Saint LukeChapter 5 free porn video

I made Kingman by dinner and, after a decent steak, I decided to push on. I wanted to see Las Vegas!

Let me tell you ... the only way to come to Las Vegas is at night. Driving down Las Vegas Boulevard at night, with the whole world lit up, is amazing. It was all I could do not to wreck my truck or get whiplash trying to see everything!

I had planned on finding a Motel 6, or a Best Western, something small and out of the way, but I found myself driving around for almost two hours, until my stomach was gnawing on my spine and I just had to stop.

The thought of Vegas had fascinated me but now, now that I was here, it was overwhelming. I wanted to do something, to see things, but I hadn’t the faintest idea where to start. Seeing a Denny’s Restaurant, I had to laugh at seeing something so common in a place so exotic, but it was what I needed to get grounded again.

Inside, I was directed to a little booth by a tired-looking young lady and waited for my waitress. The inside of the place looked like the last Denny’s I had been in, back in Chattanooga, Tennessee, with the addition of a few slot machines, that is!

The waitress appeared, standing there with her pad in one hand and the other hand massaging the small of her back. She was very, very pregnant and her stomach was distended so far, it was small wonder that her back hurt! I am surprised that she could even walk, overbalanced like that.

“Welcome to Denny’s. Do you know what you want to order?” She had a genuine smile on her face, but I could tell she was really uncomfortable. She was shifting back and forth, from one foot to the other, like they were bothering her too!

“I’ll take the Moons over MyHammy, coffee and a slice of whatever you got back there in the way of pies. Apple, preferably,” I told her, reaching up to hand her the menu. Her fingers brushed mine, just barely, but it was what I was hoping for.

I tried, I really tried, but it was not long enough to get anything real. I could see that most of her energy was headed into her abdomen and that she was generally healthy, that was it.

Not sure what I expected, exactly, but being able to do those fantastic things with the children on the reservation had galvanized me, made me more anxious than ever to find out what I could do, what my limitations were.

She had jerked her hand back a little when we touched, but it was automatic, like touching something that gives you a static shock, and she never looked uncomfortable, like she thought I had done something. She just turned and took my order over to the opening where they could talk to the cook.

The food was ... it was Denny’s. The food is never bad there, but it is never fantastic either. It fulfilled the need to fuel the body, and did so with a fair amount of flavor for a reasonable price. I was just sipping my coffee, cash already tucked under the edge of the plate with the bill, ready to take it up to the register, when I heard a crash from the kitchen.

“Melissa!” There was a man’s yell and somehow, without even knowing it, I was through the door, into the kitchen and kneeling at the side of the pregnant woman.

She appeared to be okay, having slipped on something that had been spilled on the floor, but she was holding her belly and her eyes were wide open, a look of shock on her face.

I took one of her hands, under the guise of taking her pulse, and, well, it’s hard to describe. It is like I plunged in, sort of. I was in there, just looking around, seeing the flow of energy, the blood, air, even nerve signals.

I could see the new life in her belly, a son, and he looked perfectly healthy. The rich, oxygenated blood was flowing easily to the child from the mother and the muscles around her bulging stomach were ... Ah! She was having contractions! She was going to have this little guy tonight!

I opened my eyes and she, Melissa, was staring at me. The cook, a big, florid guy with a scowl on his face, was watching me like a hawk.

I ignored him and looked at her instead, still holding her hand.

“He is impatient and wants to be born. I think he is coming tonight, so we should get an ambulance for you,” I told her in as soothing a voice as I could gin up.

She was still staring at me but nodding in agreement. Then she grimaced, her brow furrowed and her eyes closed. I watched, fascinated, by the ripples across her belly. I had seen this in cows, when they gave birth, but never in a woman.

“I called 911, they are sending an ambulance. Are you a doctor or something?” The cook asked, still not liking me in there.

“No, but I’m a farm boy and we are no stranger to calming down a momma who is about to give birth. Only ... this one can talk back!” I joked, getting a half giggle, half snort from the waitress and a roll of the eyes from the cook.

Melissa was doing this odd panting thing, breathing in big and then blowing out a little at a time in short, quick breaths. I watched inside and could see that it was not doing a whole lot either way for her, physically, but could see that she was concentrating on that and not the pain so ... whatever worked!

The ambulance arrived pretty quickly, considering that this was a city, and they whisked her off, quick as you please, leaving the cook and I standing there with nothing to do.

“Look, not to be a jerk, but you shouldn’t be in the kitchen. Company policy. Even Melissa shouldn’t, but I let her keep her pre-natal stuff in the fridge, you know?”

I waved him off. “No problem, sorry about that. What are you going to do? Close up? You have no waitress!”

He shook his head. “We got a list for emergencies. One of the other girls will come in for the overtime pay, no worries. Let me get you checked out.”

I waved him off, explaining that she could keep the tip and headed out. I had left her a ten-dollar tip, but she could just consider it a birthday gift for the boy.

I ended up at a small motel on the edge of town and as I got ready for bed, it hit me. I hadn’t helped the waitress, not really, just being there, keeping her calm until the ambulance arrived. Still, it had felt good to help. Granted, it was not the satisfaction I had after helping those young girls in Arizona escape abuse, or the children in New Mexico I was able to heal, but it was all part and parcel of the same thing.

I didn’t need a destination so much as I needed a vocation. I was way too young to do something like dedicating my life to a cause, but I had a gift. I had the ability to do fantastic things, to help people. I needed to use that gift. I needed to share it.

As I drifted off to sleep, my mind was on Ajei and her friends back in New Mexico, hoping what I was able to do was enough.

As nice and as comforting as my thoughts were as I fell asleep the night before, they were just as horrifying when I woke. I had dreamed about being pursued by a corrupt government; about being chased by greedy corporate types who wanted the ‘secret’; and about being stalked by wretched, angry and grieving parents who blamed me for the deaths of their children, even if I had been elsewhere. Especially if I had been elsewhere.

Through my morning routine, my mind was on figuring out how to do this. How could I help without being trapped? How could I help without people finding out who I was? I had to be there, to touch! Without even realizing where I was going, I ended up back at the Denny’s from the night before.

With a bemused smile on my face, I went in and was seated by a waitress. Before she could bop off to check on her other tables, I got her attention.

“Last night, a waitress named Melissa went into labor on her shift. Do you know if she had the baby? How is she, have you heard?”

The waitress had no idea who I was talking about and didn’t seem very interested either. I ordered and ate my breakfast, my thoughts turned to how sad that was. This hadn’t been a stranger in another town, this had been a coworker on another shift. How easy it was to just ... live your life, wrapped up in your own worries, your own troubles, and not even see those around you.

In the back of my mind was the horrible realization that the person I had loved most in the world, my little sister, only had one person to mourn her. The turnout at the funeral had been large, but they were there more to see my father into the ground. Mother didn’t have a single mourner there for her, not even her son.

Las Vegas didn’t look anywhere near as alluring, as tempting, during the daytime. It looked faintly shabby. My desire to spend time here was as fleeting as my fascination with the flashing neon. As soon as the sun was up and the pretty lights were off, I was itching to be moving again.

I had only one more stop, someplace that Althea had mentioned when she told me about Vegas. Her late husband had dragged her to a museum, of sorts, but she described it as a graveyard of neon lights. It seemed whimsical that this be the last place I visited before I left Vegas!

I was, maybe, a half block from the Neon Museum, I could see the sign ahead on my right, when I pulled to the side of the road.

There was an ancient sedan, from the forties, I think, and the hood was up. A cloud of steam was billowing out and standing there, waving her hands ineffectively, was a woman who looked at least a hundred years old. She was dressed in what looked like rags, but was probably a patchwork dress. I could see plaid and gingham and paisley and denim and a dozen other materials!

Clinging to her skirts was a child who couldn’t have been more than two. The little boy was sucking on his thumb, dressed only in a diaper and a t-shirt. He seemed less concerned about the car than he was about the world around them, his eyes darting from place to place.

I parked my truck behind the ancient, faded old sedan and got out to see if I could help. It was already almost a hundred degrees out, according to the dash in my truck, but, according to the commentator on the radio, it was a dry heat.

I never quite understood if that was a good thing or not. It was still damned hot out, dry or not!

“Ma’am, can I give you a hand?”

I had walked up alongside the car on the sidewalk side, keeping well back so I didn’t startle the woman.

An ancient face appeared from the cloud of coolant-smelling vapor and a pair of obsidian eyes seemed to lock on to mine. She had one of those faces that you would see in paintings of the Old West. Decades of time in the sun had colored her skin the bronze of oil-rubbed leather. Wind and weather, pain and laughter had all conspired to add crags and creases to her face, giving it a lived-in look that only time could bestow.

She stared at me for a long minute, not speaking. I got the feeling this old woman was sharp and that very little escaped her.

“Not from way over there, you can’t. You might want to come closer so you can reach,” she cackled, laughing at her own joke. Her face disappeared back into the slowly decreasing cloud.

I grinned and stepped up. The problem was easy to diagnose. Well, problems would be more accurate to say. The radiator had seen its best day when the car was new. It was caked with sand and dirt until there was almost no chance of air getting through and actually cooling anything.

The pressure had built up enough to burst one of the ancient and cracked rubber hoses and the steam was jetting from a one-inch gap.

I didn’t have any spare hoses in my kit, something I should probably think about for the future, and this was too much for duct tape.

“I can give you a ride to the auto parts place. We’ll need a new hose and a stiff brush, plus coolant, of course. I have water in my truck for the radiator once we get it cleaned off and the hose replaced.” I turned to look at the woman, to see how receptive to my suggestion she was going to be.

Instead I saw her staring at the necklace that Sam had given me, the beaded medicine bag hanging free over the engine bay. The old woman had a hand half-raised as if she wanted to touch it.

“You can, if you like. It was a gift from a special friend in New Mexico,” I said softly. Her eyes darted from the bag to my face, searching for something.

“Give me a ride to the tribal center. I can get my grandson to come and fix this heap,” the woman said, her tone of voice was one that was used to being obeyed.

“Ouray, you...” she turned to say, then spun in place, her eyes searching for something. It was the weirdest thing, but it wasn’t until she turned that I noticed a small hand holding on to mine. The baby boy that had been clutching her skirts was now holding on to my hand. His other hand was still stuffing a thumb in his mouth and he was still watching everything on the street, but he was perfectly happy with me.

“Ma’am? You looking for this one?” I asked with a laugh, swinging the little boy’s arm back and forth.

The woman turned and saw the boy, her expression turning hard for a moment, suspicion in her eyes. When she reached for the boy, her eyes went wide when the little one scooted behind me, peering out at the woman from between my legs.

“Hot hot hot hot leeleeleelee,” the baby warbled, looking pleased with himself.

Me, I was standing there with my hands up, my arms extended as if to say, “This was not my idea!”

She took a step back and put her fists on her slim hips, surveying the situation for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine. You bring him,” she grunted, and walked to the driver’s door.

She rummaged around inside the car for a moment, then went to the rear and popped open the trunk.

“Put these in the back of your truck. They will go bad if left in the heat for the hours it will take my lazy grandson to get off his ass and come for my car,” she ordered, sounding resigned to the inevitable.

“We could have the car fixed in a half hour, ma’am, if you would prefer. You and the boy can sit in the truck. It is air-conditioned.”

She appeared to think about it for a moment, but I could see she was staring at the medicine bag. “No, that’s okay. If you would just give me a ride, it isn’t far.”

Hmmm ... she had that scheming look in her eye, but the little guy was a happy kid and I doubted she was up to anything bad. Every Indian I had met so far had been very nice, if a little suspicious at first.

In the trunk of the car were several packages of meat wrapped in butcher paper. It was a familiar enough sight back in Tennessee that it made me homesick for a second, until I remembered what home was really like. Is state-sick a thing?

By the time I had transferred the meat to my truck, I figured out it was a whole pig, or near enough that it wouldn’t matter. Even clean and butchered, pork had a different smell than venison or beef.

The whole time I was moving packages, the little boy was right there with me, following along like my own mini-me. The grandmother stood back and switched between watching me and watching him, an indeterminate expression on her face.

I opened the passenger door and offered her a hand, which she ignored, clambering in on her own. Surprising her, I reached down and picked up my new little buddy and closed her door, taking him with me around to the driver’s side of the truck. Once I was seated, I handed him across the center console to the grandmother and we were off.

The address she directed me to turned out to be the Las Vegas Paiute Tribe, Health and Human Services building at the Paiute Tribe Headquarters just a few blocks away!

The boy scrambled back across the center console and into my lap as soon as I put the truck in park, surprising both me and the grandmother! It occurred to me that I hadn’t even checked the little fellow out, so I grabbed a napkin from the center console and pretended to be wiping his nose. Well, I was really wiping it because it was really running a bit, by my mind was elsewhere.

I let myself just ... feel. It was as if my sense swept through his entire body in just a couple of seconds, peeking here, prodding there, looking something else. He was a healthy little guy, just a bit of a summer cold going on and there wasn’t much I could do about that.

Wadding up the napkin, I looked over to see the grandmother staring at me. She looked alarmed, but not scared, if that made sense.

“We should get that meat inside,” she said faintly, then turned to open her door.

I unlocked the rear of the cap and we both got an arm-full of meat. Through the front doors of the squat, sandstone colored building was a comfortable appointed waiting room with a long counter. Behind the counter was a very attractive woman about my age, maybe a year or two older, who greeted the old woman warmly.

“Grandmother! I see you brought the good stuff for the barbecue this weekend! Is this one of yours?” she asked, her eyes on the package in the woman’s arms.

“Of course. Like I would trust someone else!” the old woman snapped, but the girl behind the counter just beamed at her like she didn’t even notice. When the girl turned to look our way, her eyes got wide. Since my hands were full, Ouray had gotten a grip on my pocket and was following along. It made for slower moving, but I didn’t mind.

“Grandmother, did you bring me a gift?” the girl asked, winking at me and then turning a hopeful face towards the old woman.

“What? Christ, Marie, he’s ... Look, just go and get Joseph and find that worthless great grandson of mine, will you?” she snapped. The receptionist just grinned at the old woman and smiled over at me. She took a second to give Ouray a little wave and smile of his own before disappearing through a door behind her counter.

Either the girl was addlepated or there was some strange interpersonal relationship going on that I just didn’t get.

The old woman set her package on the counter and gestured for me to do the same.

“If you set it all right here, I’ll have someone take it to the big freezer,” she said, her tone making it obvious that it was not a request or a suggestion. I began to have an inkling about why the girl smiled ... I think the old woman was just one of those characters you run into. No sense getting angry, she is what she is and nothing was going to change that.

Turned out I was right more than I knew! By the time I had all the meat in, she was surrounded by people. There was an older man, though not close to her age. Next was a teen, probably my age and he looked angry, but more ‘rebellious teen’ than at something in particular.

The receptionist had returned and standing slightly aside with her were two folks in their twenties. The man was in a shirt and tie with a white lab coat over that and a stethoscope around his neck. The woman was in blue scrubs and had her hair up in a tight bun at the base of her neck.

When I came in with the last load, Ouray still clinging to my pocket, the discussion stopped and everyone turned to face me.

Ouray let go of my pocket and, yelling “Mamamamamama...” he darted across the room to the woman in the scrubs who knelt, a big smile on her face, to greet him with a hug.

The boy was all smiles and was chattering away a mile a minute. It was a shock after him being so quiet the whole time!

“Mamamama dada hot lee hot lee!”

It dawned on me what he was trying to say and I am not ashamed to admit that it freaked me out a bit and sent a chill down my spine.

My eyes snapped to the old woman and she was staring back at me. The older guy with her was also staring at me, his brow furrowed.

This was going to get worse very quickly, I realized, when Ouray started trying to drag his parents, the doctor and nurse, over to meet me. In my direction, anyway.

Joseph and Grace Martin were Ouray’s parents. They were staff here at the Health and Human Services Department, seeing to the health of the Paiute and other tribal families in the greater Las Vegas area. They didn’t seem very impressed when I told them that I was just passing through, travelling because I could.

I didn’t know what else to tell them, really. What was I to say, that I was on a spiritual journey? True enough, but I wouldn’t want them to think that some backwoods Tennessee hick white boy was mocking their culture, their religion.

I was saved, sort of, by the grandmother and the older guy.

“Luke, is it? Milly here tells me that you stopped to help when her car broke down. You have our thanks for that,” he said, reaching out and shaking my hand.

“I am Paul Case, I am the spiritual leader here, the medicine man, if you will. Milly said you have a very interesting necklace. Would you mind if I saw it?” he asked, still holding on to my hand.

I dug the medicine bag out with my left hand while I let my senses loose into Paul Case through my right. It only took a couple of seconds to see that he was not a well man. There were spots on his lungs, a spot on his pancreas and several on his kidneys. Whatever was attacking him was spreading quickly.

I don’t know if it was the bag or if he sensed me doing something, but he quickly withdrew his hand and took a step back. The old woman, who I now knew as Milly, watched the whole thing with a sort of half-grin on her face, as if amused that someone else had to deal with me now.

“Can I ask... ?” Paul gestured toward my throat.

“A man named Sam White River out in...” He interrupted me, nodding his head, “ ... New Mexico, I thought so! It has been many years since I saw his, but yours is very similar. I bet Mary made it for you.”

“I think she did. She had some of the most amazing bead work in her office.”

“Did he explain what the symbols mean?” Paul asked, seemingly over his fright or whatever had afflicted him.

“No, just that it was a sacred item for his people, and that it would tell those who could read it...” I paused, uncomfortable with claiming I was a medicine man. I couldn’t guess how he would react.

He seemed to recognize my hesitation for what it was. He gestured for me to continue and lay his hand on Milly’s shoulder.

“He said that it marks me as a medicine man and that other people would recognize that. So far, people are just suspicious about some eastern cracker with a beaded necklace,” I said with a smile, hoping they would see the humor in it.

“And your journey, are you expected somewhere? Do you have a timetable?” he asked curiously.

“No, nothing like that. I am ... searching, I guess that’s the right word. I am looking for something, for some guidance, maybe? It is like what they say about art. I can’t define it, but I will know it when I see it.”

He looked thoughtful but Milly just looked amused. With a snort, she turned away to begin haranguing her great grandson about the car, her son about how Ouray is suddenly being way too trusting with strangers, and the girl from the counter about why the meat was not put away yet.

Every single person rolled their eyes. I swear on a stack of, well, not bibles, but whatever you think is important. Oh, and not Ouray, he just giggled at his grandmother.

Paul asked me to join him in his office and, when we had taken a seat, he flipped through a small notebook and hit a button on his desk phone. The sound of a dial tone was loud and clear in the small office, as were the tones as he punched in a phone number from the notebook. When the phone on the other end began to ring, Paul held up a single finger in front of his lips, a sign for me to be silent.

“Sam White River, Canoncito Tribal Council, how can I help you?”

“Sam, you may not remember me, but we met two years ago at the convocation in Tombstone. Paul Case, Las Vegas Paiute Council.”

“Oh sure, sure, I remember. How are you doing, Paul? Hey listen, before we get to the good gossip, keep your eye peeled for a very interesting young man. He is headed in your direction, at least generally since he is going west from here, and he was last seen at the Grand Canyon. He rescued a couple of kidnapped girls up that way. The name is Luke Samuel Mason and Paul? He has been named diiyiin dine’e’ hatalii by our council, so treat him right if you do run in to him.”

Paul was watching me during this, but I was busy. Blushing, probably, but definitely fascinated by the pattern in the carpet.

“He has been named, Sam, or really is the Hatalii?” Paul asked curiously, his eyes still on me.

“Listen closely, Paul. He is young, and untrained, but strong and is destined for great things. Help him, support him,” Sam said, his voice earnest and sincere.

“Okay, well, I got to tell you the truth, Sam. He’s here. Here, here. He helped one of our elders who had car trouble and wound up here at the Tribal Council offices. I saw the medicine bag and thought I recognized the beadwork as Mary’s.”

“Have him call me when he gets some free time, will you, Paul? Tell him that I have news about his patients out here. While he is there, if you have any sick folks, well, just see if he has time to visit.”

“Will do, Sam. Look, let me go for now, but you can be sure I will call you back later and we can exchange notes, okay? Talk to you soon.”

When he was done, Paul disconnected the call and sat back in his chair, his hands folded on his stomach and stared at me, one eyebrow arched.

“You seemed to have impressed Sam. He struck me as a very level headed man when we met, not one given to flights of fancy. What is it, exactly, that you can do for the sick of my tribe?”

“It depends on how serious you are about them being helped. I only ask three things. Not demand, not barter, but requests. First, that you tell no one, and I mean no one, that does not already know. I don’t trust the government or big corporations. Second, that I see the ailing person alone if possible. It is better without distractions. Last, that you do not attempt to stop me from leaving when it’s time.”

My requests were a little bit different than with Sam, but there was no promise to keep and, if I keep doing this, someone was going to think about... ‘asking‘ me to stay.

“Luke, this sounds, well, it sounds fantastic, but I am not sure if that is good or bad. As the medicine man for my tribe, I am the speaker, the keeper of lore and I know the old stories as well as anyone. Unlike some though, I never could get my heart to join my head when it came to the spirit world, so I am a failure as a shaman. I honestly don’t know what to do.”

“Your cancer, how long did they give you?” I asked, remembering what I had sensed when I shook his hand in the lobby.

Paul looked shocked and jolted upright.

“I haven’t told a soul about ... they don’t even know if it is cancer, they scheduled me for a biopsy next week,” he said accusingly, glaring at me.

“Listen to me, Paul. You have spots on your lung, on your pancreas and both kidneys. That is all I got from our quick handshake. I would need more time if I were to be sure I found them all. I can help, if you let me,” I told him, my voice pleading with him to let me do this.

His jaw was set and his eyes were locked on me when he reached over and grabbed the phone. Without even looking, he dialed three numbers and then waited, the phone held to his ear.

“Grace, can you come up for a few minutes, it’s important. Okay, sweetie, see you soon.”

The tension in the room was so thick, it felt like I could hardly breathe. Paul was staring, glaring really, at me as we waited.

Grace opened the door and walked in a minute later, her entrance breaking the link when Paul rose to give her a hug and direct her to the chair by mine.

“Grace, baby, I kept this from you because I wanted to be sure, but I had some pain in my chest, not heart pain, but lower. I went to the hospital the other day and they did x-rays and an MRI. They found spots on my lungs. They scheduled a biopsy for next week.”

“Oh my god, daddy! Why would you not tell me? I am a nurse, you stubborn old fool!” Grace was obviously upset, glaring at her father even as she got up to throw her arms around him.

“Grace, Grace, wait. Just sit, please? Listen, the reason I told you is that I need to know if you have the equipment to duplicate those tests. Can you see the same thing they saw? What about other places, could you see cancer in other places?”

“What the hell is going on, Dad. This is beginning to scare me.”

“Answer the question, Grace, this is important.”

She looked flustered but closed her eyes and concentrated. When she opened them again, she nodded. “Some. Not all, but the most common types. In addition to some very basic lab tests, we can use an x-ray and see what they see. MRI and CatScan are better, but a qualified yes.”

“Can you bear with me for a while longer? I want you to do some x-rays on my lungs to confirm what the city hospital found. I also want you to do the same on my pancreas and my kidneys. After we do that, I will answer all of your questions,” Paul said soothingly, standing and trying to usher her out the door.

“You bet your ass you will, or you will never get a moment’s peace as long as you live, however short that might be when I am done with you!” Grace growled, but allowed herself to be led out and back to the clinic.