One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 19, page 2

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Detective Sétıpímo Marıdaré grumbled as he walked through the door to the visitors’ lobby, chewing on a wad of tobacco. Lawman Ruéshé, who had called him, stood in the center of the room with two men with the jumpsuits and slicked-back pompadours of Èmmwımwènhese. Sétıpímo couldn’t for the life of him figure out why these two needed his attention.

“What in Pétíso’s hells is going on, Ruéshé?” He spat into the glass bottle he carried with him.

The lawman took a step forward, disengaging the strangers from the conversation. “These two men are Union agents. Their badges check out. They’re here to take over the Zhudıro investigation.”

“This is gooseshit.” Sétıpímo fought the urge to spit on their polished black-leather shoes. “These two work for the Union? Dressed like Névo-brain zealots?”

The taller of the two Èmmwımwènhese--wearing sunglasses indoors--replied calmly, “These are merely disguises. I am Agent Sívıposomé from the Union Investigative Department. We have infiltrated a criminal gang, of which Zhudıro is but a small part. He’s just a runner. We need to catch him and confiscate whatever he may have been transporting. It’s vital to our mission.”

“Transporting”? Was that why Zhudıro sealed his auto’s trunk? It would also explain why he was so jumpy when Enforcer Sıvího stopped him, why he was so quick to pull the trigger. Sétıpímo spat tobacco juice into his bottle. I need to get that sedan’s trunk’s open. “You may assist us, but we’re conducting an active investigation and search in connection with the murder of a police officer. Your little crime ring of stolen goods is secondary.”

Through a clenched jaw, Agent Sívıposomé snapped, “Don’t mess with me, detective. You’ve getting into something way over your head. If you shut us out, it will be the end of your career. I promise you. If you help us, though, your name won’t go down on the list of the most obstructionist small-town policemen in history.”

Sétıpímo seethed. Jabbing a finger at the agent, he snarled, “This is my investigation, Ahísıhíta damn it. Quit wasting my time.”

He spun on his heel, heading back for the office door, planning to go straight to Zhudıro’s auto and bust open the trunk by any means necessary. The Union agent was just a Huro punk, offering nothing but threats.

“Wait a minute,” spoke the agent. “I was out of line.”

Sétıpímo paused and turned. He stared at Agent Sívıposomé, as did the other agent and Lawman Ruéshé. What brought about this sudden apology?

The slick agent shrugged. “We’re all on the same team here. I’ll give you all the background information I have on Zhudıro, and you can let me see what evidence you’ve collected.”

The detective harrumphed. If these guys had anything helpful, then perhaps he’d help them. But that seemed unlikely, since they’d come in as bossy as Nuvíní.

Sticking out his hand, Agent Sívıposomé asked, “Deal?”

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 19, page 1

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Chapter 19: Back in the Light



Emperor Bhanar of the House of Narakamíníkı broke into a grin when the faintly-smiling Lawwoman Nulıpésha entered the interrogation room.

“I thought I never again see you,” he blurted, then winced. Don’t be a Névazhíno-brain.

Nulıpésha smiled fully at his gaffe, but it was a kind, beautiful smile.

Changing the subject as quickly as possible, he asked, “Why are you here and not hunting Zhíno?”

Nulıpésha scowled--in a cute way--and replied, “They still think of me as a little girl, despite my training. I wish I could be out there, bringing that Zhéporé-spawn to justice--pardon my language.”

“That’s all right.” Bhanar had never heard anyone apologize for saying “Zhéporé-spawn” before. He had to remember to curb his tongue.

Abruptly, the policewoman announced, “You’re being released. You’re free to go.”

The invisible weight on Bhanar’s spirit suddenly released. He sprang to his feet, almost knocking over the chair.

“Is this true?” His face stretched into a wild grin.

The cute woman nodded.

The detective had believed him. Bhanar hadn’t thought it possible, especially without the lie-detector test. But his honesty and conviction had shone through the incredibility of his story. Thank you, Zhíanoso!

From a loudspeaker in the ceiling, a man’s voice said, “Detective Marıdaré, please report to the visitors’ entrance.”

Nulıpésha furrowed her brow slightly in response to the announcement. Bhanar didn’t give it much thought.

The policewoman turned and opened the door back towards the cells. She glanced over he shoulder with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Don’t worry. It’s the shortest way back to the room we stored your wallet and keys.”

They proceeded down the cold, hard hallway to another door. Bhanar didn’t allow himself to look at his cell. That was in the past. He had to look to the future--his future as an emperor. An emperor with no political power. Somehow, he’d have to remedy that.

Maybe he could hold a press conference or something.

If he were an emperor with power, he could force the local police to let Nulıpésha assist in the search for Zhíno. But surely he could do almost as good now, just as a free person. He could track down the Zhéporé-spawn police murderer himself, and give Nulıpésha the credit.

“Do you want your truck brought here or to the auto repair shop?”

Bhanar blinked at the question, a complete non-sequitur from his line of thought.

“I want to go to my truck and see it myself, now in daytime.” Perhaps the damage wasn’t as bad as he thought.

“All right,” the cute policewoman replied without hesitation. “I can drive you there.”

Bhanar smiled, even though she was facing away. Her dazzling figure amazed her; her willingness to help him--her desire to remain close for as long as possible--excited him. She was a marvelous woman.

She deserved better than this town was treating her.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 18, page 10

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Umo Amuéné sat calmly in the driver’s seat of his parked auto, watching the tow truck turn into the precinct parking lot, Zhudıro’s brown sedan in tow. The reporters swarmed towards it, cameras rolling. As soon as it passed through the gate, though, they drifted back to the main entrance.

With so many civilians in the way, Umo and Lango couldn’t go in guns blazing. Even if they’re news reporters, they’re still unpredictable and innocent.

Lango cracked his thumb knuckles. “What are we waiting for? Let’s just bust in there, trust in Èmmwımwènhı, hallowed by his name, and let God save any innocents who happen to be in the way.” Umo knew his partner’s concept of “innocent” included only Èmmwımwènhese, and only devout Èmmwımwènhese at that.

Umo remained gazing at the precinct headquarters, showing no sign of even having heard Lango. Killing anyone and everyone in your way hardly followed the early teachings of Èmmwımwènhı. It was funny how thugs like Gogzhuè only paid heed to the Singing Prophet’s later lyrics, once he needed force to maintain power.

Briefly closing his eyes, Umo made his decision. They’d have to use their Union-agent badges. It was the only way. Pretend they had a investigation on Zhudıro, appropriate all the evidence--including the shipment of weapons. Clean and simple.

He pulled his semiautomatic pistol from his black jumpsuit and checked the magazine with deft motions. Umo refused to be like Gogzhuè--like Lango. He would follow the true message of Èmmwımwènhı. Unless his life was in danger.

Lango checked his own gun. Gleefully, he asked, “Well?”

If the guns weren’t there, they’d have to rejoin the hunt for the little Zhéporé-spawn, but at least they’d have plenty of extra bodies to help their search.

Perhaps he could figure out some way to tie Emperor Bhanar to his investigation. Require His Majesty’s custody. It was the least he could do for his emperor.

Still without facing his partner, Umo ordered, “We’ll take this calm and smooth. Get your Union badge out.” He slipped his handgun back into its holster. “It’s time to play agent.”

Lango whined wordlessly as Umo opened his door and stepped out onto the street. The inside of the auto had begun to heat up in the sun, but the fresh air hit him with a comforting breeze.

Dressed like orthodox Èmmwımwènhese in rhinestone-studded black jumpsuits, Umo knew the lawmen wouldn’t believe their badges. With enough imparted authority, however, one man could move mountains.

He closed the auto door and strode across the street. Lango’s shoes slapped the pavement as he hurried to catch up. Umo walked straight for the precinct front doors. The reporters and news crews melted out of his path. He ignored the cameras and shouted questions. Thankfully, Lango also said nothing. For a change.

In fact, Lango scurried ahead a few meters and opened the door for Umo. The suave gangster-cum-agent didn’t break stride as he entered the darkness. Through his sunglasses, he vaguely discerned a long desk across the lobby, a lawman in front of it. Behind Umo, Lango definitely snickered as he slammed the door on the gaggle of reporters.

In the sudden silence, the lawman asked, “May I help you?”

Umo flashed his leather-backed brass badge and announced, “We’re taking over the Zhudıro investigation. Give us everything you got.”

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 18, page 9

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Vata’s heart raced with a combination of exertion and excitement as she guided the cow through the secret door. With a quick glance back, she pushed the door shut. She’d seen no police.

“Thank you, Névazhíno,” she whispered between gulps of air.

As the cow wandered down the short hallway to the chapel, Vata leaned against the door, her throat rasping with every breath. She hadn’t spotted anybody outside, but she couldn’t look every direction. Someone might have seen her--or the door closing shut. Or heard the door closing.

Her pulse and breathing slowed slightly, but she felt a bit jittery. If the police had spotted her, there was nothing she could do now. She had to start the ceremony and complete it before anyone arrived. She needed Névazhíno’s help getting Pí‘oro back.

She pushed away from the door and hurried after the cow, who was already circling the chapel in exploration. As the cow sniffed her slippers by the inside door, Vata reached the shelves and opened the lid to the plastic box of medicine. With her wiry hands, she plucked out a vial of maximum-concentration tranquilizer and a new syringe.

Vata had helped Fírí and Zhíno, and this was how the young couple repaid her kindness. Most people were grateful and gracious, but not those two. They’d shown their gratitude by kidnapping her husband. With Névazhíno’s help, though, Vata would get him back.

She removed the cap from the needle and jabbed the needle through the rubber seal on the vial. As she pulled the tranquilizer into the syringe, Vata turned to face the cow.

“Come here, dear,” she cooed.

The cow turned at the sound of her voice, inquisitiveness cast in the cow’s huge brown eyes.

“That’s right. Come here.” Vata set the empty vial on a shelf and held out her hand to the cow.

The large animal started forward. Vata entered the circle of flaming braziers, enticing the cow to the altar. Vata knew she’d never get the cow on the stone slab, but she had to hope a sacrifice adjacent to the altar would still gain the attention of the Love of the Universe.

Once He saw her sacrifice, Névazhíno would surely assist His loyal priestess. He’d helped her with smaller tasks before, certainly. Like Judge Ríko’s infection or little Séara’s broken leg. Or Zhíno’s gunshot wounds, for that matter. The God of Animals would definitely rescue Pí‘oro’s stolen body and entrapped soul from the squabbling betrayers, definitely.

When the cow reached the altar, Vata stabbed her in the neck with the syringe. The cow bleated weakly, but Vata stroked her nose, murmuring, “It’s all right, my dear. You’ll be with Névazhíno soon.”

The cow’s eyelids drooped, changing the huge eyes to narrow slits. Her front legs buckled and she slammed to the dirt floor.

Vata hurried back to the shelves for her ceremonial knife. The time was now.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 18, page 8

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Zhíno Zhudıro heard someone talking. With all his might, he concentrated on the very familiar voice. It was the only other thing in his universe besides himself.

“. . . Zhíno? How did . . . you helping him?”

The slightly nasal, soft voice was now unmistakable. It was Fírí.

“Fírí!” Zhíno called out into the void. “Where are you?”

This wasn’t like when he talked to her before. Her swirling essence was nowhere to be found. He couldn’t dive into her colorful maelstrom to communicate. He obviously couldn’t communicate at all, since he got no response.

Another voice appeared, deep and male. “. . . Zhéporé-spawn god . . . heal Zhíno. And then Zhíno . . . afterlife and gave me his energy, his . . .”

Zhíno was exuberant. It was Pí‘oro! The old man was talking to Fírí, which meant he was alive--and even though Zhíno couldn’t hear all of it, it sure sounded like Pí‘oro knew that Zhíno had sacrificed himself for him.

Pí‘oro was still talking. “. . . back to life. I must . . . assist my brother.”

If there were anything to float on, Zhíno would have been buoyed by his sudden happiness. His soul brother was alive, and Pí‘oro considered Zhíno his brother, as well. Zhíno no longer regretted his actions in the slightest.

“Pí‘oro! Brother!” he shouted.

But there was no response. The voices had stopped.

Nevertheless, Zhíno’s soul smiled. He may not be able to communicate with them, but he at least knew that Fírí and Pí‘oro were safe and nearby.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 18, page 7

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Fírí Parızada and the old man reached the bottom of the gully and started riding their horses at a walk up the splashing creek, weaving between boulders exposed by the erosion. She glanced back up the hill, but couldn’t even see the rim of the gully from all the trees and bushes in the way. The pepper spray in her pocket was seeming less and less necessary, but she’d only feel truly secure once they arrived in Éíkızo and she ditched the old man and Zhíno.

Zhíno may have saved her life in the past, but he had threatened her life just last night. It had been a gradual change over the past year or so, his growing more and more violent, more and more crazy. There was no way in Pétíso’s hells that he’d changed back so suddenly.

Unless the Zhíno from her dream was reality; unless he truly had a life-changing otherworldly experience.

Fírí pursed her lips and sighed through her nose.

They arrived at the head of the gully, a small clearing with a clear pool of water in the center. Around the pool grew a carpet of moss and wildflowers--pink and purple and white sparkling in the green. Fírí’s gaze drifted upward to towering cottonwood trees, their tops twinkling in the breeze, hemmed in by cliffs on three sides almost as high. At the end of the gully was a cave--not much more than an overhang, but enough to disappear from view of any searching helicopters. Fírí scowled. It would suffice for a couple minutes, but they needed to get moving as soon as possible.

With the old man still on it, Pí‘oro’s gray waded into the pool and began to drink. Pí‘oro patted her shoulder. “Wait just a moment, old girl.”

Fírí dismounted from her roan, landing with both feet on the cushy bed of moss and wildflowers. Pí‘oro guided the gray back to dry land and dismounted, then began untying the saddlebags and Zhíno. Fírí hesitated at the thought of taking the time to untie the bags, but they needed to sponge down the horses to cool them off and the saddlebags and her duffel would just get in the way--or wet. If the old man started to remove his saddle, though, she’d protest.

As Pí‘oro lowered Fírí’s ex-boyfriend to the soft ground, Fírí dropped her duffel of cash nearby. Holding the saddlebags, she asked, “Is there a sponge in here?”

The two horses, free of weight, began toward the pool again.

“No. Just use your hands,” Pí‘oro replied as he picked up his saddlebags and outstretched his hand toward Fírí. “Give me the bags.”

Fírí handed it over, and as the old man took the saddlebags up to the cave, she removed her shoes and socks, rolled up her pants, and waded into the knee-deep pool. The cool water sent a chill up her legs and spine. She had an urge to take a drink of the refreshing spring water, but not with the horses standing in it, she wouldn’t.

During the ride, Pí‘oro had made a comment about Zhíno saving his life, but Fírí didn’t really understand. If it was true, it would explain why the big man was helping Zhíno, but Fírí couldn’t figure out how it was possible. Zhíno had gone straight from wielding his gun to laying comatose, with no time to rescue anyone.

Pí‘oro returned to the clearing, heading for Fírí’s comatose ex-boyfriend.

Fírí asked him, “What happened between you and Zhíno? How did he save your life? Why are you helping him?”

The big man rubbed his forehead, a slight frown upon his face. “I . . . Névazhíno killed me.” He held up a hand, as if anticipating Fírí’s next question. “Just trust me. It happened.” His face twisted with anger. “The Zhéporé-spawn god took my life to heal Zhíno. And then Zhíno came to me in the afterlife and gave me his energy, his lifeforce, so that I could come back. And that must be why he’s now comatose.”

Pí‘oro held out his arms expansively, his expression calm once again. “Our souls have been joined. He brought me back to life. I must do everything possible to assist my brother.”

You were dead? Zhíno brought you back? Fírí’s head reeled. How did Zhíno do that? Where’d he get the power? She stared at the man in question as Pí‘oro lifted him and carried him up to the cave.

With both hands, she scooped up water onto her roan’s shoulders and rubbed it downward in a smooth motion. The horse’s body was hot to the touch, the hairs rough on her palms. She repeated the action, glad to have an anchor on the real world. The cool water, the hot flesh, the splashing drops.

She glanced over her shoulder to see Pí‘oro returning. He removed his boots and socks, and joined her in the pool, scooping water over his horse.

But my dream. Zhíno had come to her and apologized. His actions in her dream matched what the old man had said.

“Last night, I had a dream with Zhíno in it.” She closed her eyes, trying to bring it back. “It was so real, unlike any dream before. Zhíno apologized to me for yesterday’s insanity. He promised he’d protect me, just like he used to.”

“Just like he saved me.”

“Exactly.” Fírí reopened her eyes and focused on Pí‘oro’s kind, wrinkled face. “Something changed him.” Somewhere in that unconscious plane of existence, Zhíno had changed.

Pí‘oro cracked a smile. “For the better.”

She nodded. Yes, for the better, thank Vuzhí. But a smile did not come to her face. Fírí wanted to believe that Zhíno would be better once he awoke, but still. . . Life would be so much simpler without him, and right now, simple was what she needed.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 18, page 6

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Detective Sétıpímo Marıdaré leaned back in the interrogation-room chair, chewing on his pen cap. The foreign kid wasn’t budging from his wild story and it all was holding together, just so long as you believed in miracles.

Bhanar looked at him expectantly, but Sétıpímo let him wait.

The pseudo-emperor’s story meshed with the rumors that had been whispered around Tuhanı for decades: Vata sacrificed animals to Névazhíno. The kid claimed the god was Zhíanoso, not Névazhíno, but that hardly mattered. It was unlikely he’d heard the rumors, anyhow. Sétıpímo had always assumed the rumors were merely part of the miners versus ranchers, Kínıtíní versus Névazhíno rivalry in the town, but perhaps there was some truth to the stories after all. The old girl had an aura of superiority and perfection that sometimes rankled others, no matter how genteel and nice she was, so it had seemed natural that they would single her out.

One thing was certain in Sétıpímo’s mind, however: Bhanar Narak was innocent. He hadn’t killed the Enforcer; he hadn’t been complicit in any of it. All his gun-waving had just been self-defense. The real perpetrators were the Narakamíníkan couple, Zhíno Zhudıro and Fírí Parızada. Before Sétıpímo could interrogate them, though, he would have to wait for the lawmen to catch them.

The detective pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “Wait here,” he commanded, the pen cap sticking out from between his teeth. He collected his notes and headed for the door.

If Vata truly was sacrificing animals, Sétıpímo would have to find the chapel. It apparently was a hidden room somewhere in their house. He didn’t want to arrest Vata, but the law is the law. Up till today, he’d only heard rumors--not enough to act on. Now that he had an eyewitness account, no matter how strange and mystical it sounded, Sétıpímo was compelled to search the Kılímos’ house for the chapel.

But that could wait until after the murder investigation.

He exited through the observation room to the main office.

They still needed to get into the Kılímos’ house to retrieve Pí‘oro’s body and do a cursory check of the gunfight in the kitchen, so Sétıpímo had plenty of cause to enter, but it just didn’t feel right to barge in on the grieving widow. Sétıpímo had held the lawmen outside through the night, but maybe it was now time to go in.

He’d like to get a warrant from Judge Ríko, however, just out of respect for the old girl.

Crossing between the desks, headed straight towards him, walked little Séara.

The detective stopped and pulled the pen cap from his mouth. “Has Tamé got the autos back here yet?” Another item on Sétıpímo’s list: a thorough search of the automobiles used by Zhudıro and Parızada.

Séara halted a meter away, her hands behind her back. She nodded sideways. “One so far. The sedan.”

Sétıpímo scowled. What’s taking him so long? “Very well. Tell him to get the cruiser next. Bhanar Narak is free to go. He might not want his pickup towed here.”

The corners of Séara’s mouth turned ever-so-slightly upward, joined by a crinkling near the eyes. “Yes, sir.” Apparently she had taken a liking to the famous foreigner.

Sétıpímo took a step around the girl, but stopped. “Help get him processed and out of here. When he leaves, try to avoid the front door. There’s quite a crowd out there.”

As he headed for his desk to get the search-warrant paperwork, the detective grinned to himself. If little Séara was so enthralled by the pseudo-emperor, the least he could do was let her spend some time with him. At least something good might come from the day.

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