That thing floating down the Snake was mostly man shaped, but fish-belly white and asymmetrical ; one side bloated the other caved in. It floated past fields of lazy summer cows, floated past loose rocks and tight ones, floated past two cops, the third one caught it and hauled to shore.
“Strange fruit you boys have bobbing in your barrels”
No local cop likes a fed, never and nowhere. Some feds were smart asses. Nobody likes a smart ass. Jack knew he was a smart ass fed, he flashed both everywhere he went.
I slipped down back the bluff, biting my lip at “… Nope, I think someone just ripped open the corpse bin …” I laid on my back, breathing in the river washed air, listening to the busy sound of cops chittering in the late afternoon. It was for me, and the crunching of the ME’s truck on gravel, the grunts of the men carrying the litter, the lone caw of some carrion eating predator circling, waiting for the monkeys to drop their toy.
Corpse bin, good one, I thought. It must have been him. He’s a fan of my work. He gets me. He was the Fed who came to Idaho once the Washington State boys ran out of jurisdiction. I leave him something special when I get to Jackson Lake.
Loading comments...