He was, Active saw, in the process of chaining his Ski-Doo to the hasp that held together the swinging doors of the museum’s shipping dock. The FREE UNCLE FROSTY sign was bungeed upright to a stanchion on Maiyumerak’s dogsled. The museum was a brown two-story humpbacked wooden building designed, Active had heard, to resemble an inverted umiaq or whaleboat. Silver pulled up, parked the city Bronco, and, with an expression like an army private sentenced to latrine duty, hurried over to Maiyumerak. “Look, Calvin, fun’s fun but enough’s enough. Unlock that damned thing and get out of the way or I’ll arrest you right now.” Kennelly rushed up with his camera and microphone, and Maiyumerak grinned in pleasure, exposing a black hole where one of his front teeth should have been. “Go ahead if you want a political prisoner in your jail. Under the United Nations Charter on the Rights of Indigenous . . .” Maiyumerak trailed off to watch Silver’s back as he stalked over to his Bronco.
