“Sure thing,” he responded, pulling out two on the same ring.
* * * *
Finding his truck was the easy part. Carrying the nearly 300-pound man up to it took all four of us, minus Jake’s old friend, who didn’t want his prints anywhere near the man.
“Sorry, guys, about this, but I don’t want his truck tracks across my property for obvious reasons.”
“Hold on. I’ll grab his hat,” I said. “I’m so poor I can’t even pay attention,” it read. “Oh, that’s classy,” I said, reading out loud the saying written across his baseball cap.
“A real ladies’ man,” said Lonnie.
“Just to clarify, Mike, when they find him are they going to see any gunshot or knife wounds?” asked Carl.
“None of those, but he might be missing a tooth.”
“That’s all right. It happens when you end up in a river up here. The one you all crossed coming up here is the Arkansas. At least a few fishermen end up floating in it facedown every summer. Most are tourists, though, and don’t know any better. This one here knows better, but he drinks his breakfast so I don’t think anyone will find it impossible that he drowned chasing down a snagged line or monster trout. He’s got to go in up above the gorge, though.”
“You mean the Royal Gorge?” I asked. “With the bridge and like a thousand-foot drop to the river below?”
“That’s the one,” replied Carl, “and it just up the road.”
“I went there as a kid.” I added. “An incredible place”—only now wondering how I could have a casual conversation over a body, even that of a bad man.
“Okay. If you all can follow me in his truck?” asked Carl.
“You all ride with him,” Mike told us. “Just in case I want to be the only one in this man’s truck.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I don’t mind.”
“I do,” he replied flatly.
“Okay,” continued Carl. “Follow us. It will be bumpy, but we have to go a ways around the barricade. Leave his pistol in the truck, too, just like it is now. His daddy never could get him to carry it. Also, don’t adjust the seat, mirrors, or anything else.”
* * * *
Joy was told only that we would be back soon. She didn’t know any more than that and thankfully didn’t ask.
The time was nearly 10 p.m. and we didn’t run into anyone on the back road up.
“By the way, Lance. Looks like your dog is going to be okay.”
“Thank you, Doc,” I said, hearing it for the second time but feeling just as relieved.
“We get attached to them, for sure,” added Carl. “Our Maggie passed on peacefully just a few weeks back at the ripe old age of 15. I haven’t had the heart to get another, but nowadays it pays dividends to have a good canine at your side.”
“That it does,” added Jake.
“There’s a small turnoff and a short trail down to the river,” said Carl. “We’ll have to stage it just a little but don’t want to overdo it. I want to be in and out in ten minutes, guys, so everyone gets a small job.”
* * * *
We parked in the empty turnoff, with Jake’s friend pointing precisely where Mike should park the truck.
“Lance, take this pole,” said Carl, grabbing it out of the deceased’s truck bed with gloves. “Use a flashlight if you need to. Cast across the river and get the lure stuck. I mean stuck good. Then dunk the pole in the water and set it on the bank. Once I’m out, lock the reel, set the drag high and toss the pole in the river’s middle. He always fished with too heavy line. Everyone knows, so it should hold the pole in the water until tomorrow, at least.
“Mike, I need the keys in the glove box and the parking brake on. Leave the doors unlocked. Don’t ask me why. Then help us get this man down to the water but carried not dragged. We lay him face down in the water, and I’ll get him out to the middle. Nobody else gets wet.”
With the man floating, the Doc dragged him by the collar as far out as he could risk before giving him one final shove towards the middle.
“Guys, I need you to carry me back up to the truck. I don’t want any muddy tracks up the embankment.
“Am I missing anything?” Carl asked, as they all piled back into his truck.
“No,” each man said.
“I know one thing,” I said, both nervous and looking behind us.
“What’s that?” asked Carl.
The lights were coming up behind us.
“Oh no, that’s not good,” Jake’s friend said, as the lights turned on—red after blue, red after blue. “It’s Gus.”
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“State trooper—the ruler of this land up here now, and that guy’s father. Let me do all the talking,” he said, nervously rolling down his window.
The state trooper recognized the doctor’s personalized plates, reading PETVET3. He approached slowly on the driver’s side, tapping his flashlight on the truck’s top cab.
“Window’s open,” said Carl.
“I know,” replied Gus, shining his light through the cab of the truck. “You boys out for a Sunday drive,” he said as a statement.
“No, sir. It’s Saturday, and I was just showing my friends around town.”
“You seen my boy?” he asked, looking at his truck. “He didn’t make it home for dinner.”
“No, sir. Just saw his truck parked here and thought it was kind of late for fishing, so I thought I’d check in on him.”
“Have you?”
“No, sir. Not yet.”
“Just been driving around, the five of you, huh?”
“That’s right, sir. Just some friends up from Pueblo for the weekend.”
“You’re wet,” he said, shining the flashlight at each of us. “It’s only you, looks like. Stay here until I get back,” he instructed, heading to his son’s truck and quickly rifling through it. “Don’t move,” he called back, heading down the
