Sneak Peak
Posted: Jun 16 2010 5:21 pm
So some of you probably know I wrote a book. Some people have even asked what I am going to write next. I've actually had an idea of three short, somewhat linked, stories to string together. I've gotten a little ways on one of these, so I thought I'd give y'all a little look at what I've come up with so far.
Duncan Black was a man who had lots of enemies, it was true, but Deputy Bines couldn't figure out why any of them would have done this to him. The man was dead already, for God's sake - what was the point of exhuming him and putting his body and casket on display? Answer me that one, Bines thought to himself, chewing on his lip. It was hot. Not Phoenix hot. Not Death Valley hot. But hot enough for Montezuma County. Hot enough for Bines, that was sure.
July 1st. Still a few weeks away from the monsoons, when the skies opened up, spilling forth their bounty onto the parched land. Only a few days left until the 4t, when all the out-of-town yahoos joined forces with all the local yahoos to make Deputy Jerry Bines' life miserable. Bines hated the 4th.
And now this feces to deal with. Black was only four days in the ground and now he was back out. Like the earth didn't want him. Like his body wasn't ready to give up. There he was: laid out on his side, in the fetal position, with his casket broken into pieces around him. Duncan Black basked in the sun one last time.
"Sheriff's going to be pissed," remarked Donny Acowitz. Acowitz was a Ute from Towaoc, just south of Cortez. He was also Bine's partner. Bines turned to look at Acowitz, who was studying the scene of the crime with his hands on his wide hips.
"Thanks Don for clarifying that point." It was true, though. Black was a sore spot for Sheriff Walter Justice, a rotund man with a cattleman's mustache and a politician's smile. The department was still clueless, without any decent leads, on Black's murder. Bines went though the case again in his mind.
Bines and Acowitz had been called out on the evening of the 21st because the BLM ranger, Sam Lyon, was out with the flu. If he hadn't been sick, none of this would have been Bines' problem.
Sand Canyon Pueblo was part of the new Canyons of the Ancients National Monument, and it was a pair of hikers that had sparked the call-out. The hikers were still waiting at the trailhead when Bines and Acowitz arrived at sundown, sitting on the tailgate of their truck. The ambulance and coroner's van were not far behind the deputies.
"Okay," Bines had said, stepping out of the patrol Durango. "You guys called us about a deal body?" Bines made it into a question, hoping dispatch had it wrong, or that the tourists had just stumbled across one of the thousands of Anasazi Indian burials that dotted Montezuma County. They were always getting false alarms like that. Someone runs across some bones in a canyon and thinks foul play was involved, when really it was an old lady that died in 1280 when she couldn't chew her food any more.
No such luck this time. "Yeah," the perky blond female said. "We were walking down the trail, on the north side, when we saw some boots sticking out from behind some stones." Bines nodded. 800 years ago, those stones had been the wall to somebody's house or somebody's church. He didn't say anything, just nodded. Through the pinon pines, clouds glowed incandescent orange and red and yellow as the sun sank behind McElmo Mesa dn the Great Sage Plain. Not a bad day to die.
"Ma'am," Acowitz picked up, "what did you do when you saw the boots?"
The blond swung her legs back and forth off the tailgate. "Well, Steve thought it might be some pot hunter trying to dig up something. He said we should go call the police."
At that point the fellow named Steve jumped into the conversation, fidgeting with the straps of his backpack in the bed of the truck. "That's right. I figured this guy might be a criminal, or dangerous."A bit defensive, thought Bines, studying the couple's truck from behind his mirrored shades. Probably thinks it makes him sound like a pink kitty to us, in front of his girlfriend.
"Yeah, but I said, 'Steve, he's not moving. Maybe he needs help.' So that's when we moved closer and saw he was...you know..."
Bines and Acowitz looked at each other. They didn't know yet. The ambulance and the coroner's van were pulling into the parking lot by then though. It was time to go see for themselves.
The blond and Steve led Bines, Acowitz, a paramedic, and Peter Hill the coroner down the trail towards the body. Under pinons and junipers, darkness was beginning to fall. They took the north branch of the trail, stepped over a mound of rubble marking the northern wall of the ancient village, and stopped.
"There," Steve had said, unnecessarily, "There's the body."
Plain for all to see, there was a body, sprawled in an indentation in the rubble, marking what had once been a single room in the massive prehistoric town. The body had been face down, boots on feet akimbo, head...
"What the pumpkin happened to the head?" the paramedic blurted out, then blushed. "Sorry." His point remained, though; what had happened to the head? A blood spattered neck terminated in a bloody boulder, with red rivulets running out from under it, flecked with gray flotsam.
Duncan Black was a man who had lots of enemies, it was true, but Deputy Bines couldn't figure out why any of them would have done this to him. The man was dead already, for God's sake - what was the point of exhuming him and putting his body and casket on display? Answer me that one, Bines thought to himself, chewing on his lip. It was hot. Not Phoenix hot. Not Death Valley hot. But hot enough for Montezuma County. Hot enough for Bines, that was sure.
July 1st. Still a few weeks away from the monsoons, when the skies opened up, spilling forth their bounty onto the parched land. Only a few days left until the 4t, when all the out-of-town yahoos joined forces with all the local yahoos to make Deputy Jerry Bines' life miserable. Bines hated the 4th.
And now this feces to deal with. Black was only four days in the ground and now he was back out. Like the earth didn't want him. Like his body wasn't ready to give up. There he was: laid out on his side, in the fetal position, with his casket broken into pieces around him. Duncan Black basked in the sun one last time.
"Sheriff's going to be pissed," remarked Donny Acowitz. Acowitz was a Ute from Towaoc, just south of Cortez. He was also Bine's partner. Bines turned to look at Acowitz, who was studying the scene of the crime with his hands on his wide hips.
"Thanks Don for clarifying that point." It was true, though. Black was a sore spot for Sheriff Walter Justice, a rotund man with a cattleman's mustache and a politician's smile. The department was still clueless, without any decent leads, on Black's murder. Bines went though the case again in his mind.
Bines and Acowitz had been called out on the evening of the 21st because the BLM ranger, Sam Lyon, was out with the flu. If he hadn't been sick, none of this would have been Bines' problem.
Sand Canyon Pueblo was part of the new Canyons of the Ancients National Monument, and it was a pair of hikers that had sparked the call-out. The hikers were still waiting at the trailhead when Bines and Acowitz arrived at sundown, sitting on the tailgate of their truck. The ambulance and coroner's van were not far behind the deputies.
"Okay," Bines had said, stepping out of the patrol Durango. "You guys called us about a deal body?" Bines made it into a question, hoping dispatch had it wrong, or that the tourists had just stumbled across one of the thousands of Anasazi Indian burials that dotted Montezuma County. They were always getting false alarms like that. Someone runs across some bones in a canyon and thinks foul play was involved, when really it was an old lady that died in 1280 when she couldn't chew her food any more.
No such luck this time. "Yeah," the perky blond female said. "We were walking down the trail, on the north side, when we saw some boots sticking out from behind some stones." Bines nodded. 800 years ago, those stones had been the wall to somebody's house or somebody's church. He didn't say anything, just nodded. Through the pinon pines, clouds glowed incandescent orange and red and yellow as the sun sank behind McElmo Mesa dn the Great Sage Plain. Not a bad day to die.
"Ma'am," Acowitz picked up, "what did you do when you saw the boots?"
The blond swung her legs back and forth off the tailgate. "Well, Steve thought it might be some pot hunter trying to dig up something. He said we should go call the police."
At that point the fellow named Steve jumped into the conversation, fidgeting with the straps of his backpack in the bed of the truck. "That's right. I figured this guy might be a criminal, or dangerous."A bit defensive, thought Bines, studying the couple's truck from behind his mirrored shades. Probably thinks it makes him sound like a pink kitty to us, in front of his girlfriend.
"Yeah, but I said, 'Steve, he's not moving. Maybe he needs help.' So that's when we moved closer and saw he was...you know..."
Bines and Acowitz looked at each other. They didn't know yet. The ambulance and the coroner's van were pulling into the parking lot by then though. It was time to go see for themselves.
The blond and Steve led Bines, Acowitz, a paramedic, and Peter Hill the coroner down the trail towards the body. Under pinons and junipers, darkness was beginning to fall. They took the north branch of the trail, stepped over a mound of rubble marking the northern wall of the ancient village, and stopped.
"There," Steve had said, unnecessarily, "There's the body."
Plain for all to see, there was a body, sprawled in an indentation in the rubble, marking what had once been a single room in the massive prehistoric town. The body had been face down, boots on feet akimbo, head...
"What the pumpkin happened to the head?" the paramedic blurted out, then blushed. "Sorry." His point remained, though; what had happened to the head? A blood spattered neck terminated in a bloody boulder, with red rivulets running out from under it, flecked with gray flotsam.
Let us know when we can buy it.