Raven Badwater's Vision

The dial tone on Raven Badwater’s cell phone went off a little before 10:30, just as the 10 o’clock evening news was wrapping up with another mindless feel good public interest story about another homeless loser who had turned his life around with the help of a local charity. Face shot of the guy with a bad complexion and missing front teeth grinning away because he had a cot to sleep on and a ridiculously low paying job picking up litter in local parks. "Widdout deez nice people I’d still be under da bridge wit a boddle o’ Night Train and not much else... now I gotta chanca be ‘spectible and lord knows dis time I ain’t gonna "bleep" it up again, nope!"

Raven pushed mute on the remote and picked up the phone. Eyes closed, he leaned back on the couch pillow and answered, "Hello?" Raven heard the voice of Officer John Dougherty on the other end. "Hey, Raven, Officer Dougherty here, I hate to bother you so late, but I have some bad news, so you better sit down."

"What’s the matter?" Raven asked. He had an uneasy feeling in his stomach and took a deep breath to prepare himself for what he knew would be really bad news. He was right.

"It’s about Sandra Whitehorse. Have you seen her lately?" Officer Dougherty hated this part of his job. He’d been a cop for almost 30 years, roughing it on the streets of Boston for over 2 decades where he’d seen more ignorance and hate played out as gangs and drugs invaded what had been quiet working class neighborhoods of regular guys like him just doing an honest day’s work and maybe a little moonlighting to pay for the kid’s college expenses. John Dougherty had done his best to keep his kids in school and off the streets, but his long work hours had destroyed his marriage to Adele. His taste for single malt scotch hadn’t helped. Now he was sober, single and as far from Boston as he’d ever been. Flagstaff police had their share of crime to deal with, but it was mostly cakewalk for a seasoned cop like Dougherty. Still, there were things he felt less than enthused about, and this was one of them.

"No," replied Raven, "we broke up about a month ago and I haven’t talked with her. She hasn’t been in school much lately, and I’ve been worried about her, but no, I haven’t seen her for a while. What’s the matter?"

"I have some bad news, son, Sandra was found really badly hurt about an hour and a half ago." Officer Dougherty paused to let the news sink in. He liked Raven, reminded him a bit of himself when he was younger, confused about his life and place in it. John had lucked out when his dad’s brother had taken him under his wing after the accident at the plant had taken his dad’s right arm, and his reason for living. His dad slowly drank himself to death with most of the insurance money, and 16 year old John had no one to turn to. Now he saw himself giving a little bit back by watching over this Navajo boy. He was trying to keep the kid on the straight and narrow, but he was worried the news he had to tell might drive Raven back to where he’d been when they met- on the receiving end of a gun.

"Officer Dougherty, what’s going on? Why are you calling me? How badly hurt is she?" Raven was sitting up now, fully awake and beginning to sweat.

"She’s dead, Raven. Do you know anybody who was mad at her? Do you know anyone who had something against her?" Officer Dougherty knew he was probably fishing in a dead lake, but he had to ask. He’d decided to call on his own time so he didn’t have to log in the discussion with Raven. There was no point involving him in an official investigation as a witness.

"No, I’ve been avoiding the jerks I used to hang out with. My mom keeps sending me to my dad’s folks out on the reservation, so I haven’t even been around much lately. Why did you call me?" Raven trusted Officer Dougherty, but he knew better than to start running off at the mouth with any cop.

"Look, Raven, I want to dig around a bit on this, but I want to talk with you tomorrow. Are you working after school?"

"Um, yeah, I’m at Denny’s from 3-7. I have a break at about 5:30."

"Okay, I’ll drop by then. Oh, Raven, keep this to yourself, okay."

"Okay... night." Raven shut off his cell phone and slumped back into the couch. Who the hell would want to kill Sandra? She was cute, tough, messed up in "the life" of gang-bangers and had a home life he couldn’t deal with, but she wasn’t the kind of person who started trouble. Raven couldn’t think of what she’d been up to since they’d both decided to stop seeing each other. Raven had wanted her to come out to the res’ to meet his Grandpa, a medicine singer who firmly believed the old ways were going to be around long after the "plastic people" had done their damage and died off. If someone could talk to Sandra about getting out of the gang life, Grandpa Badwater could do it. And, Grandma’s fry bread wouldn’t hurt either. Raven’s stomach gurgled when he thought of Grandma’s cooking.

At just before 5:30 the next afternoon, Officer Dougherty’s squad car pulled into the Denny’s parking lot on the interstate north of Flagstaff. Although he hated donuts, he did have a fondness for Denny’s coffee, which was the closest he found to his favorite Dunkin’ Donuts coffee back east. After arresting Raven for stealing a car a couple of years ago, he’d helped the kid get a job at Denny’s where he could sort of keep an eye on him. So far, so good... until now.

Officer Dougherty walked into the diner and sat down at the booth. A pretty bottle blond waitress, Carol, 25, 2 kids, no dad at home, greeted him and was pouring his coffee before he could take his hat off. They exchanged pleasantries, she commented on the front page murder investigation of the drive by victim whose name hadn’t been released yet, he shrugged and she left him alone. A couple of minutes later Raven came out and sat down next to Dougherty.

"What’s up, Officer?" Raven asked, quickly looking around to see who else was in the diner. A couple of truckers were trying to ignore a frustrated hitch hiker. Salvador, the cook, was taking a cigarette break out back. Reno, the busboy, was breaking down boxes for the recycler. Carol was fluttering around a handsome cowboy who’d just sat in a booth by the window. No one was looking at the cop and the kid at the counter.

"Hey, Raven, you’ve probably had a bit of time to think about things since we talked, right?" Raven nodded and said nothing. "Well, here’s the deal, we know that there was some kind of drug thing going down last night and Sandra was shot from a moving vehicle. That’s about it. I don’t want you to be caught up in the investigation if you don’t know anything. You know as well as I do that word gets out about ‘official’ informants and witnesses, and I have a bad feeling about this one. So, whatever you can remember that might help me put things together..."

Raven had been thinking, but he couldn’t connect anything to Sandra’s death. There were too many loose ends, and he knew almost nothing about crime investigations except what he’d learned from Officer Dougherty. He wanted to help, to be there for Sandra one last time, Unfortunately, his mind was drawing a blank.

"I wish I could help you, Officer Dougherty, but I don’t remember anything we ever talked about that would get her killed. I mean, she was pretty messed up for a long time, but she was a really sweet person when you got to know her. She did keep things inside, wouldn’t talk about a lot of stuff."

"Like what kind of stuff... drugs, gang stuff, her family?"

"What family? Her mom died when Sandra was nine, her step dad treated her like crap, and she pretty much gave up on school and most everything else since she started flashing the colors, you know?" Raven had been close to the kids who ran with the gangs for one summer which ended with his arrest by Officer Dougherty. After that he’d only seen Sandra on gang neutral turf, but that was getting harder and harder lately. Sandra respected Raven’s wish to remain neutral in the neighborhood, and that had finally led to their break up. Raven realized his Grandpa’s old ways suited him better than the life Sandra was struggling with. They were like two trains going in opposite directions, stuck on their respective tracks. He didn’t like it but that was the way it was. Now, it was Sandra who was....

"So, there’s nothing you can recall, no one who was mad at her?" Officer Dougherty asked again, trying to help Raven remember something he could use.

"Well," Raven said, "I remember Frank was pissed at her, but she never said why?"

"Frank who?" Dougherty asked. He had an idea but didn’t want to play his hand just yet.

"Ditherspoon, he works at a tire shop, weird guy, thinks he’s got special powers, but I think he’s just a tweaker."

"What do you remember about this Frank guy?"

"Just that I didn’t like him or Sandra having anything to do with him. Like I said, he was weird."

"Do you remember any incident that might have set him off on Sandra?"

"No, I mean, well, sort of... maybe it’s nothing but he would yell at her sometimes...."

Raven recalled the night, about six weeks earlier, when he’d been practically dragged by Sandra over to the tire shop to see Frank about something she wouldn’t talk about. She wanted him to come inside with her and he’d said no, it didn’t feel right. She’d glared at him and went in anyway while he watched her from under the neon sign flashing pink-blue-pink-blue as he waited. Sandra came out a minute or two later, red faced, tearing up, with Frank following her, hissing between his rotten teeth.

"Hey, you little piece of crap. You’re really getting to be a pain in the ass, y’know? You owe me and I’m sick of waiting on you. You think you’re so special, Miss Norteno with your little red bandana. You think you’re smart but you don’t know nothing!" He pushed through the door and grabbed Sandra’s arm.

"Hey, let me go! Who are you to hassle me? Just because I live the life... loser, you can’t even..." "Can’t even what, huh? You better chill or you know what could happen." Frank had just seen Raven and let go of Sandra’s arm. "What are you looking at, fool? And you, remember, chill out or you know...."

Sandra just glared back at Frank. She turned her back on him and walked back to the bus stop, sat down on the bench and wouldn’t look at Raven when he joined her. Raven tried to ask her about the incident but she was closed to him. It was the beginning of the end of their relationship.

Officer Dougherty left the diner and headed over to the run down neighborhood where the drive by shooting of Sandra Whitehorse had taken place less than 24 hours earlier. He slowly drove past the scene of the shooting keeping his eyes on the look out for someone he knew.

It was a lost cause even this early in the investigation, but

Dougherty had a hunch about a possible witness. He wanted to check out his hunch before he shared what he knew with the detective in charge of the case. Detective Rangley was a good old boy who liked to talk about the old days busting bootleggers, and he was a good cop, but he wasn’t as knowledgeable about the meth freaks and latino gangs that had proliferated in recent years. As a former city cop, however, Dougherty had had his share of run ins with the kind of waste of skin he needed to talk with right now, and he was glad Rangley wasn’t looking over his shoulder.

He spotted Elaine crashed out on a ragged sofa in front of an abandoned looking row house. He parked his squad car a couple of houses away and calmly walked over the lawns until he was standing just off the porch out of Elaine’s immediate sight. She was out cold, snoring and drooling out of her mouth onto the stained sofa, a bottle of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Wine tipped over at her feet. "What a mess," Dougherty thought. From the smell of her she hadn’t bathed recently and it looked like she’d wet her pants. "Twenty three going on sixty, or worse," he mused.

Officer Dougherty cleared his throat and Elaine opened one of her eyes. When she saw the cop she closed her eye and mumbled something obscene. Dougherty coughed and waited. Slowly, Elaine’s eyes opened, puffy and red and out of focus. She raised a filthy hand and wiped her drooling mouth. Then she dragged herself into a more or less upright position and fumbled in her shirt, found a left over cigarette butt, a lighter, and put the butt in her mouth filter end out, spit it out, picked it up and squinting, put the filter end in her mouth, lit up, took a deep drag, coughed and hacked, spit at her feet and, with the cigarette hand brushed back her stringy brown hair.

Back in the squad car, Officer Dougherty thought about what he’d learned from Elaine Ecstasia. He’d wanted to appear nonchalant so as not to arouse her suspicions. As a snitch she lived a double life, and, as messed up as she was, she often saw and heard things that were helpful to the police. The fifty dollars she got for her information went immediately to drugs, but Dougherty realized he had to know what was going on before he acted. They had talked, he had a bit more to go on, and Elaine was stumbling off to get her fix. Officer Dougherty sighed wearily.

What he’d gotten from Elaine was slim, but it was something. She’d seen the murderer’s vehicle.

"It was this old grey van with Metallica stickers on the back. Man, Metallica rules... have you ever really listened to "Enter Sandman"? Dude, they put these weird tracks on there that tell you stuff about the world, dude, like we’re all gonna die in fire, man, just like the Bible says, man, in a river of fire..." and so on until he had heard enough. He knew the van; belonged to Frank Ditherspoon, that total loser who worked in a tire shop. Raven had mentioned him and the altercation with Sandra, now he had the confirmation he needed. He decided to drive by the tire shop where Frank had parked the van after his most recent DUI arrest. He wanted to take a look see, then call Rangley.

Frank Ditherspoon was not a happy man. Everybody wanted a piece of him. His dealer was all over him for blowing it and not bringing all of the money he owed. That little skank, Sandra, refused to pay up for the stepped on meth she’d scored for her "friends", who were themselves pissed that the clean crap they wanted wasn’t clean and now they had to "wash" it and wanted him to supply the chemicals they needed. His boss was getting suspicious about the number of non-customers who dropped by all the time, taking Frank away from his duties. And, now Tommy wanted to talk with him about the van and Frank had a bad feeling about their impending conversation.

Frank stepped out back of the tire shop and lit a cigarette. Man, he’d just as soon split from this dump and go visit with his uncle at the hunting cabin near Taos. Uncle Pete was cool, he’d let him crash for a while as long as Frank helped out with the firewood chopping and the ongoing grading of the road leading up to the cabin. Pete was a sometimes guide for city boy hunters and fishermen. He had the occasional east coast group of guys who spent a lot and talked very little about back home. Pete knew they were hooked up with the mob, but they didn’t say anything about it and he was okay with that. Frank was hoping he could get in with these "wise guys" as he liked to call them, feeling like he had more of a clue than he actually did.

His cigarette was half gone when the pale green Cadillac pulled into the lot. "Oh, oh... it’s Tommy" he muttered to himself. "Just let him leave soon."

"Mr. Ditherspoon, may I have a word with you?" Tommy Anslinger slid out of his car like a snake toward a rat. At 37, Tommy Anslinger was as reptilian as he was smooth. A real estate developer, he liked to think of himself as someone to deal with, a real mover and shaker in the making, smarter than everyone else around him, destined for big things. He’d made a move recently, applying to the golf club where the city elite played and, he believed, set up the really big deals that he lusted over. He talked a lot but said very little, especially about his deceased wife and her brat of a kid, Sandra. But now, he had to talk to Ditherspoon and he wanted to get it over with quickly.

"So, Mr. Ditherspoon, you said you’d take care of that little matter we talked about this morning?"

"Uh, not exactly... we’ve been pretty busy here today," Frank was evasive, but trying to be cool.

"I see. So, if I heard you right you haven’t done a damn thing about it, eh?"

"No, like I said, the boss is riding my behind and..."

"Look!" Anslinger hissed. "I’m going to pay you some more good money, ya hear, and I expect you to take care of things properly. I don’t have time for excuses. I told you to lose the van- out in the desert-remember? Just take it out there and burn it like I told you to. I already paid you to fix your DUI’s, did you do that yet?" His voice was cold and slow.

"Um, not just yet... like I said, we’ve been real busy at the shop, and, uh..."

"Listen you idiot. I’m not f---ing around here. We, I, need that van gone now. I paid you to do it..."

"You didn’t pay me to do it yet..."

"Shut up! You know what I’m talking about, and what you don’t know is what you don’t want to know, okay? Now, I’ll be back at closing time and WE are going to have to do this tonight. Don’t even try to worm your way out of this. You are bought and paid for and I own your ass, get it? Remember, right after the shop closes, meet me in the lot behind that 7-11. If you don’t, well..." Tommy Anslinger slid back into his car, closed the door, turned up the air conditioning, checked his cell phone, turned up the Garth Brooks song on the MP3 player and slowly drove off to his next appointment.

Raven Badwater was feeling powerless about losing Sandra, twice now in only a few weeks. He had never really given up hope that she’d leave the gang life, especially if he could get her to come out to the res’ with him to meet the grandparents. Now, he was wondering what he could do to alleviate his suffering. He felt like he needed to do something for Sandra, for her memory and spirit that didn’t get a chance to really live. He thought of her as some kind of broken angel, which in a lot of ways she was. She just never had a chance to break away from the things that held her down.

Raven remembered his grandfather talking to him about the origins of the Navajo chant ceremonies. It all went back to the beginning of time, when the People had emerged from beneath the ground, when Changing Woman had walked the earth in a time of upheaval and great creative power. Things had been balanced then. Every living thing knew its place in the song of creation. Then, ripples of evil crossed the land and the People had become sick. Many had died, but some had learned the songs that put things right again. These songs had been passed down carefully and exactly for generations. When combined with the magic of certain plants and minerals, the message of the songs could put a person back in "hozhoo" again. Raven felt drawn to try to make it right.

Just after 5 o’clock Frank Ditherspoon punched out and stepped out of the tire shop. He really wanted a beer, but he knew that if he didn’t show up for his appointment with Anslinger things were only going to get worse. Slowly he walked over to the 7-11 and went out back and waited. He hated waiting, but within a few minutes Anslinger walked up to him, this time dressed in jeans and a tee shirt.

"You ready?" Tommy Anslinger asked. Frank said nothing, just nodded. Anslinger turned and motioned him to follow. They walked around to the side of the 7-11 and got into Anslinger’s battered old Jeep. "We need to pick up a couple of things; we’ll be back here when it gets dark."

"Why do I have to go with you to get stuff. You said we were just going out to the desert." Frank was confused.

"Look, idiot, I’m not doing anything on an empty stomach. Dinner’s on me, okay. Now get in and keep your mouth closed." Anslinger muttered profanity under his breath; Frank just got in the Jeep.

Raven Badwater had gone home, but no one was there. His mother was out at a PTA meeting, probably arguing about the lack of support special education teachers were always troubled by. His dad was on the oil rigs in west Texas, probably having supper at a company mess hall outside of El Paso. Raven fixed himself a peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich. He unplugged his cell phone from the battery charger and hooked it onto his jeans. Then he dug around in a knapsack his Grandpa had given him a while back. He found the candles, the sacred sage and cedar, some matches and four film vials of differently colored corn pollen. Raven filled a bottle of water at the sink and put on his black sweatshirt. With his black jeans and the hoodie on he would be practically invisible in the desert. He got his old BMX bike from the storage shed in back of the apartment and rode off on a trail that led out into the desert.

Tommy Anslinger and Frank Ditherspoon had finished dinner and were now back at the tire shop. No security cameras faced the van as Frank climbed inside. The van was a piece of crap, but it was one of the few things he owned that worked. He wasn’t crazy about destroying it, but the money Anslinger had promised meant he could buy that blue pick up with the extended cap he’d been salivating over at the used lot. Things change, he thought, and turned the key in the ignition. He didn’t know why Anslinger wanted to burn the van, and he didn’t want to know. Five grand for an old piece of crap was enough to purchase a lack of imagination. Frank pulled the van out of the lot, turned on the headlights and followed Anslinger out of town.

The dark pre-starred desert was coming alive for the night. The smell of creosote bush and sage was sweet to Raven. He associated the smells with his grandparents’ home and that made him feel warm inside. He could hear the rustle of nocturnal animals in the brush. Overhead he felt and heard the flush of an owl’s wings. He knew some people thought that the owl was a symbol of death, but he was not afraid. He felt holy. He felt balanced. He knew what he had to do.

The trail he was riding on he had known since he was a little boy. It led out of the suburbs and into total wilderness in less than a mile. He planned to ride out to a mesa where, in about an hour, the moon would be rising. He would go to the mesa, make the sacred space and do a short version of a chant he was learning from his grandfather. He knew the full chant would take all night, but he also knew the prayers that would call the good spirits, who wouldn’t mind a young man trying his best to do right by someone he cared about. Spirits are exacting from those with full knowledge, but tended to forgive neophytes in their attempts to bring back balance. At least he hoped they would understand his prayers. Raven Badwater rode on in the dark.

Tommy Anslinger was livid. He’d kept his cool for as long as he could, being a reasonable man, but now he was scared. Of course, Anslinger could never admit to fear, so he substituted anger. His anger had served him well over the years. Anger had helped him cheat on the real estate license exam, passing it on the first try. Anger had helped him seduce the plucky blond with the smart mouthed daughter, helped him lure the woman into his schemes. Anger had helped him rationalize his crimes; hey, he deserved the good life and to hell with anyone who got in the way. Anger had delivered him success after success in his business, buying toxically poisoned land on the sly, raising the cash to "develop" it and sell it at a profit to unsuspecting Mexicans who wouldn’t ask too many questions. Anger had covered up his sins until the wife found out. Anger had helped make her go away and turn the brat into a drugged out mess. Anger had helped him avoid all suspicions, because, what kind of guilty person would be so furious that his "beloved" wife had gone missing. Tommy Anslinger liked his anger and he was ready to unleash it on anyone tonight. Especially that idiot Frank, who had no idea what was coming down on him.

The mesa loomed ahead of him as Raven road up the trail. The silhouette of the rock outcropping stood black against the emerging stars. Raven was perspiring slightly as he ascended the structure, and he felt relieved by a mild breeze coming out of the west. It was a good night to be out of doors, but Raven felt sad about what he had to do. He just hoped he didn’t mess things up and forget an essential part of the ritual.

At the edge of a cliff on the mesa, Raven stopped and laid down his bike. He surveyed the area and chose a fairly smooth spot for the work he had to do. Carefully removing the items from his pack, he laid them on the ground by where he knelt. He found a candle, propped it against a spot between two rocks for wind protection and lit it. Good, it barely illuminated the area he had chosen, casting no light beyond the cliff. Out on the desert everything was as it was at night; quiet but alive. Raven felt ready and so he began.

Frank Ditherspoon was nervous. Something was bugging him about this whole deal. He hadn’t had much time for thinking about it during the day, but now a worm of doubt was twisting in his gut. He thought about the call he’d gotten the day before, from Anslinger, telling, not asking, him to leave his van keys under the passenger seat. Why, he had asked, only to receive a hissing breath full of profanity streaming into his ear. Okay, whatever, he’d left the damned keys and went on with his evening, most of an 18 pack of Coors Light. He’d passed out on the couch with Jay Leno doing his best to be his smarmy entertaining self, awakening only to take a leak, then off to the bedroom where he passed out again until the alarm went off. He never did remember setting the damed thing.

Now he was driving, sober but illegally, off into the desert to burn his van. Would it matter why when the deed was done? Frank didn’t have an answer for that, or much of anything else except for the throbbing in his head that cried out for a beer, not even a cold one, just a beer to take the edge off the hangover. Ahead, Anslinger had pulled the Jeep into a wide gully. Frank could see the tracks where 4 wheelers had carved donuts in the recent past. In the middle of the wash was the remains of a bon fire. Next to that Anslinger parked the Jeep and got out. He pointed to a spot about 20 feet away for the van. Frank parked and sat.

The breeze that had been so friendly earlier had picked up a bit and made the candle that Raven was using to lay out his ritual paraphernalia wobble, sending out pulses of light that gave him a head ache. He stood up and tried to adjust the candle, but as he did so it went out. He pushed the irritation out of his mind; it wasn’t good to think bad thoughts when doing holy work. Okay, he thought. I’ll just sit out here for a bit, then when the wind gets less....

The explosion took Raven completely off guard. He had been looking out from the cliff when the blast happened. From the cliff he could see a column of fire burst into the night sky. In the light of the fire he could see some kind of vehicle, and near by to it another vehicle that he couldn’t make out too clearly. As his eyes adjusted to the flame light he thought he saw two figures fighting.

Raven carefully crept along the edge of the cliff. From where he was the light from the blown up vehicle obscured the action on the ground. He didn’t see the gun, but heard it go off and saw one of the figures tumble to the ground. The other figure stood motionless for what seemed like a long time.

Raven couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but he had his cell phone in his hand. Before he could even think to dial 911 he hit the speed dial for Officer Dougherty’s personal cell. Dougherty picked up at once. Raven told him where he was and what he’d seen. Officer Dougherty cursed and told Raven to sit tight, don’t do anything, just stay there. Raven did what he was told. There was nothing else he could do.

It took less than 15 minutes for Officer Dougherty and two back up police cars, one a canine unit, to arrive. What they found was astounding. Frank Ditherspoon was sitting on the ground looking at the still burning remains of his van. A short distance away lay Tommy Anslinger, groaning, bleeding hard with a bullet wound to his thigh. The gun was still in Anslinger’s hand, where it had gone off during his struggle with Ditherspoon.

Officer Dougherty walked over to Anslinger and put his foot on the man’s wrist, not stepping too gently either. Dougherty reached down and removed the gun, reset the safety, and handed it to one of the other officers. He instructed the officer to cuff Anslinger, read him his rights and call for an ambulance. Then he turned his attentions to Frank Ditherspoon.

"So, Mr. Ditherspoon, you are Frank Ditherspoon aren’t you?" Officer Dougherty asked in a calm, fatherly tone.

"Um, yeah, that’s me," Ditherspoon replied.

"Before we read you your rights would you like to tell me what happened?"

"I don’t care anymore. He did it. He did it all. He was going to finger me for it, but no one calls me an idiot over and over like I ain’t got a brain. I gotta brain. I told him. He hit me. You don’t ever hit me. Not like he did. Bitch slap me like that. Nobody does that to me. Not nobody!" Frank Ditherspoon was on a roll. Everything he’d kept bottled up inside just poured out. The whole mess: the DUI’s, the bad deals, the girl who said something about her stepfather abusing her and her mom’s disappearance and death, the deal with the van that he had no clue about what it was for, the promise of big money if he destroyed it and the final insult that sent him into a rage and how damed good it felt smashing the living crap out of Tommy Anslinger, until the bastard pulled a gun on him, how they struggled and the gun went off. He’d had it and he didn’t care if everyone knew. Frank Ditherspoon was nobody’s fool, no matter how much money they had.

Officer Dougherty had heard all he needed. He instructed the other officer to read Frank his rights and put him in the back of the squad car. The canine squad officer was walking the dog around, dog sniffing, finding nothing. Officer Dougherty’s cell phone rang. "Hello, John Dougherty here."

It was Raven. He had seen everything from his position on the cliff. He told Officer Dougherty what he had seen. The veteran police officer told the boy to ride back out to the highway and wait for him. He checked in with the other officers, called for a fire truck and a couple of tow trucks and left the scene when the firefighters arrived.

Officer Dougherty put Raven’s bike in the back of the squad car. He joined Raven inside and they drive toward town.

"I was going to ask you why you were out here all alone tonight, but I’m going to let that go for a bit. I can see you have a lot of stuff to think about right now, so we’ll leave it like that, okay?"

"Yes, sir." Raven was quiet, not sure what to say.

"You really took a big risk out there, even though I’m sure your presence was a coincidence, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"You know, you remind me of someone."

"Who’s that?"

"Me, when I was your age, even if that is a bit of a cliche, y’know?"

"I guess so. I was just trying to do right by Sandra... I had no idea...."

"I figured that. Say, I feel like a cup of coffee. Denny’s okay by you?"

"Yeah, only let’s sit in a booth. If the manager sees me I might have to work tonight."

"Don’t worry, Raven, you’ve done enough for one night."