Murder in the Palouse Page 4

  They all nodded in agreement and then Nelly spoke up. “Why in the name of all that is descent did they have to hack the victims to pieces … I mean, they were all shot dead and then mutilated … gruesome shit even for me and I have seen it all,” Dr. Nelly said her face showing disgust.

  There was a moment of silence and the only sound was the rain striking the wall-sized windows facing the waterfront, Puget Sound and the Olympic Peninsula. The misty fog had lifted and only the cling-clang on the bell of the large buoy could be heard.

  “Let’s sleep on this tonight and figure out whether we are going to accept this assignment … I know the money is good and all, but we certainly do not need the money,” Patch said.

  There was a moment of silence and then Sue chimed in and said, “It’s not about money … no … you are right we have more money than we will ever need or be able to spend but we can’t sit back and allow shit like this to happen in our own backyard, so to speak.” And then with her voice raised a few decibels higher she said, “You know damn well we will accept this case even if they did not pay us … so what’s the fucking problem, dad?”

  Whoa, she called her father dad … miracles will never cease, snowflakes.

  Again there was silence and then a bolt of lightning outside followed a few seconds later by rolling thunder.

  “Sue is correct, we must do this case,” Bessie Mae said.

  Everyone at the table looked at Patch, he bit off a chunk of cucumber and said, “Well, the wizards have spoken … what do the rest of you think? Give me a show of hands if you think we should take on the case.”

  Without hesitation they all raised their hands, Sue raised both hands and the rest followed suit. Then it was Patch’s turn, he saw the vote and decided to raise his hand too.

  He did.

  “Okay, pack up and tomorrow early we will head for Moses Lake and then Pullman and set up headquarters there … we will need rooms in Pullman, etc.,” Patch said.

  “Well, never fear, I called Pullman last night and reserved four rooms at the Palouse River Motel,” Bessie Mae said with a broad grin. “One room has two pull-away beds and two singles so that room I reserved for me, Mustang Sally, Brown Eyes and Patch of course.”

  Patch almost choked on a bite from his cucumber and then looked at her and said, “Make sure we have lots of cookies and the other stuff we like to take with us.”

  “I have all afternoon to take care of that,” Bessie Mae replied. “And since we will be in the same room, I will make sure you get them right out of the fucking oven, master.”

  Whoa, Master?

  Are you shitting me?

  No.

  Are you sure?

  More than certain, snowflakes, Jose, Paco and Maria.

  CHAPTER 2

  LIBERTY’S END

  From the Creed of Liberty’s End: “ALL KITTENS ARE EQUAL—BUT SOME ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS.”

  “Yada! Yada! Yada!” resounded the screams of the standing and adoring followers of W.W. Williams as he took the stage and podium inside the cavernous Butler building, one of several such structures at Liberty’s End the 600-acre compound of the AANARC group. There are no chairs in the building, when W.W. is present AANARC members must stand and adore their guru—their leading light, their fucking master (literally). Many of his followers felt W.W. was their modern-day Maharishi, the great seer. AANARC is a splinter group of anti-fascists who are determined to change the world via direct confrontation and the wasting of all those who get in their way, period. They believe that voting for change is useless, writing letters for change is useless, massive protest gatherings are useless against fascism.

  So, what is the only thing that works for them?

  Violence, direct in your face violence, physical confrontation with the fascists is the mantra and the working mechanism of AANARC members. Simply, violence is the grease that smoothed the way for transition to his way of thinking, period. W.W. Williams is well aware of the other splinter groups, autonomous ghosts who are into milkshaking and squadism activities. However, W.W. feels that throwing a milkshake at one or more of your enemies is a waste of good fucking milk; instead of using milkshakes he has his followers use H2SO4 (concentrated sulfuric acid) in glass containers that when that acidic liquid mix is properly thrown into the face it takes the receivers face down to the fucking bone—how glorious is that?

  Pretty fucking glorious to AANARC members.

  Well, to AANARC members it is the ultimate glory to physically assault and do in their enemies—well, it is more of a fulfilling practice when they just waste their enemies … just so much more satisfying, indeed.

  With regard to squadism where physical force is applied to enemy fascists, AANARC members go a step further, again, they waste the enemy fascists—the thinking is why not, it makes good sense to rid their world of far-right shitheads.

  That’s how they think, Jose, Paco and Maria.

  Anyway, on this day, W.W. Williams was in his glory while standing in front of his adoring kittens (he liked to think he was the head cat and the rest of his deadheads were just lowly kittens) espousing his venous diatribe against all those who were and are not part of his litter, so to speak.

  “I am sick and tired of being sick and tired,” he yelled out to the 73 deadhead followers who were absorbing his every word and the Elvis type gyrations he made when he delivered his poisonous, invective harangue against all far-right bastards and others.

  “We need to set the record straight.”

  “Yada, Yada, Yada.”

  “We need to cleanse the United States of America and then do the whole fucking world.”

  “Yada, Yada, Yada.

  “We need to start with the politicians … we need to waste them … throw them to our hungry friends in the pond out back.”

  Note: “The pond out back” consists of a 55-acre water filled mining quarry that W.W. and his adoring kittens filled with predatory Piranhas … thousands of them.

  “Yada, Yada, Yada.”

  “Then we need to take out the college professors and other teachers who are making their students braindead and totally fucking stupid.”

  “Yada, Yada, Yada.”

  “Then the police and other authorities have to go … we are the fucking police and all others will bow to us in total homage and I will serve as the modern-day Caesar and Nero and Caligula and will reopen the jails and let all the sleezebags out and we will waste them all to the glory of us…the glory of me, your fearless fucking leader!”

  “Yada, Yada, Yada.”

  “We also need to burn down the cities … gut the dens of shitheads… and commies and then their fucking churches … houses full of hypocrites and other braindead shitters.”

  “Then we need to fix the so-called race problem. All non-whites need to be eliminate

  fed to our friends in the pond … here today and gone fucking tomorrow. Just think how good that will be to have no ghettos, no homeless, no druggers, no welfare cheats, no food stamp cheats, no raping and deflowering of our women—all that and more, as you know, is to be reserved for me, and me only.”

  “Yada, Yada, Yada.”

  “We will not have a gay problem—they will all exist for my pleasure, when I want them and when I don’t want them, we will feed them to our friends. Soon the world will consist of me and all women…no men, gay or otherwise. Shit, think of the glory of it all!” shouted in a fit of total fucking ecstasy and power.

  “Yada, Yada, Yada.”

  “The problem with those shithead citizens out there in shitter land is that we need to flush the bastards … all the bastards. They have too much liberty … shit, freedom of this and that has corrupted the entire country and only you and me can straighten this shit out. Liberty’s End is where they all belong … here or in my bed serving me … I will deflower all male and females over 10 years of age and then waste them … wasting them is good, it is great, it is fucking my priceless, my fucking adoring kittens. Shit other than th
at we will WASTE THEM ALL,” he shouted.

  “Yada, Yada, Yada.”

  Wow, the travesty of it all, Jose, Paco, and Maria.

  CHAPTER 3

  ON THE ROAD AGAIN

  Note: From your Narrator Jake: Well, they were on the road again with three fully loaded SUVs hauling Curmudgeons and supplies headed east toward Pullman, Washington. Bessie Mae as usual was driving the lead SUV with Sue riding shotgun. Patch was in the back and flanked on both sides by Brown Eyes and Mustang Sally. With the exception of Patch who was munching away on a cucumber the others were downing burnt bottom peanut butter cookies washing it all down with apple juice—no salty dogs allowed while on the road; well, not always, anyway. The second SUV containing K. Lovey driving and her sister L. Lovey riding shotgun and in the passengers’ seats in the back Nelly, Hell, and Two Green Eyes were enjoying the scenery. Again they were following suit by devouring burnt bottom peanut butter cookies with apple juice. Hell normally would have Two Green Eyes sitting tight against her but both Nelly and Two Green Eyes gave Hell plenty of room because she still had some discomfort from the upper leg wounds she received during their past firefight in the Grand Canyon. Nelly was with them because as a doctor she wanted to keep a close eye on Hell. The third SUV was driven by JoAnn and Debbie Crockett road shotgun. The back seats had been removed and the free space packed with clothing, personal items, makings for cookies, dry gin, grapefruit and cranberry juice for Salty Dogs, and a few fresh cucumbers for Patch. The rest of the space was packed with hiking boots, sticks, camelbacks, and weapons—weapons included 3 AR-15s, Patch’s short 12-gauge shotgun, several Mr. Bowies, 6 throwing axes, 10 Glock 17s, 2 Dirty Harry specials (44-magnum revolvers), two Marlin 30-30 rifles, 1 cross bow with several bolts, a sling shot and load and two 30-06 rifles that Hell and Two Green Eyes preferred. The right-side rear corner of the SUV was packed with ammo.

  After the 5-hour drive to Pullman they checked into the Palouse River Motel. After unpacking and resting a while they all met in the motel conference room that Bessie Mae reserved in advance.

  It was 1500 and very hot outside but not too bad inside with the air conditioning working away and they could hear the slight sound of air flow noise through the AC register and grill located above the center of the long table.

  Sue looked around the conference room and thought the pea green paint was rather sickening to look at and she noticed there were no decorations and/or hanging pictures within, but there was a wall-filled white board mounted to one side. The table was well used and heavily scratched but at least it could hold their Salty Dogs and cookies Bessie Mae had set out for everyone.

  As usual Patch began the meeting by stating, “Well, my fellow partners in arms we are her safely and now we need to come up with our game plan.”

  “Well, it would be good if we knew something about this area … I mean the layout … the land, the hazards and what we should expect,” Debbie Crockett said.

  “That is correct. I think only Sue and JoAnn are familiar with the Palouse and especially Sue who has spent many a day and night within the Palouse and canoeing the Palouse River,” Patch said.

  They munched on a few cookies and said nothing for a few minutes.

  Meanwhile Sue got up and retrieved a rolled-up map she had of the Palouse region of Washington, Idaho and Oregon States and she and Bessie Mae pinned the map to a cork board on the wall. Sue broke out a collapsible pointer she had in her back jeans pocket, extended the pointer and began giving the Curmudgeons a lecture about the Palouse. Sue had her laptop with her, but the Motel’s video display equipment was out of order, so she had to depend on the map of the Palouse region.

  The Curmudgeons made themselves comfortable while Sue used the map and her knowledge to describe the Palouse and its beauty and its hazards. She knew the area quite well and spent many glorious days hiking the area and avoiding rattlesnakes. One of her major presentations she made while working toward her second Doctorate was about the Palouse and its historic formation. She is knowledgeable, more so than many and is able to present important background information to her partners. So, she did, Her presentation took almost two hours, and everyone was mesmerized and glued to their chairs while she reported the history and current conditions within the Palouse Falls and Palouse River area where they were going to concentrate their hunting efforts for the serial killers.

  ********

  Note: From Jake Your Narrator: Sue presented the following information to her partners.

  While using her pointer on the map Sue explained that the Palouse which includes a significant area of Washington State but also encompasses parts of north central Idaho and many identify and include parts of northeast Oregon. This entire area is an agricultural area, primarily producing legumes such as alfalfa, clover, beans. Lentils, soybeans, silage and forage plants and lots of wheat. It is interesting to note that this area is only about 100 miles from the Oregon Trail.

  Sue explained that while at Washington State University she spent some time researching the name “Palouse” but that she never did come up with a definitive explanation of the origin of the areas name. However, she did find out that pelouse means “land with short and thick grass” and that name certainly is fitting.

  Sue paused her presentation to the Curmudgeons long enough so bathroom trips could be made, more cookies grabbed, and JoAnn and Bessie Mae made everyone a fresh Salty Dog, for Sue too. Meanwhile Sue passed out copies of the rolling hill area the Palouse if known for. When all were seated, she continued her monologue.

  She explained that from the handout she just gave them they should be able to get an idea of what the Palouse is. As shown in the handout the Palouse is more of a serene pastoral landscape than anything else … well almost. Those gentle rolling hill shown are covered with wheat fields. The hills are over ten thousand years old and were formed in much the same way as sand dunes—they are from windblown silt and dust, called loess created from glacial flour. Actually the glacial flour accumulated in prehistoric Lake Missoula during the ice age. Lake Missoula was something else, for sure. During the Great Ice Age, the most recent one about 12,000 or so years ago Lake Missoula filled with water and snow and ice and the water was trapped by what some have termed a giant ‘cork’ that acted as a buttress preventing any flow from the lake. It has been estimated that the Lake covered an area of about 3,000 square miles and contained about half the volume of Lake Michigan with a depth of more than the depth of Lake Superior.

  When the cold was slowly replaced with warmth the ice dam slowly melted and then quickly collapsed. The tremendous water load ran unabated and wild mostly westward and produced a flood of unprecedented proportions.

  Sue continued with her presentation; when the flood water reached what is now Washington State and this area that we are now in it was like some gigantic sculptor—Mother Nature, of course—with her giant hands pressed her giant fingers into the large swath of landscape and dragged them across the land creating what now is known as the Channeled Scablands. This unusual area is characterized by barren bedrock, cliffs, massive coulees, abandoned waterfalls, narrow canyons, deep potholes, and very strange rock formations all of which are not suitable for farming. The Channeled Scablands are so named because they are crisscrossed by long channels cut in the bedrock, called coulees. Several distinct coulees have been identified and some of them are hundreds of feet thick and large. For example, Grand Coulee of Grand Coulee Dam fame is 60 miles long.

  “Well, I think we should take a short break and stretch our legs before I fill you in on what I think our situation is here … or what it might be,” Sue said.

  Sue did not have to say it is time for a break more than once. They all got up and went about whatever business was on their minds or whatever needed tending to.

  CHAPTER 4

  HARRY TRACY AND HIS BASALT HIDEOUT

  Note: From Jake Your Narrator: At Liberty’s End compound W.W. Williams was lecturing to his kittens inside the Butler Building mee
ting place. Again, the 70 plus kittens had to stand, almost at attention for hours during one of W.W’s. long-winded harangues about the evils of the world and all the shitheads who run it. Anyway, today W.W. brought up again his account of Harry Tracy, W.W’s. personal hero. However, W.W. in his account of one of the Pacific Coast‘s most famous last Wild West murderers is always embellished with W.W’s. personal views of the murderous thug and the happenings around him. Now it is true that the infamous killer Harry Tracy did exist but keep in mind that the madman, and he is an excellent poster child representing a madman, W.W’s. following narrative about Harry Tracy (aka Harry Severns—his real name) is distorted, full of lies, other discrepancies and decorated with a few truisms here and there.

  An hour before taking up his traditional position behind the podium before his adoring kittens assembled in the meeting hall, W.W. was confronted by one of his male kittens who complained about the condition of the campus known as Liberty’s End.

  What was the kitten’s complaint?

  Well, maybe a suggestion instead of a complaint. The kitten asked W.W. how Liberty’s End could be considered a campus with the non-permanent Butler buildings on site instead of traditional brick and mortar structures?

  Wrong fucking question!

  Shit, anytime W.W. is questioned by anyone it is a wrong because in his foul, disgusting and evil mind any question is wrong, and he only expects pats on the back and hoorays from his kittens or from any other sons of a bitches.

  Because the male kitten who had the audacity to question W.W. about the so-called campus setup and its structures W.W. solved the problem in the way in which he always did. He pulled out his 38-automatic pistol and shot the questioner 5 times in the head. Then he had two of his adoring female kittens chop up the dead questioner’s remains and dump all into the back pond to feed the fishes—W.W. always said that the fishes must be well fed.

  The truth be known, those fishes were never without nourishment.