So at around 4am, I round about snuck out there. They were gone. I was partially relieved. When I made it back to my place, Dwayne was still wide awake. "Well?" he asked. "They're gone." I then told Dwayne that we needed to get rid of the shit we took off them. With twilight barely showing up in the East, we walked out into the desert scrub again. We dug a deep enough hole, took their money out of their wallets (under $40 total), and buried their keys, knives wallets and smokes.
Dwayne and I swore to each other that we would not tell ANYONE about what went down in the desert that night, AND that we wouldn't make any remarks about their absences or whatever news came to light in town. But I did have to tell my sister, and she swore that she wouldn't tell anyone. Not mom, not dad or any of her friends.
At the end of that school day, I finally remembered something I wanted to ask Dwayne. When we were alone, I asked, "Hey man, what did you whisper to Mr. Cool before you cut him last night?" He told me, "I told him, 'you know what you did, and this is to remind you of that, every time you look in the mirror'". I was like, "Whoa! Damn man, you're such a badass!"
The next morning at school, the beating was all everyone was talking about. Those three boys ended up in a hospital, 150 miles away. Fuck, all day long Dwayne and I kept hearing all this speculation about what happened, who did it, how allegedly fucked up they were physically, if they were even coming back to school again that year...blah blah blah. Since my parents were teachers, and a lot of my high school teachers would come to my parent's house to smoke weed, I heard all the speculation and shit at home too. My mom cornered me in the hall that night, while everyone was drinking and smoking in the living room. She said, "Dean! I want to talk to you." I said, "OK." My mom asked, "Was it you?" I said, "Mom, are you fucking kidding me? I could NEVER confirm or deny that I was possibly involved. ESPECIALLY with YOU!" She grabbed me, gave me a bear hug and said, "Oh baby, I love you so much." FOR WEEKS this shit went on. Dwayne and I discussed how weird it was, hearing about what we did from everyone around us, and knowing what really went down in the desert that night 'cause we 'downed' it.
The next week, it was a 'no show' from the infamous 3. The week after that, the same. At the end of the 3rd week, after the beating, one of Mr. Cool's friend's showed up. He had arm casts on both arms. His hair was buzzed to his scalp and he had stitches on the right side of his head, behind his ear. I was like, "Oh, that's my number 1!" He couldn't write, so he started taking all his tests orally. I'd see him in the hall, and pass by him like he wasn't even there. A ghost. A little under a week later, Mr. Cool shows up. Two arm casts, chest wrapped in ace bandages, (we later found out that all of them had the ace wraps), no bruising around the neck, and about 20 stitches on his face, from his nose to his jaw. I initially got that, "Oooh, that must've HURT!", chill down my spine, but it was quickly replaced with the memory of his proud of what he did, insane smile that he and his buddies gave me in the hall. I remember saying to myself, "You got yours motherfucker." The next day, my number two was rolled in. Arm casts, broken nose, missing 7 of his front teeth, rib wraps and wheelchair bound (from wailing on his bare feet, an inspiration I got that night, from watching the movie Midnight Express a few years earlier). His sister wheeled him around. When he came back to school the next year, he was limping and had new teeth.
So what happened to them? A couple of years after I left the rez. I get a call from Dwayne. He was like, "You'll never guess what happened to Mr. Cool." I responded, "Man, so much crazy shit happens on the rez., I'm sure you're right, I'll never guess what happened." He says, "Mr. Cool just up an disappeared about a month ago. He got on his dirt bike, rode out into the desert and didn't come back. A few people went out looking for him, but never found him. So this guy was putting up chain link fencing around some property about 15 miles out of town. He got to stringing the top wire and the bottom wire to attach the chain link to, and just left it like that. Well he went back out to put the chain link up a few weeks later, and he see's Mr. Cool's head laying on the ground, near the wire. His dirt bike went on it's own joy ride and was found a few hundred yards away. Mr. Cool decapitated himself doing about 50mph!" I was like, "HOLY SHIT! That's one fucker we don't have to worry about again!"
About ten years later, Dwayne called me up again and told me that Mr. Cool's two buddies, died in a drunk driving accident. He told me that their car was loaded with cases of beer (it's a dry reservation, but there's a 100% mark-up black market resale business on the rez.. You'll see grandma's and grandpa's selling cases out of their hogan's to make some side money), they were both inebriated. The driver apparently passed out, they drifted off the road and hit an immovable object doing 70mph. I said, "Well, at least it was quick." Dwayne replied, "Yeah, but that's alcohol abuse!", and we both laughed our asses off. That's it...the end.