Moving Star

By R.S. Scott

The second installment in the Steve Keller trilogy, Moving Star chronicles Officer Keller's quest for truth and justice while leading him down an ominous path that walks a fine line between traditional Native life and the expectations of a modern society imposed on an ancient culture.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098306601

Book preview

17

CHAPTER 1

From where I sit, the world turns and envelops itself like twisted steel winding and then rewinding into itself. An unnatural act on which to levy its compromised state of dismemberment—and then some. There is no sun rising much less an evening setting sun to close the day. One day now drifts into another as busy rail cars rumble along on lonely tracks. I now disdain my life and ready myself internally for death to come take me. It has been two weeks since Father died. I was not allowed to bury him. I was not even permitted to attend his funeral. Holden McCabe sent pictures of many sad faces and many sadistic smiling glares. My Friday was worse than my Thursday, my Wednesday was abysmal. I ponder my Saturday considering.

Tracy Monroe sends her tender regards. Although she has made amends, I trust her like I would trust a devil hovering outside a steel cage awaiting an opportunity to kill me. She smiles a warm smile laced with small seductive glances of a maliciousness I have yet to fully grasp. She is the devil that carries my heir, she is my resolute that walks in moonlight but shuns the light of day. She hides in darkened rooms and sulks behind shameful curtains. She smiles a lovely smile and calls me sweet names. The devil smiles at me coyly and lusts after my soul, then rubs her torso where my seed grows. What madness has come of things? It is mid-March this day, the wind is cold, but the snow has begun to melt.

Sergeant Karen Thomas dwells on my mind and in my heart. Aside from being my commanding sergeant, she was my emotional footing, helping me to grasp my faith in God. With her eccentric policing style and subdued demeanor, she was perfectly surmised as a ‘teddy bear with only one sharp claw that needs sharpening’. If there is a God, may he watch over her life and the life she nurtures. I pray in dreaded silence as my soul wretches angry heaps of salty warmth.

I am subtly aware of the dirty floor as deputies pull at my arms. A blackened grayish haze fills my vision, and then slowly recedes. The room turns and bends in continued waves as I glance about.

Officer Steve Keller, you look terrible. It looks like you’ve met Gabriel Nelson up close haven’t you? He’s a big guy isn’t he? a grinning deputy pulls at my right arm. You Indian Police are far too reckless.

In the distance, three officers struggle with a large, long-haired, Navajo man. He bellows profanities in various tongues and curses his jailers. It takes many to subdue the large man as he spits in my direction. He laughs an angry laugh. He speaks again in a loud, authoritative voice, ridiculing my inner hidden loneliness. He is aware of my inner struggles, I cannot rule out any telepathic abilities of sorts regarding this fiend. Several jailers assist, and he is forced into a steeled chair with his limbs bound.

You might be the last raging Nelson, or perhaps I am wrong, I can taste warm blood in my mouth.

You’re a dead man! A dead man! A dead stupid boy! He laughs again, sounding like a roomful of angry, violent men. His face is reddened, his eyes livid and his countenance raging. Keller, the stupid boy. I will be the one to take your life. I will take what is yours. Daren’s legacy will live on after I kill you. It will be mine, Gabriel seethes angrily.

I won’t die, not yet. Not today, I eye his filthy demeanor, but you won’t last in here, not tied up like that. Gabriel Nelson, how’s that leg holding up? Holden has really good aim, doesn’t he? Especially with a magnum round, that must hurt.

Die! I hate you! He attempts to rise, then is forced down by the deputies.

I’m going to go now. But I will return for you. I promise you that, I exit the interview room and leave the commotion behind me.

I am escorted out into the Winslow police station lobby.

Are you OK, Officer Keller? The deputy hands me a napkin.

Damn, I wipe my mouth and nurse the deep cut inside. Why not Lucifer himself instead of him? I rub my left jaw. Gabriel has a mean jab.

Officer Keller, we are sorry for getting you into the same room as that Nelson. Come, night has fallen and it’s time to go, the deputy offers a handkerchief.

My informal benefactor waits, dressed in a dark blue FBI jacket, he waits.

Where am I going? My jaw hurts right below my ear, and a slight vertigo compromises my stability.

Away from this place, Keller. Away from this place.

I sit on a wooden chair. Staring off into oblivion’s gate with a cold, steel-grey door before me, heavily enforced and indeed strong. A slyly smiling agent sits to my right; he nods his head and continues reading his paper. I shuffle my feet anxiously, Be cool, Steve, just be cool.

Is that a pep talk you’re giving yourself? The agent peers from beyond his sports page.

Yes, it is, thanks for the bother, Mr. Agent. Whatever your name is.

Not a problem, Officer Keller, he disappears behind folds of shredded bark. Not a bit of a bother, Kid.

Don’t call me that, please, I note the steel plated walls and a heavy metal table before me. How you all can be convinced to be content is beyond me.

He sits unwaveringly, the slight rustling of day-old newspapers break the afternoon bore.

Hey, Agent, how long do I have to be here?

As long as they say you need to be. Could be hours, days, even weeks, he remains focused on his paper. Years maybe.

I hate it in here. Like a damn caged animal…I just sit here and wait and wait.

Well, wait is what you will do. Won’t you? The agent peers at me again.

A knock at the door resonates with a metallic clang. A deputy enters with a plate of food.

Keller, cheer up. It’s your favorite. Tacos. Eat up, the deputy pats my shoulder.

I gaze at the tacos. These are enchiladas, and that’s not rice. What the hell is this?

It’s food, eat up. Quit complaining, he hands me a root beer.

Can I have a cola instead? I’m no longer fond of this.

Eat your fucking tacos, Keller, the deputy glares down upon me.

I eye him with my perfected stoic glare.

You guys suck with your hospitality, but you should, after all, you are government employees. I am, too, if one wants to get technical about things, I poke at my food with a plastic fork. This looks microwaved. The stuff that comes from the frozen aisle at the grocery.

In the blackness of night, we had traveled in a darkened van with armed guards at the helm. I had asked repeatedly to be allowed access to a window, any window to bring any measure of comfort to the lonely seated prison. Occasionally, I had been allowed to pee at a gas station. Our voyage continued as our destination remained unclear. An unpredictable madness had followed and tormented us. An unseen terror had mocked our souls as our travels took us into California.

Just outside of Bakersfield, California we had been attacked yet again. I had belted myself in as gunfire erupted from beyond my metallic prison. It was difficult to tell who was yelling and who was screaming. Then darkness descended onto our van like angry bees over a disturbed hive. It had an evil smile and mocked my soul with every sound that echoed into the mobile cage.

The van had dark corners that yielded angry limbs and pale, amber eyes. Soft, gentle fingers brushed my neck and teased my shoulders, I turned to an empty chair behind me. A soft sinister giggle had echoed from beyond the fragile interior of our van as large-caliber arms fire drowned out the pistol fire. The inner coldness had grown harsh amidst the violent commotion outside. The frigid breeze entered the van and burnt my skin.

The van’s side-door opened, and a desperate man appeared. His face was pale and his eyes raised, Keller? Are you harmed?

I’m fine. What the hell is going on? Why’d we stop? I had peered past him into the darkness choking with ballistic smoke. Why aren’t we on Interstate 40?

The armed man had pulled another in front of me. You stay with him. I’ll find Kevin. He rushed off into the night, Kevin!

No, don’t leave! I had yelled into the darkness. Don’t leave!

Keller, get back in your chair, the armed man climbed in, and then seated himself by the van door. Your friends are fast, they are indeed.

They are not my friends. Call back your boys and let’s go. Call for backup or something, I leered wearingly into the outer dark.

We already did, he reloaded his pistol.

Loud pounding had shaken our fragile van as delicate suspension parts shook and rumbled. I had heard at least two assailants walking about on the van’s roof. They spouted out phrases in Old Navajo.

Shit, the armed man had aimed for the roof noises. Not a sound, Keller, he laid on his back aiming at the stamped, steel ceiling. Just be quiet.

You shouldn’t be in here, I had eyed the van ceiling.

Shut up, Keller.

The noises had continued with the van teetering on its suspension, bouncing under its weight.

I mean it, you should have stayed out there with the other guy, and that Kevin guy.

Shut your face, Keller, he had pointed at the continued noises from the roof. Now is not the time.

A woman’s voice had appeared above the van. It was an older voice, mature and serious. She picked at the van’s ceiling with seemingly clawed limbs. In Old Navajo, she had uttered phrases I couldn’t comprehend, and then screamed. She pounded the van’s roof with mighty fists of inhuman strength, impressions had appeared overhead.

The armed man covered his ears and then screamed a woman’s scream, jerked his head from side to side violently, and thrashed about on the bench seat. His face reddened and his teeth chattered noisily. Blood spattered from his coughs.

Oh shit, I had approached the armed man. Just be calm. He laid limp onto the van floor as the female voice overhead had faded away. The unwelcomed visitors had moved away noisily in sinister giggles and animalistic pants. All stayed silent for the slight breathing from my protector, he laid on his side with eyes closed and a bloodied mouth.

His comrades then had returned with familiar voices echoing outside the van.

I placed a hand on the armed man’s shoulder, You alright?

He opened his eyes. My head, he said, and moved to a seated position.

You sure you’re OK?

I’m good, I’m sure of it, he then pulled his side arm and, in a heartbeat, the barrel pointed in my direction. Keller, he laughed, then uttered strange but familiar words in Old Navajo. The accent was accurate enough, the words were of the old tongue.

I had deflected his aim as his gun fired, missing my left torso by inches. His face contorted and his grip strong, he bore his teeth angrily. The stupid boy. You are the stupid boy! Through the deafening ballistic crack, we struggled. Several more rounds fired as we fought for control of the gun. I pinned him to the floor of the van as he still tried to fire his weapon.

Let go!

He had laughed and uttered words I’d never heard before. I could tell the dialect was correct Old Navajo, but the words had been again foreign, old, unrecognizable. I had wedged my finger into the open pistol chamber and grasped the pistol slide. The slide had torn my hand.

Let go!

Keller, you’ll be dead soon enough, you stupid boy! His voice a low growl.

I had used the bench seat and its bolted corner legs to my advantage. My assailant was remarkably strong.

The van’s side-door slid open and a weary agent and a dazed Kevin had gazed at me.

Help! I had yelled at the armed agents. They did not move. What is this? I still struggled with a cursing, growling gunman. I had held his arm behind him, but with his violent struggling, I had felt flesh tearing and bones breaking. His arm laid limp in my hand as his shoulder fought on. Shit. I had pulled the bloodied gun from his grasp and pointed it at his neck. Don’t move. He had cursed at me in Old Navajo, words of deep, emotional meaning. Words of war and utter emotional hatred.

Kevin and the commanding agent had looked on with dazed eyes. They had glared at me, then past me, then into the darkness beyond the van.

Hey! Agents! Don’t just stand there! Help me! I called out onto deaf ears.

Kevin had raised his weapon at me, as did the other agent. They remain still as moments stuttered by.

I had fired into the right lung of my assailant, keeping clear of his broken arm. Kevin smiled as a devil would smile.

Hey! What are you doing? I struggled on.

They stood as statues, void of any emotional expression.

The stupid boy. We have him, the commanding agent smiled calmly. We have him.

A loud thunder had shaken our van as my soul shuttered. There was no moisture in the air, no sign of a thunderstorm. No logical reason for thunder. A blackened void encapsulated our van. A strong spiritual presence then had entered the van. It eyed my soul.

I had fired one round into Kevin’s head, then another into the commanding agent’s head. They fell onto the earth in organic thuds.

All had been quiet as the assailant’s struggles faded to nothingness.

In the distance, a siren had blared through the blackness. I wrapped my bleeding hand with a dirty towel as my ears recovered from the deafening ballistic blasts. Steam had risen from the wounds just outside the van’s sliding door as the interior light shined on.

I sat in silence. Weary of the darkness, I also had been weary of the immensely powerful entity moving about. I hadn’t seen anything with my eyes but with my soul’s eyes. I was afraid. Afraid to venture out. Afraid to garner any unnecessary attention. I wanted to see humans, just humans, regular humans without any spiritual endowments beyond what can be imagined. I hoped to encounter unaltered humans. I then sat quietly as the troopers arrived.

I glare at my defeated tacos. I open my root beer, just look at this stupid thing, and poke at an enchilada with a fork. This is not Mexican food, Mexico is right over there and you can’t even get me a decent taco? I point to the wall opposite.

That’s actually westerly you’re pointing at, Keller, the agent sneers in my direction, and then returns to his folds of thin, tree bark.

Well, whatever. That way then, I point southward with my fork. I continue poking at my enchiladas. This is just crap. I’ll take Americanized tacos over this crap.

Do you always whine this much, Officer Keller?

About my food? I will whine without shame. I mean look at this, I jab at a taco with my fork.

My warden rises to the sound of a knock, folds his paper, and opens the door. A tall, blond man holding two folders enters. He wears a dark blue suit, white shirt, and a bland tie. His walk is confident, as is his wide grin. Agent Thomas Ellington also enters the room behind the tall man and closes the door.

I rise from my chair and offer a handshake.

Officer Steve Roan Keller of the Navajo Police Department, it’s an honor to meet you. Finally, the tall man shakes my hand. I’ve heard so much about you.

Tom and I share fist bumps. It’s good to see you, Keller.

Likewise, Tom. You look good, I turn to the blond agent. Sir, I’m glad to meet you. Sir. Whoever you are.

He motions me to sit. I sit.

I am Special Agent Michael Montgomery, he said, removing papers from the folder he carried. Agent Axelson worked under my command in Phoenix when things went down as badly as they did at Salt River. I hope you will excuse the abruptness of the situation, as well as the handling of it. We had to act fast considering what was at stake.

I sit glaring at Michael and Tom.

I certainly hope your journey from Bakersfield to Phoenix wasn’t as eventful as what has been reported, Special Agent Montgomery smiles at me.

It was bumpy, I note Tom’s awkward smile.

Well, we certainly apologize for that. And our deepest condolences regarding the death of your father. I hear he was a good man.

I offer a nod.

We do very much regret his passing as well as keeping you from events surrounding that, but I trust you do understand why we did what we did. With things the way they were, it was not the place for you to linger for your own sake. Things can and do get convoluted beyond set boundaries, making things more complicated than they need to be, he smiles.

I glare at Agent Michael.

Well then, since Agent Ellington here has been working closely with you and your colleagues, he will brief you on the intricacies of what we propose and the details thereof. We trust your judgment in matters of native religious nature, but it becomes a problem when you don’t see some boundaries and we have to act on your behalf. Sadly, things are as they are. We do apologize for the bumpy ride, he smiles again.

Why?…I mean how, did my father die? I inquire of the overly confident Special Agent before me.

Montgomery pauses, then turns to Tom, then back to me. The situation surrounding your father’s death is quite complicated. Tracy Monroe wasn’t able to pinpoint exactly who and where, but those facts can become a bit complex when the elements of human emotion and rationale are introduced, unfortunately, he motions for Tom. Your father died hours after a dialysis regiment, sadly.

Damn, I glare at the steel table before me. Now both of my parents are dead. Was there a hearing regarding the distribution of his assets, his truck, and his ranch?

I believe your sister took care of all that. I understand you two aren’t very close. Why not?

She’s not a kind person. I’ll leave it at that, I smile.

Well, you and Agent Ellington seem to work well together, and I’d like to keep you two as partners. The details of why you had to be taken away abruptly is a bit complex. Agent Ellington will brief you accordingly.

Come on, Keller. Tracy wants to see you, Tom places my Indian Police badge on the table.

Well then, I guess I’ll be seeing you around. And Keller, please don’t get yourself into any more trouble than you can handle, please, Special Agent Montgomery smiles and leaves the briefing room.

I sit quietly, staring at my badge, running my fingers softly over the delicate angles and carefully cast shapes, Tom, what happened with Daren Monroe? And don’t you lie to me.

Tom tugs at my arm, Come on, not here. Not in here, let’s talk outside. Away from everyone. Come on.

We leave the towering structure and make our way out toward Central Avenue. In the distance is a light rail station. We walk silently between the concrete towers of downtown Phoenix, Arizona. Our world is quiet as the world around us rumbles past in gasps and whimpers. Businessmen in dark blue suits stroll by hoisting leather briefcases, patrons rush by engrossed in their daily activities. We board the light rail northbound away from central Phoenix.

Sir, my family is hungry. Can you spare a dollar? Please? The man’s accent is definitely Mexican, his clothes tattered and weathered. His eyes appear weary and his countenance defeated. Sir?

Tom, may I borrow some bills please? I get Tom’s attention.

I only have a twenty, Tom fumbles through his wallet.

I take Tom’s twenty and give it to the Mexican man. He gently takes it from my hand, almost in disbelief that it is a practical joke.

Thank you, Sir. God bless you, he offers a slight bow.

God bless you, too, I watch him leave the light rail train at the Thomas Road station.

Keller, you just gave that homeless man my twenty. Keller?

I borrowed it, it was my twenty.

Tom glares at me for a moment, and then again at our fellow passengers.

Tom, what’s the plan? Where is Tracy? And where are we going?

We’re going to get your truck back, it’s impounded at Sunny-slope. Come on, cheer up. You’ll love it, right by that taco shop you’re always talking about, Tom pats my arms.

Tom, what does Agent Michael know that he’s not telling me? That he feels he has to do what he did in order to keep confidential what he deems as such, while I run around like it is expected for me to do?

Agent Ellington exhales and looks about with wearing eyes. Tom, I was hauled in for manslaughter, but now I’m exonerated and free? Free to do what, exactly? I know of no federal entity that would do such a thing like that without having a damn good fucking reason, I note Agent Ellington’s silence. Tom?

Keller, it’s complicated. Let’s get your truck back and talk about it over tacos.

I don’t want tacos, I’m sick of tacos. Actually, I’m sick of authentic Mexican food, it’s everywhere here. There’s only so much you can take.

I’ll buy you a hamburger then. I’m sure they have that.

We travel in silence to the Camelback rail station, and then board a bus heading northbound. I have so many questions for Tom, but given his governmental allegiance versus our fledgling friendship, I am hesitant to inquire further about what he really knows. I am silent, but I want to know about Holden, Karen, and Pastor. I want to know about what has gone on in the small community we call home. About the delicate matters of communal upheaval that have painted dark misfortunes into our community.

CHAPTER 2

My patrol SUV sits mournfully in a dirty corner behind a barbed gate. Dust and dried mud encapsulate my once mobile fortress.

Shit, look at that. All Rezzed out. Mud and dirt every-where, I inspect the exterior, two tires appear flat. Tom, can you have him put some air in these tires, please? And check the battery.

Tom disappears into a centrally-located trailer. Many used cars and auto parts litter the yard. A prostitute walks the sidewalk adjacent to the barbed fence, she sees me and waves. I offer a clear view of my Indian Police badge. She mocks me playfully and continues her walk.

Steve, they say they don’t want to touch your truck, Tom exits the trailer.

Why not? My tires are flat. I’m not driving around with flat tires and we need to check the battery. Where are the keys?

They say your truck is evil, Tom looks on sarcastically.

What?

He’s a superstitious Vietnamese guy, he claims several of his mechanics fell ill after being near your truck, Tom flings me my truck keys.

An evil truck? My truck is evil? What a load of shit. I open the driver’s side-door and climb in. I note my armament is gone as a strong odor of organic rot fills my nostrils. I hug my nose and climb out, Wow. Tom, what the hell was in my truck?

Daren was in your truck. You and Jeremy did that if you recall. Then your truck was part of a cleansing of sorts, which involved the innards of an animal. I don’t know which animal, Karen would know. Tom circles my vehicle, waving his arms as he talks.

We open the rear compartment of the SUV. Blood is smeared onto my spare tire. The smell of organic rot is strong.

Shit. Does he know of an interior detailing place? Who the hell got into my truck? I note the filthy interior.

Your truck was stolen from Dilcon Police Station parking lot. Apparently, whoever stole it did the cleansing ceremony and dumped it in Black Canyon City. It was impounded recently with that mess in the back, Tom pats my shoulder. Cheer up, Keller. We’re just getting started. Drive it as it is out to the street. I’ll call a tow truck.

Shit, I drive my truck out to Dunlap Avenue then onto an abandoned parking lot. Damn, this stinks, I pinch my nose.

My truck is towed to a local garage for some internal scrubbing. There are few Navajo clans that will deal in death, especially not directly in the dead and its organic rot. Being so close to lifelessness then used ceremonially, I am concerned. We walk to a local restaurant for tacos.

Keller, it was necessary to remove you from the situation that was unfolding. Your cousin Anthony, or Tony, is a very dangerous individual. We don’t know half of what he’s up to but we do know he was tied to your father’s death by indirect means and he was pursuing you next. Tom tries to be serious, his tone varies with each fact proclaimed.

I eye defeated tacos tearfully, So, to pull that off, I get hauled in and driven all over California? You realize how stupid that sounds?

We had to lead Tony’s offensive away from what was transpiring in Dilcon and Tolani Lake. It had to be authentic, you had to be unaware.

Tom, I used to trust you. Used to, I poke at my tacos. How is Taylor?

Clarence Taylor is well. Or ‘Taylor’ as you call him.

What about Karen? And Holden? And Jeremy?

"Karen, your commanding sergeant, is still coming to terms with the state of things as they are, she was incredibly irate initially, but you know how stubborn she can be when she doesn’t get what she wants. And, yes, she does carry your child. She’s up for maternity leave shortly. I don’t