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DEVIL’S SIDE POCKET
It seemed like the right thing to do.
That city fellow Dr. Hayle wanted to conduct an archeological dig on Elvin Kristiansen’s ranch, and Elvin isn’t the type to stand in anyone’s way of doing something good. He was raised to live up to his last name, which is basically Son of Christ.
When Dr. Hayle begins to tell lies – then get caught telling them – you’d think Elvin would flip his lid on the darn city slicker.
He will. It’s just going to take awhile.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018
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The Devil's Side Pocket
This book is dedicated to my father, Dan Wilhelm.BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 MunichTitle Page
The Devil’s Side Pocket
by
Jake Wilhelm
FRONT MATTER
COPYRIGHT
Title: The Devil’s Side Pocket
Author: Jake Wilhelm
Cover design: Jake Wilhelm
(c) Jake Wilhelm 2017/EP Dowd Enterprises. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in shape or form by any means, electronic, mechanical, copying, recording, or otherwise without prior written permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is dedicated to my father, for his inspiration and support
THE DEVIL’S SIDE POCKET
Actually, the last straw came when he killed one of Elvin’s cows.
The only thing surprising about this incident was the very idea that Elvin had taken this long to decide to murder Dr. Hayle.
*
It all began in early spring. The river had finally gone down into its banks, grass grew full strength on the pastureland and Elvin had just put his cattle out. Six months shy of turning 81, Elvin had trimmed his herd down from dairy strength to fifty meat cows, which was enough for him to manage mostly on his own, along with the occasional help from his nephew in town.
Elvin might have given up the dairy work, but darned if he didn’t still spend much of his springtime working on the barn. Still there, repairing the aged structure his father had built, trying to put right damage inflicted upon it this winter by the cows while they wintered over on this side of the slough that separated his so called industrial complex (according to them hippies from the state, he now had a place named like he made plastic explosives, aerosol deodorant and corrosive chemicals) and from the main pastureland.
Consequently, Elvin was tapping together a patch on the side of the old dairy barn when a Range Rover pulled into his dooryard. Elvin almost didn’t hear it; the car was one of those new cars you can never hear. Maybe it was electric. Wouldn’t be the first time Elvin had almost been run over by an electric car. So, he stood with a scowl that put the indignant in indignant as the Range Rover halted mere inches from his scrawny behind.
A middle aged man wearing khaki – from a little hat atop a hairless skull to his slacks – exited the vehicle with a smile perched on his fleshy face.
“Are you Elvin Kristiansen?” he asked, holding out a hand. Three other folks remained in the truck. Elvin glanced at what he could glance through darkened windows. He saw three dark figures. That really helps.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
They shared a handshake. The stranger had a surprisingly strong grip; didn’t appear to be unfamiliar with work, which was odd for such a city looking fella. “Why are you looking for me?” Elvin asked.
“I was hoping to get permission to conduct an archeological investigation on your land.”
Conduct – investigation. Elvin sighed. “Are you another one of them hippies coming down to slap another regulation on me? What, now I can’t let my cattle breath the air, I have to supply my own. I’ve had enough of your liberal shinola-”
“Oh, not at all!” The man laughed. “I am an archeologist looking for signs of an early settlement in this area.”
“Oh heck. Some Indians didn’t live on my land, did they?” Elvin had heard of people losing their properties because some Indian built a campfire there three hundred years ago. Seems like all a rancher had left to do nowadays was wait for the State to take away his land through some liberal political sleight of hand. “I’m just trying to spend the last days I got left doing what I love to do, can’t you just leave me be?”
“I better start over, sir. I am Dr. Vince Hale from the State University, and I’m not here to harm you in any way, sir.”
Professor. University. That got Elvin’s attention. Still didn’t mean the guy wasn’t some environmentalist type, but for a guy who never got to high school, the fact Elvin was yakking with a professor was pretty darn impressive. If this professor fellow wasn’t here to take property away, it sure wouldn’t hurt to be cordial to him.
“I’m working on a project concerning pioneers in the area. My research has led me to believe that in 1841, Norton and Zina Shedd, the first settlers in this area-”
“The ones Shedd County is named for.”
“Yes. The Shedds homesteaded your property, with a cabin and several out buildings near the river. I am just looking for proof, and perhaps some relics. I’m only here to locate the homestead. Once I locate it, I’m out of your hair.”
Elvin didn’t have much problem with letting people use his land when it didn’t involve the State taking it away. He even had a sign out front that said ‘Hunting Allowed With Permission from Owner’. His mother had raised him to understand that his duty was to live up to his family name, which was basically Son of Christ.
“How many hours you need?” Elvin asked.
Stifling what might have been a laugh, Hayle said, “Oh, it will take longer than that, Mr. Kristiansen. It will take days. Let me show you where I’m interested in.”
Hayle led him to a corner of Elvin’s own property, onto the hill between the house and barn. He pointed towards the river. “It would be on that last field before the river. Between those old trees and that junk growing along the river.”
“Yeah,” Elvin said, shrugging.
“I would really appreciate it if I-”
“Professor, I mean Doctor, I already gave you my permission. Knock yourself out.”
Hayle hesitated, probably in shock, then opened his jacket and revealed a folder he was holding inside. “Thanks, Mr. Kristiansen. I will pay you, of course. And let’s have a look at this paperwork. It’s just a simple contract that gives me permission to-”
Elvin sneered at the paperwork. “You can put that away, now. I’m not keen on paperwork, that’s how half my land ended up a state wildlife preserve. You go do your thing, and that’s fine with me. Just respect the cattle. They’re not in that pasture, but they might come around to check out what you’re doing, and the fence may not hold them back. They won’t hurt you, but they can be pretty insistent on being where they want to be.”
“Let me pay you.”
“It’s not Christian to take money for a guy trying to prove something.”
“How about a dollar? Just a dollar. Here, take it.”
Elvin waved it off.
Why didn’t he notice then that Hayle was getting ticked off? Probably too busy thinking on how much work he still had to do on the barn, yeah, that was probably it. Chattering with a city fellow, a darn doctor professor at that, might could be interesting, but just for a few minutes and those few minutes were winding down.
Hayle didn’t seem PO’ed when he led Elvin back to the Range Rover. He urged his passengers to come out and meet Elvin. He introduced them, saying, “You’ll be seeing a lot of these folks.” There was a knock out pretty gal called Abbey, she looked like the girls out of those magazines Elvin looked at once in awhile and he didn’t mind looking at her, either. The other two were Ed and Geraldine. Or maybe one was Gerald and the other was Edwina, hard to tell with all that long hair.
“OK,” Elvin said, shaking hands and still trying to solve the case of Ed or Edwina. “That’s good. I need to get back to work.” He gave a little wave and returned to his waiting wood and nails.
*
Come break time, Elvin went in the house to get a cold soda pop and set up his telescope. Setting the old girl up in the dining room, he put the scope to work.
The whole crew of them had taken over the pasture. Two were pushing some darned thing that looked like a lawnmower, but it wasn’t cutting grass, just gliding over it. The other two were seated on the tailgate of the fancy Range Rover looking at some computer looking thing.
The pasture land was just a sliver left of the pretty darn good grazing field that used to run all the way to the river. Some years back, some hippies from the Natural Resources Department of the state told him he had to grow what was called a riparian barrier between his fields and the river. A riparian barrier was apparently just letting stuff grow wild on the river bank instead of growing grass that cattle could eat. Hundred yards deep of wasted land. Never understood why a riparian barrier was needed; if it was just a way to grab land off hard working folks, it worked like a champ because the river had these barrier thingies all the way from the ocean to the terminus – except for the land belonging to the cities and towns, of course – there the buildings went straight to and even over the water; even the Department of Motor Vehicles up in Jackson was built on stilts over the river. How polluting!
Elvin still had to pay tax on that riparian barrier land, too, and that really put steam in his engine! He thought very un-Christian thoughts as he tried to concentrate on trying to find out what the heck them city people were mowing his field with. He resisted the temptation to go on down there and just ask them. No, he had work to do.
He stepped away, happening to look down on the floor as he did so.
Those divots from Alice’s hospital bed would always be there. Those little scrapey dents in the old wood floor. She would have liked those people down there. She would have the front of the bed levitated up so she could watch the pasture.
