The Whistler (The Whistler, #1)

by John Grisham

The truth was that, at the age of thirty-six, Lacy was content to live alone, to sleep in the center of the bed, to clean up only after herself, to make and spend her own money, to come and go as she pleased, to pursue her career without worrying about his, to plan her evenings with input from no one else, to cook or not to cook, and to have sole possession of the remote control. About a third of her girlfriends were young divorcées, all scarred and wounded and wanting no part of another man, not for the moment anyway. Another third were stuck in bad marriages with little hope of getting out. And the rest of her girlfriends were content with their relationships and either pursuing careers or having children. She didn’t like the math. Nor did she like society’s way of presuming she was unhappy because she had not found the right guy.

Why should her life be determined by when and whom she married?

(by the way, the term “Native American” is a politically correct creation of clueless white people who feel better using it, when in reality the Native Americans refer to themselves as Indians and snicker at those of us who don’t,

There are 562 recognized tribes in the U.S., but only about 200 operate casinos.

As a sovereign nation, the Tappacola make and enforce their own laws, with no real regard for outside interference.

This is Indian land, Ms. Stoltz, and all the rules that govern an orderly society, all the things you believe in, simply don’t apply here. We govern ourselves. We make the laws. Neither the State of Florida nor the federal government has much say in what we do, especially when it comes to running the casino.”