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

by Danny E. Allen

  -”…What was taken was the car’s mining-equipment and loose property was stolen, in a hurry. It was almost as if they worked as an efficient-unit…” -”So what do you think?” Bo, just having arrived looked-in the direction of the strange-army of glare and flashes in a cosm of intensity-of provisions and then decided… “I’m on the case, Carl.” Carl knew Bo was not acting, hastily. He looked at the quiet-mentality and deep concern in Bo’s eyes, then turned-back to view the spectacle… When he looked-back again, no one was there. Carl had also, decided to pursue it… He drove South on I-85 to the El Reno Dept. of Law enforcement center. Where the initial-evidence is posted and crimes are taken into arraignment and the commitment of detective-squads. Files, were established and deployed, and trial-cases are made… This, was the ‘paper-chase’ which most flat-foots, legal-seminaries hailed and were devoted;but regularly, piddled-away time and energy, never-fully feeling-exonerated… It was “high” on past, or dependably in the future… Crime-seekers’ ‘bag’, and a dependant somewhat faithless-job.

  It was 4 o’ clock in the afternoon, when Carl walked-out into the warm lulling-sun… The air was dry and carrying a cool-heaviness. His-arms were heavy and his under-arms were moist with sedentary-perspiration and his legs were tired. A graduate of Philadelphia Police Academy, 20-years in the past… Even making Sargeant and 3-months into lieutenant-trials. His ex-wife left him 2-weeks before their anniversary. He spent six months in a drunken stupor, 15-months refinding himself in and out of work after the loss of his career and the best-part of his life. In, he remembered, and rebounded… Went from job to job, never as commited as before. In the intervening years, pulled his act together. It was a time of reckoning but also apprising… From 44 to 47, he’d refound himself. Got a p.I. license, so good three-states offered him a job as legal-attache’. Became competent and responsible. He met Bo Jon, interwoven in a number of cases not all-affable some in revelry, of all in equilateral-complements. Each had their “wins” and “losses”. But Bo had the leading-score… Carl had to admit. Bo deserved it, in all the right-ways, he’d come through, when the best-of-investigators would have had a hard time. It was duty, that made a good law-enforcer, Bo had that natural-talent…

  The rugged-vehicle, whistled-down the road-North to meet several local seated legal-officials. If Bo was next to him, he’d tell him what the case was about to turn-into, his-proposal and time, in-motive… Carl found-out more information on a case-history of area-disappearances from state-police. They’d told him-there was a backlog of missing-claim-holders, “We couldn’t prove it but they all had similar motises“. “There was a long caseload with mysterious-”vanishings””. “First they’d show-up and file-claims, began the escavation then they were never seen again.” There was nothing they could do. Carl looked over their records in each cases… He saw a pattern, all-”missing”. 8-men were never heard from again, three were described as abandoned. And sold-out without further, data. None of the cases were followed-up due to lack of evidence.

  Now it was in-remit, and in cold-correspondence… The arrow’s pointed to ‘liability’ so disengaged and the discourse of disenforgence as, in subtlety and its unusual-terms. Now it lay in Carl’s own contentions by the device-of-effects in two-conversions:a private-involving in the openness of a “wound” in pride, pains and sorrows;taken of missing-people in opting, opprobrium and upon uncertain, “frawn” of dispute and conjecture… Deviation now, in appendiance… He stood-off, in a 20-yard distance from the station… He didn’t notice a pink Cad glide-up. As he lit a ultra-light, Bo Jon was standing beside him.

  “How’s things, Carl?” He was concentrating on the case, Bo knew this. “…Possible kidnapping and potential murder…” “Assailant was not known to the victim, probable marauders or back-country thugs…” “From what I’ve heard, Mr.Pedro H. Guerrara, was a former civil-engineer with a distinguished-career, from Plymouth, Mass…” “Originally, New Mexico…” Slight chance of possible-extortion.” “The actee, was relatively, wealthy but was probably taken by several-perpetrators.” Gang, ring of bandits, or predating-thieves…” They were allaying-to ‘fluidic’-dimensions he’d gathered, in consumptive-residual… Putting-together en mass, was more basing in self-edict, categorical ensomberance.

  ***

  ...He-followed his assimilate-factors dwelled, reverberated and chanced-with every turn. Steaded in optimized-thinking, where tangents, crossing-actual accountability. It was a matter-drawn together-in vividness marked for in-set, tracing forming-material in his-mind, instilled under ‘proving’-delegation. The state-bureau of registry, the office of licensing, and a small-number of informational-offices, running sporadically, across the western New Mexico-region it was no head-long rush into guess-work or ethnicity but cool, calm-digest, and discovery. Bo Jon was ascertaining, recovering, and attaining-balance in his work from these-mundane but highly, elite resources among-them abased, establishing. Picked-over a reliability in a fine tooth-comb adeptness, evidence building-foundation. Attempt at building a strong infrastructure-only a man of accomplishment and ability at-research could do. He was gaining-on the crime as fusion in depicted-papers, materializing-into suffusion amorphic and intact.

  National Occidental Operations and Consortium of America, was a business sitting on outskirts of Reno. Its 12-floor administration-building was a mirrored-glass-structure. It had a large parking-lot with road leading on into the city. Bo parked-in an unobvious area. Walking into the front large-vestibule. Where set opulent-furniture, and a wide reception-counter. It was a long-walk to the receptionist who was emaculate in her-suit, hair and make-up. She was relatively, young. But she was serious, and looked very determined. He asked question that made her unusually, concerning…

  ***

  Bo met with Patrice, while at-home. They ate dinner of fried-fish, stuffed-peppers and tortillas. They-conversed, and Bo was kind, for what they-had been through;18-hours since the disappearance of Pedro. They were polite yet serious, as Bo was now, on the case. Patrice welcomed Bo in, as he was once Pedro’s friend. Though he did not share this with Carl, he had reasons to get involved. Years ago, as Bo was a committee-member to keeping safe-natural territories, from-being built-on for construction. There was much conflict and even some drama. Pedro and Bo came together, he as member, and Pedro as head-construction-builder. Within three-days, they ratified a contract to not build upon the natural-resources. It was a very-kind and deeply respectable thing to do. Ever since, they had remained good-friends.

  ***

  Bo and Pedro were photographed in the Colorado-Ledger. They had worked-in an uncertain-unity that was worth more than money or prestige. Now, he was in need of Bo’s help in perhaps a life or death circumstance. Time was of the essence, despite the abstaining periphery, he had to act quickly. As he left the Guerrara’s place, he realized what was needed to be done was to follow those indicative-clues if Pedro was to get a comprising, in recourse… The man that was now somewhere, and those who had kidnapped him, brought-to justice. …At which point, the motivation for the search went to N.O.C.C.A. which then had lead to the building complex, set upon a large parking-lot. He decided that a return to that place was more than a obvious-center for potential legal-violation. If his-crime itinerary was right, he was involved in more than a simple-disappearance.

  ***The police-officer had mentioned to him that the corporation had been named as a write-up for over 10-land sequesters, owned-by individuals. It was just in passing but Bo knew that it was more, than a coincidence… As he again, walked into the large reception-room, the place was immaculate. He saw the well-dressed receptionist and asked questions again, off-handedly. He inquired politely yet not apparently, that he had simply a business or formal-interest. He kept-up his insidious yet attention-holding engagement then he noticed two men, a large man and a mid-sized man at the end of the counter alert to his presence. The two wher
e dressed in off-the-rack suits, and the shorter was wearing a panama-hat. While the larger man’s suit barely, fitted his rotund size.

  He finished his interaction then left quietly, the two where silent, until one intervened… “Sir, what is the nature of your visit, if you don’t mind me asking?” Bo played it off, trying not let on his business. What he learned was crucial. He left nonchalantly. “Sam, I think he knows something.” “Why’d you say that, Paul?” “He seemed the type to be looking for more than just ‘official business’”… Bo quickly, walked out into the daylight. He knew the two would follow him. So he decided to take evasive-action. “…Where did he go?” “I don’t know, but he’s trouble…

  Bo had his-lead. If he-was right, the two, would lead him to his solving-of the crime. The allusive, new-trait in making a final-act, in voice-evidence. In his mind, in what was a demuniative-control, in a concertive, seminal-affording. Their-voices being so occluded, in commutative… It was out, in the controversial-void in cause-and-coincidence, all-too over-inventive, but tabled.

  It was all resolving in cause by a distinguished-man’s tempting-diameter as converging-’indicators’… He was more, a self-enlisted “interrogator”, the label, carried a redemptive contained in collective evan. One’s formative-conception, taken to a relevance as an implicative-P.I. This was the evolving-lament in enlisting. A sum of intensifiers and the divisions of chosen, distinguished by-single propensity…

  …Bo Jon had had other vigils to the plot of the strident Alfredo-mine kidnapping… The Alfredo mine crime Bo Jon’s unknown factor-in the multi-facets, had commenced as clue-recovery. And as a suspect, a business-conglomerate, by inferral, was to agent around ordinal-in investigated probe, in an examinational and instrumental-venue. There was a serious profound message and magnitude still laying-limits lulled, in lucidity and discernment. There-was discerning-distance in projecting follow-through. An orientative-corroboration in lay as the entrust of a simple-family, lone-worker, and a trepidation in human-receiving recessiveness, only blurring-too, well integrated-tenets of the defined-crime. A illegal-testament by chance now folded-over a brooding, logging and stalling-ness, an accrue of inquiring duplicity.

  Bo now, knew that the two-men were a part of what happened to Pedro. He was following them a quarter-mile down the rural road. He came closer but once seen dropped back-out of eye-sight. They were heading-toward a place isolated, obviously out-of-view... Bo Jon was driving his pink Cadillac not wanting to seem conspicuous, if he lost them or they caught on, it would be perhaps Pedro’s life in the sway. Chance-counted. “Hey, Sam I think somethings “not” quite right…” “Like what Paul?” “There’s a car that’s been tailing us just a-ways back, I didn’t think it strange, until now.” “That’s ridiculous Paul, you seem to always have a strange-suspicion… Like the time you bet fifteen-grand on the craps-tables.” Paul became quiet and disheveled;they continued their journey, they headed-down a long-road then Sam pulled-over unexpectedly. “Sam, why did you stop?” …”Just to make sure you weren’t right.” They stayed there as a pink Cadillac passed nonchalantly. It went-on for a mile, until they could not see-it. …Then they went-on concertedly. They finally reached the small black-shack, as they entered they didn’t see the glance of pink-sweep pass in the opposite-direction, they went in to a flourescent lit-room with a wooden-table and a figure seated-in the center…

  Bo had done an old-Indian trick known as feeding the cat, if you make bait that ignores the surroundings, then capture is eminent. “So, Mr.Guerrara would you like to tell us where the land-grant to what and why you where mining is?”(Several-punches and a slap). We-need those documents we searched your car where we found you, we know from the registration’s office you moved here from Massachusetts. Now, we want those papers you’ve signed-on contract…You either-sign this transfer-of-deedship or we do you the same”… They punched him several more times and slapped-him but he let out no more than a grunt he was a strong, disciplined Latino who tolerated alot through-out his life.

  They were taking out their frustration-on him and hoping to make him succumb to their-will… Bo Jon was now riding-slowly by as he knew where the two, and maybe the third would-be. Timing was now essential he needed that last tell-tale sign. He found it. A flashlight was strewn on the lawn in the front-yard it was like a high-beam search-light on its side was the letters:P.H.G., in large letters. That was the signal to act, he stopped the slow cruising vehicle and jumped out of the car. A crash came and the door to the shack came-down and Bo went into action. He knocked-down the surprised big-man who fell to the ground. The smaller man reached into his jacket to pull-out a weapon, Bo reached down to his knees and fired jack-style hitting him squarely in the shoulder knocking him backwards. He untied Mr.Guerrara who was dazed yet conscious. “Mr.Guerrara, I’m Bo Jon Littlehorse p.I. I’m here to release you, you’re in safe-hands now.”

  He escorted Pedro H. Guerrara to his car, the Sheriff’s office showed up 10-minutes later. By that afternoon the FBI had put charges against N.O.C.C.A. for murder and racketeering and general claims-jumping. Carl Lancaster had arrived at the scene not far behind Bo Jon, he had to admit Bo was a better crimes-man than he, he’d caught-on to the motive 12-hours after Bo’s finding out by-way of crime-records that the crime path had been related to disappearances, remote possibilities and common-grounds… Pedro-recovered from his injuries and went-back to mining… He had 26-meters to go. He dug it with help of others volunteering, making quick headway. The N.O.C.C.A. was charged with plot-jumping. With 11 counts of potential skullduggery. The two-men were charge with first-degree kidnapping and assault. Pedro Guerrara became popular.

  The following three-weeks lead to the final-dig at point Alfredo mine-site, the state lands department, media many who’d heard of Pedro’s adventure, some were there to help, others offering support to this hardworking Spanish-american who’d faced hardship while over-coming and expanding his destiny with true-hope and dedication.

  The New Mexican Tribune read:”Native Latina goes in search of Spanish lore 34-M underground cachet of jewel's chest and authentic clothing,

  ; A well worthy dig…”

  The End

  The Horses of San Padre Isles

  [Nine]

  Pete Rawl was an expert-cattleman. He’d been working the range of “D-X” ranch for 8-years, in-charge of the outer-range for his boss and good-friend Rodger Denslow, the owner. His boss, had inherited the family cattle-farm from his father. It had been in his family for four-generations since 1862. Pete was an excellent ranch-hand and proficient-steward for Rodger working his way up to head-ranger over the 1,200 acre range… Pete’s family was friends to his for many years they-had shared many a-supper after cattle dries and Sunday-functions, they-rode alongside each-other and held each other in high-regard… Heritage had grown-up between the two-lines. Pete was given the responsibility-to bring in the purebreds after the long hot-summer of spreading-out, far and wide. He’d been especially adept at supervising this gathering and round-up.

  …He’d been in the hot-sun on one of the last day’s of the cattle-season. It seemed as if it would be another easy last-draw, he’d seen to over 400-head in a day-long relay;most of the herd had been guided toward-home when he saw the out-going tracks of a high-bred cow. He’d decided to ride-out to bring in this last wayward-cow. The ride-out went for about an hour when finally, catching sight of this pretentious-female. She stood alone quietly, about forty-five yards away, she seemed-to be unconcerned and oblivious to his-approach. He was about 12-yards away and she still, didn’t seem to make a disturbance. Then he saw it;a twelve-foot rattlesnake writhing nervously and retaliatorily. Quickly, Pete pulled-out his .22 rifle and with one shot killed-it. He hurried to the valuable cow who was now going-through shock. She was drooling and was breathing-hard, he had no choice, he acted quickly he stood in-front of the cow and fired a bullet point-blank.

>   Two-hours later Pete rode-onto the ranch pulling behind him the carcass of the rattlesnake bitten-dead breed. “Rodger, you know I wouldn’t let nothing happen to any of your stock, this one I couldn’t save…” Pete had tears in his eyes. He got back on his horse and never returned. He was so distraught he didn’t look for work for months. He had three-children who loved him, and a wife who looked-after them…

  Pete was proud of what he did, he was a dedicated, honest and devoted-person but after that incident he became despondent, uncaring and unconcerned with most everything… He quit his job, even though his former-friend tried to talk him out-of it. His wife of 14-years, tried to convince him to stay but to no-avail. She didn’t want him to loose the best job he ever had. She adored him. He’d started to go downhill from there… He worked on-and-off to support his-children and wife for a number of ranches but either quit or the ranch-boss found him sleeping-off a binge, then fired-him. He then started-to come home late. After becoming, involved with buddies who’d drink, partied and gambled-after-work…

  His wife confronted him one night. She expressed that if he didn’t come out of it soon, she’d leave him, with the children. From then-on he knew he had a-lot to lose. He cleaned his act up, started a new-job working for a boss who appreciated him. Pete was a proud man, he knew he was in a slump… His fatal-mistake with someone he thought he-disappointed, he was very upset and believing was a thing that could not be ‘forgiven’… As days passed, he eventually went-back to work but without the intensity, as before. In all his years of being a cow-rancher he’d never-fully realized that he was so saddened by so unexpected-conditions.