One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 16, page 8

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Pí‘oro Kılímo grabbed a couple lengths of rope off a nail in the stable wall and reached for Fírí’s duffel bag.

“Give me that,” he whispered.

She shook her head as she took the roan horse’s bridle in her hand. “I’ll carry it ahead of me for now. Let’s get out of here.”

Pí‘oro shoved the rope in a saddlebag. He doubted she could ride with that bulky bag in her lap, but they didn’t have time to argue. He led the Zhíno-laden horse, a gray mare, out of the stable and through the back gate. Much to his surprise, Fírí successfully led the roan out of the yard right behind him.

“Put your left foot in that . . .” he began as he closed the gate.

Fírí deftly vaulted herself up into the saddle, her duffel already balanced on the horse’s back. Grinning widely, she whispered, “Come on, old man. Let’s go!”

Not quite the city girl I took her for.

Pushing through the lingering pain in his legs, back, and arms, Pí‘oro heaved himself on top of the gray, careful not to kick Zhíno, who was laid over the horse’s rump.

“That way?” Fírí pointed at the main trail northward.

“For now.” Pí‘oro tapped his horse’s ribs and she started walking.

Fírí flicked her reins and kicked the roan’s sides. The horse jumped forward into a gallop. Without a glance over his shoulder, Pí‘oro nudged his gray to chase.

As the sun peeked over the horizon, they tore up the sandy trail. The wind whipped their faces, cool and fresh.

Pí‘oro held back a whoop of joy because of the police, but the urge stayed strong in his chest. They were free. The adventure had just begun.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 16, page 7

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Séara Nulıpésha slapped her alarm clock several times before she realized that the repetitive shrill sound was actually her telephone ringing and not the clock. Her face still firmly implanted in her pillow, she reached for the telephone. Her hand found the receiver and she brought it to her, rolling her head slightly so she could mumble distinctly.

“Hello?”

“Nulıpésha, this is Senior Lawman Vomıvé.”

Séara’s heart started pounding heavy. Had he read her report? Was he about to discharge her? She rolled onto her back, fully awake. “Yes, sir.”

“Tamé Vékídıpaíro hasn’t towed the autos from the Kılímo house yet. Those vehicles are evidence. He’s not answering his telephone, either. Go get him.”

What was this about Tamé? Séara shook her head in confusion.

“Have you read my report from last night?”

Vomıvé snorted. “I don’t have time to be reading reports. Look. I don’t care if you have to drag that Nazhoro out of bed by force, but just get him.”

Vomıvé slammed down his receiver, leaving a ringing in Séara’s ear. She reached over to the nightstand and set her receiver in its cradle. Yawning profusely, she kicked away her sheet and blanket and stood.

She wasn’t fired. She had to work today.

Through the ten-centimeter gap in the curtains, she could see sunlight dusting the tops of the cottonwoods across the street, golden leaves rustling in the breeze.

After turning off her alarm clock, Séara trudged down the hall to the bathroom. If the vehicles had spent the night alongside the highway without trouble, they could wait a few minutes more.

Vomıvé knew that Séara’d had as little sleep as all the other lawpersons in Tuhanı, but he had called her, woken her up before her alarm rang. That’s just the way he thought. Give the menial tasks to Nulıpésha. It’s all that she can handle.

Well, if she wasn’t fired yet, she’d show him what she could handle. She’d be the best darned lawperson around. She’d help catch the guy who murdered the Enforcer. She’d do whatever it took to get that promotion to the equestrian squad.

She quickly washed her hands and ran back to her bedroom. Hurriedly, she pulled off her oversized t-shirt and changed into her black uniform. She strapped on her belt as she headed for the front door.

Vomıvé was insane to expect promptness from Tamé, but if Séara had to beat down the repairperson’s door and get him out of bed at gunpoint, she’d do it. For as long as she had a duty to the people of Tuhanı and Pívo County, she would fulfill that obligation to the best of her ability.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 16, page 6

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Fírí Parızada lugged her duffel bag of shoes and cash across the front room to the kitchen. She’d worked hard to embezzle this money; she wasn’t about to leave it behind--especially if the police weren’t going to catch her with it.

The old man, Pí‘oro, had already carried Zhíno out to the stable. It was weird how their assurances of a changed Zhíno matched her dream-that-wasn’t-quite-a-dream. The old couple couldn’t possibly know about that. Maybe there was some truth to this magic, after all. Fírí didn’t have time to argue the point, anyway. She had to get out of there.

Vata stood at the large wooden table, preparing sandwiches. Oranges, bottles of water, and other, hidden items were already packed in leather saddlebags sitting open. The sandwiches looked to be all ham and cheese.

“I’m a vegetarian,” Fírí huffed. Why don’t people ever ask? Koro-brain hicks.

The old woman didn’t look up. “Then pick off the meat, dear.”

Ire rose in Fírí’s chest, but she held her tongue. The sun was almost up and the police would surely arrive any minute.

Vata wrapped the final sandwich in clear plastic and set the stack of five or six into a saddlebag, flipping the bag’s lid shut.

The back door opened and in snuck Pí‘oro.

“The horses are ready. Zhíno’s secured,” he whispered. His eyes focused on Fírí’s duffel. “What’s that?”

“My belongings. If you can take Zhíno, I can take this.”

She wasn’t about to tell them about the cash. Just because she trusted them to get her across the desert, it didn’t mean she had to trust them about anything else.

Pí‘oro grunted and turned to pick up the saddlebags off the table.

“Goodbye, darling.” A bag in each hand, the old man bent over to kiss his wife.

“Go in His name, dearest,” Vata softly replied.

Out the door, Pí‘oro and Fírí scurried. The farmyard, which had seemed so spooky at night, was now mundane in its simplicity. Faded-wood shacks, water basins, food troughs, a chainlink fence for the enclosure, and a wild variety of animals, from housecats to gazelles. The varied animals barely looked at the two humans as they trotted across the soft ground.

The cool air soaked through Fírí’s lungs, invigorating her. She was on the move again. It was good to be alive.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 16, page 5

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Zhíno Zhudıro watched the swirling colors draw near and recede in the blackness. There was not much else for him to do.

Had he successfully communicated with Fírí? It had seemed like they’d had a conversation, but perhaps he had merely imagined it. She’d been her normal obstinate, Viti-tiwn self, that was for sure. Hopefully she was sincere in accepting his apology.

The purple light that was Pí‘oro approached Zhíno. The light seemed stronger--zippier--than before, as if the old man was energized and excited about something. Zhíno considered diving into the violet storm to attempt a conversation. If something exciting was happening, Zhíno wanted to know about it. This black void grew duller by the minute.

Zhíno zoomed toward Pí‘oro’s purple light, but the swirl receded. What the plagues? Is the old man avoiding me?

He accelerated, but the light dwindled away, leaving Zhíno alone in a featureless, colorless, everythingless void.

Plague of Ríhíví. Now what?

Nothing. He was surrounded by absolute nothing. The seconds and minutes dragged into eternity.

The colored lights had been boring at the time, but now they seemed as thrilling as galloping with the buffalo had been. If only he hadn’t given part of his lifeforce to Pí‘oro, he could still be cavorting through the worlds with the animal spirits.

Not now, though.

Now, he was utterly alone.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 16, page 4

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Detective Sétıpímo Marıdaré drank half his cup of coffee and clunked it down on his kitchen table. A few drops of the dark liquid splashed over the rim onto his sheets of notepaper. Sétıpímo absentmindedly blotted the drops with the heel of his hand.

The Enforcer had been shot at close range, which seemed to indicate he had been surprised, which would preclude the two rifles as murder weapons. Which left the handgun. The fingerprints on the semiautomatic belonged to one Zhíno Zhudıro of Narakamíníkı, who lived at the same address as Fírí Parızada, who owned the Sonla auto.

Pí‘oro’s story, as related by Lieutenant Nıgédazo, was checking out.

Sétıpímo lifted his breakfast plate and pulled papers out from underneath. He found his notes from his Nıgédazo interview and scanned them with one chubby finger.

Except for the broken legs.

The detective stabbed the last of a sausage link with his fork and stuffed it in his mouth.

Why on Rívorí would Pí‘oro lie about the foreign kid’s broken legs? And why, for that matter, would the kid claim his legs had been healed via miracle?

He swigged the remainder of his coffee, washing down the sausage.

Since Bhanar Narak had no twin, Nıgédazo had to be mistaken about his legs being broken. There was no other logical explanation. True, rumors had floated around the town for years about Vata’s supposed healing powers, but just because she was a devout worshipper of Névazhíno and helped people often, it didn’t mean there was any truth to the stories. Magical healings like that just didn’t happen. Narak’s claim of a miracle must be caused by stress and panic.

“Or the fact that he’s a foreigner and therefore can’t speak Sarıman worth gooseshit.” Which left the kid’s words open to Nigédazo’s mistranslation.

Sétıpímo had yet to talk directly to Narak, but he had seen him on television news reports before--far more often than he’d have liked.

The pseudo-emperor was probably innocent, but the detective certainly wanted to talk to him this morning. See if he’d calmed down and had a chance to rethink his miracle claim, or if he’d even made the claim at all.

Sétıpímo set his empty plate on a stack of file folders so he could spread out his notes. He pulled his tobacco can from his pocket and pinched a wad.

If Zhudıro had shot the Enforcer, he was probably the man stealing the auto from Tamé’s parking lot. But why would he need to steal an auto when he already had one? Why would he and Parızada have separated?

The detective shoved the wad of tobacco in his mouth and started chewing.

And why the plagues did they shoot at Narak?

Sétıpímo had a lot of answers, but he had even more questions piling up every minute. Zhudıro had to have been worried about something. Sétıpímo was missing a big piece to this puzzle.

It was a pity the Sonla’s trunk release lever was broken. They hadn’t been able to force the lid up, either. Perhaps an important clue lay inside.

Hopefully Tamé had gotten the autos to the precinct headquarters already. Knowing Tamé, however, it was more likely the towtruck driver was still in bed, sleeping off a hangover.

Sétıpímo spat into his spittoon with a dull clang. The sun was almost up. It was time for everyone else to arise, as well.

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

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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.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 16, page 2

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Vata Kılímí ran the bathroom sink faucet, splashing cold water on her face with both hands. It was quarter till five o’clock, earlier than she typically arose. She usually had more than an hour’s sleep, as well, but Pí‘oro’s emotions had awoken her. He had said he would sleep in the front room, since the guest bed wasn’t large enough for both of them, but apparently he had woken up.

She dried her face and hands with a fluffy pink towel.

Pí‘oro’s emotions had changed abruptly from agitation to excitement. Something was happening that Vata couldn’t sleep through. He still had antagonism bubbling inside him, but it was deeper within than before.

She exited the bathroom, turning off the lights, and shuffled down the dark hallway. Vata smiled contentedly. The carpet was smooth and clean under her slippers.

What had excited Pí‘oro? The only things he got excited about these days were panelball games on the television and horseback riding. Vata pursed her lips. And being the center of attention while he complains about anything and everything. The house was too quiet for that, though.

As she crossed the front room toward the kitchen, she heard soft voices and movement from ahead.

“Dear?” she quietly called, announcing her presence.

Pí‘oro’s bulk filled the doorway, silhouetted by dim light coming from outside the windows. The sky was beginning to lighten, although true dawn was still most of an hour away.

“Good morning, darling,” greeted Pí‘oro with a chipper whisper.

Before Vata could ask a question, her husband held up his index finger and continued in a low voice, “I know you said to stay here, but I can’t. The police will get in here no matter what Ríko promised you. They still have this kitchen to examine and my body to collect.” He snorted a laugh. “And I can’t let Fírí die by herself in the desert, can I?”

You’re helping Fírí? For once, Pí‘oro seemed genuinely desirous of helping others, rather than grumpily doing what he knew was right.

Without Pí‘oro, though, Vata didn’t know if she’d be able to handle the chaos that would erupt. He was her ally, her support, her rock.

He was probably correct about the police, though. Ríko would have to let the lawmen inside if they pushed him. If they did a thorough search, perhaps they’d even find the chapel. No one could hide in there. Nothing incriminating could be left in there.

“What about Zhíno?” Vata asked.

“We’ll take him with us.”

“What?” hissed Fírí.

Pí‘oro turned toward the blonde girl, who was out of sight over by the refrigerator.

“I can’t abandon him--not after what we’ve been through.” His voice caught, as if he were going to say something further, but thought better of it.

He’s keeping Névazhíno and the afterlife from her.

Once Vata had made the decision to aid Zhíno, she couldn’t throw him to the police now, when he was in his most vulnerable state. It was odd, however, that Pí‘oro had joined the young man’s cause so fervently. He always backed Vata’s decisions, but that didn’t usually mean carrying them a step or four further. Pí‘oro’s experience in the afterlife with Névazhíno had obviously altered him, but it seemed as if he was altered in only one manner, that being his loyalty to Zhíno. It was almost as if part of Zhíno’s spirit had intertwined with Pí‘oro’s, as if the essence of the young man was somehow controlling part of her husband. But that’s crazy.

Vata stepped close behind her husband, so she could see Fírí. To them both, she said, “Yes, you should take Zhíno with you.”

Fírí opened her mouth to speak, but just shook her head slightly, large eyes wide.

“Please, dear.” Vata held out a calming hand toward the girl. “Zhíno may have attacked you, threatened you, killed a Colonial Enforcer, and shot at that poor foreign kid, but that’s all in the past. He has since seen the Love of the Universe. Névazhíno changes people.”

Pí‘oro nodded and softly growled, “Zhíno is a new man. Trust us.”

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