Whiskey Sunrise - a Christian Suspense Novel: A chilling tale of a desert that buries its secrets.

by John Turney

  “Tsk, tsk, you Americanos always with the idle threats. Now call in your man, or,” and he pointed his gun at Sunflower. “Or I kill her right now.”

  “How dare you,” Sunflower spoke, her voice diminished and weak, “wear the amulets you stole from me?”

  “They are mine,” Amo said.

  “Just like a Nakai to steal from Navajo.” She pushed herself off the floor.

  He slashed the pistol across her cheek, tearing a bloody gash. “Shut up.”

  The Navajo woman touched her cheek and stared at the blood on her fingers. She lowered her head so her long black hair covered her face. She let out a long sigh and lifted her head.

  Her eyes glowed with a golden color, and her mouth turned into a snarl. A grumbled noise escaped from her throat. In a swift move, she grabbed Demonio’s gun hand. Her fingernails dug into his skin. Rivulets of blood leaked between her fingers.

  The handgun clattered to the floor.

  Amo screamed and tore his hand from her grasp. Sunflower roared, an angry she-wolf, shoving Demonio towards the ruined window.

  “How?” he asked holding up his arm. “I have the shield and feather. They’re supposed to protect me.”

  “I took those from the museum to make you think you’d want their power. You Nakai don’t understand. Only Navajo receive their power. They don’t give you power, they steal your power.”

  From halfway across the room, Sunflower leapt like a wild beast. The moment she struck Demonio, a rifle shot rang from outside.

  Sunflower’s leap carried them through the shattered window, both growling as they fell from sight. For a moment, a bloody mist lingered in air where Demonio had stood.

  “Sunflower,” Dee screamed. She started towards the window, but Rye grabbed her arm.

  “No,” he said. “Stay. It might be dangerous.”

  Without waiting to see if she listened, Rye limped to the window, grimacing with each step. He spotted Manny and waved. His son returned a salute. Rye glanced down at the ground below the window. A stunned Sunflower lay in a cacti bed … alone. Her body twisted in an unnatural way. Next to her lay the two amulets, the feather and the shield.

  Dee came alongside him. “Is she …?”

  Rye took her by the hand. “C’mon.”

  They hurried outside as fast as Rye’s leg would allow. When they reached the injured woman, Dee knelt beside her.

  “Dad!”

  Rye spotted Manny running up to him.

  “The weird guy wearing wolf skins ran that way.” Manny pointed. “He just snuck behind those rocks.” Rye squinted and noticed the tan conical rock jutting out of the desert floor.

  “Give me the bow.” Manny handed over the bow and quiver. Rye figured the outcropping of rocks hiding Demonio had to be at the edge of the bow’s range. But with the explosive arrow head, he only had to get close. With his bum knee, he obviously wasn’t going to sprint after him. His only hope in preventing Demonio’s escape lay in his marksmanship.

  Rye nocked an arrow. Gauging the distance, he angled the bow above the horizon and loosed the arrow. Demonio stepped out from behind the rocks just as the arrow struck the base of the outcropping. The rocks exploded into a cloud of dust and stony projectiles. When the dust cleared, Demonio had disappeared.

  <><><><><><><><><><>

  The church’s parking lot drowned in a flood of vehicles from various law enforcement agencies. Crown Vics and SUVs marked with WPD on their doors mixed with black FBI Ford Expeditions, white county sheriff cars, I.C.E trucks, and Homeland Security black sedans. All had their lights flashing. FBI helicopters waited off the parking lot while others flew in search patterns looking for the escaped cartel head. A man in a sheriff’s parka led the two horses towards a horse trailer.

  Crime Scene people swarmed over the church lot, documenting every detail of discovery. Officers stood in groups, some smoking others, not. The sound of so many voices turned all sound into a blur.

  Dee sat on the hot muddy ground, stroking Sunflower’s hair for there was not much else she could do. Sunflower was dying and had refused any medical assistance. Probably wouldn’t have done any good. Dee listened as Sunflower, with a weakening voice, spoke about being a Navajo witch.

  Switching topics, Sunflower said, “I’m glad I’m not in the building of the Jesus People. I don’t want to infest their place with my ghost sickness. When I die, all that is good in me will return to the gods, but my evil will roam the earth.”

  “You have much less evil in you than most,” Dee said in a comforting tone. “You won’t leave much to walk around.”

  “Thank you, wife of Rye.” Sunflower closed her eyes and loosed a weary breath. Dee studied the woman’s coppery and lined face wondering if she would speak again. Then Sunflower’s eyes fluttered open and focused on Dee. In a low, raspy voice, Sunflower said, “Why are you being kind to this Navajo witch? My own Diné clan spurns me. My father disowned me. I am just a nothing Navajo.”

  “You are not a nothing. You are my new friend, and I wish I had more time to walk on the road of our friendship. But why am I kind to you? I am a,” Dee paused for a moment while a spasm shook her new friend. “I am a Jesus Person. I walk the Jesus Path.”

  Sunflower managed a weak laugh. “Thought so. Tell me,” she coughed and her gaze went to a distant land. With a sigh, Sunflower refocused on Dee. “Why do you walk this path of Jesus?”

  For several minutes, Dee spoke of why she loved being a Jesus person. About the change in her heart. How she could love her new friend. How she could even forgive … Rye.

  Sunflower shook again with spasms. “I’m growing cold. Ever since I was … a little girl, I wanted to have … someone sing me to sleep.” She coughed and blood touched her lips. “Sing me your … your favorite Jesus song.”

  Dee closed her eyes. She knew the song to sing, but she had to choke back her emotions. Lord, let my song bless this woman and honor You.

  She opened her eyes and began to sing.

  “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,

  That saved a wretch like me.”

  She sang and stroked Sunflower’s hair. Dee smiled to see Manny, a supportive arm around Rye, approaching. She swiped away the tears threatening to dissolve her singing and sang louder. Some law officers heard her and came over, joining in her singing.

  Sometime during the song, an owl circled overhead and landed on the roof of the church. It did not wait long before it flew off.

  When Dee finished the song, she looked down at her new friend. Sunflower had stopped breathing, her eyes open and her lips smiling.

  CHAPTER 30

  EPILOGUE

  “Dad!” Manny rushed into the hospital room.

  Rye sat propped up in a hospital bed, his injured leg immobilized in a cast. He wore a sleeveless t-shirt and Diamondback running shorts in lieu of the hospital gown.

  Manny pushed through the well-wishers to reach the bed. Rye reached out and gave his son a one-armed hug.

  “Me and Mom got you something,” Manny said in rapid excitement.

  “More flowers and balloons?”

  “Naw, that’s sissy stuff.”

  The crowd chuckled.

  “Hope you like it,” Dee said when she joined them at the bedside. She planted a lingering kiss on his lips—amid the catcalls of those in the room—and handed him a small box.

  Rye shook the box. “I don’t think it’s a new mobile home.” He unwrapped the gift, making dramatic gestures to slow the process.

  “Come on, Dad.” Manny motioned with his hand. “Hurry up and open it.”

  Rye undid the wrapping paper and opened the box. He gazed upon a graduation styled ring with a green stone and two crossed gold flintlock pistols, the insignia of the military police. Engraved on one side was the motto: “Assist, Protect, Defend.” The MP motto. The other side displayed his regimental coat of arms.

  He didn’t know what to say. He had wanted one for years, but they had struggled with finances. Her scho
oling. His knee. His drinking. Somewhere along the way, he had given up on getting one.

  Rye glanced up at Dee. “Thanks, hon. I love it.” He slid the ring on his finger. “It’s a perfect fit.”

  “I thought … you know,” she stammered, “since we … like … couldn’t afford the ring before …” Her voice trailed off. “I know your service as an MP really meant a lot to you.”

  He held up his hand with the ring. “This,” Rye said, emphasizing the word, “is perfect. It’s the best gift ever.”

  He took hold of her hand. He squeezed and let go. Then he looked at Manny. “Thanks, bud.”

  “I talked to Chee,” said Dee. “He’s headed back to the reservation with Sunflower’s body. They want to do a proper Navajo burial ceremony … with you there.”

  “I’d like that.” He glanced down at his leg and then back at Dee. “Um, I might have some trouble driving …”

  Dee smiled and squeezed his hand.

  “Okay. Okay,” said Heilo. “This is turning into a freaking Kodak moment. Let’s see that sucker.” She nodded at the ring.

  Rye held up his hand. She tilted her head as she looked at the jewelry. She slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Dude, check that out,” said DePute, sliding in next to Heilo. “That’s, like, bangin’.”

  “DePute, don’t call me dude.” But Rye held the ring out for him to see.

  Reese stood at the base of the bed with his girlfriend from the Drivin’ Diner, Auborne, at his side. “I don’t need to see no stinking ring. Just need you to get your rear end better so you can get back. These two,” he said, pointing to Heilo and DePute, “can be a real pain sometimes.”

  “Sometimes?” Rye questioned.

  “By the way,” Zach continued, “me and Aub checked in on the Vissers. Mel is still in ICU. They’re still not sure if she’s going to make it.”

  “But they said,” added Auborne, “the prognosis looks … better. List’s pigs didn’t treat her wounds properly. They’re infected, red, and leaking pus. She’s got a fever and nausea. But she’s made improvements. Poor Missy. She won’t leave her sister’s side.”

  Dee reached out and took Aub’s hand. “Tell them, I’ll be praying for them. And if there’s anything I can do …” Dee’s voice trailed away seeing the anguish in the girl’s eyes. “You were close to them, weren’t you?”

  Auborne nodded and swiped away her tears.

  “We still need to investigate the drugs in their apartment.” Rye looked at his officers. “But that can wait.”

  Three familiar voices chattered at the doorway.

  “We finally found the room,” said Iona. “I swear architects who design hospitals are just plain demented.”

  “Probably done by a white man,” Whitewolf said. “No self-respecting Indian would design this.”

  “Just look at all these flowers,” said Gabby, following them. “No wonder the Whiskey Flower Shop was out. They said orders for some injured cop had run them dry. All they had left in balloons were SpongeBob and Justin Bieber. Can’t imagine who’d be that popular in Whiskey. Hey, Chief, how you doing?”

  Gabby pushed her way through the crowd and gave Rye a hug.

  “Good to see you,” she said. “We came bearing gifts.” Iona appeared behind her and held up a Wendy’s bag.

  “Thought you might like some real food,” she said, handing him the bag. “Imported all the way from Yuma in a heat-sealed package to make sure it lost none of its flavor.”

  “Gimme that.” He took the bag, opened it, and inhaled the aroma like a greedy man sniffing newly printed money. “Thanks.”

  “Eat up,” Gabby said. “It’s got to be better than hospital food.”

  “Thanks, Gab. Iona.” He nodded at Whitewolf.

  In minutes, he’d wolfed down the double cheeseburger and fries.

  While he ate, conversation drifted along. About the Diamondbacks trade for an infielder. The Cardinals training camp. Another hurricane headed straight for Baja. The two tourists kidnapped in Phoenix.

  A nurse came in to give Rye his medicine. She pretended not to notice the crumpled Wendy’s bag on his lap or the lingering smell. When she finished and headed back to the nurse’s station, DePute started to follow the nurse. Heilo grabbed his arm.

  “What?”

  She gestured with a questioning look.

  “She’s smoking hot.”

  Heilo rolled her eyes.

  “Is there a Chief Rye Dawlsen somewhere in this room full of reprobates?” someone called from the doorway.

  “Agent Clark?” Rye asked, recognizing the voice. “Is that you?”

  “Yes, sir.” Stepping into the room, the tall, fit blonde slipped out of her navy blue windbreaker.

  Those standing around the bed cleared a place for the agent to join them. She laid the windbreaker on the bed.

  “That’s for you, if you ever feel the need to go running around during a monsoon. But, I’m heading back to Phoenix, so I thought I’d come by and say my howdy before I took off.”

  “Appreciate that,” Rye told her with a nod. “Heard any news?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got plenty. But first, let me ask you a question.” Rye tilted his head and she continued. “Why did you tell my men follow the owl? It seemed like an odd request at the time … and it’s only gotten odder.”

  “An old Navajo tradition. When a person dies, they take on the form of an owl. When Sunflower passed, that owl landed on the church then took off. I figured, you know, what the heck, it might be Sunflower searching for her killer.”

  “Thanks to the owl, we located a blood trail near the point of your archery explosion and followed it for several miles.” She paused, and her voice grew hesitant as if unsure what to say next. “It ran cold. All we found were animal tracks. Wolf tracks to be exact.”

  Rye, his officers, and Dee exchanged looks.

  She held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear anything about Navajo Skinwalking witch mumbo-jumbo. We’ll find him eventually. Either in Mexico, or his bones bleaching in the desert.”

  “Yeah, that’s the way I see it,” Rye said.

  Clark paused and gazed with eyes unfocused across the ICU unit. She sighed and said, “We received a tox report on the body of your officer …”

  “Juan. A good man.”

  “Yeah. Well, he had been contaminated with some sort of chemical comp. Our lab is still working on the exact formula. Whatever’s in it prevented death’s favorite insects from … you know. I don’t need to paint a picture.”

  “That’s weird.” Rye rubbed his forehead. “Makes no sense.”

  “Okay then,” Clark said drawing out the words. “You need to know about Johnny Batts. He’s been working undercover for some Washington agency. He’s a former CIA operative. Retired to his family mining site to live quietly. With all the UDAs entering the country, the government pressed him into service. He’s been instrumental in sending some big time bad guys back home. Including a couple of al-Qaeda terrorists.”

  Everyone stared at her, each with their own interpretation of incredulous stamped on their face. Rye broke the silence, “Who’d a thunk it? Batts. A spook. But it explains some of his nutty behavior.”

  “What we’ve uncovered so far in investigating Mayor Richard List,” Clark continued, “reveals a Medusa-like smuggling operation. He had operatives stealing military grade weapons. He’d trade these to Mr. Amo for drug shipments. List would turn around and sell the drugs for profit and purchase more weapons.”

  “Figures.” Rye grimaced as he moved his leg into a more comfortable position.

  “There’s more. He just purchased some island in the Caribbean. We figure he was fleeing the states. There’s evidence indicating his involvement in smuggling young Mexican girls to be used as sex toys. One girl, Amalia, is providing us with some interesting details. One of our agents has uncovered a money-laundering scheme. We’ve seized his assets, and your department will benefit from that seizure.”

&n
bsp; “Good,” said Rye. “We can use a little help.”

  “The judge ordered him held without bond. But he’s got his lawyers …”

  “Great.” Rye frowned.

  “I never cared for the man,” said Dee. “You could see evil in his eyes.”

  “And I just thought he smelled bad,” said Heilo.

  “We also have Mr. Barend Jilt in custody—in a Phoenix hospital due to his injuries—along with several of List’s men. So far, we haven’t located List’s son. We have an BOLO out on him.”

  Rye laughed, “Junior’s not the sharpest cactus in the desert. He’ll stumble into a gas station to pick up some beer, and there’ll be a cop.”

  “I … uh …” Dee stammered for the right word. “Junior tried to rape me. I’ve tried to put it out of my memory, but I can’t do it. And, well, I shot him.” Dee’s words tumbled out. “I didn’t kill him. Demonio captured me before I could.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I … I …” and the tears came. Rye took her in his arms.

  “Do you know where is he, ma’am?” Clark asked.

  Dee’s shoulders drooped. “Last time I saw him, he was lying in the roadside ditch by the List residence.”

  “It’s alright, hon,” Rye whispered in her ear. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  Auborne added, “He’s probably hiding in some mountain shack. Or camping on a mesa. If he’s alive.”

  Dee shook her head. “But Manny saved me.” She rubbed her son’s head. “Junior’ll be singing soprano for a little while.”

  “Hi-yah,” Manny said and swung into a karate form. Everyone laughed.

  Rye held Clark’s gaze in his. “Agent, your team did good work.”

  She smiled. “Yours too. Stay safe.” Clark patted him on the shoulder and left the room. A shower of byes followed her.

  A sudden tiredness swept over Rye. He fought to keep his eyelids open. He stifled a yawn and said, “Isn’t there anybody at the station? What are my best officers doing lingering around a hospital room?” His voice faded as he spoke.

  The cops started babbling about getting back to work, filling out reports, running checks on various investigations. They mumbled their good-byes and filed out one after another.