopter's path. Ray is being chewed out by some Rapid City FBI guy.
AGENT MACKEY:
If you're gonna be a team player,
Special Agent Levoi, you gotta give
me those reports. I need to see
them now.
RAY:
I heard you the first time!
Ray puts his hand up, then walks away. Coutelle comes up the hill to meet him.
COUTELLE:
Looks like Jimmy's playing Crazy
Horse with us again.
Ray walks with Coutelle up the hill. Agent Mackey is waiting for him.
RAY:
Later.
AGENT MACKEY:
(dripping with sarcasm) Whatever you
say, chief.
Ray glares at him. Cut to the helicopter flying low overhead. Cut to Ray in front of Grampa Reaches' trailer.
RAY:
No.
AGENT (OS):
I don't care! Initial reading, pick
it up!
RAY:
No.
Grampa is miming for Ray's watch again. Ray waves him off.
RAY:
Just go inside.
AGENT 2 (OS):
Why'd you tear it down?
Grampa continues miming. Ray sighs, and pulls the pen out of his pocket. He hands it to Grampa.
RAY:
Okay?
Grampa presents Ray with his trade: a shining, gold casing. Ray takes it, examines it.
RAY:
Federal issue.
Grampa is looking at him. Ray makes the horizontal karate chop, the "good trade" sign, and Grampa wanders off.
AGENT (OS):
Get some guys to cover that pass
right there.
Ray studies the bullet.
AGENT 2 (OS):
No, no, no, no. Hard evidence.
Physical evidence.
Ray's face assumes what is known, in circles in which the issue pops up, as the, "Holy shit, he tried to kill me" face. Coutelle appears over his shoulder.
COUTELLE:
What'd the old man want?
Ray starts.
RAY:
Oh, just . . . some money.
Coutelle nods.
COUTELLE:
Come on. Let's take a ride.
Cut to a close up of a federal issue semiautomatic with a night scope. It is dirty, like it's been used recently. Pull back. The gun is in the backseat of Coutelle's Diplomat; Coutelle is driving, and Ray is in the passenger seat, looking back at the gun. He looks at Coutelle, warily. Cut to a long shot, the Diplomat running over the unpaved rez roads. Cut to inside the Diplomat.
COUTELLE:
You know, if either of us gets hit,
Ray, it'll be all she wrote. We'll
have a full-scale war on our hands.
Ray smiles. Coutelle grimaces.
COUTELLE:
Oh, shit.
Ray's POV: Crow Horse and his bike are parked up ahead, blocking the road.
COUTELLE:
Chief Pain in the Ass.
Coutelle brings the Diplomat to a stop. We can see now what Crow Horse is looking at: the Little Walking River. Crow Horse comes to the driver's side window.
CROW HORSE:
I don't mean to step all over your
jurisdiction, but could I borrow
your radio to report a found
vehicle?
Crow Horse jerks his thumb in the direction of the river.
CROW HORSE:
A nineteen and sixty Chevrolet, blue
and white . . .
Crow Horse leans on the hood of Coutelle's car.
CROW HORSE:
. . . registered to one Leo Fast
Elk, deceased.
Coutelle gets out of the car, looks out into the river. The hood of the car is plainly visible; it juts above the water. Ray gets out of the car, too; Crow Horse shrugs at him, and Ray does a little fist bump of solidarity. Close up on Leo's car in the river. Pull back to Frank Coutelle losing his shit; he walks back up the hill and kicks the car door, hard.
COUTELLE:
How 'bout that.
CROW HORSE:
Yeah, how 'bout that.
Coutelle and Ray get back in the car. Cut to the river. A diver is emerging from the water; four cars, in addition to Crow Horse's bike, are parked where we last left the boys. There is a small crowd of people -- in addition to Crow Horse, still keeping vigil -- watching the show. The diver holds up a hubcap.
DIVER:
Hubcap!
He wades in to hand the evidence off to an agent. Coutelle watches, breathing smoke like a peevish dragon.
COUTELLE:
A fucking hubcap.
AGENT MACKEY:
Definitely a city Indian, Cooch.
Reservation Indian would have at
least taken the drought into
consideration. It's about par for
the course.
COUTELLE:
Yeah, brilliant.
AGENT (OS):
Fifty yards downstream.
Coutelle walks to the back of the car, open the back, passenger's side door. Ray pries open the trunk with a crowbar.
COUTELLE (OS):
What do you make of that?
Ray pulls a denim jacket from the trunk.
AGENT MACKEY (OS):
Partials.
Ray stretches the jacket out; it would be huge on him, and he's not a small man.
RAY:
Cooch. Killer looks like a real big
guy.
Coutelle looks at him for a moment before flagging down another agent.
COUTELLE:
Hey, Ken. Bag it.
He walks away. Ken comes over, evidence bag in hand. Ray snatches it from him.
RAY:
I'll do it.
Ray looks briefly over his shoulder, making sure Coutelle's not still watching him. Then he goes through the pockets of the denim jacket from Leo's car. He comes up with a red ticket stub.
AGENT (OS):
Why don't we bag all the rest of
this stuff? We'll go over it all at
Rapid later on.
Ray puts the ticket stub in his pocket, and then he puts the jacket into the evidence bag. Cut to Maggie Eagle Bear's residence. Maggie is down by the shore of the Little Walking; Ray approaches her slowly. He has an envelope in his hand.
MAGGIE:
Is that a warrant for Gramma? She's
gone. I sent her away with the
children, where they'll be safe.
Maggie kneels by the river, a small container in her hands. Ray stops beside her.
RAY:
Good.
Maggie looks up at him.
RAY:
How's your son?
MAGGIE:
He's healing. Thanks for asking.
Thanks.
Maggie dips her container into the Little Walking.
RAY:
What are you doing?
MAGGIE:
Taking samples for testing. More
people have been getting sick.
She stands, starts up the hill.
RAY:
I'm sorry I got your family involved
in this.
MAGGIE:
Ray, my family's been involved since
Columbus landed.
Ray follows her up the hill.
RAY:
Listen, my partner is creating an
airtight case. Jimmy has no chance.
Except for this evidence.
Ray indicates his envelope. Maggie puts her water samples in her truck.
RAY:
Now, if this were to fall into the
wrong hands, I think it might
destroy this case.
He smiles. Maggie does not.
RAY:
Crow Horse told me that a couple of
months ago, you held a raffle at a
benefit concert.
He opens the envelope, removes the ticket stub he found in the jacket in Leo's car.
RAY:
Did you keep any records?
MAGGIE:
I can't do that, Ray.
RAY:
Maggie, this evidence is the only
power we have to build a case.
MAGGIE:
That's not power, Ray. That's paper.
Ray turns away.
RAY:
Christ.
Maggie follows after him.
MAGGIE:
Ray! Power is a rainstorm. Power
is that river, right there. And
that's what I have to protect, not
the white law. If Jimmy goes to
prison for being a warrior, that is
something he accepts. That's his
way; that's our way.
Ray laughs bitterly.
RAY:
It's the Indian way to let Jimmy go
down?
MAGGIE:
You can't understand. You're not
Indian.
RAY:
My father was an Indian.
MAGGIE:
You never knew him.
RAY:
I knew my father. He was crazy. He
built bridges and skyscrapers
without a safety harness, in his
bare feet. I knew my father, Maggie.
I was always afraid he'd fall, and
he'd say, "Don't worry, wasi, I can
fly." That's what he called me.
(To himself) He called me wasi.
Maggie almost smiles. She kneels on the ground by the river. Ray keeps talking; his voice is steady, but his oral tic is firing every few seconds.
RAY:
But he couldn't fly, Maggie. He
tried, but . . . he drank himself to
death, in front of me and my mother.
I was ashamed of him. So I buried
him. Until my own people dug him up.
(To himself) My own people.
Maggie laughs quietly to herself.
RAY:
What?
He kneels beside her. They are at eye level with one another again.
MAGGIE:
Wasi. Do you know what that
means?
RAY:
He said it meant "good boy."
Maggie shakes her head.
MAGGIE:
It's the lard we put in stew.
RAY:
Oh, great.
MAGGIE:
I think he was calling you a chubby
boy.
RAY:
Whoever bought this ticket killed
Leo Fast Elk.
They sit together, for a long moment, in silence. Then Maggie gets up, hurries back up the hill.
MAGGIE:
I gotta go, Ray.
Ray follows her. He intercepts her, taking her gently by the arms so she'll stop and look at him when he speaks to her. She is wooden in his grasp.
RAY:
Listen, there's roadblocks
everywhere. It's not safe.
MAGGIE:
I'll be okay, Ray.
Maggie extricates herself, goes to the truck. Ray sticks the envelope with the ticket stub in the truck, and then opens Maggie's door for her.
RAY:
Where are you going?
MAGGIE:
To the source.
RAY:
The source.
Maggie reaches up, removes the charm from around the rearview mirror. She presses it into Ray's hand.
MAGGIE:
You're gonna have to do the same.
She smiles.
MAGGIE:
Wasi.
Maggie laughs and drives away. Ray gets in the Impala, shuts the door. He takes some deep breaths, studies the charm. He hears a scream, and looks up, across the river. Ghost dancers. He sees them for a moment, and then they disappear. Ray gets out of the car. A gate, the entrance to the cemetery of his last dream, the one with the monument. He stops before it; a man on horseback, wearing old-fashioned military garb, is galloping through the gate, galloping toward him. Ray looks back for the Impala, but it is gone; there is nothing but the unpaved road behind him. Ray runs. The man follows; he pulls out a musket. Ray reaches for his sidearm, but it is gone as well. Ray runs. Soon he is running with other Indians, men and women in old-fashioned clothes. The man on horseback aims his musket. There is a shot. Ray wakes up, sweating and panting. He checks his watch. He takes a moment to collect himself, swallowing down greedy breaths, and then starts the car. Cut to a long, traveling shot of the Badlands. Cut to Jimmy running up the steps to Grampa's trailer. He sits and waits as Ray climbs the steps, knocks. Grampa opens the door for him.
GRAMPA:
(speaks Lakota)
RAY:
Grampa, speak English, please.
Ray follows Grampa inside.
RAY:
Listen, I need to understand what's
happening to me.
Grampa goes to sit down, opening Ray's line of sight. Now he can see James Look Twice, sitting in the chair opposite Grampa's television. He stands to meet Ray. Ray freezes, goggles.
RAY:
Wha--oh, you gotta get out of here.
LOOKS TWICE:
I belong here. Why aren't you at
Red Deer Table like old man says?
RAY:
Wh-what is the big deal about that
place?
Looks Twice and Grampa just look at him.
RAY:
Can't I get a straight answer around
here?
LOOKS TWICE:
It's a power deal. Fast Elk found
out, so they killed him.
RAY:
Well, they're gonna kill you, if you
--if you stay here. Now come on,
let's go--
LOOKS TWICE:
Sometimes they have to kill us.
They have to kill us, because they
can't break our spirit.
Ray just stares at him. Grampa and Looks Twice sit down again. Grampa starts readying the pipe.
RAY:
Look, I don't have to do this.
LOOKS TWICE:
You don't have any choice.
RAY:
I'm trying to help you people. Now,
why won't you accept that?
LOOKS TWICE:
It's in our DNA. You have to do
what old man says.
He nods to Grampa. Grampa just looks at Ray until Ray sighs and sits down with them.
RAY:
What makes you such a threat?
Looks Twice take the matches from off the table.
LOOKS TWICE:
We choose the right to be who we
are. We know the difference between
the reality of freedom, and the
illusion of freedom.
He lights a match. Grampa puffs on the pipe, and then passes it to Ray.
LOOKS TWICE:
There is a way to live with earth,
and a way to not live with earth.
We choose the way of earth.
Ray just stares, slack-jawed, at the pipe.
LOOKS TWICE:
It's about power, Ray.
Ray reaches for the pipe. At that moment, a commotion: the FBI kicking the door in. Ray jumps to his feet, grabs his gun and aims it at the door. Agent Mackey appears in the doorway with a semiautomatic trained on the occupants of the trailer.
AGENT MACKEY:
FBI! Get 'em up, Jimmy! Get 'em up!
Ray wheels around so his gun is pointed at Jimmy, instead. His expression is tortured: guilt, cowardice, relief.
AGENT MACKEY:
Get 'em up, Jimmy! Get 'em up!
Grampa puts his hands up, but stays seated. Looks Twice stands, spreading his hands, palm up, at the waist, the gesture for "What's the big deal?" Agent Mackey hits Looks Twice in the abdomen with the butt of his gun, hard. Looks Twice crumples to the ground. When he tries to get up, the Agent Mackey hits him again. He staggers; Agent Mackey takes him and slams him into Grampa's TV. A shower of sparks. Looks Twice and the television fall to the floor of the trailer. Cut to another FBI agent pulling Looks Twice to his feet, taking him outside. Coutelle is in the doorway, gun drawn. He moves to let the agent and Looks Twice through.
AGENT:
Outside!
AGENT MACKEY:
Come on, Grampa, on your feet.
Let's go. Let's move it; you're not
in trouble. Let's go.
Ray and Coutelle share a look. Ray looks like he would gladly climb out of his own skin. Coutelle looks like he knows exactly what Ray was doing in Grampa's trailer. But then the accusatory expression fades away, and Coutelle smiles, near imperceptibly, and nods at Ray. He leaves the doorway. Cut to outside, several FBI agents wrestling a cuffed Looks Twice into a helicopter.
AGENT:
Come on, get him in there!
AGENT 2:
Come on, let's go!
AGENT 3:
Move, move, move!
AGENT:
Get him in the chopper!
AGENT 3:
Get him in there!
AGENT:
Get him out of here.
Cut to Ray and several FBI agents leaving Grampa's trailer. Agent Mackey has Grampa in hand, the rest have either put their guns away, or have lowered them. Ray sees the FBI herk has Grampa and pushes the agent beside him, yells at Agent Mackey.
RAY:
He knows nothing!
Agent Mackey ignores him, and he and the agent Ray shoved drag Grampa off. Ray walks away.
AGENT MACKEY:
You been teaching these criminals
about the Great Red Spirit, Sam?
Check him for peyote.
Agent Mackey and another agent frisk Grampa. He takes his hat and throws it to the ground. Then he notices the turtle shell rattle in Grampa's hand. He snatches it.
AGENT MACKEY:
Hey, what is this? What is that,
Sam? Magic rattle, huh? What are
you gonna do with that?
He smacks Grampa in the head with the rattle.
AGENT MACKEY:
Do a rain dance, end this drought?
Agent Mackey throws the rattle to the ground, crushes it beneath his heel. Ray loses it, charging over.
RAY:
I said he doesn't know anything!
Leave him alone!
Ray is out of tether again. He shoves the other agent frisking Grampa, and wrestles Agent Mackey to the ground. Other agents rush over to see what the commotion is.
AGENT:
Hey, hey, take it easy!
The agents pull Ray off Agent Mackey.
AGENT:
Hey, take it easy, dammit!
Ray paces in a small area, like a caged jungle cat.
AGENT:
For Christ's sake, we got him,
didn't we?
Grampa watches on, silent. Ray watches the helicopter containing Jimmy fly overhead.
AGENT:
You guys just calm down and take it
easy, all right? It's all over.
Cut to the GOONs unloading from their trucks. Jack Milton drives up in a 1979 Ramcharger, burgundy. A GOON opens the door for him, and he gets out.
MILTON:
Was-te.
COUTELLE (OS):
Well, we nailed him, Jack.
Coutelle and Milton clasp hands; Coutelle claps a hand on Milton's shoulder.
COUTELLE:
I knew he'd have to come back to
Grampa's sooner or later. Ray made
the collar. Good work.
Milton approaches Ray.
MILTON:
Now the ARM is busted. Now we'll
have a little peace around here
again, huh? No more agitators
stirring up trouble. Good kola.
Milton extends his hand.
COUTELLE:
Let's close this thing out. Drinks
are on me at the Buffalo Beauty.
Ray looks at Milton for a very long time before finally shaking his hand. Milton walks off. Ray wipes his hand off like he's touched something dirty. Coutelle walks up behind him.
COUTELLE:
See you over there, Ray.
Coutelle claps a hand on Ray's shoulder, walks with him up the hill.
COUTELLE:
Make a collect call to Dawes, tell
him his Indian did all right. We'll
be out of here tomorrow.
Ray gets in the Impala. Grampa is sitting in the passenger's seat; it takes Ray a moment to notice, and when he does, he starts.
RAY:
Listen, um, I'm not who you think I
am. I'm sorry.
GRAMPA:
Out back that way--
Grampa points. Ray's oral tic is in full swing.
GRAMPA:
--is a place called Wounded Knee. I
was one year old there when they
came and shot our people down
because they were ghost dancing.
They believe this dance will stop
the white man from coming and bring
back the buffalo. They shot three
hundred of us. One of those killed
was a holy man called Wakinyan Chante.
Thunderheart. He was killed while
running for the stronghold.
Grampa points in the opposite direction. Ray follows with his eyes.
GRAMPA:
It is his blood -- the same blood
that was spilled in the grass and
snow at Wounded Knee -- that runs
through your heart, like a buffalo.
Thunderheart has come. Sent here to
a troubled place to help his people.
That's what I'm told.
Grampa starts to sing. Ray sits with it a while before deciding he can't bear it. He tries to start the car, but the engine won't turn. He reaches over Grampa, opens Grampa's door.
GRAMPA:
Run. Run for the stronghold,
Thunderheart. Run. The soldiers
are coming.
Ray looks like he's seen a ghost. Grampa gets out of the car. He leans in through the window with one last thought.
GRAMPA:
They broke my TV.
Grampa closes the door and walks away. Ray watches him go, sitting tortured in the Impala all by himself. Cut to the Impala driving at night. Ray stops the car, gets out. The cemetery gate, the one from his dream. He walks through the gate slowly, reverentially; this is holy land. He walks to the monument; it is there, just as in his dream. He circles it until he sees the names, and then kneels to see them better. There is grass obscuring the names on the bottom; he pushes it aside. There it is, carved into the stone: Thunderheart. Cut to Ray entering his motel room. The envelope he gave Maggie has been slipped under the door. He picks it up, tears it open. Both halves of the raffle ticket are in there. He looks at the new half; there is a name on it: Richard Yellow Hawk.
RAY:
Yellow Hawk.
Ray paws through a box of files until he comes to Richard Yellow Hawk's. He takes it over to the light. Pauses at a sound, but when he looks around, there's nothing. He flips through the file. A photo of Yellow Hawk with the word "PAROLED" stamped across it. He flips it over. On the back: "DO NOT FILE." He puts the file back. He walks to the door, but then he hears another noise, behind him. Turns slowly. The bathroom. He walks slowly to the source of the noise; the shower curtain is half-open. He moves it; Ray drives himself back into the wall when he sees the culprit: an owl. The owl screeches at him, and then flies away out the open window. Ray pants, sighs. Tries to catch his breath. Cut to the Impala driving around Richard Yellow Hawk's. Ray walks to the door, checking his watch. He knocks to the door; Yellow Hawk answers in his wheelchair, holding a shotgun.
YELLOW HAWK:
Oh, the Washington Redskin. I
thought you'd be gone by now.
Yellow Hawk sets the shotgun down, leaning it against the wall by the door. Moves back to allow Ray berth; Ray does not wait for an invitation before stepping inside.
RAY:
I'd like to be, Richard. I'd like
to be. But, uh . . .
He picks the shotgun up, checks the chamber.
RAY:
You're in a lot of trouble, Richard.
YELLOW HAWK:
What do you want?
Ray and the shotgun circle Yellow Hawk, eyeing the wheelchair.
RAY:
That must be a bitch. How long you
been in it?
YELLOW HAWK:
Since I got an iron pipe put across
my knees, man. Fight with three
Wasi'chu's, you know?
Ray opens the gun's chamber again, knocks the bullets to the floor. He sets the shotgun in the corner, leaning against the wall, and takes Yellow Hawk's wheelchair by the handles, begins pushing him into the next room.
RAY:
Oh, yeah . . . that was at Sioux
Falls Pen, wasn't it?
YELLOW HAWK:
No, that was Leavenworth.
He pulls his shirt down a bit at the neck to show a scar.
YELLOW HAWK:
This is Sioux Falls. What do you
want?
RAY:
Leavenworth's a tough joint, isn't
it?
YELLOW HAWK:
Ever try isolation unit?
Ray stops pushing, but he still stands behind Yellow Hawk.
RAY:
Oh, no, I don't think I have,
Richard. Know why I'm here,
Richard?
YELLOW HAWK:
DC sent you. I know that.
RAY:
That's right. DC sent me, Richard.
Ray walks around the small house until he is in front of Richard, his eyes roaming the place for weapons, for evidence. His voice is calm but you can tell by his posture, by the way his eyes roam the room, that he is driven by the terrible energy of an enormous rage.
RAY:
DC sent me because this whole
thing's been fucked.
He smiles sourly.
RAY:
Do you know what I mean when I say
this whole thing's been fucked,
Richard? An arrangement was made
between you and us.
Ray commandeers a chair. He tosses the shirt hanging on it off onto the floor, and then brings it up so he can sit within a few feet of Yellow Hawk. He sits, crosses his left leg over his knee. He fingers his ankle holster.
RAY:
You, uh, remember that arrangement,
don't you, Richard?
YELLOW HAWK:
I'm here, ain't I?
RAY:
No, you're gone, Richard. You
received early parole contingent on
not violating parole conditions.
Ray unbuttons his ankle holster. He takes his backup weapon into his hand, aims it at Yellow Hawk.
YELLOW HAWK:
Right. I didn't violate parole.
RAY:
I think, uh, we'll go out the back
door, and we'll just go real slow.
Now get up out of the chair, Richard.
YELLOW HAWK:
What is it with you people, man? I
get thrown into isolation unit until
I don't know my own fucking name--
RAY:
Get up.
YELLOW HAWK:
Then you people tell me I can beat
twenty years if I help you. Well, I
helped you. The ARM's is gone, man.
RAY:
Get up!
Yellow Hawk sighs, but he starts getting out of the wheelchair.
YELLOW HAWK:
They said I'd never see FBI again.
Ray's POV. He watches Yellow Hawk stand. Because of the damage to his knees, he walks plantigrade--heel-toe, like a white man.
YELLOW HAWK (OS):
But I'm living with you fucking
scum. What is it you want now?
Cut to a shot of Leo Fast Elk running. He is pursued by Yellow Hawk, hanging out of the window of the car he's running Leo down with, a gun in the hand not on the wheel.
YELLOW HAWK (OS):
I don't feed you information on the
ARM, it's back to the pen.
Back to the present. Ray watches Yellow Hawk walk.
YELLOW HAWK:
If I don't get the boys to make
trouble, it's back to the pen.
Cut to Yellow Hawk pursuing Leo through the sunflower field on Maggie Eagle Bear's property. The car -- and the gun -- are barely visible over the flowers. Cut back to the present, Yellow Hawk reading Ray the riot act.
YELLOW HAWK:
It's your word against my word.
Against the con Indian's word.
Ray stands up, approaches him.
RAY:
You violated parole, Richard.
YELLOW HAWK:
What the fuck, man! What do you
people want from me?
Leo has run out of places to run; he has reached the river.
YELLOW HAWK (OS):
I did what you Wasi'chu's told me to
do!
Back to the present.
RAY:
You blew it, Richard.
YELLOW HAWK:
Yeah, I blew his back out, with your
fucking hardware.
Cut to a close shot on Richard hanging out of the door of Leo's Chevy, shooting round after Federal Issue round. Five shots hit Leo in the back; the force is enough to propel him into the air.
YELLOW HAWK (OS):
I'm not going back, man.
Back to the present. Ray holds up a hand.
RAY:
All right. Look, the men who
approached you at Leavenworth, what
were their names? Maybe I can do a
deal? I don't know.
YELLOW HAWK:
Suits, three suits, that's all I
know them as. Talk to Frank, man.
He's the one who set it up.
RAY:
Right. Frank. Frank Coutelle was
there.
YELLOW HAWK (OS):
Yeah. Frank Coutelle was there.
Ray has to turn away. He massages the bridge of his nose, like he can work this information free, like he can massage it away.
YELLOW HAWK:
Hey. Wait a minute. Wait. You're
not FBI. I want to see Frank.
You're not the fucking law, man.
Ray snaps. His expression goes from, "all my armor falling down" to, "one more wrong step and I will end you." We hear the click of his gun priming, and he uses the weapon to drive Yellow Hawk against his bed. Yellow Hawk doesn't fight; he falls, limp, like he's been struck.
RAY:
I'm the fucking law.
YELLOW HAWK:
Okay. Okay.
Ray slowly lowers the gun.
RAY (OS):
Stay here.
Cut to the Impala driving the rez roads at night.
CROW HORSE (OS):
Straight ahead a few more miles.
Cut to inside the Impala. Ray is behind the wheel; Crow Horse rides shotgun.
CROW HORSE:
And you thought he was some crazy
old coot talking medicine bullshit.
Let me tell you something, hoss.
His visions are strong.
RAY:
Do they come in dreams, these
visions?
CROW HORSE:
Yeah, dreams, sometimes during
sickness, sweat lodge, you never
know when.
RAY:
Just before they caught Jimmy, I had
a dream. I was being run down; I
was running with other Indians. I
was shot in the back.
Ray searches Crow Horse's face for clues for a moment before continuing.
RAY:
And then last night I drove past it.
The place it happened, I saw it.
CROW HORSE:
Saw what?
RAY:
Wounded Knee Memorial.
CROW HORSE:
You were running with the old ones.
At the Knee.
RAY:
It was just a dream.
CROW HORSE:
Who the hell are you, man?
RAY:
What do you mean?
CROW HORSE:
You had yourself a vision. Man
waits a long time to have a vision.
Might go his whole lifetime and
never have one. Then along comes
some instant Indian with a fucking
Rolex and a brand new pair of shoes,
goddamn FBI to top it all off, has
himself a vision.
Ray laughs.
RAY:
Sorry.
CROW HORSE:
Eh. Maybe it was just one of those,
whattya call them, fitful dreams.
RAY:
Right. Yeah. Fitful dreams.
CROW HORSE:
Fitful dreams, horse shit. You had
yourself a vision.
Ray laughs again.
RAY:
What the hell do you want me to do?
Ray's POV: a deer is trotting along before them, frolicking in the headlights.
CROW HORSE:
Whoa, stop.
Ray hits the brakes.
CROW HORSE:
There it is, man. Red Deer Table.
Cut to the boys walking through Red Deer Table. Ray takes a wrong step, falls in a hole; there's a wet noise, and he stumbles.
RAY:
Jesus!
Ray regains his footing, continues walking. He frowns.
RAY:
What the hell is this?
Crow Horse kneels. The land before them is pock-marked with holes filled with some kind of liquid. There are stakes set up around them, marked with pink ribbon. Crow Horse picks up a rock from the ground, throws it into one of the holes; there's a splash, and the rock disappears. Ray comes to stand beside him.
CROW HORSE:
Goddamn. Test drilling for uranium.
Crow Horse hops down the hill, continues walking. Ray follows him. Cut to a closeup of Crow Horse's knife, dipping into a hole and scooping out a dark, viscious material. He brings the knife up, examines the shit on the blade.
CROW HORSE:
Look at that. That's sealant.
Crow Horse wipes the blade of his knife on the ground, stands.
CROW HORSE:
Our people been voting against this
mining thing for years.
RAY:
National security.
They start walking again.
RAY:
Does Milton own this land?
Crow Horse laughs.
CROW HORSE:
He'd like to. He just gets
kickbacks off the damn leases.
RAY:
How could no one know?
CROW HORSE:
Because your government pushed our
people off this land years ago, Ray.
And Milton and his GOONs are making
sure that we don't come back.
RAY:
So Leo found out about it, and
didn't like it. That's why he went
to Maggie. So they zapped him and
pinned it on Jimmy to destroy ARM.
CROW HORSE:
Yeah. They're the only people
that'd do anything about it. And
your people supplied Milton and his
GOONs--
RAY:
They're not my people.
CROW HORSE:
Goddammit, Ray, the source. The
Little Walking starts here. That's
what's contaminated the water. They
go ahead with this strip mining
thing, and this reservation's a dead
zone.
Something in the distance has caught Ray's attention.
CROW HORSE:
We've gotta get you off the rez.
RAY:
(absently) We need to get Richard
Yellow Hawk off the rez.
Ray's POV: coyotes, growling and prowling the desert a ways off. Crow Horse turns to look, too. He draws his gun. They walk over to investigate. The coyotes are guarding something, but from the distance it's difficult to tell what. Crow Horse kneels, feels some prints in the earth.
CROW HORSE: Milton's boys have been here.
Crow Horse circles.
RAY:
Walter.
Ray has reached the coyotes' prize: a body, face down in a shallow grave. Ray reaches down, pulls the body up, turns it around so he can identify it. Maggie Eagle Bear, a bullet in her chest.
RAY:
Oh. Oh, no. Oh . . . oh, no . . .
Crow Horse comes to kneel beside Ray and the body. Ray closes Maggie's eyes. Crow Horse wipes away tears, and then he gets up and aims a furious kick at the earth. Ray stays with the body. Cut to the Impala pulling up to Richard Yellow Hawk's. It is morning now. Ray and Crow Horse get out of the car. They are both fully and obviously armed. They walk up to the door.
RAY:
Shit.
The door is ajar. Ray pushes it open and flinches. Yellow Hawk sits slumped in his wheelchair; the floor is dark with his blood, in which someone has drawn the ARM symbol. Crow Horse sighs. Then he catches something out of the corner of his eye, straightens, and goes out into the yard for a better look. GOONs.
CROW HORSE:
Ray.
Ray comes out into the yard, looks in the opposite direction. More GOONs. They shoot first, before questions can be asked, and run to the car. Ray jumps behind the wheel; Crow Horse slides across the hood, because he is a badass, and then jumps into the passenger's seat. They speed off, just in front of the GOONs and a tribal PD car. They drive through the scrub, through the graveyard of dead cars, until finally finding the road.
COUTELLE (OS):
Hold your fire; I want him alive.
The Diplomat is parked across the road; Coutelle is standing outside. Ray speeds up; Coutelle gets in the car. Ray drives on; the Diplomat and several other cars, both GOON and Federal, pursue as they drive through the tract housing. Back onto the scrub. Crow Horse, not wearing his seatbelt, slides on the slick upholstery. A GOON truck comes too close; Ray collides with it on the passenger's side. It isn't enought to stop him, though; Ray drives off, and the truck, thrown off balance, hits one of the graveyard cars and stops. A Fed car following Ray crashes into a tribal PD car doing the same. Ray drives through a fence, drags it for a bit. He finds the road again. The Diplomat is in hot pursuit. Cut to inside the Diplomat; Coutelle picks up the radio.
COUTELLE:
Ray. You listening to me? This is
insubordination, and it's futile.
Back inside the Impala. Crow Horse is antsy, moving around, checking behind them to see how close their pursuers are. Ray is focused, unwavering; he never takes his eyes from the road.
COUTELLE (OS):
Now, look. You're under duress; I
can understand that. Just pull
over, and we'll talk about it.
Back in the Diplomat. We can see now that Jack Milton is riding shotgun.
COUTELLE:
That's all I'm asking. Just stop
the car.
MILTON:
Better get the Rapid City Federals
back out here. The Marshals.
COUTELLE:
No, we don't want a goddamn media
event. (into the radio) Contain all
reservation exits. It's under control.
Long shot of the chase. There are four vehicles pursuing the Impala, three cars and a truckful of GOONs, but Ray still has a modest lead. Inside the Impala. Ray grabs the radio.
RAY:
Yellow Hawk is going to sing.
Back in the Diplomat. Milton is flinching; Coutelle is not bothered.
COUTELLE:
Ray, Yellow Hawk committed suicide
at three-oh-six this morning. You
hear me? Now stop the car, Ray.
This was not the answer Ray was looking for. He holds the transmitter up to his tape recorder.
RAY (VO):
You blew it, Richard.
YELLOW HAWK (VO):
Yeah, I blew his back out, with your
fucking hardware.
Back in the Diplomat. Milton and Coutelle are listening very carefully.
YELLOW HAWK (VO):
I'm not going back, man.
RAY (VO):
All right.
Back in the Impala.
RAY (VO):
Look, the men who approached you at
Leavenworth, what were their names?
Maybe I can do a deal? I don't know.
Back in the Diplomat.
YELLOW HAWK (VO):
Suits, three suits, that's all I
know them as. Talk to Frank, man.
He's the one who set it up.
Back in the Impala. Crow Horse is stunned; he lowers his Raybans to better look at Ray's drawn face.
RAY (VO):
Right. Frank. Frank Coutelle was
there.
YELLOW HAWK (VO):
Yeah. Frank Coutelle was there.
Back in the Diplomat. Coutelle looks grim; Milton winces. Back to the Impala. Ray rewinds the tape.
YELLOW HAWK (VO):
Frank, man. He's the one who set it
up.
RAY (VO):
Right. Frank. Frank Coutelle was
there.
Back in the Diplomat. Milton winces again. This time Coutelle does, too.
YELLOW HAWK (VO):
Yeah. Frank Coutelle was there.
Back in the Impala.
RAY:
Always get tape, Frank. Thanks!
Cut to an aerial view of the chase. Ray still has a modest lead. Cut to a close view; the road up ahead is completely blocked off by GOONs. Crow Horse is terrified; Ray is out for a Sunday drive. Cut to a shot of the GOONs, the symphony of their weapons priming. Back to the Impala.
RAY:
Put your seatbelt on.
Just before hitting the blockade, Ray takes the Impala off road, driving in the scrub again. Plumes of dust rise up behind him. The GOONs run back to their trucks. Back in the Diplomat.
COUTELLE:
He's gone native on us, Jesus Christ.
Coutelle has no choice but to follow.
MILTON:
He gets off the rez, we've got
complications.
COUTELLE:
He's not getting off the rez.
Back to the Impala.
CROW HORSE:
Jesus Christ, they've got us sealed
in! Where the hell are you going?
RAY:
Stronghold.
CROW HORSE:
What?!
RAY:
We're headed for the stronghold.
CROW HORSE:
Aw, shit.
Long view. The Impala is now flanked by a dozen vehicles, all brimming with armed men. And they are losing ground; Ray's lead is now only a few feet. Back in the Diplomat.
COUTELLE:
Where the hell's he going?
Milton smiles.
MILTON:
Nowhere. It's a wall.
Back in the Impala.
RAY:
Is that it?
CROW HORSE:
Yeah, yeah!
Crow Horse is gripping onto the dashboard with one hand, onto his gun with the other. Ray steers over the increasingly bumpy terrain.
CROW HORSE:
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, easy, easy!
The terrain proves too much for them; Ray crashes into a hole.
CROW HORSE:
Aw, shit.
Ray and Crow Horse run out of the Impala; they run for the stronghold. The GOONs and the Feds get out of their vehicles, the clicking of their weapons priming.
COUTELLE:
Ray!
Ray and Crow Horse stop running. Crow Horse puts his hands up. He turns around, palming his gun by the barrel. Ray doesn't move. Coutelle approaches slowly. He is carrying a shotgun.
COUTELLE:
Let's talk, Ray.
RAY:
Let's talk about Red Deer Table.
COUTELLE:
I don't know what you mean.
Ray finally turns around. He has his gun in one hand and the tape recorder in the other. He speaks to be heard not just by Coutelle, but by the entire assemblage.
RAY:
Why they killed Leo Fast Elk. Why
Maggie's lying up there dead! Do
you know what he's doing to your
land?
Coutelle sets his gun down, and he walks to within a few feet of Ray.