Freeman Yellowbird: 1

By R.E. (Kelly) Gysler

Freeman Yellowbird, a Native American graduate of the US Naval Academy, veteran of Afghanistan, returns home to become involved in a murder mystery. The reservation is awash in drugs and young women are going missing.Someone is trying to kill him and he doesn't know who or why.. Book 1 of 2, approx. 50,000 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.E. (Kelly) Gysler
• Release date: May 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386561033

R.E. (Kelly) Gysler

A fourth generation North Dakota Flickertail. Currently living in SoCal with my wife and a very spoiled dog. Contact me at [e-mail]

Book preview

Chapter 1: 2003

He’d watched as she went about her shopping. He’d been watching her off and on for several weeks. He knew that when she entered the liquor store she would soon be heading home. He backed the counterfeit State Highway Patrol car out of the parking slot and headed out of town.

There was a particularly treacherous curve beyond town which had a turn-out. He pulled over, parked to wait. He took a bag of Bull Durham from his pocket, rolled a cigarette and lit it, waiting. Down below he watched the ice breaking up on the Little Muddy River. Spring would soon be here, he’d seen crocus flowers poking through the snow on the embankment when he parked. Shadows were growing longer. Already black ice was forming on the pavement as the temperature plummeted.

He rolled down the window and spit a tobacco fragment off his lip. The windows were beginning to fog up, so he started the engine, turned on the defroster. He reached into the cubby, selected one of the small white boxes and withdrew it. From inside he took a ribbon tied locket of hair, smelled it, caressed it like a favorite cat. He replaced it in the cubby next to a new, empty, white box. Far down the road he could see the headlights of the Jeep as it ascended the highway. Showtime.

As she passed his hidden cruiser he accelerated down onto the highway, activating the lightbar. She tapped the brakes as the red and blue revolving lights reflected in her mirror. He came along her left rear and as they entered the curve he swung the wheel right, tapping her bumper. The combination of the black ice and his push sent her spinning over the edge and down to the river.

Gotcha, he thought. Getting out of the cruiser and walking to the edge he could see her struggling with her seatbelt. He went back to the cruiser and put on the emergency flashers. Then he slid down through the slush to the side of the Jeep.

He rapped the drivers' side window with his flashlight. Ma’am? Are you okay?

I can’t open this seatbelt. Help me!

Yes, ma’am, that’s what I aim to do.

He opened the door and used his knife to cut the belt. She was lying on a slant. On the pretext of helping her up and out, he reached behind her head and took a snippet of hair, slipped it into his pocket. Holding her arm, he helped her out of the car. Did you get hurt?

What the hell were you doing? You hit my car and pushed me over the side! You could have killed me!

––––––––

An accident ma’am. I was responding to an emergency call and I hit some black ice. Don’t worry, the State will cover repair costs and I’ll call right away for a tow.

He helped her up the icy slippery slope, deliberately placing his feet in her tracks. opened the passenger door and helped her inside. Buckle up, please, he said as he closed the door. He got into the drivers' side door. He took a kerchief out of his pocket and leaned over, to remove blood streaming from a gash on her head. He ‘managed’ to snag her earring in the cloth and rip it from her ear eliciting a scream of pain. This trinket also went into his pocket.

Are you crazy? You dumb sumbitch! You ripped my ear! Jee-zus that hurts!

I’m sorry, I was trying to wipe off some blood.

I’m getting outta here. I’ll wait down in the Jeep for the tow. She unbuckled her belt and got out again. He also got out, went to stand beside her.

Let me at least help you down the bank. You don’t want to stand this close to the road, especially on a curve. He placed his hand on her shoulder which she shrugged off.

He couldn’t help himself. He leaned in to hazard a kiss, to smell her hair.

What the Hell? she slapped him so hard his head rocked. Blue sparks flashed in his vision. He grabbed her by the throat and threw her down the slope. He saw her head hit a boulder and then she rolled, down into the rushing icy water. She was gone so fast he never got a chance to watch her face. Disappointing. Damned temper had spoiled his plans.

It brought back one of his fondest memories, from high school so many years ago. Way back in 1968, before Viet Nam, he’d had a crush on Ginnie, his first love, the one with the long dark hair. He’d asked her to the prom and she’d laughed. He’d lost it for the first time then, throwing her back onto the flat rock they’d been sitting on. Her head had struck the rock and like this one, she had rolled into the slow-moving Colorado river. He’d watched her eyes as she went under, the fear in them sending a frisson of pleasure up his spine. She had been the first. He had always regretted not being able to get a lock of her hair.

He went back to the cruiser, reached into the cubby and removed the empty white box. He took out a ribbon and tied the hair snippet into a locket. He placed the locket and her earring into the box, wrote her name and the date, replaced it in the cubby. It would soon join the others in his private room at home. He rolled another cigarette and smoked it as he waited for his tumescence to subside.

He started the engine, put the car into gear and pulled away.

Chapter 2: Yellowbird Ranch

He got off the school bus and trudged up the rutted dirt drive to his home. Unsurprisingly, the four-wheeler Jeep wasn’t there. Probably went to town for more booze and groceries. He walked into the shabby living room and threw his books and jacket on the ratty, stained couch. He peeked in at his father and found him asleep, the breathing apparatus rattling away. The fetid stench of decaying flesh and feces forced him to close the door again, quickly. On the stove he found a pot full of congealing canned beef stew and in the garbage an empty vodka bottle. He went back out and throttled up the tractor. Hitching up a trailer loaded with hay he headed to the pasture where the cattle were grazing. He parked, checked the salt lick and replaced it with a new one. The grass was almost high enough now, a few snow drifts here and there, a crocus peeking through seeking the sun. He threw off a few bales. Back at the barn he parked the tractor and went back to the house.

He re-heated the stew, ate a bowl full and then took a bowl to the bedroom to feed his father. It was frustrating. Half of every spoonful dribbled down his chin and he kept gagging on what he did manage to swallow. He placed a bowl of water on the stove to heat and went to the clothes line, pulled some nearly dry half-frozen sheets off, grabbed a towel and wash-cloth and went back to his father’s room. Rolling his father like a log he managed to remove the urine and feces stained sheets. Washing his father’s body, he was astounded at the depth of the decubiti, bed sores. Mom hadn’t been turning him as she was supposed to do. Dad needed medical help and soon. The smell was so overwhelming it was hard to keep the stew from coming back up into his throat. Back in the living room he flopped down on the couch. What was he supposed to do? When Mom came home they were going to have to talk about getting Dad transferred back to the VA hospital.

The hours passed slowly. He was sound asleep, sitting up on the couch, an open text book on his lap when he heard a knock on the door. He hadn’t heard a car drive up, so he cautiously peeked through the sagging curtains. There was a Highway Patrol car out front and two uniformed officers on the porch. He flipped on the porch light and opened the door.

Hello Son. May we speak with your father for a moment?

I’m sorry but my father isn’t available. May I help you?

You here alone Son?

"Pretty much. My stepmom went to town a few hours ago and should be back any moment.

‘Your mom is the reason we’re here. I’m officer Nelson and this is my partner. We found a late model Jeep sitting in a gully near the Little Muddy. The registration led us here. Seems your ‘stepmom’ must have hit a patch of black ice and went off the road. I really should talk to your father. Is he going to be home anytime soon?"

No Sir, I pretty much doubt he’s ever coming home again.

Your stepmother’s name Billie Rae Yellowbird? Is that right?

She’s my stepmother, yes.

Well, if your stepmother comes home give us a call right away.

I’m sorry, we don’t have a phone.

The officer turned to his partner and muttered, Jesus, how do these freakin’ Indians live like this?

He turned back to Freeman. Look, we found your stepmom’s foot-prints in the mud slush near the creek. It looks like she walked back up to the road and then fell, slid down into the river. If she doesn’t come home we’re going to need to get a search party going right away. Now is there a phone anywhere near that you can use?

There’s one at our neighbors just down the road. If she comes home, I’ll call right away. And just FYI, I heard your comment and I don’t appreciate it. My father is a war veteran that’s been virtually abandoned by our government. And you want to know how we ...freakin’ Indians can live like this? What choice do we have? Asshole. He slammed the door shut in their faces.

He stood there, red-faced and shaking while they drove away.

CHAPTER 3

His stepmother’s jeep had been found at the bottom of a deep gully, precariously tipping toward the frozen Little Muddy River. There was no sign of her anywhere other than tracks from the driver’s side door leading toward the road. They found paperwork indicating she had been to the bank and filled out the forms for electronic receipt of the VA and care givers checks.

There was also a signed authorization for the bank to receive and pay all bills. There was a spot of blood on the window frame which indicated she may have struck her head. The backseat was a jumbled mess of groceries, vodka bottles, medical supplies. Gauze, bandages, alcohol wipes, betadine. Other than that, nothing. No purse, no personal effects of any kind in the auto. The jeep almost appeared to have been driven deliberately into the gully except for a skid mark at the top of the curve. Speculation was she had hit a patch of black ice and just lost control.

Freeman had taken the tractor to the neighbor’s home to use the phone and let the police know she hadn’t come home that evening. The officer he spoke with told him he would notify Sheriff Gershon in Lone Tree, so he could immediately form a search party. Last night had been below freezing and if she was still alive out there she would need medical attention ASAP. He also said that since Freeman had indicated he was home alone that a social services officer would be coming to interview him.

CHAPTER 4

Free had just finished feeding his father breakfast when the Sheriff’s car from Lone Tree pulled into the yard. He watched the tall, blonde haired officer approaching the house as he spooned oatmeal into his mouth.

The knock on the door was a polite rap. Free waited until his mouth was empty, wiped his lips with the sleeve of his shirt and answered the door.

Yes, sir?

Morning. I’m Chief Deputy Fred Gustafson from Lone Tree. I was sent out here to tell you that a search party has been organized and is out in the field. Sheriff wants to know if you’d like to join us?

Fred looked at the man-child standing before him. Long, lank black hair curling down to his shoulders, sallow complexion, clavicles showing through his tee-shirt and blue circles under his eyes. He looked like pictures Fred had seen of concentration camp survivors.

What’s your name Kid? Fred asked.

Freeman. Call me Free, everyone else does.

Free, you look like you had a rough night. Now, I don’t know what those guys from the Highway Patrol told you, but we’ve got a party of about eighty people out there right now combing the fields and walking the river bank. We really don’t need you today if you don’t feel up to it.

I’m good. Let’s go. Free turned to shut the door and he could feel the Deputy at his back.

Free, is your Daddy’s name Lonnie?

Yup. Why?

I served with a Lonnie Yellowbird in the National Guard when we were called up. One of my best friends. I cried like a baby the night he was blowed up. Is he here?

He’s here but he ain’t in no shape for visiting.

Let me come in for just a minute and see him, please?

Free opened the door again and silently waved the officer in. They stopped at the bedroom door and Free said, You might not want to go in there. It’s pretty bad.

The officer just pushed the door open and walked in. This early in the morning the stench wasn’t quite so pungent, but it was still stomach turning. He stood there silently, staring at the man he had known. After a moment, he turned to Free and said, "Your daddy needs to be in the hospital. Now. I’ll call for