Shine Part One Experimental

All things in the world are two. In our minds we are two, good and evil.

With our eyes we see two things, things that are fair and things that are ugly....

We have the right hand that strikes and makes for evil, and we have the left hand full of

kindness, near the heart. One foot may lead us to an evil way; the other foot may lead us

to good. So are all things two, all two. -Eagle Chief (Letakos-Lesa) Pawnee

Shine
PART I

The Homecoming

The daunting woods, dark and deep, enshrouded in wet sinking clouds, sign to

him that he is not welcome. Anxiously, he makes no effort to quiet his footfalls or

conceal his presence. A dire encounter with that which he most fears is as certain as the

impending night. Struggling to stay focused on the ever-changing landscape and resisting

the impulse to panic, he hastens on.

It is a solitary boy, no older than fourteen years, making his way through a vast

section of woods unfamiliar. Born of an American Indian father and mother, he is of the

minority of youths who carry pure Indian blood. Other than that, one could not say that he

is particularly unique. His frame is lean and long, but not exceptionally so, and like many

of his kin, he has a way of keeping his true feelings locked behind an impassive visage.

Yet even a practiced appearance can lose its resolve when tested adequately. Such is the

time and season for young Jolon Dasan.

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 Like a medieval omen of unrest, dozens of midnight-black crows, silhouetted

against the darkening sky, are gliding silently just above the treetops southward to some

secret nesting place. As veiled in the language of the wind, phantasmal voices that span a

millennium speak as one. Remember the brave warriors and the great chiefs! They fought

and many died that their families might live in peace. That is why you are here, Jolon.

Our people need you now, so do not fear. Remember who you are, and consider your

destiny!

The ancients have said that a strong warrior would come. He knows he is not that

warrior, for such a one would be experienced in battle. The hope of such a paladin

however, is all he requires to press on.

With a worried expression, the precocious boy is keeping his hurried pace through

a grassy space and back again into the trees. His is carrying with him an awareness that

no one his age should have to bear. Trouble never seems to come singularly; evil follows

evil and danger follows danger. At the times when the earth seemed at rest, it is merely

holding its breath for the next misfortune. As he is pushing onward, he senses a grave

foreboding that something or someone is not far behind.

It is in late autumn that our story begins. The leaves have begun to fall and the air

is crisp and remarkably cooler. It is the season when northwest winds tease and test the

countryside, searching for pertinent places to put down and then pour out their long

awaited showers.

Reminiscent of the rain, the dark soul of dread holds no partiality. When it

appears, it settles upon humanity as a heavy, unwelcome covering. At first it feels soft and

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light, and then its weight bears down until it becomes near insufferable. Pushed into some

response, one either surrenders and embraces it as a necessary burden, or resists it with

the hope of liberation.

Distressing events come crashing upon us one by one in singular incidents, or

appear almost imperceptivity in strings of indistinct clues, sometimes indiscriminately

and sometimes in discernible arrangement. When faced with clear and present danger,

humanity either sinks into unredeemable cowardice, or rises to extraordinary heroism.

While the less noble slip away to anonymity, absorbed into the continuous current of time

and events, the valiant become prominent icons of history. Thus the duty of each of us,

among other lesser callings, is to identify our own life’s purpose, and to exist spiritually

and meaningfully in nature’s relentless dichotomy. All things are two, all two.

Chapter 1

Turbulent floodwaters rush under the green steel bridge a mile south of the little

town of Hopland. On both sides of the river, broken branches and assorted debris cling to

the shore sides; an annual eyesore that seems to somehow disappear during the summer

months. On this Thursday afternoon, a black suburban slows to a stop on the wide

shoulder of the narrowed highway just north of the bridge. From there lies the wide vista

of the valley.

The passenger door opens and a man, tired from travel, steps out and stands for a

moment. The air feels hot and wet. He pauses to stretch and watches the never-ending line

of vehicles continue along the sloped two-lane road. They slow as they approach the Feliz

Creek Bridge and proceed between the dated mismatched storefronts.

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 Settled low over the ocean to the northwest, dark rain clouds wait to move inland.

The night would be cold and wet. From the vehicle he extracts a heavy backpack and an

old, well-worn guitar case. With a parting word to the driver, the traveler begins the last

leg of his journey into town.

. The short hike into to town, which should be jubilant for him, is not without

trepidation. Troubling memories long thought dead resurrect themselves. Like satirical

ghosts contending for his full attention, they are not merciful. Surreptitious, they mock

him for his ineptness and challenge his reasons for returning. Unseen and wordless are the

battles of the mind, as are the casualties they induce. The clever excuses of delay he had

invented are no longer viable. It is time to confront the ghosts of the present.

Crossing the Feliz Creek Bridge, he pauses to view the little town. Not much has

changed. He walks over to the Hopland Farms, a combination of grocery, deli and gas

pumps, and leaves his belongings by the door.

The few people near the store stop and watch him for a moment. Perhaps they

notice the felid way he moves, rolling his shoulders with each step – perhaps his long

hair, as black as an obsidian charm – or his intense green eyes, unusual for a Native

American. Whatever it was is draws attention – why it is – is as much of a mystery to him

as to anyone else. It is however, the perceivable reason (notwithstanding his own

misgivings) he is known only by Shine.

The Keg Salooz situated beside Hopland Farms is a tiny, dilapidated looking bar

whose appearance suggests the bankrupted lives of those who frequent it. Now before we

become critical of its appearance, consider that the idea is to make money, not to simply

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look good. A soul with a craving to numb his brain (or hers) doesn’t much care if such a

medication is found in a palace or a tool shed. Further, the measure of success of any such

business is the amount of times the till goes ka-ching – and ka-ching this one does.

Therefore, it is safe to say that the establishment has paid for itself a gazillion times over

since its inception.

Several Harleys are parked there and a few bikers are loitering in the shade of the

building. One of them, a tall, bearded man in stained jeans and a typical biker jacket,

notices Shine looking at their bikes and calls out, “Hey, what you lookin’ at, Indian?”

Bad form, old chap…very bad. The ill-timed comment triggers something sour

inside Shine. Weary, he feels his mood darken. For a moment he pauses, studying the

bland blacktop at his feet. The lack of sleep and a dull headache compounds the irritation.

Absently, he removes his sunglasses and rubs his eyes. Experience had taught him to be

judicious in the way he reacts to such expressions of contempt. He has no desire to

confront those men. A soldier must pick his battles, and that petty interruption has no

objective. Yet, with his temper rising and his self-control waning, he glares at the men and

shoots back, “Right now I’m looking at seven overfed and under informed-fools! Do you

have a problem with that?”

The men look away, avoiding his gaze. With a faint glint of amusement, Shine

notes their neatly trimmed beards and solon-styled hair that so candidly betrays their

guise. When none of them challenges him further, he continues into the store. Even with

the brief, unwelcome reception, he cannot help but smile. I’m home again and some

things never change. He orders a sandwich at the deli and selects a cold drink from the

cooler.

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 Choosing a table near the wall, he sets so that he can keep an eye on his

belongings outside the door. He chews on his sandwich and thinks about home. His

grandfather is probably on his property a few miles east of the Rez. Most of his friends

from the past still live on the Hopland Reservation. Thomas Dason had been a friend of

his father and had helped Shine through much of his childhood years. He will look him up

in a day or two.

He is about halfway through his meal when two familiar looking teens enter the

store. The bigger of the two dour teenagers has shaved his head and his hair has started to

grow back. Both are dressed in Oakland Raiders sweatshirts, black sneakers, and baggy

jeans that look dangerously close to falling to the floor. Shine recognizes the bigger boy

as Sonny Louis and the other as Terry Crow. They circle the aisles looking at the goods on

the shelves like ordinary shoppers. But while Terry was talking to the clerk, Sonny slips a

bag of chips under his shirt. Then, sauntering over to the liquor aisle, he looks to see

where the clerk is and quickly takes a bottle off the shelf and hides it. They are about to

leave the store when Shine says, just audible enough for them to hear, “Put it back.”

The boys stop mid-stride. Sonny turns and faces Shine with a whatever-do-you-

mean look.

“Put it back,” Shine repeats. “You give Indians a bad name.”

Sonny looks over his shoulder to see where the clerk was and then turns back to

Shine. “Look, man, it ain’t none of your business! You can get hurt up real bad talking

like that.”

The two boys put on their best brave and defiant faces. If it were not serious,

Shine would think it funny. He stands and says calmly, “Guys, it’s not worth going to jail

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for. If you want some sodas and chips, I’ll buy them for you, but the way you’re going

about it, you’ll just wind up in trouble.”

When Shine stands, Sonny thinks he is going to start something. He is not sure

whether to run out of the store and all the way home, or stay to fight. In his indecision, the

bag of chips fall to the floor. Shine is about to pick up the bag and buy it for them when

something outside catches his eye. He says, “Hold everything!”

Chapter 2

The rainstorm came suddenly. Gnarly oaks clad in random drapes of long Spanish

moss tremble and shake as if by morose effects of Winter’s deliberate animosity. The

cold, wet wind from the northwest is bellowing and twisting through the darkly knotted

branches of the resolute old trees above the anxious boy. Whirling above and about him

are clouds of swirling, soggy leaves. The mystifying phenomenon stirs his imagination

yet deeper.

Jolon stops for a moment to get a sense of his position. Troubled by the

strangeness of the surreal wood, he struggles to spot some familiar reference point. He

thinks that he knows where he is, but not exactly.

There is little shelter for the drenched boy. The chill Jolon feels is more than

simply being wet and cold – much more. Shivering and frightened, he forces himself to

think. He has not much time. Darkness is falling fast and the forest is about to be

overtaken by a different kind of danger.

He scans the scene around him searching for some clue. Time is running out – of

that, he is sure. He is about to move on, but there is something that he is missing. What is

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it? Is it again his imagination? On the other hand, is this nature’s way of offering him

some subtle counsel?

Jolon is not a boy that is easily distressed, but at this point in his young life, he

sometimes questions his own limited understanding. No, it is not merely his imagination

this time. In a way, it feels good to him to identify something so common, so objective;

for mixed with the smell of rain and woods he senses the faint but unmistakable odor of

smoke.

His spirits brighten. He feels his confidence return. Such is the fine line between

fear and exhilaration. It would be a simple thing if the smoke were the result of a

lightning strike, but there had been no lightning. Therefore, the smoke must be from a

brush burn or a house chimney, and that means he is not the only person on this mountain.

He has not eaten since morning and he is starting to feel that need. He searches

through the pockets of his jacket for a last piece of candy. Stuffing the candy in his

mouth, he puts the wrapper back in his pocket and continues.

The boy has spent his life below this mountain. In the summers, he and his friends

often camped here for several days at a time. This however, is not summer, this is October

and the nights are cold.

The unease that Jolon feels is not because of the forest itself. It has to do with

something that no one has yet been able to explain – The night visitors. They first began

to appear in a somewhat harmless way, but then after the first attack, most of his

neighbors began staying in at nightfall with their doors locked and their windows shut.

Now, Jolon is alone, and darkness is falling.

Chapter 3

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 Shine crossed the store and pushed open the glass door. The biker who had yelled

to him earlier had taken Shine’s guitar out of its case and was going through the backpack

he had left on the porch. “Don’t touch my stuff!” Shine said stridently.

The biker was surprised that the smaller man would dare to challenge him. He let

go of the pack and looked down at Shine. “It’s just a bunch of worthless junk,” he asserts.

“What’s got you so hot, Indian? You think you can take me down?”

“If I have to,” Shine said quietly. He stood between his pack and the biker,

watching the man’s eyes to read his intentions. He had no desire to turn the situation into

a shouting match – it was not his way of doing things.

The biker felt unsure. He glanced back toward the bar where his friends were

watching. One of them yelled out, “Bring his pack over here, Abe! Let’s see what he’s got

in there!” They were amused at the sight of Abe standing there, defied by a smaller,

younger man.

Abe did not care about what was in the pack anymore, but he could not let Shine

make a fool of him. He yelled back, “Shut up, Bates!” He reached around Shine and

grabbed the old guitar.

Again Shine said with a bit more edge, “Don’t touch my stuff!”

“Or what, man? Don’t touch it or wha . . .”

Shine’s right hand suddenly had Abe’s left hand, and was pushing the biker’s third

finger back with his thumb. Abe let out a squeal when the pain hit. He swung the guitar at

Shine, hitting him on the shoulder and sending the instrument crashing with a loud

thwang against the wall.

Shine looked at the damaged guitar lying on the porch. To that point, he had not

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been very angry, but then glared at Abe and squeezed down on his hand harder. The man

tried to pull away, but Shine put on more pressure. Dropping to one knee and looking up

at Shine, he said, “Leggo! You’re gonna break my finger, man! I wasn’t going to take

nothin’!”

Shine squeezed tighter. “What do you think you’re doing? I told you twice not to

touch my stuff! Maybe you don’t like Indians, or maybe you’re just plain stupid. Well, I

don’t like idiots like you mouthing off like that!”

Abe was perspiring. The pain to his hand was telling him that any more pressure

and his knuckle would snap. He said weakly, “See those guys over there? They’re my

buddies. We’re in the same bike club, okay? If I say to, they’ll get you man… they’ll get

you!”

A sinister smile crossed Shine’s face when he replied, “Do you think I can’t

handle those losers? Whatever you think, if you mess with me any more I’m going to

snap that finger. Think about that!”

With interest, Abe’s friends were watching the drama play out. They saw their

club leader on his knee, and apparently not of his own choosing. Moreover, they did not

seem eager to intervene.

Maybe it was Shine’s self-confidence – maybe it was the intense pain to the man’s

hand. Abe said, “Okay, man. Just don’t break it. I don’t want them to see you break it.”

Only a minute had passed, but people were already gathering so see the show.

Sonny and Terry were on the porch watching in dumb disbelief. Shine, with Abe’s hand

still clutched in his said, “I want you to smile.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

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 “Smile, big man – like we’re friends,” he said quietly. “What I’m doing is

showing you an old Indian trick a white man taught me. I’m going to let you up and

you’re going to smile and try the same thing on me. Just stay cool. I’ll act like you’re

killing me. Don’t worry, just do it.”

Abe liked the idea immediately. No way was he going to cause Shine any more

trouble. He nodded and Shine released his grip. Abe stood, towering over the smaller

man. Shine said just loudly enough for Abe’s friends to hear, “See, it’s pretty simple.

Now, let me show you that again.”

It took a bit of time for Abe to see how to grab Shine’s hand just right. When he

did, he was tempted for the moment to see how much pain he could administer to his

young assailant, but for the first time in a long time, good sense prevailed. He pushed

Shine’s finger back and Shine went down on his knee.

“Okay, man, that’s enough! Take it easy,” he said, as though he was suffering as

much pain as Abe had.

Abe was enjoying the show that he was putting on. “Feels good, don’t it?” He

crowed. “How do you like that now, Indian?”

“It hurts, Man. You learn fast. I sure wouldn’t want any trouble from you!”

The big biker released his grip and Shine got up. Holding out his hand to Abe, the

big biker took his hand and shook it as if they were old friends. Relieved that Shine had

not embarrassed him any more in front of his friends, and that his hand was still intact,

Abe wrapped his big arms around Shine and gave him a bear hug.

“I’m sorry about your guitar, man,” Abe said, reaching for his wallet. “Sometimes

I do stupid things. Whatever it costs to fix it, I’ll pay for it.”

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 “I don’t need your money. Maybe you can do me a favor sometime, and then we’ll

call it even.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Abe repeated, shaking his head regretfully. “If you ever need

anything – anything, just let me know.” He let Shine go with a pat on the back and joined

his friends at the Salooz.

Chapter 4

The air of century-old wood and brooding dust lingered as doggedly in the

cluttered storeroom as did the mantles of aged spider webs that collected in its corners

and open joists above. With an antique brass key, the tall, bulky storekeeper unlocked a

heavy oaken chest and pulled open the top drawer.

He hesitated for a moment, viewing the drawer’s contents. Then touching first one

old revolver then another, he lifted a rust-pitted western Colt. Holding it by its broken

grip, he tried to feel its life, its soul, but there was nothing – no premonition or mystery at

all. His only emotion was the disappointment of the gun’s miserable condition.

Sorrowfully, ceremoniously, he returned it to the drawer, placing it beside the

other old handguns. He would leave it there, resting like the corpse of one once beloved

that had been locked away forever in a sealed and sod-covered casket. The drawer shut

and locked, he returned the key to its hiding place on a shelf above the chest and ambled

back toward the front of the store.

Closing time for the Earl Farley Antiques on Market Street in San Francisco was

7:00 P. M. that Friday. The time on the old George Talltree clock near the back of the

room read 6:47 P. M. and its owner was ready to lock the doors.

He had arranged for his wife to spend a month or so with her sister in Omaha.

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Gladys never questioned the trips her husband planned. She assumed that he was simply a

generous and caring man. All in all, theirs was a long and amiable relationship. There

were however, two particular things that Gladys disapproved in her husband. First were

Cuban cigars he enjoyed now and then. She did not like the smell of them and she feared

that one day they would kill him.

The other thing she disapproved was his gambling – and for a good reason.

Loving the casino atmosphere as he did, he pictured himself as a ruthless and formidable

Texas gambler. There was something about a poker game or a blackjack table that reeled

him in like a catfish. The problem was that Earl was not very good at it. Of this you could

be certain; whenever he walked into a casino, he walked out with an empty wallet. Gladys

thought he ought to have learned his lesson, but losing only fired up Earl to go right back

in there and win back his money, which, of course, was never the case.

Business was usually slow during the last quarter of the year, so Earl planned to

close his store for a while and do some traveling of his own. His luck was about to

change, because Old Earl had a secret plan.

In the historic Mission District of San Francisco, he was a recognized

businessman and entrepreneur, but in his own mind he was pure cowboy. The eccentric

combination of those two characters made him the odd fellow about town. Born in a small

town just outside Dallas, he was proud of his long Texas heritage. His great-great-

grandfather, Ezra G. Farley, had homesteaded there more than a hundred years ago. Earl

could spin tales for hours talking about how it was back then on that ten thousand acre

ranch. Nevertheless, like his dream of being a cowboy, very little of it was true.

On the other hand, you have to understand that Big Earl was not a total loser, nor a

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complete fool. You see, Earl had a knack for buying and selling things. In a sense, the

overweight, loud-mouthed Texan was pretty well connected. He was aware that for the

most part, people thought him a bit peculiar. That was okay with him. He played the part

very well and used it to his own advantage. Those who failed to take him seriously

usually paid for it in the end. Peculiar or not, when it came to business, Earl somehow

always ended up with the biggest portion in the pot.

Because of the vast wealth that characterized the privileged of the city’s populace,

there were many, many pots from which to extract certain treasures. The wealthy, like

everyone else, do wear out their years on Earth and pass on. A substantial number of good

citizens of San Francisco had spent their entire adult lives in the city and had become

moderately rich, and some very rich. When such a one died, the things they accumulated

had to go somewhere.

There would always be scavengers around to pick at the leftovers. Like buzzards

hovering over a carcass, avaricious heirs of the rich and famous could not wait to pilfer

what they wanted. Once they got their hands on the money and property, they put the rest

up for sale, so whenever an estate sale came up, Earl was usually the first to know and, of

course, the first in line.

Toward the end of the gold rush, when businesses began to flourish in San

Francisco, ships that came to port were laden with have-to-have merchandise that only the

prosperous could afford. The big, graceful vessels arrived in port laden with choice tea

and silk from India, art masterpieces of oil paintings, lacquered and painted finishes and

works of art, bronze sculptures, fine china and exquisite silverware and the best of

household furnishings from England, France, Italy and throughout Europe.

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 Clever entrepreneurs followed the money, and in those days, San Francisco was

where the newest money was. Due to the natural courses of events, such treasures were

past down from generation to generation. Finally, in the passing of time, many of the most

valued pieces became available, and Earl was always there with his most winning smile,

and his checkbook in his hand.

Although he specialized in fine old furniture from the 18th and 19th centuries, his

antique business attracted all types of antiquated and useless things. Earl knew values

pretty well, but anything that looked the least bit western deserved special consideration.

In the storage room, for instance, was an old oaken keg filled with worn out

horseshoes. The keg was worth more than what it held, because the horseshoes were

worthless. Still, they seemed western to Earl, so therefore valuable. Hanging on the walls

were rows of horse bridles and bits. Resting on sawhorses were two retired, broken-down

saddles, and piled in wooden crates were at least a dozen pairs of very old cowboy boots.

On dusty shelves beside the bridles was an eclectic collection of genuine western spurs.

Some days he got lucky. Desperate people looking for a few quick dollars

sometimes brought in their most cherished possessions for him to appraise. He never

asked where they came from. Sometimes he was suspicious, but it would not do to ask too

many questions. No Sir, not if the price was right.

Chapter 5

There are thousands of wilderness acres between the Hopland Reservation and the

eastern crest of the mountain. Jolon had simply assumed that it was entirely uninhabited,

with the exception of a man who owned much of the mountain property. If he was still

living there, how did he travel in and out? As far as Jolon knew there were no roads in

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these woods, except a few roughly cut forest service roads that were not much more than

overgrown trails.

He knows that the smoke has some significance that he needs to understand. If the

wind came from only one direction, he would know to head into it, but because of the

hills and gullies that shaped these woods, the wind at his back unexpectedly changed to

the side or directly into his face. To find the source of the smoke, he must get to higher

ground.

The trail he is following turns and divides each time the terrain changes.

Continuing along, he takes the higher fork and progresses methodically uphill. The

ground, tamped down by decades of forest travelers, makes good footing. For the next

twenty minutes or so, he gradually ascends the steep hillside.

Jolon stops for a moment to look back. It always looks different to him from any

new position. He waits for his pulse to slow and his breathing to quiet before going on. As

he waits, he notes that he has seen no animal life whatsoever; even the obstinate, lazy

crows have found their hiding places, but that is how it is in this kind of weather. The

desolation gives the place an eerie feeling. Perhaps the forest creatures simply have the

good sense to stay put wherever such woodland residents stay put.

As boys will do, Jolon picks up a rock about the size of a softball and hurls it

down into the ravine. He listens and watches as it bounces and rolls unpredictably

downhill. Nothing.

The wind has died down significantly and the forest is quieter. The juddering rock

has produced no panicking deer or chattering squirrels – not even a bothersome blue jay.

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But now his vigilant ears do hear something. The sound seems to come from down the hill

where he had been when the rainstorm had first begun. He must determine its source.

Waiting, holding his breath for a moment, he listens. There is an animal out there

somewhere, and it is tracking him; perhaps far away – perhaps near. Hearing the

lonesome wail of a bewildered animal, the revelation hits him in the chest like a hammer

and he knows. The thing that he fears most – the thing that he has been trying to track and

find has found him. It is that very aberrant beast – it is the Diweda-hayu.

Chapter 6

“Man that was so cool!” It was Sonny. The two boys had been on the porch as

Shine and Abe were having their discussion. “Did you see that guy’s face? Man, he was in

pain – he was begging! Shine, Can you show me and Terry how to do that?”

Shine took a minute to close the pockets on his pack that Abe had opened, and

then he said to them, “It’s not as easy to learn as I let Abe think. There are basics you

would have to master before you could effectively use that finger-break.”

“I can learn it,” Sonny declared with the self-confidence of a new recruit at boot

camp. “Me and Terry can practice on each other, can’t we, Terry?”

Terry voiced his agreement enthusiastically. The boys could see themselves

cowing down bikers and bullies, and striking fear in the hearts of any and all that would

be so foolish as to try to stand up against them. If they could learn a few moves like that,

they would have a reputation everybody would hear about.

Shine felt sorry for the boys. They only wanted respect and admiration by

someone, but they had picked up the wrong idea about self-respect. It was not altogether

their fault. Maybe he could help them find that, if they were willing to listen and learn.

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 “Guys, it’s true that I could teach you some things, but the way you think now,

you would just use it to bully people like Abe was trying to do to me. You don’t want to

be like that, do you?”

Both boys shook their heads, “No, we just want to protect ourselves like you do.”

“Think about it this way, guys. Unnecessary violence is what makes you a punk,”

Shine said. “A punk is always just a punk. Look over there at Abe. He looks big and

tough, doesn’t he?”

“He is big and tough,” Sonny said. “I wouldn’t want to mess with him.”

“Maybe he is and maybe he’s not,” Shine replied, “but the reason he acts tough

like that is because in his heart he’s weak and scared. My guess is that there are other

issues he’s dealing with. He doesn’t have to stay that way. When he discovers himself and

the strengths he has, he won’t need to act tough to feel strong. On his own, he’s a pretty

nice guy, but he has to be a part of a gang to feel significant. Separated from his friends,

he’s just as scared as everyone else.”

“Do you live around here? Terry asked. “I don’t remember seeing you before.”

“I remember you, Terry,” Shine said. “You were about ten or eleven years old. You

lived down the hill from the cemetery. You had a little sister that had an Indian doll with

big brown eyes. She carried it everywhere.”

“That’s Becky. She’s eleven now. We moved into one of those houses they built up

past the cemetery,” Terry explained.

“I remember you too, Sonny.” Shine was keeping an eye on The Keg. Three more

bikers joined Abe as Shine talked with the two boys. Their number had grown until about

a dozen club members had gathered around Abe. Shine continued, “You got into some

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trouble with some high school boys in town and when they came after you, you jumped

into the cab of my pickup and locked the doors.”

Sonny’s jaw dropped. “And you took me home. You’re Shine! Yeah, now I

remember you. You went into the Marines when you left Hopland. Some people said you

were a hero and some of them said you . . “

“That I was killed in Afghanistan?”

“Yeah, they said that you were captured and they cut your throat because you

murdered some people.”

Shine inadvertently touched the long scar that circled the front half of his neck.

“Well, part of that is true, but as you can see, I’m still alive and I hope to stay that way for

awhile.”

“Yeah, but did you really murder those people?”

Shine realized the subject would come up, but explaining it would require

speaking of the things that he preferred to forget. The boys did not know what a sensitive

issue that was for him. Confusing things happen in wars. The news media can never fully

describe the power of the bombs that shake the ground, nor the effects it has on the

soldiers when they feel the inevitable throb of the aftershock. Rampant death and the

confusion from every direction can be numbing and disorienting to the strongest of men.

Shine just shook his head and looked over at The Keg again. If he were right, the

bikers were not there to start trouble. They seemed to be decent men, compared to actual

outlaw gangs.

How simple it would be to have one’s comrades beside and behind you and the

enemy out in front, but such was seldom the case. Much of the conflict he had

19
experienced was wall-to-wall and door-to-door fighting, never knowing what or who

would be on the other side of the door. Above, mortar shells screamed and exploded;

fighter jets and helicopters with difficulty singled out the bad guys from the good guys.

Stay low, keep moving, and know the position of your troops. Identify your target, and be

careful not to mistake a civilian for an enemy soldier.

“Another time,” he said to Sonny. “I plan to be around for awhile, but right now

I’m on my way to the Rez.”

Chapter 7

At 2:30 P.M. on Friday, the final bell sounded and the schoolrooms’ doors burst

open. Scores of clamoring boys and girls poured out into the hall and then out the front

door.

A quiet sixth grade girl with long black hair and dark eyes, waited until the other

children were out of the room before she closed her notepad and put her things into her

backpack. Her teacher smiled and said, “Do you have big plans for the weekend, Becky?”

“Not really, Mrs. Palmer,” the eleven-year-old girl replied, “but I finished all of

my assignments. I’ll probably hunt for mushrooms with Poky and Willy.”

“How is your dad? Is he back to work yet?”

“Yes, he works, but his leg still hurts. I wish he didn’t have to, though. My mom

said he won’t heal up right if he doesn’t take better care of it.”

“Your father is a tough man. I know it’s difficult for him, but I’m sure he knows

what he’s doing. You’d better get going, Becky, if you don’t want to miss the school bus.”

A shade of sadness passed over the little girl. Adjusting her backpack and closing

the door quietly behind her, she walked slowly to the main entrance and out to the

20
sidewalk. Students were leaving by ones and twos and in patchy clusters. She kept her

eyes on the sidewalk. The ride to her home was only about an hour, but to Becky Crow,

every trip seemed like an eternity.

With the climate changes in the northwest came an atypical rainstorm in early

September that continued for seven days and nights, raising the Russian River up to the

steel bridge south of Hopland and closing Highway 101 as well as most of the streets and

roads in the vicinity. The abnormally heavy overflow flooded the area around Feliz

Creek. Hopland Elementary School took much of the damage, sustaining almost three feet

of mud and water for the second time in six years. It was months before the school was

usable again. Meanwhile, the students had to be bussed to Ukiah.

Becky glanced anxiously at the parking lot across from the front entry. The green

Ford pickup parked there meant that he would be on the bus again today. She did not like

people to see her cry, but she could not help it. By the time she climbed up the steps into

the bus, her eyes were watery and tears had begun to appear along her brown cheeks.

He was sitting in the seat directly behind the driver, engaging him in casual

conversation. Ernie Goodman had lived in the town for the past three years. Nobody

knew where he was from because nobody had ever asked. All they knew was that he was

concerned about the safety of the children, and had volunteered to help in about every

activity for youths the school district ever offered. The public schools honored him the

year before, giving him an award of merit for his sacrificial efforts. No one ever

questioned his motives, because he was willing to take on tasks that the parents did not

want to do.

The boyish blonde hair of the forty-something-year-old man, trimmed and styled,

21
added to his aura of youth, and his soft blue eyes and easy smile assured the town folk

that he was a standup guy. Even the way he dressed put people at ease. Wearing white

Nikes and a polo shirt, he could easily be mistaken for a coach or a teacher. Though he

seldom wore it, he always carried a large jacket with him.

Some people did wonder why he did not have a job, but they supposed it was

because he lived with his ailing mother and cared for her. With boundless energy and

devoted service, the man had earned the respect of the community.

“Hello, Becky. How is my sweet girl today?” He greeted her as she boarded the

bus. Becky pretended that she did not hear him and hurried to find a safe place to sit. She

spotted Elizabeth about ten rows back. Removing her backpack, she stuffed it between the

seats and plopped down. Maybe he won’t come back here. Maybe he will find another girl

to sit by.

She had scarcely settled in her seat when Elizabeth, who was a year older than

she, leaned over and whispered, “Let’s try to stay together today, okay?” Elizabeth had

taken a teasing comb and nail file out of her bag and was methodically filing the comb’s

tip. Every few seconds, she looked over at Ernie and gave him the stink eye.

“I hate him,” Becky whispered back. “His breath is awful and I’m scared of

him.”

“I know, Becky, I don’t like him either, but everyone thinks he’s so nice, and he’s

not. I told my dad, but he never does nothing about it. I think he don’t believe me.”

The engine revved up and the bus pulled away from the curb. As it eased down the

street, the children’s chatter became quieter. Nobody wanted to attract Ernie’s attention.

From the dutiful goodness of his heart, he had volunteered to be the bus monitor. It was

22
the kids, however, who could see through Ernie. To the kids, even saying Ernie’s name

was about the same as saying a bad word. The bus turned on South State Street and

picked up speed as it roared toward Highway 101.

Ernie stood and surveyed the passengers behind him. He saw Becky and Elizabeth

whispering to one another and looking his direction. Smiling charmingly, he moved to

where they were and said, “Mind if I interrupt?”

Chapter 8

Now I have led you to believe that Earl Farley had an alternate personality, and in

a sense, he did. Keep in mind however, that all it took for him to assume his cowboy

persona was to don his cowboy clothes. Earl played the part as easily as an actor performs

the role of the character in a community play. Nothing really changed in him; it was just a

minor quirk.

There is something else about Earl. There were times when Earl did become

something other than a drugstore cowboy, something that few people ever saw. That

expression of him however, was becoming more evident of late. Once you see that side of

him, you will begin to understand him a little better. Well, maybe you won’t actually

understand him, because you might say that understanding that part of Earl would be

highly unlikely. I’ll let you decide when you read about it later.

Earl was putting the day’s proceeds away when the brass bell on the front door

clanged. Standing inside the doorway was a tall skinny kid with a frumpy mess of black

hair which he seemed unable to keep out of his eyes. He looked familiar and Earl tried to

23
remember where he had seen him before. Pretending to be interested in an odd collection

of oldish lamps, the kid waited until he felt some ease being there before approaching

Earl.

Good-for-nothing dope heads, Earl muttered. They started showing up down by

the liquor store around mid afternoon, a place where they were not allowed entrance.

Their numbers usually grew until the darkness came, and then they seemed to fade into

the night. For the life of him, Earl could not understand their intentions. Their loitering on

the street day after day seemed such a waste of time.

When I was that age, I already ran my own business. These parasites just bleed

the country to death, wanting everything free.

To Earl, time was money, and money was what motivated him. One thing he was

determined not to do was allow those useless alley rats to steal his money. That’s why he

had installed a wide steel grate that covered the windows and front door of his fine

establishment. He had the back windows barred and the back door built of heavy steel.

The kid made Earl uneasy – the way the boy kept looking over his shoulder, or

maybe it was because he seemed to be hiding something under his coat. You never know

what these potheads may do. He thought it a good idea to keep a baseball bat behind the

counter. Not that he had ever had to use it, but it felt like good insurance.

Outside the store, peering through the window was another youngster who seemed

to be interested in what the kid was doing.

Somebody ought to call the cops – get these no-goods outta this neighborhood.

Having the police seen at his store however, was bad for business. People do not

like to browse where cops keep showing up. He had better just see what this kid wants

24
and send him and his friend on their way.

“Hey there, fella. Anything I can help you with, or are you just looking?” Earl

smiled his big Texas smile. It never hurts to be friendly.

“Just looking,” the boy replied, not meeting Earl’s gaze.

“I’m Big Earl, son. What’s your name?

“Jeff.”

“Jeff it is then. I got just about anything you need right here. You like knives? Got

some good ones here in the case. You lookin’ for a pocketknife, I got some good old ones.

Made right here in the U. S. Don’t make them like this anymore.”

He opened the sliding door at the back of the case and pulled out a big knife, its

blade almost a foot long. Attached to its bone haft was a little white tag that read,

Original Bowie, only $195. He pointed the big blade right at the kid’s nose and added,

“Maybe you might be interested in one like this. It’s real sharp. Jim Bowie designed it

himself. Real U. S. steel and sharp as a razor.” No harm in shaking the kid up a little.

Teach him not to steal stuff from my store.

He smiled his big smile again, the gap between his front teeth wide enough to

whistle through. His fat, pasty jowls quivered as he spoke.

The kid took a step back, his gaze fixed on that big blade. It looked genuinely

capable of severing a man’s arm off with one hard chop. He looked from the blade up to

Big Earl’s goofy, toothy smile and back again. This guy is seriously whacked. He looks

like some dude right out of the loony bin.

Earl went on, “Yeah, this little baby will cut right through raw bone. Just feel the

heft of it.” He pushed the knife toward the kid again. “Yup, I got this original in a trade

25
from a guy that had to leave town in a hurry. Said the cops was after him, how ‘bout

that?” he said, waving the knife side to side.

The kid didn’t know if he should turn and run, wet his pants, or yell for help. He

opened his mouth to say something … anything to Big Earl, but no words materialized. It

just came out, “Uhhh.” That was when he reached in his coat and pulled out that big Colt

forty-four.

When Earl saw the old revolver (and that big of a hole in the end of its barrel), his

heart did a flip-flop and his face turned pale. The kid was saying, “Hey, man, what can I

get for this gun,” but Earl imagined what he said was more like, “Give me all your money

or I’m going to blow a big bloody hole in that fat gut of yours.”

Earl let go of the knife and it fell clattering onto the messy counter top. He felt

behind him for his desk chair and lowered his four hundred plus pounds into it. “Oh,

saints and angels! S-son can you please point that thing s-somewheres else?” he rasped.

He wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve and took a few deep breaths. The kid just stood

there with a dumbfounded look on his face and continued to point the gun at poor Earl.

He wondered if that is how a man looks when he’s having a heart attack.

“I ain’t got much money here,” Earl managed to say. The truth was that he had

over nine thousand dollars in cash in the safe in his office and a king’s ransom in his

many bank accounts around town. But Earl thought he was being robbed, and that was

about the worst thing he could imagine, because that meant the probability of losing

something that was his, and Earl wasn’t too keen on sharing.

Then the clueless kid replied, “Mr. Farley, I don’t need much for it, but if I could

get fifty or sixty for it, that would do. How about it?”

26
 Now that was when Big Earl began to hear the sweet music of a good deal. He

said, “How ‘bout I look it over, son. See if it’s worth somethin’?” Jeff handed the gun to

Earl, barrel-first, causing him to flinch to the side.

“Whoa, there, fella! You got bullets in that thing?”

“No, sir.” Jeff replied. “I never had any bullets for it. It was my granddad’s. I got it

when he died. I got that and some other stuff.”

It was a nineteenth century Calvary Colt with a six-inch barrel. Earl ran his fingers

over the barrel and cylinder. All of the bluing was gone, but the surface was smooth gray

steel. He examined the handle. It was original rose wood. Looking for any cracks or

chips, he found none. Got to be at least a hundred and twenty years old, he thought. He

felt that old familiar feeling he got when a good deal came along. If this baby has a good

cylinder and bore, it has to be worth at least twenty eight hundred.

Earl heard the clanking bell on the front door again and looked up to see an

elderly couple come in. He positioned himself behind the counter so that they would not

see the gun he was holding. He called out to them, “Be with you in a minute. I got lots of

nice pieces in here… some more in the back.”

The man acknowledged him, replying, “Thanks, just looking.” A tall armoire by

the wall seemed to be their main interest. They examined the inlays, fiddled with the

doors and then moved on to others close by.

Meanwhile Jeff, still jumpy, was shifting from one foot to the other and looking

back over his shoulder at the front door. Earl was uneasy about the street kids anyhow, so

he wasn’t too pleased with them coming into his place of business. He said, “What’s the

matter, fella? You needing a bathroom break?”

27
 Jeff turned his attention back to the big man and said, “Sure. Where is it?”

Earl pointed to the door that read EMPLOYEES ONLY and said, “Right in there,

just past the saddles. The light switch is on the left…and don’t forget to turn off the light,

okay?”

While the kid was in the back room, Earl examined the gun more closely.

Someone had done a good job of keeping it clean. “Whooee! I been a long time waiting

for one of these babies,” he muttered, giving the cylinder a spin. Gripping the handle once

more, he pulled back the hammer and grinned with pleasure as he heard the soft click-

click.

The two shoppers had moved farther toward the back, still exploring. Out of sight

behind the counter, Earl eased the gun’s hammer back down held it to his side. He

brought it up quickly from his hip and pointed it at an old frayed lampshade in a pretend

quick draw. Holding it out again to admire it, he felt the weight and balance of then

twirled it awkwardly on his fat index finger. You could blow a man’s head clean off with

this thang!

Chapter 9

With feral intention the beast trailed its prey. Its shaggy, mottled gray coat, now

soaked by the rain, was matted and soiled. Standing three feet tall at its knotted sloping

shoulders and weighing as much as an average man, its feral features appeared strangely

distorted. From its chest forward, it was twice as broad as were its hindquarters. Its wide

head, disproportionately large to the rest of its body, connected to its short thick neck. Its

enormous muzzle was crowded with double rows of irregular teeth and fangs. Strangely,

28
considering the animal’s misshapen features, it did not seem anomalous that its long snout

collimated into two sets of spongy black nostrils mashed together.

It would be unthinkable that God would have designed such a pathetic specimen,

but it was not the Designer’s doing. Something else had entered the equation – some kind

of genetic trickery had been at work. Its singular purpose was apparently to search out its

victims and attack. One would suppose that predatory animals normally hunted for food,

but such was not so with this one, for it craved only to kill. So malformed was it that if it

were possible to pity such a beast, then this animal might be pitied.

The black ink of night poured over the mountain softly, and for a time Jolon

waited in absolute darkness, not even able to see the ground at his feet. He felt disoriented

and without compass. If there were to be any safe haven for him, it would have to be

toward the smoke behind him.

Jolon was confident that the beast had not moved closer – that it knew exactly

where he was and was waiting. The prospect of spending the dark night there alone on the

mountainside was daunting enough, but the greater fear was that there would be light.

He waited and listened. The storm had passed, and like a long passenger train

rushing down the track, a profound, peaceful quiet followed its departure. Slowly, slowly,

the rain clouds parted like hovering curtains, and the moon became as it were a stage

light, announcing the next act of unacclaimed drama. With the moonlight came danger. It

was time to move on.

29
 Jolon trudged on to the top of the hill. There, the landscape changed. Instead of

oak trees, there grew randomly set redwoods along with some pines. There were fewer

trees at the crest of the hill, opening up a panoramic view of the shifting sky.

The smell of smoke wafting in the still air bade him to it, yet he was not ready to

take any unnecessary risks. He waited to catch his breath and he listened – two minutes,

then three. The only sound was that of water dripping from tree branches.

Then something moved – more like a shadow than a form. The boy focused

intently on the grove below and watched. Whatever its nature, the creature was

treacherously cunning. The thick undergrowth made it easy to hide, and the wily animal

instinctively made good use of it. Jolon knew it was down there somewhere, stalking him

– plotting.

Then in the light of the moon, the soft green glow of its disheveled coat made its

presence unmistakable. Less than a hundred yards away, it emerged out into the open. It

trotted in his general direction and raised its malformed head to whiff the air. This was a

beast whose appearance and cunning was enough to instill terror in a person, no matter

how brave that person might be. Spying Jolon again, it locked its eyes directly on his and

lowered its head near the ground as a wolf might do preparing its attack.

Dread gripped him and it felt as though his inner parts were as water. Something

had given birth to a monster. The boy wanted to run, but run where? As long as he

remained perfectly still, perhaps the animal would not attack. Yet the purpose of the hunt

was clear, the beast wanted his blood.

30
 He knew that once he started to run, the animal could be upon him in a matter of

seconds. He mentally measured the distance to the nearest tree. It was a tall pine, but its

lowest climbable limbs where twelve or fourteen feet from the ground. Past the pine was

a stand of redwoods that appeared more accessible.

He waited and watched. The beast seemed to be in no hurry, but lifted its head and

studied the wind.

It’s thinking – planning its attack. When it attacks, it will be on me in six seconds.

Will I be able to reach the tree? If I make it, will I have time to climb out of the dog’s

reach?

The boy thought it best to bide his time and hope for a chance to run. To make a

move too soon would be suicide, so remaining where he was and staying calm was the

only thing he knew to do. At that juncture, it was probably the best thing to do.

As he waited, he studied the beast’s bizarre features. Because of his observation of

nature, he had concluded that God has an ingenious design for everything He creates.

Each species is equipped to feed and survive according to its individual blueprint, but the

dreadful beast across the ground from him seemed not to possess any such definite

design.

As if it knew Jolon’s thoughts, the animal began growling and stood with his head

low to the earth and his hideous nose pointing directly at him, waiting…pondering…

scheming. Its wicked, illumined eyes betrayed its intelligent cunning. The boy waited. His

heart pounded so hard he wondered if the Diweda-hayu knew how scared he was; yet he

waited.

God help me! Don’t let him catch me. I need to know what to do!

31
 Only sixty-five or seventy yards away, it paced from side to side and then back

into the black shadows. Nearby was a fallen tree, blown over by a storm, its aged tangled

roots protruded above the ground like treacherous, living things.

Turning quickly, the beast snapped at a thick limb of the fallen tree. He bit it and

shook it with his powerful teeth, twisting and gnawing until it broke free of the trunk.

Jolon could not clearly see what the animal was doing, but he could hear it growling and

thrashing the limb. Then he saw the limb break away.

Arrogant in his display of prowess, it dragged the long limb into the moonlight

like a trophy and sat back down on its haunches. It looked directly into the boy’s eyes

again, grinning to display its sadistic rows of malformed teeth.

He’s doing that to prove how powerful he is! Why would he do that? Is he afraid

of me like I am of him?

Jolon’s legs trembled as he stood. Watching the beast carefully, he rose to full

height. The Diweda-hayu tensed, but remained on his haunches.

What do I do now?

Chapter 10

“We’ve got a problem on the Rez. You can’t mess around out there after dark,”

Terry said.

“Shut up, Terry!” Sonny warned him.

“What about it?” Shine wanted to know. “What kind of problem are you talking

about?”

“It ain’t nothing we can’t handle,” Sonny responded bravely. “Me and my dad

32
bought plenty of ammo. Everyone else is loaded up too.”

“What’s got you guys so spooked?” Shine wanted to know. “You act like the Devil

himself has been paying you a visit.”

Sonny was slow to answer. He looked all around as if someone might be listening.

It would not have been so bad if he knew what to tell Shine, but the fact was, he thought

Shine would think they were all crazy. One thing he did know was that the night visitors

were smart, and so far, impossible to track down.

“You can tell me later. Right now I need to get going.”

“You can ride with us,” Terry offered. “I can call my mom to pick us up.”

“Sounds good to me,” Shine said. He sat down on his pack and kept an eye on the

bikers. Two of the members had ridden off and eleven of the bikers remained with Abe.

Although Shine could call his grandfather for a ride, he preferred (as he had

always tried to do) to be self-reliant. While Terry fished his cell phone out of his pocket

and punched in the numbers, Shine was noting the changes to the little town. The old

Hopland High School building was still there, converted into an upscale restaurant. Other

aged buildings were newly renovated, and occupied with businesses that catered mainly

to tourists.

He wondered if much had changed on the Rez during those four years, not that he

felt it should change. He liked things as they had been, and that was one reason he

returned to Hopland. Deep down he felt a need for reaffirming his roots.

“My mom’s not answering,” Terry announced. “I’ll call again in a few minutes.”

“That’s okay, let’s get going. You can try to call her on the way,” Shine said,

picking up his backpack and guitar. The three of them were walking across the parking lot

33
when he asked, “What did you guys do with that stuff you were taking?”

“We put it back,” Sonny said. “We didn’t need it anyhow.”

“That’s the last time you’re going to try that stuff, right?”

“Right,” they chimed, picking up their pace to walk alongside Shine. As the three

exited the parking lot and started walking east on Highway 175, they heard the loud growl

of motorcycles start up behind them.

Chapter 11

The beast’s eyes stayed locked on the boy like an African lion selecting its kill.

Jolon’s body tensed. He pictured it charging at him, its jaws open to take off an arm or a

leg, or worse yet, to attack his throat. Desperate to hold the animal back, Jolon raised his

arms, stretched them out wide and growled as loudly as he could, mimicking the animal.

He did not know what to expect, but it was all he knew to do.

Startled, the Diweda-hayu jumped back behind the brush and cowered, slinking to

his right and peering through the shadowy foliage. Seeing the reaction of the animal gave

Jolon some hope, but he had no illusions that his troubles were over. From the looks of it,

it had fought many battles, and for any animal, wild or feral, survival depended on

cunning as well as strength. A lonely and frightened animal could be much more

dangerous than any other.

The beast came back into the moonlight and circled its trophy. Picking up the limb

again, he shook it violently, growling and snarling and thrashing it from side to side.

Jolon saw his opportunity and sprinted toward the trees. Without looking back, he

ran past the first tall pines to the redwoods and into the darkness beneath the thick

34
branches. He had mentally marked the one he had selected and deemed that his hope was

to get up the tree as quickly as possible.

Behind him the Diweda-hayu roared. It raced across the ground, closing the

distance between them. At full speed, it leaped high at the boy, meaning to pull him down.

Jolon, sensing its intentions, swung his feet up out if its path. The animal crashed back

down to the ground and spun around quickly. Then leaping up the side of the tree,

slashing and snarling, it tried to reach the boy.

“Stop it, you stinking monster!” he yelled, kicking at it. His heel connected with

its puffy nose and it pulled back for a moment, giving the boy time to grab onto a higher

limb.

He was searching blindly for better footing when it roared and sprang yet higher,

catching hold of Jolon’s boot. Pulling and shaking the boot violently, Jolon felt himself

losing his grip. Desperately, he grabbed for another limb and held on. The beast would not

release the boot, but bit down harder, crushing the heel and yanking it away.

The beast fell back to the ground, its jaws still clamped onto the boot heel. It

dropped the heel onto the ground, and there sniffed and pawed at it as if it were some

precious thing.

The beast’s last effort jerked the boy away from the limb he was clutching. He

fell, grappling anxiously at boughs and branches. Below him was certain death; above

him, refuge. Searching with only his hands, he grabbed onto a limb and began climbing

again. “Go! Get away you ugly freak!” Finally, out of the angry dog’s reach, the boy held

on where he was.

35
 The tree was far larger than he had realized. Seeking a secure purchase, Jolon

pushed upward through the surprisingly dry boughs. Above him, revealed within the

moonlight and shadows, a cavernous space opened, with wide and thick limbs branching

off its massive trunk. He climbed higher and settled on the fork of a thick limb.

Below him, the furious animal jumped and bit at the lower limbs, tearing savagely

at any part of the tree that it could bite, chewing off chunks of bark. The beast was not far

below him, yet the cold, wet boy felt confident, knowing that he was relatively safe, if

only for the present.

Soon shadowy clouds again collected overhead, blocking out the moon’s silver

glow. The absence of that light seemed to have a calming effect on the animal and it

released the branch it had been shaking and became still. Jolon could not see it below

him, but he was certain that it was there.

He felt drained. If he could just get out of this alive, the next time he searched for

the moondog’s den, he would have his rifle with him. He had never shot a dog and he did

not want to, but this was a different kind of animal and these were different times.

The wind ebbed, and the woods grew still. Alee within the tree’s dry boughs, his

body heat began to warm his damp clothes. Weary, he found a relatively comfortable

position on the thick limbs and leaned back…. and closed his eyes.

Chapter 12

“Nine, ten, eleven…” Terry counted the loud motorcycles as they roared across

the bridge and out of sight.

“One of these days I’m going to get me one of those,” Sonny was saying. “My

36
cousin’s got a Harley. It’s all black. He said he had it up to a hundred and twenty. I just

say, that’s fast, man! He said it would have gone even faster if he had the right place to

really open it up.”

“They’re powerful all right,” Shine replied. “It takes a while to get the feel of

them, though. The first one I got on it threw me faster than a rodeo bull.”

“Yeah, I’d want to get the feel of it first, if I ever got one,” Terry joined in. “It

would be fun just riding around the Rez, just low and slow.”

“Slow as you go, Bro.”

“Everybody looking at me!”

“Giving the girls a thrill,” Sonny added, punching Terry playfully on the shoulder.

“Oh yeah, an exclusive taxi service just for all the hot chicks!”

It was good to hear the boys having fun. There was enough trouble in their world,

and more trouble on the way.

The first drops of rain began to fall.

Shine was about to suggest that they call his grandfather for a ride when he

stopped. They were on the bridge looking down on the river when something caught

Shines eye. Three or four hundred feet ahead, something was running along the road. He

could have been mistaken, but it appeared to have been either a coyote or a dog with a

thick gray coat. Back in view, it scurried across the road and back toward the river.

Watching for it to reappear, he almost missed the second one that followed.

Lighter in color, it resembled a Labrador Retriever. A shiver went through his spine and

he wondered what danger lay just up the road a few miles.

A light flashed to his right. In the distance, the afternoon sun reflected for a

37
moment off a white van. Followed by a trail of dust, it was moving slowly along a road

south of the bridge. While the boys dreamed of cars and girls and motorcycles, Shine

watched the van and waited. It pulled into a small growth of cypress trees and stopped.

Shine reached into a side pocket of his backpack and withdrew a leather case.

Quickly unsnapping the case, he flipped the lens covers off the small but powerful

binoculars. When the van came into focus, he watched as a man opened the side door.

Dressed in black chinos and a black shirt, the man held to his mouth what Shine presumed

to be a whistle.

Two, then four, then five…six. Six dogs moving swiftly along the side of the road.

Shine had never seen a pack of such miss-matched animals in his life. He pressed a small

button over the center of the binoculars… click… click… click… click. The animal pack

headed straight for the van and leaped into it. As the van turned around to head back

south, the driver again came into view. Through the lens, Shine saw the man’s face

clearly…click. A sign on the side of the van read Xlent Construction…click.

“The bikers,” Sonny said, “they’re coming back this way!”

They heard the motorcycles before three of them emerged from up the road. Shine

and the boys watched the bikers lean into the curve and then speed toward them.

“I don’t expect they will be looking for trouble,” Shine said. “If things do go that

way, you guys just run back the way we came and use your cell phone.”

“911, right?”

“Right, but not yet. Just keep smiling, guys.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Sonny said. “I never have seen you when you weren’t

smiling.”

38
 “Oh, there have been plenty of times I wasn’t,” Shine replied, “but today I’m one

big happy grin.” They stood looking at each other and Shine could not help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Sonny countered.

“Oh, nothing,” Shine answered, looking away. “It’s just that those are the most

pitiful smiles I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Well, you said smile,” Sonny said through a toothy smile, “but you didn’t say

that you were going to grade us on it.”

Just then, Abe, Bates and one other biker Shine did not recognize, passed them

and slowed down. They circled back and stopped beside Shine and the two boys. One by

one, they turned off their engines.

“Where are you jerks headed?” Abe asked, looking primarily at Shine.

“To the Rez,” was Shine’s reply. “It’s been a long time. I thought I’d go back

home and see how everyone’s doing.”

“Why? Where have you been?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“Just curious,” Abe said, “nothing personal.”

“Tell you what then. Give us a ride to the Rez and we’ll find a pot of coffee… I’ll

pay.”

“You got it, Chief,” Abe said. “You guys hop right on.”

“One more thing, Abe,” Shine added as he settled on the seat behind Abe, “I’m not

a chief.”

“Yeah, right,” Abe retorted with a wink. Opening the throttle and spraying gravel

out from the rear wheel, he shouted, “Geronimo!” and shot onto the pavement. The two

39
other bikes and their riders followed out onto the pavement.

Chapter 13

Becky ducked her head and was silent, while Elizabeth glared defiantly at the

man. Ignoring Elizabeth, he continued, “It’s my job to see that everyone gets along with

each other and that we have a pleasant ride. I think it would be best, Becky, if you sit

somewhere else.”

“But I want to sit here with my friend,” she pleaded. “We won’t be any trouble, I

promise.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about causing trouble, it’s Poky”, he said, using her

nickname. “I don’t want you sitting with her, she’s a bad influence.”

“No she’s not,” Becky replied, tears starting to well up again.

“Then why are you always crying? I try to help protect you and you act like this.”

“Poky doesn’t make me cry,” Becky mumbled, trying her best to defy him. “She’s

my best friend.”

“Then you need to find better friends, Becky. I’m the adult and you’re a child. I

think I know what’s best for you better than you do.”

“I know what’s best for her and I can watch out for her,” Elizabeth interjected, still

glaring at the man.

Ignoring her impudence, Ernie took Becky by her arm and pulled her off the seat

and into the aisle. The two boys sitting on the seat adjacent to the girls he told to find

another place to sit. The boys reluctantly relinquished their place and took Becky’s place

beside Elizabeth.

Ernie directed Becky to sit by the window where the boys had been, and then he

40
took the aisle seat beside her. He glowered when one of the boys said, “Pervert.” Several

of the kids snickered. Ignoring the insolent name-callers, Ernie spread his coat over his

lap and settled down for the ride.

The bus driver looked to see that the children were all in their seats. It was always

better when Ernie was on the bus. Not everyone could understand the responsibilities of a

devoted bus driver. While it was necessary to drive safely, he also had to be able to put

down any disturbances that arose. With Ernie along, the rides were always peaceful and

safe. The big bus picked up speed and began its ascent up Burke Hill.

They were about four miles into the trip when the bus slowed and made a left turn.

Ernie, as he was wont to do, used the maneuver to move closer to the girl. Cringing from

him, she squeezed over as close to the window as she could.

She felt trapped. Never had she felt threatened by any other adult – only Ernie.

Sure, there were kids that were bullies, but she always had friends who stuck up for her.

On the reservation, her many aunts and uncles and cousins treated her like a princess.

Being a child, she had not yet realized how very pretty she was, or what a

beautiful woman she would someday be. Although she liked to hear that she was pretty,

she knew that adults told most little girls that. As far as being special, she had no idea that

she was. Academics were easy for her, but somehow she was not ready to grasp the fact

that her abilities were so far reaching.

She knew that her mother worried about her father. A year earlier, while he was

securing lumber on a truck, the chain came loose from the load suddenly shifted and fell.

His left leg was badly crushed. If it had been a simple break, the bone would have healed

within a few weeks, but the bone shattered and had to be pinned back together. When the

41
money ran out, Vern went back to work even though the injury had not yet fully healed.

Like many of his neighbors, he had worked hard all of his life, and had little to

show for it. One thing was certain though; he would never allow his family to suffer from

neglect or deprivation.

Winding along the narrow roads, the bus came to a stop and three passengers got

off. Again, the bus turned and rocked when the rear tires hit a low spot in the road. Ernie,

watchful for an opportunity, moved closer until his leg rested against hers.

“Look, Becky, he said, pointing to the side of the hill. “Did you see the baby deer?

They’re called fawns. They are small like you are, Becky. Aren’t they cute? They’re

native to North America just like you are. Isn’t that interesting? Your people used to hunt

them for food.”

Becky stiffened in her seat. She felt her heart lurch. Looking out the window, she

tried to imagine that it was not happening. The bus made another stop and let passengers

off. Since school started the previous August, Becky had taken to wearing long pants

instead of shorts or skirts like the other girls often wore. On hot days, she wished she

could dress in something cooler, but as long as she had to ride that bus to school, she

would protect herself as best she could.

“Do you know how they killed them?” Ernie was saying. “They shot them with

arrows. Long ago, Indian men made their own bows and arrows.” Then lowering his lips

close to her ear, he whispered menacingly, “Do you know what else they did, Becky?

They killed little girls who told secrets. You wouldn’t tell secrets, would you Becky?” To

be certain that she understood, he squeezed her leg hard. “When a little Indian girl told

secrets, they would tie her to a post and shoot her so full of arrows that she died. It was

42
very painful, and their mommies and daddies were very sad.” Smiling at his cleverness,

Ernie settled back in the seat and savored this special time. Becky is such a sweet little

girl. She’s lucky to have me here as her protector.

Ernie knew how important it was to keep secrets. His mother had made certain

that he understood that. She could snip, snip with her big scissors if he ever told their

secrets – not that he ever would, of course. There are things that nobody would

understand, so to tell secrets would only make everyone sad. Becky needed to understand

how important it was for him to be able to trust her…after all, the adult is always

supposed to be the one in charge..

Dreamily, as if in entranced by his own twisted imagination, he whispered again,

“They killed her mommy and daddy too, if she was bad and told secrets.” His facial

expression changed to that of a drooling, grinning imbecile; with no realization of the

perversion of his delusions. The control he believed that he was establishing over the little

girl gave him the boldness to add, “I have a bow and lots of arrows at home. I’ve killed

with them…animals with them. Maybe sometime I’ll show them to you.”

Becky was sobbing. The pain she felt in her heart was more than the pain in her

leg. Bruises go away, but emotional wounds leave scars that can last a lifetime. She loved

school and she loved her teachers, but she wished that she never had to ride the school

bus again as long as she lived. And as far as Ernie was concerned, she wished that people

realized what a creep he was. She hated it when anybody talked down to her like that.

Mommies and daddies? Give me a break!

Across the aisle, Elizabeth was peering around the two boys and trying to keep an

eye on Becky. I hate him, Becky had said. In Elizabeth’s hand was her teasing comb with

43
its sharpened tip. Clutching it tightly, she was thinking, If he ever hurts Becky, I’ll poke

this into his stupid neck!

Chapter 14

Earl looked up to see that the surly kid who had been waiting for Jeff outside had

entered the store. The boy leaned his skateboard on the wall near the door and sauntered

deeper into the room. Stooping down in front of the glass case, he peered at a row of

expensive looking old watches. Removing his thick glasses, he wiped the lenses with his

shirttail and then continued his scrutiny of the timepieces. Earl said nothing, but he kept

an eye on the kid, just in case.

Big Earl moved to the front of the store and turned the Open sign over so it read

Closed. Pausing, he looked out above the streetlights and saw that the moon had already

begun its assent. The moon held a special fascination to him, its ghostly gray and silver

features always there – always assuring him, affirming him. Ah, Man in the Moon, you

lookin’ down rat down here at me, ain’tcha? Standing there for a full minute he breathed

deeply, gazing back at the lofty face that seemed to share his secrets.

So, clouds, begone to distant skies,

Let moonlight beam all it implies.

It was more than merely an appreciation of the moon’s beauty; the moon renewed

him – filled him with self-confidence and strength. Invigorated, he returned to his place

behind the counter.

Earl heard the bathroom door open and frowned as Jeff approached. “How about

it,” the kid asked anxiously. “It’s worth sixty, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know about that, son,” Earl replied, still inspecting the old weapon. “The

44
thing’s a hundred years old and it’s seen a lot of wear. Look how the blue is wore off.

Now you listen to this cylinder.” He spun it as he had before, but this time let the hammer

down to make a loud clacking sound. “Hear that, son?” he said solemnly. “A good gun of

this model shouldn’t make any noise at all.”

“Hey, man,” Jeff’s friend interjected, “it looks like a pretty good gun to me. It’s

probably worth a hundred. I don’t think 60 is en….”

“What’s your name, son?” Earl interrupted.

“He’s Skates,” Jeff interjected. “It’s what he goes by, anyhow.”

“Nice to meetcha, Skates, but me and Jeff here are busy right now taking care of

some business, so just wait till we’re done, if you don’t mind.”

Skates opened his mouth to add something when Earl glared at the boy, slowly

shaking his head. The boy stopped mid-sentence and took a step back. When he saw

Earl’s appearance begin to change from the fat jovial shopkeeper to something other, the

boy turned ashen and shrunk back in stunned silence.

“But I thought I ought to get at least fifty for it,” Jeff reasoned, unaware of the

dreadful aberration his friend was witnessing. “It looks pretty good, all in all. Maybe I

should take it somewhere else and see what it’s worth.”

Earl’s brow furrowed as he said, “Son, that won’t do you no good. You try to

shoot this thing with modern ammo and it’s going to blow up in your face – split the

barrel right in half!” He looked at the kid and added, “It’s a wall-hanger at best.”

Noting that the boy was hesitating, Earl added, “You register it yet? Got to register

handguns, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know I needed to do that. I just got it with some other stuff. I don’t

45
know nothing about registering one.”

“Lotta red tape then,” Earl countered. “Registerin’ it’s gonna cost as much as the

gun’s worth. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I got forty bucks in my pocket right here I’ll

give to you without even trying this thing out. What do you say?”

Jeff looked tentatively at the gun in Earl’s hand, then at Earl. But now it was Earl

who had begun to waver, wanting the gun badly but not really wanting to part with even a

paltry sum of cash. He had other uses for his cash… and he had plans.

The two boys were engaged in furtive conversation, speaking in whispers. It was obvious

that Skates wanted to get the money and leave. Earl continued fiddling with the revolver,

his sensitive hearing noting ever detail. He heard the surly boy whisper, “He ain’t human.

We have to go. Hurry up and let him have the gun, we got to get out of here!

Earl choked down a giggle, confident that he was in control. It was a gift. Besides,

he liked to mess with people’s minds, it accounted for much of his success as a

businessman. He played the part of Colombo without peer – the frumpy clothes, the

brainless expression, the unlit cigar – but wherever there was a pot of treasure, it would

soon be the possession of Old Earl.

The kid then agreed to let Earl have it for forty-five dollars. By the time Jeff left,

he thought he had made the best deal of his life. After all, you couldn’t fire it – it would

split the barrel right in half.

Earl felt the same way about his own dickering. You could blow a man’s head

clean off with this thang!

Chapter 15

Jolon was cold and stiff, and his clothes were still slightly damp when he awoke in

46
the tree at twilight. His legs felt numb, and when he tried to change his position, his legs

didn’t want to cooperate. Moving them slowly, little by little helped. It felt like a million

needles were poking at his muscles when the feeling began to return. Anxiously, he

looked down to where the beast had been, but it was not there. In its place was a little

brown pit bull with dark brown eyes looking up at him.

“Now I know that you’re no monster dog,” he said, easing down the tree limb by

limb until he dropped onto the leafy ground. Stiff and sore, he stretched to get the kinks

out of his back. The night in the tree was something that he never wanted to do again.

“What are you doing here, girl? Did you scare off the monster dog?” The little dog

wagged her tail so hard her whole body wiggled.

Jolon stretched for another minute or so and then sat on the ground under the tree.

The dog immediately tried to lick his face. Laughing at her adoring manner, he pulled her

to him and hugged her.

The little dog wore a hand made collar of brown leather with Indian designs of red

and black beads. A brass nametag in the shape of an arrowhead bore the name Peaches

engraved on it.

“Where is the monster dog, Peaches?” he said again. “Did you chase him off?

That must have been something to see. Somehow I doubt that you did, but no matter

what, I’m sure glad that you came.”

He stood and looked all around once more. There was no sign of the moondog.

Examining closely the bark on the tree, he found some hairs left there by the animal.

Carefully picking them off the tree, he took the candy wrapper from his jacket pocket and

tucking the hairs securely inside, returned the wrapper to his pocket. When he looked

47
around for Peaches, she was standing on a trail looking back at him. “Where do you live,

Peaches? Let’s go see.”

When he started walking her direction, she continued quietly along the trail,

occasionally looking back to make sure he was following. The trail sloped down the side

of the hill and headed eastward through the trees and brush. Soon there were birds flitting

from tree to tree and gray squirrels scurrying here and there, their plumed tails impatiently

following.

This was the forest he knew, a place of beauty and life and tranquility. He felt

alive and invigorated. His hope restored, Jolon had an idea Peaches was more than a little

pet that just happened by, but that she was there for a reason. She was leading him to

some place of safety, and perhaps even destiny. “I love you, Peaches!” he called out. “I

don’t know whose dog you are or where you live, but I love you!” He trotted faster to

catch up with her, but she simply increased her pace, staying well ahead of him.

At the top of the hill, the trail dropped abruptly into a wide green meadow laced

with black oaks and a small stream meandering through the middle. Then, across the field

and beneath a cluster of oak trees, Jolon saw the source of the smoke. Peaches quickened

her pace. She abandoned the trail and trotted briskly toward the cabin at the edge of the

meadow.

He jogged across the clearing following Peaches. The rustic old cabin had

obviously been there for a very long time. At first view, he assumed that it was of log

construction, but as he drew nearer, he could see that it was made of very rough redwood

lumber. The brown composite roof was new and the windows recently cleaned. A gray

spiral of smoke wisped up from the chimney and vanished into the light breeze.

48
 North of the cabin was a stable and corral. Two horses, both appaloosas, stood by

the fence, watching his approach. He could see another horse inside the stable. The stable

roof extended out from the main structure another fifteen feet, under which a wagon was

sheltered. Perhaps a dozen chickens were busily scratching and pecking at the ground. At

the far end of the meadow was a small orchard of various fruits. On the ground beneath

the trees lay a carpet of red and yellow autumn leaves. On the far side of the cabin, a

smoke house sat. Beside it was what appeared to be an oversized tool shed.

Peaches stopped at the cabin door, barked twice, and then ran back to heel beside

the boy. Jolon slowed to a walk as he neared the cabin. He was about to rap on the door

when a very old man, with very white hair and very dark eyes opened the door.

Chapter 16

The morning sun cast long shadows across the open fields and the narrow winding

roads on the woodsy Hopland reservation. It was 8:30 on the cool Saturday morning and

sparkling beads of iridescent dew lingered on the uncut grass. The faltering sound of a

chainsaw echoed across the wooded hillside. There was a smattering of vehicles scattered

arbitrarily on the parking lot of the Sho-Ka-Wah Casino, most of which were left there by

the day-shift casino workers.

A cabin door slammed, and a nine-year-old boy, carrying a handmade mushroom

basket, raced across a field and along the paved road. He jumped a ditch and took a

shortcut to a row of modest houses just up the hill from the casino. Coming to an abrupt

halt on the porch, he rang the doorbell and waited. The door opened, and Poky appeared

with a toothbrush in her hand and a circle of toothpaste around her smile.

“Come on in, Willy,” she said, spraying specks of white foam as she spoke. “I’ll

49
be ready in a minute.” She went back into the hall bathroom and continued brushing her

teeth.

Willy sat on the sofa and watched Spongbob banter with Sandy Squirrel for a

moment, but he was too fidgety to become interested. He called out, “Grammy Angeni

said it’s going to rain this afternoon, Poky, so we won’t have all day. But I know the best

place to go.” Elizabeth, as always, took her time getting ready. After she brushed her

teeth, she went back to her bedroom and finished getting her things together.

Becky was sitting on the front step when Willy and Poky arrived. Basket in hand,

she ran to where they were and the three cousins set off into the woods. With Willy taking

the lead, they raced in tandem along the familiar trails, ducking branches and skirting

poison oak undergrowth.

The exuberance they felt was more than just having something fun to do, it was

freedom. Away from big brothers and sisters, away from the noise of the neighborhood,

and away from school, they ran and jumped and danced and laughed, for no apparent

reason other than the mere joy of being children.

A heavy rain earlier in the week had brought down an abundance of dead leaves,

and the dampness of the ground muted the sound of their footsteps. The trail wound along

the hillside for half a mile and led them to a grove of old growth of trees. There in the

dark, damp environment, mushrooms flourished. They scouted the ground under the trees

until they saw where the cherished fungi had pushed up through the fallen leaves.

Poky and Becky went to work uncovering the mushrooms and extracting them out

of the soft soil. They worked quickly, their small, practiced hands choosing the most

mature ones and dropping them into their baskets.

50
 Willy flitted from tree to tree, looking for a better place and choosing a mushroom

here and there. The girls paid him no attention. They would fill their baskets first, and

then help him fill his. The sun was climbing higher in the sky, yet they stayed cool in the

shade under the trees.

It was almost noon and the girls’ baskets were full of the fat wild mushrooms.

They were helping Willy fill his basket when Becky caught sight of movement through

the undergrowth across from where the children were working.

“Shhhhhh, I saw something move right over there,” Becky whispered, pointing

toward the bushes.

The children froze, and waited. Willy started to stand up to check it out when

Poky grabbed his arm, saying, “Wait, Willy, we don’t know what it is. It may be

something dangerous.”

For a full five minutes, they crouched motionless, but nothing moved. Whatever it

was, was still there. Willy was too excited to stay still. He stood up and said, “If it was

dangerous it would have charged us by now. I think it’s probably afraid of us. I’m

going to go look.”

Chapter 17

The ancient plank floor creaked and squeaked under his heavy footsteps. Secured

in a steel locker in the back room were his real treasures. Whenever business was slow,

which it usually was in early October, Big Earl liked to pull a pair cowboy boots out and

try them on in front of an old dusty mirror propped against the wall. On this night

however, he could hardly wait to lock up.

With the locker open, Earl selected a pair of cream snakeskin cowboy boots with

51
silver toes. He placed them in a cardboard box and turned back to the locker. He chose a

hand-tooled leather belt with a wide silver buckle. Engraved within a turquoise bejeweled

circle on the elaborate buckle were the words, Wyoming State Bull Riding Champion

1973. It seemed to make quite an impression whenever people saw it, so long as they did

not read the name on the backside of the buckle. There, neatly engraved, was the name of

the original recipient, Billy E. Williams. He dug out a few other items and placed them in

the box with the boots and belt. The last thing he retrieved was the unregistered western

Colt 44, and a new box of cartridges, which he had purchased minutes before at the gun

store.

In the ally behind the store awaited a faded red Ford station wagon that he had

owned for the past thirty years. While it looked old and ugly, to Earl it was an object of

beauty. The car had spent three months in a performance garage. Tested, the big engine

had peaked at more than 500 horsepower. It was truly a demon on wheels. They don’t

make them like they used to. No Siree, Bob. Why waste money on a new car when this

baby will do a hundred and fifty all day and then some?

The moon had climbed higher now. Even with the streetlights and smog that

dominated everything below, the moon was preeminently visible. Earl set the box of

wonderful treasures in the back of the station wagon. With the store’s alarm system set

and the back door securely locked, he had just one more chore to do. Behind the store was

a water faucet. He pulled up a handful of weeds that grew next to the wall, and rubbed

their muddy roots onto his license plates, obscuring their identity. Satisfied that the plates

could not be deciphered, he got into the car and positioned his bulk behind the steering

wheel.

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 Earl turned the key in the ignition and the 460 cubic inch V8 awoke. He could feel

the brute power gently rock the wagon and then the engine settled down to a restrained

hum. Smiling his big foolish smile, he pulled the shift lever into reverse and backed out of

the parking stall.

It was as Big Earl shifted the car into drive that he began to change. Arched over

the steering wheel, the smile gave way to a contorted glower. His eyes narrowed and

become smaller, and his breath changed to short odious bursts. He could feel the energy

building up inside of him. He felt powerful. He felt invincible. Look out, U. S. of A., Big

Earl is on the prowl and he’s feeling mighty fine!

Chapter 18

“Mr. Darkcloud! I didn’t know where you lived,” Jolon exclaimed. “I didn’t even

know…”

“That I’m still alive and kicking?” Andrew Darkcloud laughed.

Peaches sat by the door, waiting for her master to acknowledge her. He reached

down and gave her head a little rub. “Now what did you bring home this time, Peaches?”

he said affectionately, “I guess you’re going to expect a ‘thank you’ for your trouble.”

Sufficiently acknowledged, she ran on into the cabin and lay on her bed near the fireplace.

“Well, come on in, Jolon,” he said. “You must be tired and hungry after sleeping

in that tree all night.”

“Yeah, I sure am. I haven’t eaten anything but some candy since yesterday

morning,” he said. “I didn’t mean to come this far, but that big Diweda-hayu got on my

tail. I smelled your smoke so I was hoping that I could find this place.

“There are more of them coming, you know,” the old man said. “That one that had

53
your treed is the main one. He’s the one the rest of them follow.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that. He’s not natural either, Mr. Darkcloud. It’s like he’s

two dogs in one.”

“Tell me what you saw, son.”

Jolon sat on the hearth to let the heat from the fireplace dry the dampness from his

clothes. The heat felt good on his back. He said, “His head – it’s two heads in one. He’s

got double teeth and a double nose, and he’s got extra places for eyes but no eyes there.”

The old man thought for a moment, and then asked, “What do you mean about the

eyes? Can you describe them?

“I think so. Like, it has eyes in front of his head like a regular dog, but then it has

an eye on each side, but he doesn’t open them. He just sees out of the front ones, I think.”

“Maybe, and maybe not,” the old man murmured. “I’ve been watching him and it

looks like he can see from the side ones too.”

Jolon pulled the candy wrapper out of his pocket. “I’ve got some of his hair. I

thought maybe it may be a clue or something, so I have it here.” He unfolded the wrapper

and laid it on the table.

The old man studied the hairs for a moment, then said, “I’ll put this in a safe place

and then I’ll cook us up something to eat.” He placed the wrapper on a shelf and took a

few things out of the refrigerator. Jolon stayed near the fireplace with Peaches lying at his

feet. In a few minutes, the aroma of bacon and coffee filled the room and the boy could

not think of anything in the world that smelled so good to him.

You must be pretty sore and hungry after being in that tree all night,” the old man

said again. Breakfast is coming’ right up.”

54
 I am pretty sore all right,” the boy responded. “I sure don’t want to ever have to do

that again. Did you see how big that sucker is?”

“I know son,” Andrew said. “But once I knew you were okay in the tree, I thought

you would be safer staying there. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“But what if he caught me? He would have had me for dinner.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen.”

“But how could you stop it?”

Jolon knew if Andrew Darkcloud did not like a question, he simply would ignore

it. The bow leaning against the wall by the front door and the deerskin quiver of

handmade arrow on the floor was his answer. Old Andrew had evidently left it near the

door so that he could get to it quickly.

Jolon went on, “I’m still trying to figure out what made him give up so easy and

go away.”

“Can you think of anything else that might be important?” he asked the boy.

While the old man was placing the scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits on two

plates, Peaches carried a worn and torn leather shoe that she had for a chew toy over to

the boy and dropped it in front of him. It was so chewed that he could not tell if it were

brown or black. Jolon reached out to her and rubbed her head and neck. He looked at her

uniquely beaded collar for a moment and said, “There’s just one other thing. It had

something around its neck.”

He closed his eyes and thought for a moment, visualizing the animal as it appeared

in the moonlight. It’s hyena like appearance still etched into his mind. The glow of its

matted coat had made it easier to see it in the dim light; its wide chest, its powerful legs,

55
its grotesque head with double nostrils – and the chain nearly buried in its thick hair.

“Mr. Darkcloud,” he began again, “he belongs to somebody, because he was

wearing a shiny chain – with a medal star hanging from it.”

Chapter 19

The girls, their curiosity as great as Willy’s, did not try to stop him again. They got

up from where they had been working and followed Willy. Slowly they approached the

bushes where Becky had seen it and peered into the thick undergrowth.

“It’s a dog,” Willy cried out. “It’s hurt. Look how bloody it is all over.” On the

ground between the bushes lay the brown and white animal, mangled and torn. Large

patches of caked blood covered most of its body.

“Maybe someone shot it,” Poky said, “I think it’s dying.” Willy dropped down on

his knees beside the animal and touched its shoulder. When the dog did not try to bite

him, he rubbed its side and talked to it, calming it.

“It’s been in a fight,” he said confidently. “Look at how its leg and neck are all

chewed up.”

At Willy’s touch, the dog whined and tried to lift its head, but it had lost too much

blood. “Poor dog. I wonder whose it is. We should tell them we found it.”

“It doesn’t have a collar or nothing,” Poky offered, “So it must be a stray.”

“It’s dying,” she continued. “We will have to bury it.”

“We can dig a hole here,” Willy chimed in. “I’ll go get a shovel.”

Poky stopped him and said, “Wait, Willy. Maybe we should all go together. What

if there’s a mountain lion or something dangerous out here? We’d better go with you.”

The children retrieved their baskets and started to run down the path. They had

56
only gone a few yards when Willy, in his haste, slipped and spilled his mushrooms.

“Willy!” Poky shrieked, “You’re always in too much of a hurry. Now we have to

pick them all up.”

“Yeah, but at least I’m not poky, Poky!” he retorted.

They were picking up the last of the scattered mushrooms when they sensed

something else moving near them. Not more than thirty feet away the upper tips of a bush

moved slightly.

The three kids jumped to their feet and raced across the meadow and up the trail

toward home.

Willy, who had taken the lead, arrived at Becky’s house first. As soon as he was

inside he announced, “We found a dead dog! But it wasn’t dead, not at first, but it is now!

It was bitten all over and there’s blood all over it!”

“Something killed it, Mom,” Becky added. “Maybe it was a mountain lion. We

could hear something else, too. That’s why we ran all the way home.”

“Did you see anything chasing you?”

“No,” Willy said, his eyes wide with excitement, “if it was it would have caught

Poky, ‘cause she was last.”

Tammy Crow thought for a minute, and then she said, “Maybe it was a mountain

lion. One could certainly do that to a dog. I know that the Duncan boys saw one last

spring four or five miles from here, but somehow I don’t think a mountain lion would

come that close to you, and then get careless and make any noise. We can’t be sure, so

don’t take any chances.”

Becky looked like a miniature of her mother. Tammy was a petite woman of

57
thirty-three.

“What do you think it was, Mama?” Becky asked. She sat on the sofa beside her.

“I know something was in the bushes, I was just too scared to see what it was.”

“I think,” She paused, “I think it may have been another dog.”

“Maybe it was the one that killed the one we found,” Poky speculated. “But I just

don’t understand why it would want to in the first place. I know they get into fights, but

they don’t kill each other.”

“Not unless it was a pack of dogs,” Mrs. Crow said. “When they get together as a

pack, they’re more dangerous. When dogs run in packs, they chase and kill instinctively.”

“Like when kids at school gang up on you,” Willy said.

“Yes, like that, but a thousand times worse.”

“I’m taking karate lessons this summer,” he added, “Then they better not mess

with me!”

“Hah-YA!” Poky yelled, giving him a mock chop on the shoulder. It felt good to

laugh, having had such an intense morning. The three were pretending to fight each other,

jumping and kicking, and spinning around the room.

From the kitchen Tammy said, “I’ll warm up some soup. I know you kids must be

hungry by now.” Then she added, “I don’t think you have anything to be afraid of, but just

be careful, okay?”

Chapter 20

A banner hanging over the main door of the Sho-Ka-Wah Casino that read, “Talent

Search” caught Shine’s attention. The dates on the banner indicated that the competition

58
was already in progress. The bikers parked their motorcycles as close to the entrance as

they could without blocking foot traffic.

Abe was saying, “I sing a little, but they’re probably looking for younger people

than me. Otherwise, I’d probably give it a shot.”

“I’d like to hear you sing sometime,” Shine said. It sounds like you have the voice

for it.”

The two other bikers looked at each other and rolled their eyes. “Sure, Shine,” the

younger man quipped, “just let us know when this event is going to take place. I’ll get

some ear plugs to sell and make a fortune!” The two friends tried unsuccessfully to stifle

their snickering and snorting.

“We could get you a hair cut and a shave, Abe,” Leon added. “Maybe dye your

hair a little and put you in some tight pants. You might pass for forty!”

Abe slapped at his heckler’s shoulder and shouted, “Just shut up, you morons! I

never heard neither one of you winnin’ any singin’ prizes either!” The husky biker jumped

out of the way of Abe’s hand, too amused to stop his giggles.

The host took Shine and the others to a table in the back of the café. He poured the

coffee and left the fresh pot on the table. On the sound system, Willy Nelson was singing

that he couldn’t wait to get on that road again.

“I’m Abe Chambers,” the tall biker was saying. “This here’s Leon Bates and

Warren Borman. We’re the East Bay Roadwrecks, but I guess you figured that out by our

colors. We’re here on business and it ain’t monkey business either.”

Shine introduced himself and the boys with handshakes all around. He explained

how he had been away from home several years and felt that it was time to return to the

59
reservation and see how things were going. He told them that he played the guitar and

sang once in awhile, but was not confident that he was talented enough to make a career

of it. The two boys said very little, but they felt important that the men would let them

hang out with them.

Abe was the leader of the club. He was tall, at least 6 foot 4, and he valued his

position as being president of something – anything really. He liked to play the role of a

bad guy. It was easier for him to gain respect if he looked and acted bad, than it was to be

one of the good guys. He had tried to be cool and hip, but he came off like an idiot. So

being the president of the Roadwrecks gave him the respect he longed for.

Abe’s sandy hair fell curled around his ears and neck, and his beard showed very

little gray except on each side of his chin. Shallow wrinkles connected at the corners of

his eyes, especially when he smiled. For some reason however, Abe was not in a very

jovial mood. Shine knew that Abe had befriended him for a reason, and he was willing to

wait until the man got around to telling him what it was.

His faded Levis were old but clean, except for some fresh black grease stains on

the front of the legs and around the pockets. Evident he had some mechanical problems

with his bike somewhere on the trip. He wore a black and orange Harley Davidson tee

shirt, a black leather jacket and black boots with silver buckles on the sides.

Abe looked like a man that had more than his share of suffering. It could have

been trouble of his own making, or maybe he was the kind of person of whom others

easily take advantage. Shine felt himself liking the man.

Leon was the opposite of Abe. There was something about him – a quiet cunning

– maybe the look in his eyes; the direct way he seemed to be sizing up Shine. Shine

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sensed that he could be the most dangerous of the three – a good man to have on your

side. When they shook hands, Leon’s grip was strong and steady.

A stout man, Leon’s head was entirely bald and he was six or seven inches shorter

than Abe. Unlike Abe, his black beard was neatly trimmed and seemed to fit his broad,

handsome face. Leon Bates would be a force to reckon with if it ever came to a

confrontation. He, too, wore a black Harley tee shirt. He was so muscular that he walked

with his elbows held out from his body at a 45-degree angle, and he stood with his feet at

least a foot and a half apart. He reminded Shine of an overweight rooster his grandfather

had, that waddled when it walked.

Warren was the youngest of the three. Shine liked him immediately. Like Abe and

Leon, he wore a beard, albeit it had a lot of thickening to do to match those of his

companions. Warren looked to be about Shine’s age or younger and about Shine’s size.

Unlike the others, he had on a denim jacket over a long sleeve green cotton shirt and

Levis. Shine pegged him as a non-conformist who pretty much thought for himself. When

they shook hands, Shine could feel the hard knuckles that only develop by years of use.

He had the distinct sense that Warren had trained in some form of martial art. And too,

maybe it was the way he moved, or the way he seemed to be aware of everything around

him. Whatever it was, Shine was sure that at some point he was going to find out.

Chapter 21

They were already out there under the trees when Roberto Nunez opened the side

door of the casino and stepped into the chilly air. The door closed behind him and the

sounds of the noise inside faded. He lit a cigarette and sat on the step.

A friendly Rez dog trotted over to him and nuzzled his hand. He stroked the dog’s

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head and neck and talked to her for a moment. His boys had been begging him for a dog,

and one of these days he would surprise them with a puppy – maybe for Christmas.

The casino had been good to him. He started out as a janitor and bus boy, but with

a knack for detail and a desire to learn, he worked his way up in the ranks. He could do

anything from repairing and programming slot machines to supervising the bookkeeping

crew. At the Sho-Ka-Wah Casino, Nunez proved himself as a dealer at the blackjack

tables and as a director of security. Then when the position came open for a night

manager, he was at the top of the list. Now for the past two years he managed the night

shift. Like most supervisory positions however, he seldom got to leave as soon as his shift

was over.

This night he was eager for his shift to end. It was a three-day weekend for him.

His weekend started on Monday, so he planned to take his wife and three children to his

parent’s home in the Bay Area. His sister’s family would be there and his children would

enjoy the time together with their cousins.

Above the treetops was the harvest moon, wide and bright, lingering just over the

trees. It always amazed him how the moon at this time of year could spread so much light

over the landscape. Roberto had never studied the planetary system, but he appreciated

the beauty of the moon, with its silver surface and its diverse dark craters.

He finished his cigarette, snuffed it out on the step and flipped it onto the ground.

Just as he was about to open the door and go back inside, the little brown dog leaned her

body against his leg, whimpering. She looked up at him with her tail tucked between her

legs.

“What’s the matter, Rosie?” he said, “do you hear something, girl?”

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 Across the road, he caught a glimpse of a muted form lurking beneath the trees.

There for only a moment, it disappeared back into the darkness. Curious.

For about a minute, he waited and then he saw it farther away. Then there was

another, then three – standing together up the road about a hundred yards away. He looked

down for Rosie. She was gone.

He turned his attention back to the three dogs. They sat side by side watching the

parking lot. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. The animals shined a greenish white;

their entire bodies glowing in the moonlight. Roberto was not a superstitious man, but he

instinctively felt some trepidation. These were the peculiar animals that had the Rez so

perplexed – the moondogs.

He wished for his handgun, but it was in his desk drawer. He reached for the door,

with the intention of getting to a phone and calling the Tribal Police when one of the

animals lifted his head and began to howl. Then all was quiet.

He waited and watched. Another minute passed and then he saw them. Three

additional animals emerged into the moonlight. The moment they were out of the

shadows of the trees, they too glowed a ghostly green. Strange, he thought, very strange!

It was not the first time Roberto had seen them, but this night they seemed more focused,

as if they were plotting something.

When the other three dogs joined the pack, the first three stood and gathered

around the largest one.

As the lupine-like animals paced back and forth in the moonlight, Roberto was

unsure what to do. If the dogs were dangerous, he may not have the time to go for help.

Something was going to happen, and soon.

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 He reached for the door again, but paused in time to see all six dogs suddenly race

across the parking lot to a motor home. They immediately circled the vehicle and

converged together on the other side.

Shivers of apprehension raced up Roberto’s spine. He turned away from the door

and ran for the parking lot. He had no idea what to do, but he believed that the animals

were dangerous. Before he reached the motor home he heard them growling and snarling.

A man cried out, “Hey! Get away! Go!”

Roberto raced between the parked vehicles. A female voice cried out, “Marvin,

come back in here! Marvin! Oh dear God!” She screamed frantically for someone –

anyone – to help!

Stopping behind a car just two parking spaces away from the motor home,

Roberto cautiously looked around the passenger side of the vehicle. The second car

blocked his view, but he knew that the frenzied animals where occupied with something

on the pavement.

Roberto crept closer. Peering over the hood of a car, he saw the animals. In a

circle like pups around a gravy bowl, they snarled and tore at someone on the pavement.

So intent was he that he failed to notice his blood pressure rising. His heart beat wildly

and he felt himself begin to swoon. He leaned onto the car for a moment, giving his body

a chance to right itself.

The woman from inside the motor coach continued to scream at the dogs with no

effect whatsoever. With all the screaming and snarling, fear ran through Roberto like a

protracted electrical shock. In his struggle to gather his wits, the largest of the dogs lifted

its head and looked directly at him. Roberto could not help but stare back at him, looking

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directly into its bright green eyes. Its lips pulled back in a snarl, and its copious,

bloodstained teeth terrified the duty driven man.

Chapter 22

The northern sky was heavy with rain clouds as the trio set off into the woods

again. If they hurried, they could be finished before the rains came. The girls were

carrying shovels while Willy led the way carrying a small crude cross, which he had

nailed together. Neither Becky nor Poky was eager to see the mangled dog again, but

neither did they want it to remain unburied.

Willy was eager to show the girls that he was not afraid to go back into the deep

forest. His bravery was mostly just on the surface, for in his heart he was more than a

little spooked. He watched for any sign of mountain lions or mean dogs as he jogged

along the trail. In his imagination, however, the makeshift cross he carried became a

sword with which he could annihilate any monster that was foolish enough to attack them.

He saw himself as their protector and hero.

His other major fantasy was something else. The pretty little Becky was only two

years older than he, and they were about the same size. They were cousins and Willy

knew that cousins could not become romantic with one another, but he did dream of

holding her hand or kissing her…on the cheek of course.

Becky thoughts were elsewhere. She could not get the image of the bloody and

torn dog out of her mind. It was a girl dog, and it had apparently suffered from neglect

and abuse. She did not want Poky or Willy to see her cry, but she could not stop the tears.

How could anything be so mean as to treat a little dog like that? Was it really a

mountain lion, or a pack of sadistic dogs that was responsible? Could it have been

65
someone who hated it so badly that he beat it to death? Becky was not mature enough to

make the connection between her own maltreatment by Ernie Goodman and that of the

dog, but emotionally she felt it.

Poky, on the other hand, noticed Becky’s distress and did make the connection.

The evil man was dangerous and Poky knew it. Unfortunately, she had not been able to

come up with a safe plan to help her cousin. It troubled her, too, that nobody would

believe that Ernie would ever do anything as contemptible as he had been doing to Becky.

Sometimes she caught herself thinking of hideous things to do to stop him. Words were

not enough; it had to be something so painful to him that he would have to leave Becky

alone.

The carcass was lying on its side there where they had left it. While the girls were

digging a grave, Willy examined the dead dog. In death, its eyes had clouded and its lips

had curled back exposing its teeth, giving it a grotesque, vicious appearance. He touched

one of its long white fangs, shuddering to realize the tearing bite of which such an animal

was capable. He picked up a nearby stick and poked at the torn skin. Patterns of teeth and

claw marks emerged as he straightened the loose hide. Who or what would have done

that?

A flap of skin hung near its neck, torn by a vicious bite there. Poking at the

wound, Willy saw something small and shiny protruding at the edge of the loose skin. He

fished it out and wiped the blood off it. What he had found appeared to be made of glass.

It was about half an inch long and about as thick as a matchstick. Willy slipped the

curious object into his jeans pocket and continued his investigation.

When the grave was deep enough, the girls joined Willy beside the dog. He was

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still on his knees still trying to determine what had killed it. “I think it was a mountain

lion,” he told them. “They catch things with their claws, and that looks like claw marks.”

“Our cat caught a big old rat,” Poky said, “and ate part of it.”

“You’re such a dork,” Willy shot back, “a mountain lion’s not nothing like your

cat.”

“I didn’t say it was, Pea Brain, I just meant that if it was a lion, maybe the lion

was hungry.”

“It was a mountain lion,” he speculated, “but I just don’t know why it didn’t finish

killing it and eating it.”

“Yeah, and what makes you an expert? Did you ever actually see a mountain lion

fight with a dog before … ever?”

“No, but I saw lions catch wild stuff on TV. They catch them with their claws and

then they bite them.”

Becky was paying no attention to the two cousins. She saw something that they

had not yet noticed. “Look!” she exclaimed, “There’s something on its ear.” She pulled

the dog’s ear straight and pointed to her discovery. Together they examined it closer.

“It’s a tattoo,” Becky said.

“Maybe it’s her name,” Willy suggested, “or a phone number.”

“No, it just says HJG.”

“Wait, there’s some more writing,” Poky said. “See? It’s got blood on it. See if

you can clean it off.”

Willy took a handful of wet leaves and began wiping the blood away. They

watched as the complete message appeared.

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 HJG031202D

“It’s a code,” he said. “It’s like an identification number.”

“But how can we find out what it means?” To Poky, this had the characteristics of

a good mystery. “It just looks like HJ Go 31202D. Taking a closer look, she added. “The

HJ looks like someone’s initials. Maybe we can figure out who it is.”

Chapter 23

“I’ll tell you what, guys,” Shine said. “What do you say we have some burgers?

I’ll buy. If you want something else it’s ok, but I’m hungry for a good burger.”

Sonny and Terry brightened up, and taking menus, they were perusing them when

Abe said, “No need for you to pay, Shine. You just said that you’d spring for coffee. We

got money.”

“Next time you pay,” Shine smiled, “when we get in the mood for some big beef

steaks!”

“I knew it!” Leon said. “You are one tricky Indian! Who do you think we are, a

bunch of dimwits?”

“You said it, not me!” Shine chuckled.

“I changed my mind,” Warren said. “Since you’re both so generous, I think I’ll

change my order to lobster.”

“Wait, wait,” Shine interrupted just as the server came to take their orders. “I’d

better order for all of us.” He put down his menu and said to her, “Cheeseburgers all

around, except for Leon here, better bring two for him.”

“What makes you think I need two?” Leon spoke up. “Are you suggesting that I’m

a pig or something?”

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 “You said it, not me,” Abe laughed. “You know you always order two of

everything!”

“I know it, and you know it, but how did this Indian know it?” Leon said. “Maybe

he’s a mind reader.”

“It’s an old Indian trick.” Shine said. “After all, I am a tricky Indian!”

“You said it, Bro!” Leon laughed again. “You said it, not me!”

Abe had not said much throughout the evening. While the group discussed

motorcycles and football, he methodically rearranged the french-fries on his plate. Staring

out the window, he was thinking, Why does it have to be the way it is? Why, when

everything was going so well has the world caved in? Why does God allow innocent,

good people to hurt so badly? I know that I’ve made a mess of my life, but why would the

people that I love the most have to suffer for my mistakes? If only I had seen it coming –

if I had only seen the danger? So now what do I do? God, help me to know what to do!

Say something to me. Show me. Show me what to do now.

He studied his plate for a moment longer, then took his napkin and wiped his

hands. Anticipating Abe to speak, his friends at the table waited. His voice choked with

emotion when he finally said, “Shine, I just have the feeling that I should tell you why

we’re here.” Glancing at Leon and Warren for their approval, when they nodded he went

on, “It’s my daughter. Sarah. Her name is Sarah Ellen Chambers.”

While they waited for Abe to regain his composure, Leon said, “She’s a biologist

that specializes in genetic research. Sarah is a prodigy of sorts. She got into Berkeley U

when she was 16 and got her PhD in Molecular Biology, Microbiology and Biochemistry

three years ago. She always wanted to know how things happen in life – what we’re made

69
of and so on.”

“She used to read so much that I was afraid she would wind up cross-eyed or

something,” Abe added. “Sarah is twenty-six years old now and so pretty – she’s just so

pretty.” Leon and Warren were nodding their agreement.

Shine asked, “Abe, do you have a picture of Sarah?”

“Yeah, I carry it with me all the time. You can’t imagine how it feels to have

someone taken from you like that. It’s about drove me crazy.” Abe opened his wallet

again and withdrew a picture. “Here’s one we took on the evening she got her doctorate.

We were having dinner to celebrate. This is Sarah and her mother here.”

Shine took the picture and studied it. She was indeed pretty – even beautiful. Her

long dark hair complimented her smooth dark complexion. He could see some of Abe’s

features, but her beauty was her own. Abe’s wife, a petite, attractive woman, stood

smiling beside Sarah.

“You’re wife is surely attractive,” Shine said. He let the boys take their time

looking at the picture, and then he handed it back to Abe. Abe took the picture back and

held it like it was the most precious treasure in the world. He slipped it back into its place

in his wallet and stuffed the wallet back in his pocket.

“Abe, I can see that Sarah favors you quite a bit,” Shine said. “It’s something

about her expression. I also noticed that she has a darker skin color like your wife. Is your

wife Native American?”

“Yep, her name is Bonita, but everybody calls her Bonnie. Bonita is Spanish, but

the Apaches used it too. She’s more Pomo than Apache, but her parents liked the name.

Her name means beautiful, and she sure lived up to it.”

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 “Is she from around here?” Shine asked.

“No, not right here. She’s from up north. When I graduated from trade school, I

went up to Arcata to find work,” Abe replied. “I hadn’t been away from home that much

before so I called my folks and told them that I was coming back home. My dad told me

to just stick with it. That kind of hurt. I didn’t understand then, but he was right. I talked

to my mom and she told me to find a church where there’s some good people and make

myself useful.”

“Sounds like your mom knows you pretty well,” Shine offered.

“Yeah, she was right. She said, ‘Oh, you know how your daddy is. He just wants

you to make it ok on your own.’ She said he missed me a lot.”

“So you stuck it out?”

“Yeah. I took my mom’s advice. I went to a church, hopin’ to meet some folks. I

volunteered to do the yard work for the church and do some repairs on their old busses.

Pretty soon this cute little gal started showing up. She came dressed for work – said she

wanted to help me around the church. I hadn’t ever seen a girl like her. She was so bubbly

you couldn’t miss her in a crowd. That girl coulda’ won any beauty contest you could

name.”

“She was a bit younger than you,” Shine observed.

“Yes, she was in her last year of high school and I had just finished two years of

trade school. We hit it off right away, so I forgot all about goin’ back home. I got a job at

the big sawmill doing maintenance. We got married in her church. They said it was the

biggest wedding they ever had there. Just about everybody in town knew her family.”

Abe blotted his eyes with the napkin and blew his nose. He wadded up the napkin

71
and dropped it back on the table. Nobody spoke. They waited for Abe to continue.

“About three years ago she answered an online ad from a laboratory. It was

supposed to be in Walnut Creek, but as it turned out, it was a phony address. They were

looking for a genetic research specialist – to study aging, they claimed. Sarah was all

hyped up about getting started on a career, so she went for the interview. It was at a hotel

in Oakland. They hired her right on the spot. The pay seemed good, so she figured that

she could pay off her loans in a year. They weren’t much because she had scholarships

and grants. Once she left, we weren’t able to reach her. Her cell phone was never on when

we tried to call. We left messages, but she never called back.

“Then she called us about two weeks ago, but for some reason she was afraid to

talk much. She sounded scared. I guess she was afraid to be caught talking to me. I would

ask her how she was doing – I’m real proud of her – but she would just say, ‘I don’t have

time now, Daddy. I have to hurry so just listen.’ She said she wanted me to go find

something of hers and take it to the police.”

Shine interrupted Abe, asking, “Abe, do you have any idea why she didn’t just tell

you where she was and what was going on?”

“That worried me too. I guess that she was afraid that I would do something

foolish and get myself killed. That’s what my Bonnie thought and maybe she’s

right. She said Sarah knew that I would have to show everything to the cops or the FBI,

and they would talk some sense into my head. She was right, but it just about kills me to

have to wait like this. I could have at least tried to help her if I had known where she

was.”

“Yes,” Shine agreed, “But you might have gotten her in more trouble as well as

72
yourself. I think you handled it the right way. What sort of thing did she want you to find

that was so important to her?”

Abe was silent for a moment. He surveyed the people sitting at the tables around

the café, and then glanced at the booth behind them where two older couples were deep in

their own conversations. Lowering his voice, he said, “It was one of those memory sticks

they use for computers.”

Chapter 24

Ragged nimbostratus clouds hid the entire sky, and thunder rumbled and clamored

somewhere in the distance. Becky stood and looked all around. The vicious attack of the

dog still troubled her. She left the other two still speculating about the tattoo and went to

where she had first spotted the animal. Maybe there was some evidence they had missed.

The first drops of rain had fallen, so they needed to do what they had come to do, and get

back home. She was about to turn back when a movement in the thick brush caught her

eye. It could have been her imagination, but she thought she saw something.

She was about to give up when she heard a soft whine. Standing very still, she

listened. There it was again. Becky waited a moment, then sat quietly on the ground and

waited, watching the place where she had seen some movement. She smiled knowingly as

the whine became more distinguishable.

She began to hum softly. Then she saw a little gray head with a black nose and

two very black eyes peeking out of the bushes. Still she waited, calling softly, “Here,

puppy. Come here, I won’t hurt you.”

Poky and Willy dragged the carcass across the ground and let it fall into the hole

the girls had dug. A light sprinkle of rain had begun, and the children hurried to complete

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their task before the heavy rain came. Still chattering back and forth about the day’s

puzzling events, they filled the grave with the soft dirt.

The sounds that the shovels made masked the approach of two men. Dressed in

black and moving stealthy from tree to tree, they stopped within twenty yards of the

children.

The puppy, only a few weeks old, emerged from its hiding place. Shaking, and

with its tail tucked, it moved toward her a few feet and stopped. Becky softly coaxed the

little fellow to her. It cautiously crossed the ten or twelve feet between them and stopped

again a foot or so away. Becky sat very still, waiting. Then, slinking yet closer, it sniffed

at her hand, and then licked her outstretched finger. Gently, she touched it and caressed it.

As its need for nurturing overcame its fear, it crawled onto her legs and lay there. She

talked to it, stroking its gray fur, letting the little fellow know that he was safe.

They filled the grave with dirt. Willy pushed the crude cross he had made into the

middle of the mound for a marker. Neither spoke, but stood solemnly by the grave, each

with their own thoughts. Death has a profound effect on a child, even the death of a pet.

They could not help but think, what if that were I? Would I just be gone, or would I go to

heaven? Would anybody be sad for me – would anyone miss me? Willy felt a tear slide

down his face. He chanced a glance at Poky and saw that she was crying too. They looked

at each other and laughed tentatively, wiping their eyes with the backs of their hands.

“Crybaby,” Willy chided.

“Crybaby, yourself,” she echoed. “What’s Becky doing? Did you see where she

went?”

They ran toward the bushes where they had found the dog and saw Becky sitting

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on the ground under an oak tree. Her bright smile let them know that everything was all

right. “Look,” she said excitedly, “This is what was making the noise that scared me this

morning. It’s a little boy.” She pulled the puppy out of her jacket and held it for them to

see.

“Oh, wow! Look how cute he is! Let me hold him?” Poky took the squirming

puppy in her arms and held him close to her face. He immediately began licking her

cheek and wagging his tail.

“I want to keep him,” Becky announced. “My dad said I can have a dog sometime,

so I’m going to ask him if I can keep him.”

“What are you going to name him, Becky?” Poky said, handing the puppy to

Willy. They watched as the boy gently took it and tucked it under his jacket, sheltering it

from the light rain that had begun to fall.

“It has to be special,” Becky replied. “He is brave – because he was here in the

woods all alone. So he needs a brave name.”

“Rambo,” Willy offered. “Call him Rambo, like he’s really tough.”

“Or Samson,” Poky suggested. “Samson killed Goliath. It’s in the Bible. Samson

was so strong!”

“That wasn’t Samson, Pea Brain,” Willy shot back. “That was King David when

he was a boy. He killed this humungous giant about a hundred feet tall with a sling shot.”

“Huh-uh,” Poky countered, “nobody was ever a hundred feet tall. That would be

like the Empire State Building.”

“I just mean that the giant was a big old sucker, and King David was my size, and

he destroyed him with one shot.”

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 As they were bantering back and forth, Becky took the puppy from Willy and

cuddled him close. Grammy Angeni would have a good name for her new friend. She did

not think Grammy Angeni was actually her grandmother, because if she was, then Becky

had three of them. She didn’t know any other girl who had three grandmothers. But since

everyone called her Grammy, Becky did too.

Just as she looked up, she saw the two men move behind the trees just on the far

side of the new grave. She whispered just loud enough for the other two to hear. “Poky!

Willy! Don’t look around. There are two men over there by the trees. They’ve been

watching us.”

Cautiously they peered that direction, but failed to see the men. Willy whispered,

“We’d better go home now. It’s raining anyway.”

With Willy taking the lead, Becky and the puppy in the middle, and Poky

following, they headed up the trail toward home.

Chapter 25

The beast stepped away from the pack and edged in his direction. Roberto looked

away this time, not wanting the animal to mistake his presence as a challenge. He tried

the door of the Honda sedan behind which he was hiding. It was locked. Chancing

another look in the animal’s direction, he saw the dog standing with its long muzzle held

high, examining the night air.

Two white tribal police vehicles circled the parking lot, their spotlights searching

for the disturbance. When their searchlights found Roberto, he motioned for them to stay

back. For them to leave their cars would put them in harm’s way. They would not stand a

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chance on foot, and any shooting in the parking lot could be a danger to unwitting

bystanders.

A crowd had gathered outside the casino and Roberto felt his private panic

intensify. He called out to them to stay back. What he surely did not need was mass

slaughter on the casino grounds.

Working his way between the cars, he tried each door. The lone animal smelled

him – was stalking him. Zigzagging like a shadow between the vehicles, he tried the

passenger door of a large pickup with fat, oversized wheels. Finding the door unlocked,

he yanked it open and leaped into the cab.

Safe within the pickup, he saw no reason to be cautious. He slammed the door

and scooted over to the driver’s side. From the tall truck, he had a good view of the

parking lot. He counted all six dogs gathered around the body on the ground. The big one

was back with the pack and they seemed to have lost interest in their kill.

One of the police officers rolled down his window and called out to Roberto,

“Hey, Mr. Nunez! What do you want us to do? We got pepper spray. It works pretty good

on the strays around here.”

“No, wait!” Roberto yelled back. “There’s too many of them. That might make

things worse than they already are. Let me try something else first.”

Abruptly, the crazed beast bounded toward the pickup again. Roberto saw it just

as it crashed into the door and instinctively raised his forearm to fend it off. It bit down on

his arm and pulled hard. Sharp pain stabbed him and sent a shock of terror throughout his

body. Panicked, he shoved his right hand against the horn. Startled, the animal loosed its

grip on Roberto’s sleeve and dropped back to the pavement. “Now, you bloody devils!”

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he screamed, “get away from here!”

He pounded on the side of the door in effort to frighten it away. Unyielding, it

slammed against the truck again just as Roberto was rolling up the window. The jolt

rocked the truck and he lost his grip on the window crank. With the window only partially

closed, the dog leaped again, pushing his head inside the cab inches from Roberto’s face.

Roberto turned and smashed his right fist into the animal’s massive snout. It

pulled its head back out of the cab, but its front paws were holding the window so that he

could not roll it up farther.

Attempting to push the dog’s paws off the window, he was met by the toothy

snout again. Recoiling, his head struck the sun visor and something fell to the seat.

Excitedly, Roberto felt for the prize. Anxiously he searched. The animal leaped repeatedly

against the door, rocking the tall truck side-to-side.

He felt around the accelerator – the brake and clutch pedals – back near the seat –

unrewardingly. The banging of the beast against the side of the truck was unrelenting.

Then, in the darkness, his hand found the ring of keys in the corner near the driver’s door.

When he sat back up, he came face-to-face with his adversary! The agitated

animal snarled and snapped at him, preventing him from getting behind the steering

wheel.

He drew back his fist and punched the animal’s puffy nose with all his strength –

again and again. Now angry and confused, the vicious animal clawed and bit at the

window, causing it to crack. Not knowing what else to do, the man felt along the seat for

something with which to hit the dog. Nothing.

He opened the glove box and felt inside but there was nothing there to use as a

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weapon. The dog backed off and hit the side of the truck again, rocking it, but giving

Roberto a chance to roll the window up more. He grabbed the crank and tried to

roll it up but the window stuck. The side of the door had caved in by the dog’s vicious

attacks, jamming the mechanism.

Its head was inside the cab. Blood from the dog’s great muzzle as well as blood

from Roberto’s wounded arm covered the window. The animal screamed and snapped at

him. He considered opening the passenger door to escape, but for what reason? He knew

that he would not make it ten feet before the pack reached him.

The banging ceased.

Fumbling on the floor and under the seat, he found nothing usable against his

adversary. Behind the seat. Why had he not thought of that? From his position all the way

over on the passenger side, he reached his wounded arm behind the seat and felt around.

A child’s plastic toy, bungee cords, a fast-food bag with a stale hamburger, then…

Chapter 26

Shine and the two boys leaned forward to listen.

“Me and Leon got on our bikes and rode to Santa Rosa. We went to the phone

booth where she said to look, and it was hidden under the shelf below the telephone.”

They waited for him to continue. He studied the little coffee remaining in his cup

and began again.

“We took the memory stick home and tried it on my wife’s computer. It had some

pictures on it and a message from her. The FBI has the memory stick now, but we printed

off some of the pictures and I got some with me.”

Abe took the pages out of his jacket and unfolded them for Shine to see. At first, it

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appeared only to be a collection of pictures of various laboratory animals. Then Shine

noticed that some of the dogs were photographed outdoors at night without a flash. It

occurred to him that in every case the animals seemed to have lights of their own – they

were the light.

Those inside the laboratory were under black lighting that made them glow a pale

green color. The ones outside were simply in the moonlight, yet their coats were bright.

“Now do you see anything familiar about where this picture is taken? Abe said.

“Look close. That’s the back of the gas station in Hopland. And see, that’s the bridge way

over there.”

Sonny broke the silence. “We know about the dogs,” he whispered, “They were

here, but we’re not supposed to talk about it because lots of people are superstitious

about them and lots of people are afraid. They think if word gets out that something weird

is going on, the tourists won’t come here and the Rez will go broke.”

“How we recognized the gas station,” Abe cut in, “was me and the boys ride

through here just about every couple of weeks in the summer. When we gas up, we use

those rest rooms in the back of the station. See here? Right there, we’ve seen it twenty

times at least.”

“Yes, I recognize it, since you mention it,” Shine agreed. “That’s the Feliz Creek

Bridge. You’re right, this is Hopland. Now I can see why you knew to come here.

Wherever Sarah is, the trail starts right here.”

They passed the pictures around again, each man studying the details. The hour

was getting late and only a few people other than their group remained in the café. Shine

said, “I don’t know about you men, but I’m tired. It’s been a long day and I’d like to make

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some copies of these pictures and then find a place to sack out.” He stood to leave, but

then said, “Abe, there’s just one more thing; you mentioned a message from Sarah. Do

you have a copy of that with you?

“Right here,” he said, “but I don’t see how you’re going to read it. It’s typed in a

code and the FBI couldn’t decode it.” He took out another paper and unfolded it for them

to see. Sure enough, it appeared like a jumble of typed numbers and letters that formed a

square block.

“How long has the FBI had that code, Abe?” Shine asked, looking at the code in

his hand. Obviously, Sarah was quite a clever young woman to come up with a plan like

that. Most people would have screamed for help over the phone with no thought of the

repercussions.

“That was about two weeks ago. I called the police and they turned it over to the

FBI. When I get my hands on whoever took her, I plan to make him suffer like he didn’t

know anybody could suffer, and then I’m going to kill him real slow.” Abe was staring

out the window again. “Shine,” he said quietly, “do you think you can help us? I’m not

sure why I’m asking you, but somehow I got this feeling that you might be able to help.”

Shine thought for a moment. He knew that Abe didn’t have the slightest clue who

he was, or why he thought he could help find Sarah. What he did know was that

sometimes you just have to go on gut feelings. Obviously, Abe had that feeling. Shine

said, “I hope so, Abe. I sure hope so.” Then he added, “I might know some people that

can help.”

Shine folded the pages that he intended to copy and said, “Mind if I make a copy

of this too? I’ll need to borrow your picture of Sarah as well.”

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 “I don’t mind as long as I get them all back,” Abe replied. He fished the picture of

his daughter back out of his wallet and handed it to Shine. “Where you gonna’ do that?”

“They’ll have a scanner and copier in the office. Wait here,” Shine said, “I’ll be

right back.” He left the others in the Café and went to find the office.

The three bikers and the two boys were somber, each privately replaying in their

minds the night’s events. Any of the five would gladly do whatever was necessary to get

Abe’s daughter back, but it was the question of knowing what to do that caused them

such consternation.

Most of the diners that had been in the café had gone back to the slot machines

and gaming tables. Kenny Rogers was finishing the last of his song – “…you’ll have

plenty of time for counting when the dealing’s done.” Terry, sitting nearest the window,

faintly heard in the distance the sorrowful sound of a dog howling in the moonlit October

night.

Chapter 27

Ernie Goodman pulled his truck into the carport and shut off the engine. Ever

since his wife and daughter had left him, Ernie had dedicated himself to talking care of

his ailing mother. Ernie was no fool; there are ways to get what you need. Anything worth

doing is worth doing right. The house needed paint, so Ernie prepped and painted it. The

floor in the kitchen needed repairs, so he repaired it and installed new linoleum. The

television was old and unreliable, so he replaced it – at his mother’s expense, of course.

Yes Sir, you could always count on Old Ernie.

“I’m home, Ma,” he said, closing the door behind him. “It’s a tough job keeping

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those kids in line. If you give them an inch, they’ll take a mile. If I wasn’t there to

monitor them, I don’t know what the bus driver would do. They would drive him crazy, I

imagine.” He hung his jacket in the closet next to the front door and kicked off his shoes.

After adjusting the thermostat a few degrees warmer, he put on his house shoes and sat

down in the chair opposite his mother.

The woman was in her late fifties, but she looked much older. Her wrinkled

features, her dark sunken eyes framed with a long mop of gray, and her lifeless hair

conjured up the supposition of a wasted live and a heartless soul. A victim of premature

osteoporosis, the malady had created a pronounced bend in her back and had rendered her

three or four inches shorter than her ordinary height. She was still wearing the faded red

robe that she had on the day before, and the day before that. He reasoned that it really

didn’t matter that she seldom dressed, since she rarely left the house.

Ernie had learned much from her. He could thank her that she had never treated

him like a child, but rather as her equal. When his father had died – some said it was a

suicide, but Ernie knew better – he had to become the man of the house. That was a big

task for a twelve-year-old, but he was a fast learner, and she was a competent teacher.

He hadn’t much extra time for social things as he was growing up. First, there was

school, then his job at Quality Cleaners from 3:30 until 7:00. There was dinner to prepare

and laundry to do. Homework had to take a back seat to the demands of Irene Goodman.

He would have gone on to college, but with all his responsibilities, even that was out of

the question.

Irene was not one to plan ahead, so when Ernie’s father died, she was forced to

find employment. She tried restaurant work, but she hated it. Her feet and back hurt and

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she literally despised serving others. Failing at every job she attempted, she resorted to

something easier. She stole the clothes she needed from a Good Will Store (It’s amazing

what you can find if you know where to look) and changed the color of her hair. Her first

attempt at hair dying resulted in the most unsightly orange imaginable, but after two more

tries, she was relieved to see it a passable ash blonde color. It went well with her gray

eyes, she thought.

When first she showed up at a bar near their apartment, three younger women,

who were protective of their clientele, met her. In a friendly enough manner they

convinced her that she should work some place else – for her health reasons, of course.

The next night, she tried the truck stop, but it was an hour’s walk from where they

lived. Irene was not too excited about that. She did however, earn enough that one night

to pay the utility bill and buy some groceries.

After a week of walking to the truck stop, and then taking a taxi back, she put an

ad in the local newspaper. Irene had absolutely no skills in her new profession as a

masseuse, but nobody seemed to care. Before long, she had a steady clientele calling and

showing up every day and night. For the first time, there was plenty of money in the

house.

The first few weeks of her new enterprise were disturbing to Ernie, who was

thirteen at the time. Not that he disapproved of her efforts, he did approve. He was proud

of her for being such an enterprising and desirable woman. What he did not like was to

have some of the more unrefined strangers in their home, especially when they looked at

him that certain way and tried to be chatty with him.

It was Ernie’s job to fix drinks for his mother’s suitors. This he did gladly,

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because he had developed a taste for the reticence-numbing spirits himself. It gave him

other ideas too. His devious nature grew into full bloom during those next few weeks.

Irene could not imagine why several of her clients stopped calling. She would

have called them if she knew their phone numbers, or even their real names. It was not

that she had any feelings for them; in fact, she despised them as much as she despised just

about everybody. Her concern was only the steady flow of cash they provided. Over the

period of a few weeks, the only men that called were the more cultured and the one-

timers.

As her clientele diminished, so did the rat poison in the basement, thanks to her

very innovative young son.

Chapter 28

After dinner, Becky gave the pup half a can of dog food and two pork chop bones

left over from the dinner her father had prepared. She sat on the floor and watched him

eat while she waited for Poky to arrive. Her father had agreed to let her go show the pup

to her mother Tammy at the casino. Tammy had already heard about the pup, but she had

not yet seen it.

Vern Crow was an energetic man of medium build, with deep black eyes and

black, unruly hair. Earlier in his life, he had been one of the finest basketball players in

the county. Not anymore. He laughed along with his friends when they joked that he

walked like the monster of Frankenstein, but inside it hurt.

A year earlier, a strap holding a load of lumber came loose and twenty or thirty of

the heavy boards fell, pushing him against his forklift and crushing his right leg. Vern

could not handle seeing his wife working as the sole wage earner for the home, so as soon

85
as he could walk again, he got back on the forklift. His supervisor did not like the idea,

but Vern was Vern. When Vern set his mind to do something, there was no changing it.

His doctor warned him that his leg would not heal properly if he continued to

abuse it, and that he would probably have a permanent limp, but having a limp was better

than being a lazy, deadbeat husband and father.

Vern was finishing up in the kitchen and putting the dishes away when Poky

opened the front door and closed it behind her. The girls were to go directly to the casino,

and then come straight home. Becky’s mother had suggested that the girls join her for a

snack at the café. To the girls, that meant a generous piece of deep-dish apple pie with

vanilla ice cream. Tammy usually had dinner where she worked because her dinner break

was at 8:00 P.M.

The rain clouds had vanished and the night was going to be clear and cool. It was

less than a half-mile to the casino, and they took a shortcut to the main road by crossing

through a field and a small wooded area. The pup led the way, pulling vigorously on the

short rope that the kids had fashioned for a leash. Poky turned off the flashlight when they

left the path to walk on the paved road.

The October moon appeared twice its normal size and reflected enough light to

transform the night into ghostly shapes and shadows. The rain earlier that day had passed

over, leaving puddles of fresh rainwater shimmering here and there on the asphalt. The

girls hurried along the side of the road, each scanning the shadows and surreptitiously

imagining what covert malice may be lurking there.

Becky abruptly stopped. Poky, who had been walking beside her, was then two or

three paces ahead. She stopped and looked around when Becky whispered, “Poky, wait!

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 Poky, already apprehensive, froze, and turning back to Becky, whispered, “What

is it. Did you hear something?” She moved near Becky and they peered down the hill

into the woods.

Becky whispered, “No, I thought I saw something moving in there.” At first,

nothing seemed unusual. The woods were benighted with rays of moonlight irregularly

touching the ground. The girls moved slowly again, still watching; afraid, but unwilling to

miss the opportunity to investigate.

“There! Becky whispered worriedly, pointing into the woods. “See, it’s by that

tree. See its head between the bushes? Poky saw it too. Though it was imperceptible in

the shadows, the wolf-like animal collected and held the moon’s rays. The two girls

huddled together transfixed, once more wanting to run, yet intrigued by the magical

woodsbeing. For that moment, their fear gave way to their curiosity. Was the dog they

found in the woods one of these creatures? Is this puppy they hold one of them?

Two more of the animals emerged from the darkness and the three stood together.

All three of the greenish-white dogs were clearly visible between the oaks. Above, a dark

cloud passed over, blocking out the moon and allowing the woods to settle back into night

darkness. Still the girls waited and watched

“I’m calling him Baby,” Becky said, “until I have a good name for him.”

“Are you going to let Grammy Angeni see him?” Poky asked. “She always knows

good names, ‘specially if you want to give him an Indian name.”

“We can take him to her house tomorrow, if you want to go with me.”

“Sure,” Poky said. “She always has fresh cookies.”

“Maybe she knows how they glow in the dark,” Becky added. “Maybe it’s an

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omen of some kind that she knows about.”

“Like the white buffalo? Maybe they’re good luck or something.”

“Maybe,” Becky said. “Or maybe it means that someone is going to die.”

The cloud passed over and the moonlight once again bathed the reservation in is

silver light. The girls stood perfectly still, because there, across the ditch, now stood one

of the ethereal dogs. Becky felt it looking directly into her eyes. She blinked, but she held

its stare, somehow feeling an odd and trusting bond with it. Poky, standing behind her

whispered, “I think were in trouble now. Should we run?”

Becky, without looking around whispered back, “We better not. We can’t out run

it.” Instead, Becky sat down on the damp pavement and held her hand out to the beast.

“Becky!” Poky pleaded, “It’s too dangerous. Maybe we could just walk away.”

Poky was starting to cry. She was afraid to stay and she wanted to run, but what Becky

said made sense. There was no way that they could outrun it.

Becky sat there with her hand extended to the dog. She was whispering softly to it.

“It’s okay, boy. Come and see me. Here, look what I have in my coat. It’s a puppy, just like

one of you. Want to see my puppy?”

The pup pressed close to Becky, trembling. It whined softly, begging her to hold

him. The night visitor looked back to where the other two dogs were, and then back at

Becky. With its tail held low it took a wary step forward. Becky held her breath as it

lowered its head to the ditch and began lapping up water. Satisfied, it raised its head again

and held her gaze.

Becky could feel her heart pounding as the animal jumped over the narrow ditch

and stood before her. Still she held out her hand. Once more, it looked back at its

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comrades. Slinking toward her, it stretched out its nose and touched her hand. Gently it

licked her hand as she continued to whisper to it. The animal sniffed the pup and licked its

fur. Becky touched the side of the animal’s face and then stroked its neck and head. For a

full three minutes, it let the girl pet it.

It was there on the road, the girls were stunned to see that the pup was emitting the

same ghostly glow as the beasts in the moonlight.

Chapter 29

Roberto’s fingers touched a shaft of steel about a foot and a half long and heavy.

He was retrieving it when he felt a thud against the passenger side, startling him and

causing him to drop the tool. The enraged animal had switched sides. He reached again

and pulled a lug wrench from behind the seat.

The passenger window cracked. The dog ran and hit the glass – and again. When

the window gave way, it shattered into a thousand pieces, showering him with glass

fragments. Roberto, now fearing for his life, scooted back to the driver’s side. Two more

dogs were working their bodies through the open window.

He struck at them with the lug wrench, catching one of them with a glancing

blow on its muzzle. The dog cried out and fell back to the pavement. He looked to his

right. Alpha dog had his massive head in the window and was trying to claw his way into

the cab. Roberto struck at him with full force, hitting its skull sharply. The dog yelped and

fell back out of the cab.

The police officers were watching the battle from their cars, guns in hand and

ready should his boss call for them. They did not like the idea of sitting there in the safety

of their big sedans when Roberto was fighting for his life. They did believe though that

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the boss knew what he was doing.

Roberto searched the key ring for an ignition key. His hands were bloody, and the

more he hurried, the less able he was to select the right key. It was a Dodge, and he

remembered the unique shape of ignition keys to these older pickups. He should be able

to identify it even in the dark.

Suddenly the pickup shook again. The big dog had leaped onto the hood of the

truck and was looking in at him. Roberto pressed on the horn again and the animal

jumped off the hood. “Wrong move,” he thought. “Stupid, stupid! Now he will try the

window again.” The lug wrench ready in his right hand, he met the dog just as it pushed

its head through the window again. He swung the tool, hitting the dog right across its

muzzle and felt the bone crunch. For a moment the animal did not move. Roberto was

about to hit it again when it pulled is shaggy head out of the truck.

The perplexed dogs circled the truck, looking for a chance to attack and finding

none. Roberto relocated the ignition key, and with shaking hands, pushed the key into the

ignition and turned it to the right. The big Dodge engine roared to life. Pulling the

gearshift down into reverse position, he looked at the pack once more. He backed the

truck up and pulled the gearshift into drive.

Making sure that the dogs weren’t too close, he broke out the rest of the window

on the drivers side with the lug wrench and used the tool to bang on the outside of the

door. Attempting to infuriate the animals he yelled, “Hey! Hey! You mangy, ugly dogs!

You want a piece of me? You want a piece of me? Come on! Come and get me!”

Two of the dogs closest to the window leaped at him. He jerked his arm back and

they crashed into the door. As he slowly drove forward, he again banged on the door,

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yelling and baiting them.

The police officers, realizing what the casino manager was doing, pulled their

cars out of the way to let the truck pass.

Slowly, deliberately, Roberto left the parking lot and headed toward the highway

with all six of the bloodthirsty animals following along, growling and leaping at the truck.

As the tail lights of the truck faded into the night, there was heard the welcome siren of an

ambulance entering the Rez.

Chapter 30

Ernie’s mother picked up the remote and turned on the television. Jerry Springer

was talking to the audience as his stage hands tried to keep two angry women from

gouging each other’s eyes out.

She was filing her long clawish fingernails and staring at the contrived turmoil on

the television when Ernie brought her food on a tray. Ernie paid her no attention as she

mumbled and grumbled over her food. Any time he prepared pork chops, she would have

preferred fish, but if he prepared fish, she would have preferred chicken.

“I saw Becky today, Ma,” he announced. “She was carrying such a cute little

puppy. Maybe I’ll bring a puppy home with me one of these days. Would you like that,

Ma?”

“No, I don’t want a stupid dog here, Ernie!” She said, spewing bits of broccoli

back onto her plate. “It would just tear up the house worse than it already is. Sometimes I

think that if you ever did have a good idea, it would freeze your brain so tight you

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couldn’t talk! It’s up to me to do all the thinking around here, I suppose.”

“But Ma, I do everything for you and I’ll stay here as long as you need me. I’ll be

right here and you won’t have to worry about a thing. But I don’t see why I can’t have a

few things that I want too.”

Irene didn’t bother to answer. Ernie would do whatever stupid thing he wanted to

do anyhow. What kind of a son would treat his own mother as he did? He never took her

anywhere. She had not been out of the house but five or six times over the past two years.

One of these days he would be sorry, she would make sure of that.

“You didn’t hear me, Ma. I sat by Becky on the school bus and we had a good

talk. I know that you will just love her. If you want, I’ll bring her home and let you meet

her. You’ll like her, I know.”

“Ernie, I can’t get you out of every jam you get yourself into. If you’re not careful

you’re going to wind up in jail again and I won’t be able to do a thing about it. You’d best

just forget about girls for once in your life.”

“Ma, I’m still young and I need a life too. Don’t you think it’s about time that you

let me make my own decisions?”

“And see where that gets you!” She exclaimed.

He knew that she was right, but he was helpless to change how he was. For that

matter, he was just as helpless to change anything about his mother as well. The best that

he could do was to keep her from harming herself. It would do no good to reason with

her, but that did not keep him from pressing the point. Once he got something in his mind,

he was helpless to get it out.

It would be a stretch to say the mother and son loved each other. Love suggests

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something greatly valued, and neither could identify any meaningful qualities in the other.

Irene needed her son; that much was true, particularly as she grew older and more

unstable. Even that was not her fault, for she could site any number of her ancestors that

were not quite right in the head. Her own mother had committed suicide before Irene

turned twelve years old. Not that it really mattered to her; in fact, it was the most

gratifying day of her young life. Her father had already shared his secret with her that he

always loved her more than he did her mother. No need for you to cry, Baby, we all have

to go sometime.

In spite of the ongoing hostilities between them, Ernest Goodman cherished every

minute he could spend with his mother from the time he was very young. That had not

changed at all. With no siblings with which to bond, and having never known his father,

his mother was his whole life. His attachment to her was not of love, however. It was

more of a thing of wholeness. As miserable as they were together, they were still flesh of

flesh and bone of bone.

He hated school from the first day his mother took him there and left him. The

other five and six-year-olds laughed at him and called him a baby. His teacher took him

aside and let him know that she did not approve of his tears. She called him a mama’s

boy, and that he had best just shut up. When school let out that day, his mother was not at

the school to pick him up. The anxious boy waited for an hour on the front steps, and then

walked the twelve blocks home, crying all the way.

One significant lesson he learned from his mother was that, in order to accomplish

anything of importance, the end always justifies the means. Believe me when I say that it

was not just a cliché. In her mind, the only reason to have any friends at all was that there

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are times when you might need them; otherwise, they are merely baggage. Her yin and

yang philosophy simply put was that personal happiness might at times be achieved only

by bringing unhappiness upon someone else.

“Oh Ma, I almost forgot. I have something in the truck that I brought for you,” He

smiled. “It took me awhile to get it all, but I know that you’re going to be pleased.” He

unlocked the door and went out to the truck. When he returned, he was carrying a

cardboard box with the top folded shut. He placed the box on the floor before the woman

and pulled the top loose.

The old woman leaned forward and looked into the open box. Inside, along with

several small paper bags was a larger one. She opened the bag and peered inside. A big

black bat stared back at her with its small, shiny eyes. “It’s still alive, too,” he said

cheerfully.

She recoiled, dropping the bag and falling back in her chair. The startled bat

flapped out of the bag and began flying around the room, seeking an escape. Ernie

laughed hysterically, dancing about to avoid the panicked bat, while Mother Goodman,

who was given to seizures, jerked and shook in the chair. The joke, having been a smash

hit, pleased him greatly. Congratulating himself for having such a talent for surprise, he

opened the door and shooed the bat outside.

Chapter 31

The killing in the parking lot was by far the most violent killing he had ever seen,

and one that he hoped would be the last. More than a simple attack, the incident brought

up a host of questions to which no one had the answers.

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 Sergeant Elliot Hess felt that he had paid his dues in law enforcement by working

for fifteen years on the force in Richmond, California. He had been a popular officer and

to most a good friend. Because of his name, fellow officers razzed him by referring to

him as Elliot Ness, and if that raised a few snickers, someone would invariably take it one

step further to Elegant Mess. Fortunate for them, the big African American loved the

attention.

On the more serious side, too many of his fellow officers had been messed up, set

up, and shot up. When the opportunity came for him to head up tribal police for the

Hopland reservation, he jumped at the chance. He had experienced crime at its worst – up

close and personal – and the little woodsy reservation looked like a piece of cake.

Hess happened to be at the Sho-Ka-ah Casino toward the end of a three-week

vacation. He was not particularly looking for a job, but he overheard someone say that the

management had not yet found a replacement for the vacant security chief position.

Inquisitive, he checked it out and discovered that the position paid close to what he was

making in the Bay Area. The next day, he filled out an application and submitted it,

though he felt that he had little chance of landing the job.

The call came in just three weeks. Evidently, of all the resumes that the council

had considered, his resume was the most impressive. Hess agreed to meet with the

Council the following week. After a relatively short interview, he eagerly accepted their

offer, and within seven weeks, he was settling into at his new post.

Elliot alerted all the officers to be on constant vigil for any of the mysterious

animals. By the time the body was taken away, everyone in security knew as much as

Elliot knew. He believed in keeping his people informed. His instruction to them was to

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keep moving and stay inside their vehicles. None of them was to be outside their cars

without proper backup.

He steered his SUV over the narrow road to James Talltree’s house. James was the

Tribal Chairman as well as a good friend. Having spent time working together, they had

developed a strong trust in one another.

It was about 10:30 P. M. when he stepped onto the porch and knocked on James’

door. The lights were on inside and that was a pretty good indication that someone had

already called about the tragedy

“Come on in, Elliot,” James said somberly, “I guess I know why you’re here. My

phone’s been ringing for the past twenty minutes.” He led the officer to a chair and they

sat down. Millie was bringing coffee.

“It’s too ugly for words, James.” Hess took off his hat and held it on his knee.

James could see that it was difficult for his friend. “James, we don’t have much to go on.

I’ll just tell you what we know so far. We know that the animals have formed a definite

pack. We know that there is an Alpha dog, and he is easily distinguished from the others.”

He paused, choosing each word. “We know that they have some florescent property about

them that makes them glow like a firefly in the moonlight, and we know that they are

killers.”

Both men were silent while they sipped their coffee. James sighed and sat his cup

back on the table. “I just got a call from Glenda Roberts. She served on the Council in the

past and she’s pretty levelheaded. She said that Roberto led the pack off the property, but

he hasn’t returned yet. I’m concerned about that. Do you have any ideas?”

“Yes, James, I do. I put in a call to the Sheriff’s department in Ukiah on the way

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here and they are looking for him now. I’ve called in my day crew, and instructed them to

look for Roberto between here and town.”

“Roberto is a good man,” James said. “My guess is that as long as the truck

doesn’t break down or get stuck somewhere, he will loose the dogs and come right back.”

“Then I guess you know that he’s got some customer’s truck. Luckily, the keys

were in it. I have no idea how much fuel it had in it – enough, I hope. He had to bust out

both of the side windows, and that concerns me. Those dogs were trying to crawl into the

cab with him. I don’t know if he has his handgun with him; apparently not. He ordered us

not to shoot when we were in the parking lot. He was right too. That could have gotten

out of hand and a bystander could have been hit.”

“I understand that he had some kind of tool that he was using – that he hit a couple

of the dogs pretty good.” James picked up his coffee again and held it while he waited for

Elliot to comment.

“I’m pretty sure it was a lug wrench,” Elliot said. “He hit the leader of the pack

pretty hard. It’s a wonder it didn’t kill it.”

“Tell me, Elliot, where do you think we go from here? People are pretty shaken

up.”

“I was thinking on the way over here, James,” Elliot said. “How do you feel about

the people that you have on the Council board? Do you think they’re cool-headed enough

to help calm down the people?”

“Well, right now I’m hoping that I can keep my own head cool, if you know what

I mean. This has been a pretty traumatic thing for all of us.”

“Yeah, James, I do know what you mean. If Roberto had not been there, I’m afraid

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we would have gone after those beasts with our guns blazing. Fortunately, he had the

good sense to handle it well. I take my hat off to him.”

“To answer your question, Elliot, I’d have to say yes. We have some pretty good

people. Oh, they argue and bluster a lot, but when it comes down to the hard facts, they

all pull together.”

“Then the best thing I can think of is for you to call an emergency meeting in the

morning and get as many of them together as you can.” Elliot fiddled with his hat as he

put his thoughts together. “The main thing is to make sure everybody is on the same page

– that they all know the score.”

“I’ve already made a few calls, Elliot. I’ve set up a meeting for 9:00 in the

morning. As soon as we’re done here, I’ll call the others. You will need to be there, of

course.”

“No problem, James. What about Roberto?”

“When you see him, let him know that we need him there too if he’s able to make

it. Can you do that for me?”

“Can do, Pal.” Elliot stood and held out his hand to James. “And try to get some

sleep, James. It’s going to be a tough day tomorrow.”

They shook hands and stood there for a moment, each in their own thoughts.

These were difficult times for them both. They had individually gone through enough

trouble to know that a dozen things could go wrong, and even the best of plans isn’t

always enough. Compounding the situation was the fact that there had already been a

death, and that was one too many.

Elliot was back in his vehicle when he received a call from the Sheriff’s

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headquarters. One of their officers found the truck that Roberto was driving in a ditch

about a half-mile from town. He had lost a lot of blood, but he seemed to be okay and was

still conscious. The deputy took him to the ER at the hospital in Ukiah. He would not be

in the meeting the next morning.

The dogs had followed Roberto out to the highway, but that was no guarantee that

they would not be back, or that they were the only ones out there. It was the older folk on

the reservation that thought there was something supernatural about them, but after this,

the younger people would likely come to the same opinion.

Lucy wondered how the tribal council would be able to hold the small band

together. Some of the prominent families were already talking about abandoning the

reservation and moving into town.

She found Sonny and Terry inside the noisy arcade.

Chapter 32

A low, long howl came from a quarter of a mile away. The friendly moondog

snapped its head up and listened. It spun around and leaped over the ditch, running to join

the pack in the woods. The girls sprang up, and with the pup tucked back under Becky’s

coat, raced toward the casino.

The girls did not stop until they got to the casino. Inside the café, they hurried past

a man with his backpack in one hand and a guitar case in the other. Only a few people

were there, so the girls found a booth by the window and sat. Becky kept the pup under

her coat so that it would not draw attention. Both girls were talking at the same time,

excited by the danger they had just been through.

“Did you see how tame he was,” Becky was saying. She was still out of breath

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from running. “He came right up to me and he licked my hand. I don’t think they’re

dangerous at all. He could have bitten us but he didn’t. He liked us.”

“He liked you because you were taking care of Baby,” Poky said. “That’s why he

came to where we were, he could smell Baby.”

“I don’t care. I liked him. He was real friendly, and Baby will probably look just

like him when he grows up,” Becky said.

“Maybe we shouldn’t go back by ourselves anyways,” Poky said. “Let’s wait ‘til

your mom can go with us.”

Tammy left the blackjack table and went to the café. Spotting the girls, she walked

back to where they were and joined them. Becky took the pup out of her coat and sat it

down between her and her mother. Tammy said, “Becky, you shouldn’t have brought him

here. Dogs aren’t allowed in here.” Nevertheless, she cupped the pup’s head in her hands

and let him lick her fingers. “Ohh, you are just so sweet, little guy. Just look at you!”

“I’m calling him Baby,” Becky declared, “until Grammy Angeni can tell us a good

Indian name for him. We want to go to her house tomorrow.”

“I don’t suppose you’re thinking about Grammy’s cookies too,” Tammy chided.

The girls looked at each other and grinned.

“Baby is special too, Mrs. Crow,” Poky said. “Cause in the moonlight he shines,

just like the other dogs in the woods.”

“Shine? How?”

“He glows in the moonlight.”

“We saw Baby’s daddy, too,” Poky added. “Anyway we think it might be. He

came out of the woods to see Baby.”

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 “Girls, you’re scaring me!” Tammy whispered. “You both could have been killed!

I think it was a mistake for me to ask you to come here tonight.”

“He wasn’t mean to us at all, Mom. We thought he might be mean,” Becky added,

“but he wasn’t at all. He licked my hand and he stayed with us until another one called

him.”

“Then he went back with the others.” Poky added. “We saw three of them and all

of them glowed. It looked spooky, but they were pretty, too.”

Several people were running by the window, pointing to the parking lot. Becky’s

mother told them to stay inside with her. If there was any fighting outside, she did not

want the girls to see it. She brought each of them pie and ice cream, and they settled down

and began digging into their desserts. The fears of the woods and the dogs had passed.

Tomorrow they would go to see Grammy Angeni. As the children scooped happily into

their desserts, they heard the piercing blast of a truck horn, followed by loud banging

sounds. Outside, a truck pulled slowly onto the road.

Shine was paying the tab for his group when Becky and Poky had come rushing

into the café. Terry and Sonny were in the arcade playing the pinball machines, and the

three bikers had gone back into the casino to find the rest of the gang.

Shine picked up his backpack and guitar. He meandered around the machines and

tables toward the main door, and as he approached the door, he saw why there were so

few people in the casino. They had gathered just outside and were watching some drama

unfold in the parking lot.

There were possibly sixty people in the parking lot when Sonny’s mother, Lucy,

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arrived. The flashing lights of the ambulance had attracted people from the casino like

carrion draw buzzards.

She parked her car and hurried over to the crowd. Spotting a group of four or five

casino employees near the motor home, she edged her way to them through the crowd.

Someone had covered the victim with a blanket.

“What happened here?” Lucy said to Glenda Roberts who worked nights in the

gift shop.

“It was a pack of those spirit dogs,” Glenda said. “Lots of people have seen them

in the woods and on the road, but it’s the first time they’ve attacked anybody.”

“I worry about the kids,” Lucy said, “especially now that we know how vicious

those animals are. That poor man!”

“His wife saw it happen. She was inside the motor home looking out the window.

She saw him being killed.” Glenda shuddered. “There’s someone in there talking to her

now, but I just can’t imagine going through something like that!”

“Who is he?” Lucy asked. “Do you think that he is from around here?”

“He’s a tourist,” a man standing near them said. “I saw them inside the casino, and

the man was having a bad time. He had evidently lost a lot of money and he was taking it

out on his wife.”

“Taking it out on her how?” Lucy asked.

“He was yelling at her and saying some pretty unkind things. Security would have

thrown him out if he had not left on his own. I think he was so drunk that he didn’t see the

dogs until it was too late. I feel sorry for him, but mostly I feel sorry for his wife.” The

man excused himself and left to find his wife who was somewhere in the crowd.

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 The tribal police officers easily persuaded the crowd to either go to their vehicles

or go back into the building. It was no longer safe to be outside. As they dispersed, Lucy

headed for the café. She had not personally seen any of the strange animals, but she knew

several people who had.

Chapter 33

Big Earl Farley had secrets – secrets that he kept locked in the safe buried in

concrete under the floor of his office closet, secrets locked in the steel locker in the back

room, and most of all, secrets locked in his tangled mind. Those who knew him saw him

as Earl, the Antique Dealer or Earl, the Cowboy. However, those personae only masked

the more extraordinary nature of Earl Farley. Not many people knew of his third alter ego,

but they were about to find out.

It was dark by the time Earl approached the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge

and commute traffic had begun to thin out. Soon, if he were lucky, he would have these

streets to himself. Turning right off Market Street and onto Steuart, he drove slowly along

the industrial area. Lying on the seat next to him was the unregistered pistol. You never

know when you might need some protection. That’s what Daddy always said. He laid his

hand on the Colt and caressed its cold, smooth steel. Yes Sir, you could blow a man clean

away with this baby.

Proceeding slowly, Earl scanned the sidewalks and alleys. People tended to avoid

that part of the city after dark, but he knew that there were certain people who preferred

the night. To Earl, there was something fascinating about the night people. The fact was,

he felt more alive at night. Not that he wanted to be out on the street, he knew enough to

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stay within the safety of his car. But things happened at night, things you may never read

in the newspaper or see on television. If you wanted to know what’s going on, you needed

to be there. Desperate people do desperate things, and the city had its share of such

people. Some men (and some women) love darkness rather than light, because their deeds

are evil. Yes Sir, that’s what Mamma always said. Earl, however, did not share his

Mamma’s interest in old time religion.

Gathered under a lamppost, four ragged looking men and a toothless woman were

all sharing a bottle wrapped in a paper bag and engaged in some furtive conversation only

important to them. He had seen them often, but he had no idea as to what their names

were, or what their stories were. Winos and dope heads. Why don’t the city do something

about the trash in this place? An old familiar anger stirred in him. The rage he felt served

a good purpose. He liked the feeling. It made him stronger

As he drove, he kept an eye out for cops. The last thing he needed was to be

pulled over for some inane traffic violation, not here and especially not now.

Rounding the block, he saw that the homeless were still as he had left them. As he

watched, they tossed their bottle into a trashcan and gathered around the woman who was

rummaging through her shopping cart, most probably for another bottle.

After three more turns around the block, Earl put the pedal to the metal and shot

farther down the Embarcadero. Up the street were two more homeless men. One stood

waiting as the other man used the side of the building as a urinal.

Earl slowed the car and reached across the seat for the gun. Raising it and aiming

at the one relieving himself, he muttered, “Eat lead, sucker! Bam, bam, bam,” his small

eyes glittered at the thought of what the gun could do…blow a man’s head clean off. He

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laid the unfired pistol back down on the car seat and sped on into the night.

Twenty minutes later, Earl pulled the long station wagon into a parking space in

front of a restaurant. He turned off the ignition and waited a few moments. His body felt

hot. He needed time to change back. Closing his eyes and leaning back in the seat, he

thought about the luck he had that day. Being a careful man, he had waited a long time to

find this unregistered weapon.

It could not be just any old gun. There had to be magical qualities to it, and such

properties could only be in a weapon used in brawls and shootouts. When he touched it,

he sensed its history – sensed men falling before it. He wondered how many men it had

killed in the Old Wild West.

He held it in his hand again, feeling the balance of it, and then slid it under the

seat. He giggled until tears came to his eyes at how he had practically stolen the pistol

from the witless teen. He regretted that the gun had cost him the paltry sum of forty-five

dollars, but he regretted even more, that the gun could possibly be traced back to him

through the kid.

When he felt more like Earl the Antique Dealer again, he opened the car door and

stepped out onto the parking lot. He slammed the door and entered the restaurant. There

were several empty booths, but he waited until the host could seat him to a table by the

window. All the better to keep an eye on the station wagon. You never know who’s out

there looking to steal a good car.

“How many in your party?” the host asked with a smile. Earl turned to see an

attractive woman of forty-something waiting with menus in her hand. “We’re starting to

fill up. Saturday night, you know. I know you won’t believe it, because of our location,

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but we get lots of tourists in here on the weekends.”

“Just me,” he replied. “A table by one of those windows would be good.”

Chapter 34

At 9:15 Saturday morning Andrew Darkcloud was waiting beside the highway

when they arrived. Abe cut the engine and Shine climbed off the back of the motorcycle.

Without a word spoken by either, he hurried to the old man and embraced him warmly.

They stood there for a moment, and then Shine said, “Grandfather! I knew that you would

be waiting here,” and hugged him once more.

“Shine! Welcome home, Son. I can’t surprise you, can I? You make this old Indian

awfully proud.”

“Grandfather,” Shine said, “I’d like for you to meet a good friend of mine.

Grandfather, this is Abe Chambers.” Abe got off the motorcycle and greeted the old man.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Darkcloud,” Abe said, shaking hands with him.

“But I was expecting you to be ten feet tall, the way Shine’s been telling me about you.”

The old man’s eyes twinkled as he replied, “I don’t know why my grandson

exaggerates like that, but he means well.”

“Well, you got my vote anyways, Sir. If you’re anything like Shine, you gotta’ be

alright.”

“Let’s get your motorcycle in the barn,” the old man said. “It’s down that road just

behind those trees. I want you both to come with me to my cabin. We’ve got a lot of

catching up to do.” While Abe fired up his motorcycle, Shine and his grandfather led the

way between the trees toward the barn.

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 The road, strewn with limbs and brush, was not readily visible to anyone passing

by on the highway. Abe idled his bike and followed slowly, working his way between the

bushes. About two hundred feet off the highway he saw the big barn. Judging by its

appearance, it had been there a very long time. Unlike the old road, all but obscured by

brush and tree limbs, the area around the barn was uncluttered. Though it was gray with

age, it was constructed of heavy beams and wide, rough boards, and obviously been built

to last.

On one side of the barn was a corral where three horses waited, already saddled

and ready to go. The old man fetched a key that he had hidden behind a board and

unlocked a side door. He motioned Abe to roll his motorcycle inside the shed. Unlike

most old barns, the primary area had a concrete floor. Tack and tools lined the walls of the

garage-sized room. He shut off the engine and put down the kickstand.

“It’ll be safe here, Abe,” the old man was saying. “The cabin isn’t very far, but the

horses like the exercise, so we’ll take them.”

“I ain’t ever rode a horse, Mr. Darkcloud,” Abe said as they walked back toward

the corral.

“That’s alright, Abe,” the old man replied. “It’s a lot like riding a bike, except if

you try to kick-start it, you’re going to be in for a wild old ride. All you have to do is sit in

the saddle and the horse will do the rest. You can’t go fast on this road, there’s too much

brush growing on it. I don’t clear the road because if I did, I’d have all kinds of people

using my property for a Sunday drive.”

“How much property have you got here, Mr. Darkcloud?” Abe asked.

“My property goes from the bottom of that hill,” he indicated, pointing southwest.

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“Over to that peak and pretty much as far as you can see between here and that last hill. I

don’t really need it all, but as it is, I’m not bothered by neighbors. I like it that way.”

Shine held the horse’s bridle while Abe put his foot in the stirrup and swung his

leg over the saddle. Once Abe was seated, Shine let go of the bridle. The horse remained

in place while the others climbed into the saddles and started toward the cabin, Andrew

Darkcloud in the lead. Shine followed second and Abe’s horse fell into place behind the

others. Shine noted that his grandfather had a bow and quiver of arrows attached to his

saddle.

They worked their way between the bushes and branches for another hundred feet

or so where the road was less brushy the rest of the way. Abe watched the others ahead of

him and felt the power of the horse under him. It gave him the same feeling of adventure

and freedom that he felt on his motorcycle. They rode along at an easy walk for about ten

minutes when the meadow came into view. The cabin was at the far end of the grassy

field.

Shine and his grandfather put the horses in the corral and removed their saddles

and bridles. With a light slap on their hindquarters, the horses trotted over to the water

trough to drink. The tack put away and the doors and gates shut, the old man led Shine

and Abe to the cabin. He unlocked the door and invited them in. Little Peaches greeted

the men, going to first, then the other with her busy tail wagging and her compact body

wiggling with delight.

Shine squatted down and petted her, much to her unrestrained delight. “This is a

new one, isn’t it, Grandfather. Is this one of Daisy’s pups?”

“Yeah, Daisy passed on about two years back. She had a litter about a year before

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she died. I kept this one. Her name is Peaches.”

“Well Peaches,” Shine said, running his hand over the small dog’s muscular back,

“You look just like your mother.” To the old man he said, “But Daisy had a white spot on

her chest, didn’t she Grandfather?”

“Yep, she did. It looked like a little white daisy when she was a pup. That’s how

she got her name.”

“So how did Peaches get her name then?”

“You know how I like peaches, Shine. I even tried to grow some peaches here on

the place, but they never did well.”

“I know, Gramps. You never seemed to have enough. You bought them by the

box.”

“When she was just a pup – maybe three or four months old – I had a full box of

ripe peaches on the back porch. I wanted them to last, so I had them in a cool place. One

day when I wasn’t looking, she got into them and chewed up almost every one of them.

She had peaches scattered all over the porch. I think I saved maybe three peaches out of

that whole box.”

“So you thanked her by naming her Peaches,” Shine laughed.

“Well, that and because she ate those ripe peaches until her belly was so swollen

she could hardly walk!” The old man could not contain his laughter as he told his story.

“You may think that all of those chewed up peaches was a mess, but you should have seen

what she did on the floor here when her bowels turned loose. That was the stinkingest

mess you ever saw! I threw her out the door and then I spent the next hour cleaning it up.”

By this time, all three men were laughing, and Peaches just sat there watching the

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old man tell the story and grinning like it was the greatest deed she had ever done.

The old man stoked the fire and then started a fresh pot of coffee. While the coffee

brewed, the men relaxed in comfortably upholstered chairs around the fireplace. Shine

and Abe told him about Abe’s daughter, Sarah, and as much about what was happening on

the reservation as they knew.

They had lunch with Shine’s grandfather, and then Shine saddled a horse for Abe.

Abe had an appointment to talk to the sheriff about Sarah again. Every lead so far

had led to a dead end, but they were far from finished.

“When you get to the barn, use that key I put back behind the board and unlock

the door. When you’re through, just put it back.”

“What about your horse, Mr. Darkcloud? How you gonna’ get her back?”

“Just turn her loose,” the old man said. “She’ll find her way back here okay.”

Chapter 35

When Shine and his grandfather returned to the cabin, Shine went over the

information that Abe had given him, showing Andrew Darkcloud the pictures of the

unusual dogs, and then he laid the coded message on the table.

JGK21RW18XS13MV23VVS4QW18LL13CD22DW9BE2RRR
25YQ2TKJ9ML18XC5HH22WX9GGH15PZ26EU25UJU18DM
13TTE24QQ2SE1FG15JH26BV9ZXX14YR6YY7PU26AW13V
X7JJ23LK12QS20BV8ZQS4FF18FH7EE19DDC11SS19WW 12
KL8 GA11EW19 KY12LL9TJ6ED8GDF17AA22YR15TU15GF
2GS21DF18WQ8ZC19TRT20WS22AQ13GT22EWE23TT26G
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“That’s an odd one. I wouldn’t even know how to start,” Andrew said.

“I’m counting on you, Grandfather. If anyone can figure it out, it’s you.”

“I’ll give it a try, Shine, but it looks pretty tricky. I’ve never seen one like that. I’ll

punch it into my computer and see what I can figure out. Meanwhile, follow what leads

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you have.”

“I will, Gramps. I will.”

Peaches jumped up on the sofa beside Shine and laid her head on his lap. He

thought about how it was growing up in the cabin with his grandfather. His appreciation

for nature grew from the training he had received from him and from Grammy Angeni.

Every living thing had a reason for its existence, and the knowledge of many of the living

things could keep a person alive. Even though they valued the knowledge harvested from

known science, they had passed on their understanding of spiritual things to him as well.

When he was a boy, he was always astonished by the way those two important

people in his life seemed to know so much. While he drew comfort from the knowledge

that they always knew life’s answers, it was discouraging for him when he felt like he

would never be able to achieve their level of knowledge and wisdom.

The old man put the quiver strap over his shoulder and picked up his bow. “I have

something to show you, Shine. Let’s go for a ride.” They threw saddles onto two of the

horses and cinched them tight. The old man led the way at a faster pace than he had when

Abe was along. That was fine with Shine. Every day with his grandfather was a day of

adventure.

In a few minutes, they were back at the barn. They left the horses in the corral and

Andrew led Shine around to the other side of the barn and unlocked the big door. A push

was all it took and it opened wide. Inside was an array of ranching equipment. Shine

followed past a tractor and quad ATV. Beyond there was another door. Once opened, the

old man swung the door wide and they entered into a much larger room.

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 The forest green 1950 Willys four-wheel-drive pickup sat toward the south side of

the room. Although it was well over fifty years old, it was in impeccable condition. His

grandfather seldom drove, but preferred traveling horseback whenever he visited his sister

on the reservation. The black 1932 Ford roadster was still there, covered and sitting

parallel to the truck.

The old man removed the padlock and opened the door to another room. Inside, a

dusty tarp covered something that was evidently important to him. Pulling back the tarp,

the old man said, “Shine, I’ve been saving this for you.”

Chapter 36

Right this way,” she said brightly, leading him to a vacant table. “Would you like

to order something to drink now?”

Earl fitted his bulky body in the booth, satisfied with his view of the street. “Yes.

Coffee would be good.”

“Your waitress will be with you in a moment,” she offered, leaving a menu on the

table. She glided quickly back to a few more customers by the cash register, leaving Earl

to peruse the menu.

His server arrived with a steaming pot of coffee and a thick mug. Her youthful

smile gave her an appearance of naïve innocence. Her nametag read, Gerri. The girl

looked to be about twenty something, her clear blue eyes barely visible beneath blond

bangs. The darker roots beneath her blondness indicated that she was a girl who spent

much time outdoors, perhaps on the beach. He couldn’t help but notice the bruises on her

cheek and on her upper arm. The bruise on her arm had turned a dull yellow, but the

bruise on her cheek was still blue. Likes to play rough, I’ll bet. Probably likes to tease a

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man into knocking her around a little bit. Such a cute little thing…

She was used to men ogling her, and sometimes it made her feel good, even

special, but there was something about Earl that made her skin crawl. I can’t let him

intimidate me…I can’t let him see that I’m afraid of him. She wanted to simply run back

and hide out in the kitchen until he left, but instead she remained calm and impishly

envisioned pouring the hot coffee onto his lap, and that was enough to induce a thin smile

across her young face.

Earl’s puffy eyes moved to a red catsup stain that looked so much like blood on

her otherwise white shirt. The images he gathered in his mind aroused him and gave him

the feeling of warmth and potency. As soon as she poured the coffee for him, a pad and

pen appeared in her hands as if by magic. Earl always marveled how veteran servers

seemed to do three tasks at the same time.

After giving his order, he sipped his coffee and sat reflecting on the day’s events.

He watched the people moving about on the sidewalk outside, some walking by and some

entering the café and waiting for a table. He had a good idea that the pair he was looking

for would be hitching a ride to Oakland, and he expected them to pass by the restaurant

on his way to the bridge onramp.

She brought his salad supreme; a pile of lettuce, fresh spinach, and several types

of beans, onions, pickled beets and walnuts covered in a thick bleu cheese dressing. Earl

eyed the huge offering with ravenous wonder. Reaching across the table, he took the extra

cloth napkin and stuffed the corner of it under his shirt collar. That done, and with no

ritual or manner, he immediately began jabbing his fork enthusiastically into the salad and

stuffing big portions of it into his gaping mouth.

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 The girl returned in about ten minutes with the food on a cart. Then with a platter

in each hand, she deftly placed the plates of food on the table followed by a covered

basket of hot rolls.

Clearing away the salad plate, she asked tentatively, “Would you like a refill on

that coffee?”

Viewing the fare before him, Earl raised his eyes to the bright October moon. The

old man up there seemed to be smiling at him, encouraging him to give in to its shining

and primitive charm. You can be anything you want to be, Earl. You can do whatever

makes you feel satisfied and happy. You have my permission and my blessing.

The scent of onions and meat arose before him. On one plate was a thick slab of

very rare prime rib, with a large potato heaped with butter and sour cream, topped with

chives and bits of bacon. The second plate was laden with steaming mixed vegetables.

The blend of their alluring aroma caused him, for a moment, to fantasize lowering his

face into the food to feed without pretense. You have my permission. Instead, he offered

his most gracious smile to the patient girl and simply responded, “Yes, please.”

Chapter 37

There in the old barn, Shine was astonished to see one of the most prized

motorcycles he had ever seen in his life. Before him sat a 1948 Indian Chief. Shine

walked around it and then around it again. He said, “Grandfather, I never knew you had

this! If you wanted to sell this, you could buy yourself a new house for what it’s worth.”

“Maybe so,” he replied, “but I like my cabin and I don’t need the money. Shine, I

have the feeling that you’re going to need this bike. It needs some work done on it,

though. I haven’t started it up since I put it in here”

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 “How many miles on it, Grandfather? It looks perfect.” Shine swung his leg over

the bike and sat on it, still admiring its flawless chrome and bright red paint.

“I only rode it to town about three times, so maybe a hundred…but I wouldn’t

even start it up until it gets checked out. It’s been sitting here for about sixty years.”

“Do you mind telling me why you bought it if you didn’t plan to ride it?”

The old man smiled. To see Shine light up that way was worth waiting so long to

show it to him. He said, “I didn’t actually buy it, it was a gift.”

“Gramps! Nobody gives away a new Indian Chief! Where did you really get it?”

“Have I ever lied to you, Grandson?” the old man laughed. He was enjoying the

moment.

“No, of course not, Gramps, it’s just so unbelievable. Come on…you’re holding

out on me.”

The old man pulled up a wooden crate and sat down. “I don’t know if I ever told

you, Shine, but I used to be involved with Indian Affairs in D.C. We had a governor in

Sacramento that I knew then – Earl Warren.”

“Wasn’t he the governor that was appointed Chief Justice of the Supreme Court?”

Shine asked.

“Yes, he served there from ’53 to ’69. We were about the same age and we shared

some of the same interests. We attended Boalt Hall School of Law at the University of

California in Berkeley.

“Yes, I remember because I thought of attending there myself. I was going to take

their interance exams, but I got sidetracked by the Marines.”

“Anyhow, I was able to help Governor Burger out with some Indian issues that

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D.C. wasn’t able to resolve. When he presented me with this Indian Chief motorcycle, he

said President Truman suggested it.”

“I remember hearing you tell about President Truman,” Shine replied. “Somehow

it’s hard for me to picture him on a motorcycle.”

“I don’t know that he ever rode one,” Andrew said, “but using today’s vernacular,

he thought they were cool. I can understand that too; for being as old as this one is, it’s a

marvel of design and technology.”

“I can tell you this, Gramps,” Shine said, “I’ll take good care of it and I sure won’t

sell it. This one’s a keeper! But Gramps, what were you doing for him?”

“President Truman?”

“Yes.”

“Well, when the British pulled out of Palestine, it left the whole region in a big

mess. It’s a whole bunch easier to start a war than it is to stop one. The United Nations

created Resolution 181 which was designed to partition the territory of Palestine into

Jewish and Arab States. When that failed, Truman pushed for the establishment of a

Jewish state.”

“So the Arabs and the Jews hadn’t given up fighting yet?”

No, but something had to be done, so the State of Israel was proclaimed on May

14, 1948. I had a friend over there – I met him through your grandfather. His name was

David Ben-Gurion. He was the first Prime Minister of Israel.”

“So how did they meet?”

“Ben-Gurion and your great-grandfather?”

“Yes. You never told me any of this before.”

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 “My father was one of the few who had much of an education, so he spent six

years on the East Coast trying to civilize the renegade idiots in Indian Affairs. He was

somewhat of a renegade himself in some ways. He was proud of his Indian heritage, so

you would never know if he would show up at some banquet or ball in a black suit and

stove top hat, or buckskins and war bonnet.”

“I’d love to have seen that!” Shine remarked, intrigued by his grandfathers tales.

“So would I, Shine! So would I.”

“You haven’t said how they met, Gramps.”

“Well, Father was getting on in years, and he could pull some pretty good stunts.

There was this pretty Russian young lady at a ball. Her name was Paula Munweis. She

was nervous when she saw my father in buckskins and full headdress. You know how the

Russian around here treated the women. Well, my father didn’t hold any prejudice, but not

everybody knew that.”

“I hope he wasn’t armed,” Shine laughed.

“He was. He always carried that skinning knife – the one I keep in the gun locker.

But he only used it there to illustrate in great detail how to scalp a white man. I doubt

though if he ever scalped anybody except at the poker table. Well, Ben-Gurion was

dancing with this gal, and Father pulled out that big knife and slipped between their noses

and said, ‘Pardon me, please. May I cut in?’”

“No!” Shine exclaimed. “That’s not true, is it Gramps?”

“The way he told it to me it was. You would have to know him, Shine. He was full

of fun, but his jokes didn’t always go well.”

“What did they do?”

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 “She fainted….passed out right there on the spot. He grabbed her to keep her from

falling to the floor. The worst thing about it was that he still had that knife in his hand.”

“Not good,” Shine said. “Not good at all.”

“No, it wasn’t. My father wasn’t the only man there that was armed. Before he

knew it, he had five pistols and one saber pointed right at him. They thought he had

stabbed her.”

“It’s a wonder he wasn’t killed! How did he get out of that mess?”

“Well, Ben-Gurion had quite a sense of humor himself. He saw what was

happening and got to laughing so hard he couldn’t talk. He jumped between my father

and the half dozen captains and colonels and tried to tell them that she wasn’t hurt. The

problem was that they thought he was crying. He was sobbing and wiping tears. He

couldn’t stop. So he just wrapped his arms around my father and was shaking his head

‘no’.”

“Finally, when he could talk, he said, ‘The knife! No blood on the knife!’ By the

time they figured out that the knife didn’t have any blood on it, Paula came to.”

“So was my great-grandfather in trouble?”

“No. You know how contagious laughter is. All over the place, people were telling

what happened. Soon everyone knew, and they were all laughing so hard they went home

happy. Everyone except Paula, of course.”

“It must have been really embarrassing to her.”

“It was, but it didn’t last long. On the way home, Ben-Gurion proposed to her and

they were married soon after that.”

Shine, caught up in the story, was having a hard time controlling his own laughter.

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“Did she ever forgive him for pulling out that knife?”

“Yes, they all became close friends and he never pulled that stunt again. I think

once was plenty.”

So because Ben-Gurion knew my father, our State Department set me to Palestine

to help tool out foreign policy. President Truman and Governor Warren both fancied

themselves as adventurers of sorts, and they thought it was fitting to present me with the

motorcycle since I was a chief at that time.”

“A chief? Grandfather, I never knew that you were a chief.”

“Well, I never claimed the title, but I was already doing the work, so the tribe

declared me Chief. I thought it was a pretty good thing. It seemed to impress people.

Some of the old-timers remembered my father, so lots of people in Sacramento and D.C.

liked to have their picture taken with me. When Warren was named Chief Justice, I wrote

to him and told him that both of us were chiefs then.”

“Now why am I not surprised?” Shine stood back and looked at the motorcycle.

“Oh, man!” he said, admiring the bike. “Oh man, oh man! I can’t believe it! Do you know

what this bike’s worth?”

“Yes,” the man said, “You said it’s worth enough to buy me a new house.”

“Well, a little house,” Shine said, “maybe not a mansion.”

“By the way, Shine,” his grandfather said, “sometime soon we need to go over

your stocks and accounts. If you plan to stay around here, you can pull out some and get

you a place. Home prices are way up from eight years ago.”

“No, not yet, Grandfather,” Shine replied, “I thought I would hang out here with

you for awhile if that’s okay. I have too much to do right now, but maybe later.”

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 “I like that idea better too, Grandson. I won’t always be around though. You need

to be able to take over all the accounts when I’m gone, so I’m going to have to insist that

you at least know how to find everything.”

“Okay. But I’ve got too much on my mind right this minute; maybe later tonight.”

“I’m holding you to it, Shine. After dinner, we’ll need a couple of hours or so to

go over things. I can see that right now you’ve got Indian Chief on your mind.”

Shine looked at his grandfather and grinned. “Yup. That and a damsel in distress.”

“Ah, the pretty Indian princess! You don’t keep secrets from me very well, do you

Grandson?”

“No need to, Gramps. You already know more than you’re letting on.”

They locked the barn and led the horses out of the corral. On the way back to the

cabin, Shine talked excitedly about the motorcycle his grandfather had given him, and

how very good it was to be back home. His heart told him that this was right. He had

rather be in the solitude of the deep woods with his grandfather, than in the best hotel in

the world. This is home!

As they rode toward the cabin, Andrew Darkcloud watched the forest,

occasionally looking back over his shoulder. They were out there, that much he knew.

Shine kept the conversation going, but he noticed that his grandfather kept touching his

bow, as if to assure himself that it was ready should he need it quickly.

Chapter 38

His watch read 8:33 P. M., and traffic on the Embarcadero had declined fewer

vehicles by the time Earl began his search. He drove along unhurriedly, scanning the

streets and sidewalks right and left. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other

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resting on the old revolver on the seat beside him, he hunted. Visions of casinos and

jackpots and shoot-outs played in his head, entertaining his restive mind with their untold

possibilities.

In the store earlier that day he heard Jeff had whisper to Skate that they were to

meet someone named Benny at the corner of Harrison and 1st around nine P. M. He

figured that he had a bit over 20 minutes to find them.

Then up ahead on the right he saw a man alone, walking unsteadily toward the

Ferry Building. Earl eased the car closer to study him. His rumpled, mismatched clothes

tagged him as one of the hundreds of homeless that walk the streets of the city.

They are the defectors of society, the castaways, and the lost souls. Yet while the

hordes of the employed toil at their trades in the city, tied to their desks and computers,

cash resisters and cabs, the homeless have the freedom to roam the streets without need of

calendar or clock. The price of that freedom is concrete beds and cold, damp nights. Still

for some, there is a willingness to pay for it in order to avoid the system. The government

run programs have failed them, but not because government is bad. With limited funds

allotted to the cause, the social services cannot be diverse enough to please every

benefactor. Moreover, it is not particularly a failing government. In the perception of the

needy, the system is that mega-political machine that chains its victims with regulations

and responsibilities, laws and taxes, and bleeds the populace of every hard-earned cent.

Many have simply given up.

A profound sadness broods in the eyes of San Francisco’s disenfranchised street

denizens. They are someone’s father and mother, someone’s son and daughter, someone

who was one time a wife, a husband, a brother or sister or friend. Does someone

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somewhere love them? What misfortunes, what choices have separated them from the

mainstream of society? Regardless of the hardships they endure, they have committed

themselves to surviving in an antagonistic environment for some reason. While staying

alive one more day is each one’s goal, they doggedly follow the routine that works for

them. Yet, in one of the world’s most exciting and powerful cities, to remove them from

those streets would be equal to a death sentence.

Oddly, Earl feels no pity for them. Merely touching such a one would be to him

equivalent to bedding down with a leper. He shudders at the thought of it.

Chapter 39

There were two sets of headlights meeting him and one car behind him. He

signaled and drove around the block. After the third maneuver, there were no other cars

on the street. The man had stopped and was leaning against a building on his right.

Earl rolled down the passenger window of the station wagon and slowed to a stop.

The street was quiet and no vehicle lights were in sight. He picked up the Colt and pulled

back the hammer. “Hey there! Hey fella! I’ve got something here for you over here,” he

called out.

The old man, thinking he was about to get a few dollars, but still hesitant, took a

couple of steps toward the car to see who it was. Earl, over on the driver’s side said, “It’s

ok, look here what I got for you.”

The man drew near for a closer look. When he saw Earl’s other face, he let out a

yelp and stumbled backward. The last thing the old man heard was the loud boom of the

single-action Colt in Earl’s hand. He fell like a tall sack of potatoes and lay still; his only

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movement discernable was the brief twitching of his hands. His heart had exploded from

the blast and blood immediately began to pool under and around him.

That was the first time Big Earl had ever used a gun to kill. When he had pushed

his brother-in-law off the hotel balcony twenty-eight floors high, he heard him scream,

and watched him fall. It still gave him a pleasing rush to replay it in his mind. Putting

poison in Johnny Flannigan’s salad was not any fun at all. All he got from that was

watching some ugly choking and whining and a slow sickening death. He had to do it that

way, though; Johnny was opening an antique business across the street beside the liquor

store. Those dumb yoyos had to go. You have to deal with competition. Yes Sir!

Earl had pointed the gun at the man and pulled the trigger. The deafening boom

that echoed inside the car and a blaze of fire shot out the barrel were unexpected. The gun

rocked back in his hand, almost causing him to drop it. His ears were still ringing and his

hand hurt where the hammer kicked into the top of his fist from the recoil.

The man had dropped not five feet away from the car. Earl moved quickly to the

passenger window to get a closer look. Pleased with the results, he jerked the shift lever

into gear and punched the accelerator. The car’s tires screamed on the pavement as he

raced away.

Earl’s hands were shaking and his right hand ached. He turned the dome light on

and saw that the gun’s hammer had gashed him between his thumb and index finger.

There was no time to bandage his hand. He had a more pressing matter.

Still euphoric, he replayed the shooting in his mind. Recalling and savoring each

detail, he began to giggle. He had been watching the old man’s eyes when he shot him,

watching his expression of horror and fear when the man saw Earl’s face and saw the gun.

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 Earl sped through the first red light before he realized it. It would not do to attract

attention. He reduced his speed and kept going until he got to Market Street, where he

turned southwest back to 1st. Earl still had things to do.

Heading toward the Bay Bridge on 1st, he had only gone two blocks when he saw

them up ahead on the left. They were on the way to meet someone and paying no

attention to the car slowly dogging them. Jeff was wearing the same coat he had on in the

store, and his friend had pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head to protect himself

from the night chill. Dumb, stupid kids, Earl thought. Not enough sense to know how

dangerous these streets are.

He rolled down the window a couple of inches and called out to them, “Hey, you

guys! I got something for you.”

Jeff and Skate were surprised to see Earl’s old red station wagon across the street.

They glanced at each other, and then jogged over to where Earl was. Instead of rolling

down the window more, he said, “It’s me, Big Earl. I saw you in my store today.”

“Hey, Mr. Farley!” Jeff called out. “Where are you headed? Are you going to be

going to Oakland tonight?

“No, but I’ll tell you what. You fellas interested in some good dope?”

“No, man. We don’t touch that stuff. We’re just going to see some friends in

Oakland.”

And pigs can fly, Earl thought. Stranger things have happened.

“Is that so? Well, I don’t want to slow you down, but I got some prime stuff right

here.”

Skate was pulling on Jeff’s arm and saying, “This guy is seriously strange, man.

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Come on, Jeff, let’s get out of here. I mean it, Man. You didn’t see him like I did.”

“Yeah, but I was standing right there too, Dude, and I didn’t see nothing. It’s that

meth, Man. It makes you see things that aren’t there. Listen, think about it. If we can get it

here, we don’t have to go to Oakland. Think about it man, we stay here we can hook up

with Vicky tonight.”

“What kind of stuff have you got, Mr. Farley?”

“I got some coke. You guys like coke?”

That’s when both of the guys decided it may be worth the risk to see what Earl had

with him. They tried to see into the car, but Earl kept the window almost closed. Jeff was

saying, “How much do you have? How much are you asking for it? We got some money,

Man.”

Earl chuckled and said, “We can’t do no dealing right here out on the street – too

many cops around. But I’ll tell you what, fellas. See that alley over there right behind

you?”

They turned and Jeff pointed to the dark alley and said, “Yeah, you mean right

there?”

“That’s the one,” he replied. “You boys just go down that alley and I’ll go around

the block, check for cops, and I’ll drive back to where you’re at. But you be there, ya

hear?”

The boys jogged across the street and down the dark alley while Earl circled the

block twice and returned to the entrance of the alley. He turned off his lights and slowly

steered the old station wagon between the buildings.

Halfway down the alley the two boys were waiting, anxious to get their hands on

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the cocaine Earl had promised. Earl stopped just short of where the boys were waiting and

stepped out of the car with the old revolver held close to his right thigh. He could see Jeff

and Skate silhouetted in the streetlight. The lack of light behind him gave him a distinct

advantage. He could see them well, but they could not see him clearly.

“I’m glad you boys stuck around,” he grunted, warily circling the two. “Come on

and see for yourself. You’re going to be real surprised when you see what I got here. No

need for you to waste your valuable time hitching over to Oakland, when I got the best

right here in my hand.” Earl had his thumb on the hammer, savoring the moment. “Either

of you ever had any coke before?”

“No, but I always wanted to try it,” Skate said. “About all we can get is pot and

meth. That other stuff is hard to get and they want a fortune for it. I’d like to try some

though, if it’s not too expensive.”

“It’s not expensive at all, boys. In fact, I’m going to give it to you. Believe me,

when you get a taste of what I got, you won’t ever smoke pot again, I promise you.”

“Can we see some of it?” Skate said, with an air of bravado. “We need to get

going. We’re supposed to meet someone.”

“You betcha, fellas. Big Earl always keeps his promises, in one way or another.”

Hesitantly, they approached Earl, desperately wanting what he had, while still

sensing that his promise seemed too good to be true.

Chapter 40

When they were close enough, Earl stepped into the light. Now both boys saw his

other face. The hog-like thing lifted its head and let out a squeal that reverberated

126
between the walls of the alley. By the time the boys realized the danger they were in, it

was too late.

Earl raised the gun and fired. Even at that close range, the first shot missed, going

over Jeff’s head and ricocheting off a brick wall. Earl corrected his aim and the second

one caught Jeff in the chest, blowing him back against the wall where he fell, facedown.

Skates turned and ran down the dark alley toward the street light. That was a mistake. It

gave Earl a clear target.

Earl pointed the gun ineptly toward the boy, fired twice and missed, but the third

shot hit Skate in the shoulder and knocked him down not more than thirty or forty feet

from where Earl stood. The grinning ghoul hurried to him and stood over the terrified boy

like a feral forest beast, grunting his sordid pleasure.

Skate had seen Earl’s other face, and he knew that Earl was more than a simple

killer. The thing he saw was not Big Earl the antique dealer, but something far different.

Jeff was already dead, and for no reason that Skate could think of. He tried to crawl away,

but Earl put his boot in the middle of the teen’s back and pushed him back down.

“Whoa there, cowboy,” Earl said. “We still got some business to take care of. That

don’t hurt none, does it? We wouldn’t want that. I got what you need for pain. I promise

you, Boy, we can get rid of that pain for good.” Earl cocked the hammer.

Skate wished he had never taken his first toke of pot, and that he hadn’t

experimented with meth. He wished he had stayed in church as his grandmother begged

him to, and had stayed out of trouble. He even told Jeff that when he got older, he was

going to get his life straight and get into college. But it was too late. Oh God, oh God, he

thought, I’m going to die tonight in this alley. I need to pray and I don’t know how.

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 He thought about his mother, who was addicted to prescription drugs and who was

just as lost as he was, and his father, who had left six years before and never called, not

even on his birthdays. He thought about his little sister who adored him – the girl for

whom he had no time.

He thought of his grandmother, who had nursed him when he was sick; who had

taken him to Sunday school and church; who had bought school clothes for him every

year ever since he could remember…and he remembered her teaching him a prayer when

he was small. He remembered… Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to

keep, if I should die before I wake…. Earl fired the last shot.

The smell of gunpowder was strong in the alley. Earl slipped the empty revolver

under his belt. A quick search through Skate’s pockets yielded a zip-lock bag of

marijuana, a meth pipe and some money in his wallet. Earl had no use for the pot or the

pipe, he had other ways of getting high, better ways. He stuck the money in his own

pocket and dragged the boy over to the wall. He moved hastily, anticipating that someone

may have heard the shooting and called the cops.

Jeff lay back near the car, crumpled against the wall where Earl had shot him. In

the boy’s pockets, Earl found more cash. He would count it later, but for now, he needed

to get moving before anybody came.

The big red station wagon pulled cautiously out of the alley with its lights off. Earl

saw a few cars in the area, but he was confident that they had not heard the gunshots, or

the cops would already be there. As he approached the Embarcadero, he turned on his

headlights and swung the car to the left, following the street along the piers. Within a few

blocks, the traffic became much denser. More people and more vehicles meant a better

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chance of remaining anonymous. Blending in with the traffic, he continued along the

Embarcadero until he came to Lombard, where he turned left toward the Golden Gate

Bridge.

The Saturday night traffic was heavy near the bridge. As the bumper-to-bumper

traffic had slowed to a standstill, he pulled out all the money he had taken from Skate and

Jeff and counted it. He was surprised to count over twenty-six hundred dollars. They had

been busy boys. He had not questioned them about where they actually got the gun Earl

had purchased from them, but he had a good idea. Next to drug dealing and prostitution,

burglary was the most common crime in the city. He put the money in a bank bag and

locked it in the glove box.

Ahead, near the bridge where the traffic was the densest, were the flashing lights

of emergency vehicles and highway patrol cars. Earl reloaded the old revolver, slipped it

into the holster and slid it under the seat.

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