Episode Twenty-Five
From Book 2 of the Sacred Clown's Modern West Trilogy, Sitting Bull's Mutual Funds
History Got Us Where, Exactly?
Greed draws the lines, but resilience redraws the map.” ~ The Clown
Elias Tough Wolf leaned back in his chair and stared at the prairie outside the chambers. The council meeting hadn’t yet started and he was already exhausted. Sighing and chuckling, he marveled at how ridiculous tribal government was for a people who had governed themselves competently before anyone imported Robert’s Rules of Order. Tribal councils came and went. Sometimes they hung in there for years, sometimes they vanished in the night. Sometimes they pretended to feel rich, but mostly they felt poor, reduced to managing the crumbs falling from white government tables. All-you-can-eat sovereignty: bring your own crumbs, the Clown snickered.
Every crumb has a story, his grandmother had told him, human crumbs included. After the Indian Wars, Standing Rock was little more than two million acres—less than three percent of the Great Sioux Reservation “set aside” for the Lakota by treaty. Resentment still ran deep, and only a few small pockets in the white world had ever bothered to notice. Everyone else had been mesmerized by Black Hills gold. The Lakota hadn’t told Custer a damn thing, but he’d found it anyway.
He knew that after the cake was cut, it didn’t matter who got a piece. There was “no way” to keep gold seekers, merchants, speculators, and hangers-on out of the Hills, people said with a straight face. The Homestake mine alone sat atop one of the biggest gold deposits in the hemisphere, pouring out tens of millions of ounces and billions of dollars in value while Lakota people waited in line for commodity cheese. Gold’s glitter never trickled down to the former owners. Trickle-down, the Clown cackled. All that gold, and they still hand you government-issued powdered milk.
Other memories weren’t more pleasant. After they’d surrendered, his ancestors were herded onto reservations, stripped of their firearms and horses, and issued plows and rotted seed. The land was carved into checkerboards: 160 acres for every “head of household.” The finest light cavalry in the world was emasculated and ordered to become dry-land farmers. Congratulations, grinned the Clown. You were promoted from warriors to clod-hoppers.
Families who played along got the better squares, but that was hardly victory, he thought. This land was never suited to small-plot farming, and even the late-coming white homesteaders who grabbed the squares not allocated to Lakota families knew every day would be a fight to squeeze out a living.
The checkerboard spawned its own headaches. All these years later, nobody could agree where tribal law stopped and federal law started, or whose badge meant what on which side of which invisible line. That ambiguity made good money for lawyers and bad feelings for everyone else.
Elias had a stubborn loyalty to integrity. In 1980, the U.S. Supreme Court admitted the obvious—that the Black Hills had been taken illegally—and awarded a little over 100 million dollars in “compensation,” money that now sat in trust worth close to 2 billion. Some people liked to point out that even that swollen sum was only a small sliver of the value squeezed from Homestake alone. Elias admired his relatives for never taking a dime. “Never for sale,” he murmured. “Never would be.”
Life’s ebb and flow held few surprises for him, though in his later years it mostly felt like ebb. As he peeled back from his thoughts, he noticed the meeting had begun. He turned a jaundiced eye toward Slippery Elm’s latest bluster. History got you here, the Clown whispered. Now watch the minutes of this meeting try to tell another story.
Slippery Elm spoke in a loud voice, “Mamzer Mud Hut He She the Second is with us today to give us an update on his magnificent and always artful efforts to track down the Old Bull’s mutual funds. He’s been working really hard to earn that retainer and monthly fee we all voted to reward him. I think you’ll be pleased with all the good news he has today. Mr. He She?”
Dancing on Black Ice
“Some men chase mutual funds; others chase their own tails. Only a precious few can bill for both.” ~ The Clown
“Good morning, wise members of the tribal council,” He She began. “It’s a true pleasure to leave my office building, which is overrun by greedy white people who would tell you anything to reach into your pockets, and travel to see you today. You all know that I’m not that kind of white man, right?” His pitch landed without a wink.
Stone silence. Tough Wolf’s side conversations with other council members about this shyster just might pay off. Most members of the council were staring right through He She. He started to squirm in his seat, involuntary spittle forming on his lips and sweat on his earlobes. He steeled himself. He’d played tough Indian audiences before.
“Since we first negotiated our agreement to help the tribe on its quest to retrieve Sitting Bull’s mutual funds, I can tell you that our efforts have been both painstaking and thorough. In the first two months alone, I personally have spent more than 2,000 billable hours trying to get to the bottom of this matter. While I haven’t yet met with success, I want you to know that I won’t rest until these dollars from Sitting Bull’s estate are returned to you, the rightful owners, minus my fee and an appropriate share of any interest that has accrued over these years.” Look at him buff up those billable hours, the Clown guffawed. Shame they don’t pay extra for talking down to the help.
“Hold on.” Elias interrupted, “I just did the math. The longest month has 744 total hours. How could you possibly have worked 250 more hours in one month than there are hours?”
“My time is quite valuable, Mr. Tough Wolf. I realize that your level of education may not be as good as mine, and it’s obvious that math isn’t your strong suit, but I can assure you and anyone else who might ask that I did, in fact, personally work those hours. May I please proceed?”
Elias flashed his eyes across the table at Slippery Elm, who got the point right away. Slippery Elm lowered his eyes to the papers on his desk.
Elias could smell the blood coagulating on the floor. “What’s this about you retaining ‘an appropriate amount’ of accrued interest? That wasn’t in your contract. You are a first-class swindler, Mr. He She.”
Slippery Elm leapt to his feet. “It was too in his contract. There are two contracts. The one that the tribe formally signed and a second contract that I privately issued to Mr. He She. Since the council is so stingy about everything, I needed to be sure that our esteemed attorney is kept happy when looking for our money. Mr. He She, please proceed and tell us all about how happy you are and how successful you’ve been. Fellow council members, I humbly ask that you not interfere with his presentation.”
The grumbling echoed off the council chamber walls. It was growing louder as He She started again, “I contacted all the major mutual fund companies and asked for a full accounting of any assets that could be traced to Sitting Bull. It’s been exhausting jumping through their hoops and dealing with customer service agents who are about as bright as Mr. Tough Wolf over there. I have submitted all requested paperwork, including forging a temporary social security number for Mr. Bull or Mr. Sitting Bull, as you all choose to call him.”
The Clown swatted a fly in the corner of the chambers. Forged paperwork? Wow. Now that was an admission. This He She guy sure likes to play fast and loose.
Elias wondered whether that forgery was a federal offense.
“I explained to them, to no avail, that Mr. Bull died forty years before Social Security, so he couldn’t have been issued a number. But I was able to talk to a colleague back in the federal bureaucracy and was able to get that resolved. I must now contact those mutual funds companies again and switch my handiwork for the new legal number we have in his name. All my work will now have to be post-dated. I am telling you all this and formally advising the tribe not to be surprised when you see a large but totally honest increase in billable hours in our next invoice.”
“And just what is that ‘legal’ Social Security number?” Elias hopped back in.
“None of your damned business,” Hearsay hissed. “Listen, Tough Wolf. You’ve asked a lot of smart-assed questions here today, and I know what you’re trying to do. You want to personally recover all of the Old Bull’s assets and live happily ever after. I’ve seen sneaks like you before. Would you like me to sue you personally?”
Tough Wolf was bearing the brunt of He She’s feint unflichingly, “Sue me? Whatever for?”
“For hiding Sitting Bull’s mutual funds, for starters. For lying about the number of hours that make up a month. And for obstructing this investigation.”
Slippery Elm took his cue. “Yes. Mamzer He She is correct again. We are dancing on black ice with this one. He’s our best hope of getting those funds back, and every time we question him, it takes his valuable energy away from the path leading to recovering our dollars. We need to be patient and allow him to do his work.”
Stringing the Rock Along
“A billion in mutual funds, a million in bling, and not a dime for the getaway car.” ~ The Clown
Slippery Elm’s cellphone rang later that evening. He She’s staccato voice defiled the air. “Hey bro, how are they hanging?”
“What do you mean, how are mine hanging? Yours are hanging over the edge. You’ll be tits up in a ditch if you don’t produce something, and pronto.”
“I have produced. I just didn’t want to tell the council that with Tough Wolf in the room. He’s on to us.”
“He sure is.”
“Well, are you ready? I wish I had a drumroll. I’ve recovered $10 billion!”
Slippery Elm’s stunned silence didn’t last long enough. “Whaaaaat? You did what?”
“I’ve retrieved TEN BILLION DOLLARS from those assholes at Old Guard Mutual Funds. They didn’t want to give it up, but through my superior lawyering—including making demands that their legal team couldn’t decipher—they produced it. I got it in Franklins right here in the car!”
“That’s wonderful news, Mamzer. And just when I thought the sky was going to turn black. I never doubted you. For one minute. You’re the best lawyer I ever saw. What’s our share? You and me forever, bro.”
“Well, sit down, my brother. I’m going to have to level with you. I just needed to practice a bit with you. The hard truth is we ain’t got it, it doesn’t exist, but we for sure as hell gotta act like it does. String ‘em along until we get our last paycheck from the tribe. Between that and the five million you done stole, we might be able to buy a small island in the Gulf of Mexico. I hate sand fleas, but there’s no way they’d ever find us. The tribal paper has already been talking to the FBI, and my friends there say the noose is being braided as we speak.”
Slippery Elm gulped. He could feel his old familiar vomit forming in the back of his mouth. “Rags to Riches to Rags. How much time do you think we have?”
“Hours, maybe a day.”
“I spent the five million. How do you think I look so fresh and attractive all the time? Dude gotta bling. Dude gotta pay off his security team. It’s all gone. Looks like all we got is you and your retainer.”
“What retainer? You paid me a retainer? I never got a retainer.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Mamzer. Thanks to me, you got a million dollars to start working on this house of cards.”
“No, I didn’t. I also haven’t been paid my monthly fee after two months of excruciating labor. All you and your colleagues have been doing is tossing me bones. I’ve heard of pro bono work, and this looks like I’ve been boned by the pros. I haven’t collected a dime, and now you Indians think you have all this money coming thanks to my hard work. Life is hardly fair!”
“You spent all that loot? On what? You still look like you put on your clothes with a pitchfork. You’re more rumpled than a TV detective, your car looks worse than anything I’ve seen on the rez, and your breath stinks.”
“OK. I’ll fess. I bought mutual funds with that measly million. A moron like you might understand that Sitting Bull was a financial genius. You know, some fine day one hundred thirty years from now it might be worth $10 billion. I’ve left strict instructions in my will that an IOU be sent to the tribe when and if it reaches that amount. I can’t guarantee anything, but that scrip might get our reputations off the hook down the road.”
“You’ll be a long time dead by then. In fact, I might even kill you right now.”
“Do you think the tribe would take a promissory note for $10 billion right now? I can write that scrip and email it to you. Maybe that’ll keep us off the hangman’s scaffold.”
“I’ll work on that. Let me see.”
