One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 16, page 3

(start of book) (start of chapter) (previous page)



Umo Amuéné stared at the northeasterly horizon as he leaned against the side of his automobile. The sky in that direction had passed indigo and sapphire and was turning grayish azure, with the first hints of apricot. The sun would be up soon.

In all likelihood, the police had the smuggled weapons in their possession. Zhudıro couldn’t be clever enough to hide them successfully and it seemed terribly unlikely that he’d be able to take them with him once he left his auto behind. And yet Gogzhuè had not mentioned any report of their finding. Therefore, the police were keeping quiet about the guns for some reason.

Lango paced back and forth alongside the auto, hemmed in by desert scrub brush and small boulders. He had cracked his knuckles till they wouldn’t crack anymore, but that didn’t stop him from pushing and stretching his fingers in the same manner.

“And the way they serve their tea? It’s uncivilized. No sugar? Hot? How can they stand--”

“Lango,” Umo drawled, “shut up.” Umo’s eyes never left the impending sunrise.

His partner thankfully stopped talking.

If the police had the weapons in the constabulary building, Umo and Lango would need to wait till the full-scale search began, so the police’s attention would be elsewhere. If Zhudıro was actually competent at hiding the weapons, Umo and Lango would need to wait till more autos populated the streets, so they wouldn’t be as conspicuous driving around town. And so they waited.

A gust of wind stirred the bushes, tugging at the folds of Umo’s jumpsuit and tousling his hair. He gently combed it back into place with one hand. Lango stopped pacing and used both hands to check his own hair, which was too highly gelled to have moved in the first place.

Gogzhuè had reported that the only person in police custody was a man named Bhanar Narak. It seemed so unlikely, and yet that was a unique name. There were no Naraks but the imperial family. There was no Bhanar Narak but the emperor himself. How in Pétíso’s hells had His Imperial Majesty gotten mixed up in this?

Emperor Bhanar was being held at the constable’s local office. Umo had to break him out. If he and Lango had to steal the weapons from there, they could surely help the emperor escape at the same time. Lango wouldn’t like it, but he’d follow orders.

The short and slimy man had resumed pacing, which led to a resumption of talking. “When Rívorí and all the worlds are united under Èmmwımwènhı’s law, only then will we have civilization. Only then will we have peace. Only then will we have common decency, morality, and obedience. Why can’t they see it? They need Èmmwımwènhı. They need Gogzhuè.”

Umo closed his eyes and pulled a handgun from a hidden pocket of his jumpsuit’s tunic. He pointed it at his pacing partner.

“Lango?”

The small man gulped and instantly quieted.

“Thank you.” Umo returned the gun to its holster.

Where was I? Umo opened his eyes and stared at the orange-tinged horizon. Rescuing the emperor. But would that help His Majesty? A fugitive’s life is not the life for an emperor. No, as much as it chafed him, Umo had to let His Majesty stay in jail.

How could he assist Emperor Bhanar, then? Pay his bail. Hire an attorney. Assure he’s proven innocent and released as quickly as possible.

Umo rubbed his jaw.

It would sure be nice to know what His Majesty was arrested for. Surely the police didn’t think he had anything to do with the Enforcer’s murder.

Umo had to pin the blame definitively on Zhudıro. It was all his fault, anyway, so it shouldn’t be too hard. He just hoped the constabulary was open to reason.

(next page)