One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 13, page 3

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Detective Sétıpímo Marıdaré stood on the outside of the group of Pívo County lawmen and Colonial Enforcers. They were supposed to be coordinating and organizing the hunt for a man named Zhíno and a Narakamíníkan woman named Fírí Parizada, who owned the brown Sonla sedan, but instead they were fighting about who lost track of the suspects and who beat Pí‘oro Kılímo so much he had a heart attack.

Sétıpímo spat a stream of brown tobacco juice onto the desert soil and resumed chewing. He didn’t want to stay out here all night. He should be in bed right now. If these Koro-heads couldn’t resolve their conflicts by themselves, it was up to him to do it for them.

A young medic raced out of the house and sprinted past, already breathing hard.

“Men!” Sétıpímo yelled. “Men! Shut the plagues up!” He waded into the group of policemen, grabbing the first county lawman he saw. “Laparıpasamé, shut up and go stand over there--quietly!”

The young man looked like he was about to scream something, but caught himself short and replied, “Yes, sir.”

As Laparıpasamé sulked away, Sétıpímo grabbed another lawman, doing the same thing, with the same results. He then came to the red-faced Senior Lawman Vomıvé, who was nose-to-nose with one of the Colonial Enforcers. Both were yelling at the top of their lungs straight at each other, but Sétıpímo couldn’t understand either of them.
The detective grabbed Vomıvé’s shoulder and spun him around. The lawman started to throw a punch, but held himself up just in time.

“Plague of Kínıtíní!” cursed Vomıvé. “What are you doing, Marıdaré?”

Sétıpímo couldn’t help but smile as he chewed his tobacco. “What am I doing? What the plagues are you doing? You’re going to get yourself demoted if you keep this up.”

Vomıvé rubbed his eyes with one hand.

The surrounding men started to quiet down, except for a couple people yelling incoherently over by the front door. One didn’t sound like a male voice. Sétıpímo and most of the others peered past each other toward this new disturbance.

A second paramedic ran out of the house, his arms clutching his head. “She’s gone crazy!”

Behind him, Vata Kılímí screeched, “And stay out!” just before she slammed the door shut.

The younger medic raced up to his boss, clutching a plastic cube in his hand. “I’ve got the battery. What’s going on?”

The assembled men erupted into a chorus of yells.

Sétıpímo spat his tobacco, trying to miss everyone’s shoes. “Aw, plagues,” he muttered.

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