The Continuing tales of Bo Jon Littlehorse, P.I.

  …By 6:45 p.m., he decided to headed-out into the sullen cool, calm-night… The crime-unit was closed-officially. The reduced-force in security ran and carried-on, in “over-time”… Night-officer lead him to the department’s night-exit. Bo-carried a leather-case satchel given a look-over by the watchman. The cool-stiff, inside-air& open-bellowing in opening of his Cadillac door having kept-out the daring-climate… The moon-beam lights began stiffening, as the engine motored-into its block-engine-power. The beam-lights wept intently, out the open-span and onto the thorough-fare. Bo’s effort spun-in unison, with the chrome-wheels… With every-mile vantage centrality-idled, emulating what was the substantive-grind of the rubber-tire’s smooth-grinded and milked as propounded in automotive-elite stirring the stoking-mist along the roadway. As the ‘translucence’ of spurring-air threaded-in completing-accord; the piercing empowered-force occurred by man and machine, in missionary motored-mechanics… Stream-line in arduousness emancipated-in vehicular-trammel, in commit-vying. …Bo came from a wise and deliberate-bloodline. The Cherokee were brave, learned, irreproachable-people. Abiding-in anomalous hardship as, in adept-vision and greater-given propensity… Jon rode each high-way ruled-line road, ‘running‘ bode giving-him a glancing ‘rush‘. Teasingly, creating an coinciding ‘incentive‘-plot in securing toll by the carrying-forth duty in what was his case.

  …As calm coordinated-motion of automobile’s frame, carriage& engine-calibration controlled in block-mount moved in ‘scout’-ready effectiveness. Canorously, and as ‘steadfast‘-finite, as cross-leveling in device vigil… Thus, a deliberate combining-in motor-fission trailed on in a portal-predicate and primal-reticulation. Bo didn’t carry an espoused suspicious, speculative. …As his-people did carefully what others enduringly, could only ‘imagine’ or simulated by skillfully, connoted-men. As Bo had learned so precise was the defining active-perception... This automobile’s causing outer-foil…glancing-over roadway by momentum-with a rational trepidation, he minted-in ‘taming-competence‘… A tabulation, in iteration in holding-embrace under contemplative mitigation. …The ride was formulating in, an entering& exiting-lane zones as a stern-maneuvering. Out-laid, in an assertive-circumspect. Deductive ideas & definitive involving inter-session came and went with transposed ‘trucking‘. …As the swaying-rose and dipped virtually, ‘inked’ with dividing-lines. The darkness, went-out onto the open-range of the West’s ridges and valleys... Where upon, Styx, was ahead recovering in actively, approaching on-set.

  6 a.m.-…Susan had gotten used to the early-rise began in earnest-by the “unexpected” incident. But also she made-it an exception of life. It was a dual-judgment, she was as much committed as unwanted… She had a strong-spirit that had grown-from “score”, she was not able to settle. It was not “exposure”, but self-imposing. A person with a strong back-bone incurring, finding inspiration & invocation. Sue was not laid-up with encumbrance, or irate-with ‘inept‘-energy. …It was to act, not react-to an unanswered-implication. She had seeded-away awful-ism, intenseness& arduousness. Testament and comporting it-all to ‘tenacity‘. The voice-of conviction instead of “victim”. It was this appraisal in full- vibrant, intentness… Susan, was not in grief or sadness. She was not raised in selfishness or faintness; but the long-endured line of her heritage steered-in her veins, in-mix of the love of family. She-decided long ago, she was capable and competent while away on her own...Though her aunt was ‘special’, now she had to have a separate-presence, and peril… It was now, a choice of her own to rationally and imperatively, engage her private-intervention. In a hail, set-forth by contention& commencing-criteria. She and Bo, were heading in the ‘same’-direction... Of descriptive, directive-design& developing… An intenseness-in-scope of path increasing& conceiving crime evidence, and personal ‘premonition’. Sue was on the fact and file-truck. Bo, the ‘data’ & ‘detail’-plot train…

  ~Bo-spoke first. He was the crime-specialist on the case. She-knew he would be thorough, concise and informative. After-all, he had the expertise. Bo realized Susan’s concerns from her aunt’s afflictions (to the severe-actions of an incentive, chance-psychopath)… It was this situation that he needed-to use “kit-gloves”. He began, with out-lining the portage of stipulations, framework and intricateness. That meaningful and elicit, ascertaining could-provide. After what Bo thought was client’s calm, courageous-contemplation, she began her-questioning…

  ***

  First, it was a few intervening-inquiries, then a more technical-orientation, then it grew deeper. Her objective with almost indicting scrutiny began to spread-out into violators, crime-scenarios and official-injunctions. Bo answered with intending explanation. He almost seemed-to have data’ criticality. That Bo was on a witness-stand. It was a bit, unexpected. Bo, came to the recognition that Sue had already resigned herself to arriving on a deductive-tracking, on implicative, with zeal. He gave story, notoriousness criminal-engaging, subject and behavioral-complexity… That’s when Bo-began to understand she was as much a part of his case in her own way that she deserved inclusion, in his further-progression… Bo had new-found, respect for Susan. As sure as her aunt lay, in a hospital after the serious-crime. They talked into the night. With an all-nighter, on until mid-night…

  In the meeting of Sue and Bo, each had a new-injection to follow. Sue was an experienced cartiographer graduated from U.N.-Reno, earning an scholarship, achieving& surpassing out-standing. Pat watched proudly as her gifted-charge “evolved”-into young womanhood and her life’s dedication… As she remembered her aunt sending her off to college and welcoming-her home upon graduation with tears of joy and hugs and confident, respect. As she-reflected on how so well, she began to almost, weep. But the shine-of love in her eye’s was not “out”. Sue began to put her-emotions& thoughts together. An inspired-thinking-process went on in the back of her-mind. It was no longer ‘dread’ but resolve, a deep impression of duty, encouragement and mental-materialization. Susan now, no longer was staggered-by fear. But effort in expecting. As the snow blew in somber intervals, 2-inches, dusting cobblestone-streets. No one was left on the down-town-lanes. Sue-decided to amble-out into the cool and overcast early-afternoon.

  ***

  Susan did some thinking-in the brisk walk-back to the public-school. Within her mind was an intentioned-grasp. At cracking the drastic dimensions-correlate to impacting important-factors. She’d taken upon herself to act-to seek an end what she could not prevent. Sue’s tenacity, hardiness and sturdiness, had been passed-on from her once extolling, aunt Pattie. It was a hard-thing to accept but most-of all could have been prevented and so, easily less-contesting… Susan-remembered times when aunt Pat tucked her in at-night, walked her to school and staying-home to look after a sick-little girl. As she remembered she was motivated back into action. There was an ‘incentive’ to her attitude, her impetus, her new coring-assertion. It was precision& inception to her visional, vitality. The bell-rang, the 2:45 p.m. final-recess. Susan had been reorganizing primary-books. She was alone & calculating; no longer did she fret, a-shame. Determined and assertive, she had made choices that were not-helpless…~

  [The previous-day…:]

  **Bo was called at Secato S ranch his home out between Reno and Alpeda. He spend many years building his permanent-residence above the valley of El Seninon. He used his own workmanship floor-plane and design in its construction. Before cell-phones and satellites, he communicated-by HAM& C.B. Now the preceding-years, he brought satellite-t.v. global-mapping devices, notebook-computers and self-contained living-system advancements… He’d taken to the techno-age with notarized, intelligence. The Indian-practices were to always: learn, in innovation from age-old arrowheads to metal-works and repeating rifles to today’s synthetic-automation… It was ‘good-josh’ to gain new-ways, challenges for one’s destiny to integrate a chance-able, ’possibility’. This, was Bo’s incant past. Not ver
y long-ago but with the new fast speed of information and techno-mobility he was beginning to perfect and show agility as a Western-style hacker… It had taken Bo six-hours to drive into the town limits of Styx. Route 88, through the countryside at the cross-road of the road to town.~~~

  Upon arrival…:

  Tractor-trailers, construction-trucks, buses and cars rode up and down the route. But the drive, on the well kept 4-lane thoroughfare as wind-swept across low-prairie country. The cool moist-air had been warm and dusty, the brush, tall grasses and acacia-trees pronounced and greeted like a cove of hidden beneficence. By time Jon climbed the last breach into the in-set valley and outlay, it was accruing snow, whisping-across the wakened-town.

  1st Day of case:

  Jon and Sue, with an absence of over the last eight-years, he could have easily delved-into person and place, but by what she’d been through, was shown long ago… Native heritage was based on ‘honor’ and respect. Sue and Bo Jon recognized, at first meeting that she was a person of discretion, honor and respect. As Jon had shaken-hands when he-first was introduced it was along this line. He felt as well, her feelings’ need and forthrightness, and drive. He looked into her-eyes and saw a much matured and now strength of a woman-succinct in retinue. Bo and Susan, walked through the corridor being-in consensus, conversing about taciturnity and espousal, in-tandem. Susan was not, in-immediate reticence or demur; but stood-in commendable, confidence. Bo-understood and respected-it… Bo Jon’s first-step was with Styx townships-Sheriff’s office… Set-on the back street-on the modernized historic cobblestone-lane. His car a ‘57 Cad drew up to the side-walk, off the district-zone where automobiles were not-allowed. The snow-fell upon the asphalt but was mere water on the smooth-beach stone.

  …He-walked considerately, up concrete-steps along painted-beams and floors, he went into the station. No cars sat-out front which was probably the case there were few crimes and the officers spent their time conscientiously, cruising where their citizens needed them, the most. There two deputies behind the counter of a carpeted, modern dry-wall and clean atrium. Bo spent a few minutes in fellow law-enforcement conversing... It seemed Styx township policing-unit had come of age. Behind cataloging, criminology, “hard” and “soft” policing-equipment: cuffs, helmets, leg braces, anti-personnel, barricade-and-entry, munitions, jackets and many advanced-items... It turned-out military mail-order and American Police Association discount-catalogs had produced a purchased establishment and option. Bo Jon thought of the affective incentive, then turned to the more un-sated actuality of criminal saliency. Victor Edicon, second-officer and James Davidson active duty-officer, who’d been there-to investigate the crime-scene: ”Yeah, except for the weapon and act, could have easily scared the old folk till they gave them all their money and loot…” “…Thing was, 5-minutes later they would have been on their way. Leaving him to roam-free, as you please-in what was an individual, and except for outcome was an act-of-chance”… A chance of drastic opportunity. A factor running-through, the incident…

  3rd Day:

  “It seemed an usual incident, neither person confronting the assailant, he was in the house-after they’d began to leave. It had to be someone not only a thief, but with violent-tendencies, apparently not just satisfied with stealing.” Bo asked other questions which helped to uncover how the person could have looked or behaved. He decided it a good-idea to follow-up with an analysis of the Nevada State Sheriff’s office, 40-miles up North of town…

  As he rode onto highway entry-lanes, trucks were at the weight-check area. He arrived at Sheriffs-HQ, it was an eight acre metropolis so active at police-work it sent-out bulletins, regularly on A.P.B. entering and leaving the state, county or district. This was a high-functional institute so much so, out of state law enforcement used them as touch-points, education and networking, and division. Bo Jon was an alumna of the ordinal-institute. He had his allaying, originations and research well-incentive, before hitting the door. This was a “police-reserve”.

  Littlehorse was quietly entering, given access under-code of law-enforcer. He didn’t go unnoticed, Bo had a reputation in investigative-circles. He’d solved-cases in days while the detective blue-tape hanged up in bureaucracy and backlog. But this wasn’t what made him a noteworthy nescient, it was his acumen at action, articulation and assimilation that watered the mouths of warm-footed sargeant-detectives and put-sheen on badges.

  He walked into the crime data-pool with his pass-card, he entered-in detail cross-references… Susan Singleton had a prime-feasibleness and intro-conviction cant; most allaying preposition-implicative; that DA and crime-unit would after many months; pick-over-in bated-science. But Bo, wasn’t paid for ‘mission’. He remained attentive now, showing unwavering-interest…Believing his lead in the information attained that this probably, technically meant: ‘he‘(the assailant), was not only-perpetual but a violent-mind…

  Inside the head of this burglar-killer, was someone who was possibly, advantage-taking and serial, divided-between motive and mentality. Bo was gazing into the blue-green screen, at varying pulsating-blips on the access-terminal at the Sheriffs head-quarters; he was looking for certain “strands”-of data, cross-references and possible criminal-behaviors, for next-time he’d meet-up with Ms. Singleton, would be with “insightful” information. 2-hours later, he was still at it, until he-reached the pull-up of a definitive-portrayer…

  ~Beginning Day 4...:

  ~~Bo Jon was looking over the house. And as well, Sue was picking up upon leads at one of the records offices in Reno. …He arrived at the house to see it roped-off. There were still blood-stains were the deceased, and of the resident, now lying in a hospital. He opened the door, inside was warm even as it began to snow large-flakes slowly and softly. There was the dayroom, well-kept and then a second-room of furniture quaint, homey and warm. The next-room was the kitchen flowered-wall-paper some set-out utensils, pots and pans. A frig, stove and table ‘60ish, well-kept… The report-told of missing: silverware, expensive-jewelry, electronic audio-equipment… It told of a breaking-in and hiding until they were about to leave, then the attack. Then he saw it, a tell-tale sign a broken seal-at the east-window, just chipping but an obvious sign-of entry… He looked out the frame, it stood almost seven feet high. He had to be tall being someone who’d climbed from the ground-level; he had to reach-up to even reach the seal. It became cool and windy, there was a large walk-in closet next to the window, this was possibly the hiding place were he plotted his moves. He had probably cased it, making him a repetitive, or professional-burglar this could have meant that he could have acted out of anger in his self-disposition...

  Day 5:

  The snow was falling when Sue walked back to her school, she’d borrowed a station-wagon to reach the penitentiary public-records. She had copied-data she’d wished to discuss-with Bo, and what she was especially proud: a possible, perpetrator. At 7 p.m., Bo and Susan had dinner-together, they had something they both were proud. Each would come-up with surprisingly, similar-”results”…~

  ~Protracted-across time, between act and present, the story-of what ended-in murder and harm was to be brought to a final-end… Big Jim’s Air Crop-duster’s Place sat on a patch of land 32-miles from Styx. A man named Peter Windrum, was doing stocking-work there for six-months. He’d been a quiet-man, big and strong he also, had been released from prison for robbery, assault and several other lewd-acts. Bo drove-up the back-road, where the field was easily visible. He could see two-figures inside, he-walked up to the manager’s office.

  “Okay, Pete. Take those pesticide barrels over to the hangar, then stock the parts on the shelves.” He did as told and went into the hangar which was full of shadows and glances of light. After he disappeared form sight Bo spoke with Jim, he was told that his worker could be considered the prime-suspect for a murder, and to contact the police. Bo casually, walked toward the darkened hangar. He saw a sha
dowy figure move swiftly, and metal being moved around. Bo pulled his magnum .357 from its shoulder-holster. He went-in, he could hear-panting, then out of the corner of his eye he saw a swift movement toward his head. He ducked and went to the floor. Metal clashed then two shots rang-out and the 6’8” man fell dead, in the darkness.

  Several days later Mrs. Partridge was recuperating-in her own home. “Mr.Littlehorse, thanks for your help…” “Yeah, Bo Jon, we work pretty-good together.” Said Susan, assertively. “Wouldn’t mine your kind of help, any-time.” Said Bo, concertedly. Bo Jon climbed into his pink Cadillac and drove off-down the now, snowy-lane.

  The End

  Meeting at Conchitato Pass

  [Five]

  The walls of the canyon-wept as the rains-fell. Three people-were on horse-back, riding-up into reservation high-country. The lead was once a leader of his-people... Though the other two, weren’t sure why. They-were assuming, their-leader was in search of a certain-‘salvation‘ from the bad-“josh” by white-men off Indian-land… …“Savora, is disturbed by something, isn’t he…?” Asked the other man, who rode behind him, and the last, a woman answered: ”He is in search of an answer to what has happened…” The man inquiring, was a-cousin; both he and the woman, a close-friend, were told-to follow because ‘danger’ was ‘seeking’ him-out... Having only time to gather their horses and supplies, then head-out. The cousin had all, but assumed that it was ‘very-serious‘. He knew that Savora, was in search of inner-peace. In the Conchitato Pass perhaps, he would find it. They rode in the rainy-darkness, following. They began a descent-into the valley-beyond. The police could not follow into reservation holy-land. And there was to be no consecration by reservation-police. He chose his site well, yet even he knew that Savora was running from something he had to face, eventually. …Both he and the woman were quiet, as they followed. They knew he’d have to face his ‘demons‘-it was better to be there when he-needed them both. She knew that Savora, wasn’t caring for himself. He was a kind and gentle-man, they were all brought-together by faith. Somewhere, along-the-line, he had ran-into trouble. Having been a respectable-man, reasonable and clear-thinking. When the night-before he’d told them, he needed to head to somewhere ‘safe’. They were in the Conchitato Pass country, forty-miles into desolate-territory. 48-hours after something serious