Saturday, December 20, 2008


I was able to put what happened next together after the fact. The captain had a bunch of hard core bikers transferred to one of my upper rows that night. Had one of his crew keep their JRCs. When I came in the next morning, my board showed that row empty. I racked everyone out to chow. Went to walk my rows. Everyone’s gone at chow now. On the second side, almost to the end. That’s when the bikers jumped the tier. Surround me. I key my radio…it’s dead. No mic. Fuck me. I don’t know how many there are. No time to count. Too many. Back myself into a corner. Flashlight in one hand. Keys in the other. There will be no cavalry coming for my ass today. My last thought before it starts is to try and take as many of them with me as I can before I go.

It starts. Two come at me. I take one out with the flashlight. I put my keys through the other’s jugular like Billie Joe taught me. Shit works pretty good. God, I wish he was here right now. Two more come from the right. Up high. I don’t see the one that dives at my bad leg from the left. I go down hard. Then they’re on me like buzzards on a dying wolf. Mercifully, I black out.

Like I said, I was able to piece this shit together later. The inmates know shit in a jail before anyone else. When my trustees got to chow, someone told them about the bikers. The word was out I would be dead by EOW. King, Tatupu and Billie Joe left chow early. Got back just in time. They fucked those bikers up. Big time. Saved my life. Went and got the rover Deputies. Told them they found me that way. Everyone assumed I saved myself. Convicted killers wouldn’t save a Deputy, now would they. It’s a fucked up world when the guys you’re on the job with are either trying to kill you, or turning a blind eye while its done…and cons save your life because you treated them like men. Someone on the captain’s crew replaced the JRCs, so it looks like they were supposed to be there and I was HUA about them not going to chow. It should have been a perfect set-up. They fucked up.

I wake up in the hospital. Been in surgery again. The Doc tells me my knee looks like someone put a grenade in it and pulled the pin. Then he asks me why I never had my ACL, PCL, and MCL reattached from my previous injury. They’re rolled up and calcified in the joint, so he can tell they’ve been that way for quite a while. Fucking County Doctors. On the take. Now I know why the leg never got better. He tells me the nerves in the leg are shot…and the ligaments, cartilage and bones. The “unholy triad” he calls it. Tells me I’ll need a cane for the rest of my life…at least until I lose the leg. Tells me when the job gets his report, they’ll retire me. Fuck. I figure it can’t get any worse than this. I’m wrong. Again.

My dad comes in. I can tell he’s been crying. I’ve only seen him cry once…when they thought Ruby was going to die from her heart condition years ago. I’m scared now. Really scared. Shawna was at the hospital with Tony, the girls and my folks. Left to take Tony to her Moms. The CHP just came and gave my Dad the news.

“She must have lost control of the car...I wasn't thinking...I didn't realize she was that tired...that upset, you know...I...I never would've let them go, son...I just didn't...I mean...I never thought...”

He’s destitute. Blaming himself. I should comfort him. Tell him it’s not his fault. Tell him I love him. Something. Instead, I brush him off. Send him out. God, I can be such a self centered prick.
I should tell you about the funeral now, but I can’t. Just can’t relive that right now. It’s in the screenplay. Read it for yourself.

Friday, December 19, 2008


I know it's been a while since I wrote...if you've been following my story, you know how the pain gets to me...if you're new...where the fuck have you been? I'll write what I can tonight...let's hope the pills I just took and the bottle of Patron on my desk do their job...

It takes nine months for my retirement to go through. Should have been open and shut. Thank God for my attorney. First thing he asked me, after looking at my file, was who the fuck I pissed off. Somehow, he beats the county.

I’d like to tell you how strong I was going through all of that. What a great job I did taking care of my girls. How it brought me closer to God. I’d like to tell you that, but even I’m not that full of shit.

I let myself go. Grow my hair out…and my mustache and goatee. Put the earring back in. Drink Patron like it was Holy water, and I need a full body enema. Ignored my girls. If it hadn’t been for my folks…

My dad came to pick up the girls. Day after I found out I was retired. No paper work yet, but it will be in the mail soon. Tied a good one on that night. Pretty hung over when My Dad sends the girls out to the car.

“You're not the only one who's hurting, son...those girls are just...they need can't keep turning your back on them...maybe if you tried to...I know it wasn't easy...they said it would be hard...frustrating...but you can do it...don't quit, son...the Lord'll give you...”

“The Lord...the Lord...I've had enough of his fuckin' "gifts", thank you.”

“I just meant that...with faith...”

“Whadda you want from me, huh?... huh? wanna see me tottering around on a walker, singin' "what a friend we have in Jesus"?... huh? Yeah...he's been a real fuckin' friend to me, dad...a real pal...this ain't the "mission", dad, it's real life...but what the fuck would you know about real life?”

That was a mistake. Big fucking mistake. He’s on me in a heartbeat. Pretty damn quick for a man in his early seventies. Grabs me by the shirt. Pulls me up to him. I’ve never seen him like this. He's madder than either time he broke my nose when I was in my mad the spit flies out of his mouth with every word.

“If you could get outta that chair, I'd knock your dick in the dirt...that's right...that's what I said...I'd knock your dick in the dirt...I was ten years older than you are before I ever saw the inside of a church...I've been through more shit than...a man takes care of his matter what...he doesn't sit around whinin' like a little bitch…I thought I raised you to be a man...I was wrong.”

Whoa. I’m wondering who the fuck that was dressed up like my Dad. He throws me back in my chair so hard it almost tips over. Storms out. I don’t know what to think. Doesn’t seem like the same man that made me go to church eighty-five times a week and memorize lots of the Bible. Fuck it. Who the fuck is he to tell me what to do…how to feel? I’ll figure it out down the road. Except I don’t have that kind of time. My Dad isn’t the only visitor I get that day.

My sorry ass wakes up that afternoon on the floor. Pain in the bad knee wakes me up. I’m use to that. Doesn’t take me long to figure out, this is different. I go to get up and can’t. Someone’s standing on my knee. They start to grind it with their heel. That’s when I realize I’m surrounded by feet. An envelope drops in front of my face.

“Your retirement notice...thought you'd rather get it from need a maid...gonna get another nigger?...shame about the last one... real pretty. She shouldnt've tried so hard to get away...the boys didn't mean any harm...just wanted to talk to her... isn't that right?”

His lead boy takes the cue. The one I humiliated at briefing.

“We came up along side...I asked her to pull over real nice...shoulda seen her eyes...then bam!...she takes off like a bat outta hell. We tried to catch her... she keeps goin' faster 'n faster... next thing you know...never seen a car roll so many times... now the boys here...they was hopin' it'd catch on fire...something about cookin' some dark meat...I wanted her alive...never got to show her how hung I all those things we talked about on the phone...I know she wanted know how them nigger whores love to suck dick...but, hey, why am I tellin' you what you already know, huh?”

The captain chimes back in.

“You look tired...we better go...just wanted to see how you're doin'...we'll stop by again...
Those little girls are sure better keep an eye on'm...they grow up so fast."

He gives my knee one last stomp and twist before he turns to go out the door. I grab his leg. Bite down as hard as I can. Draw blood. He kicks me loose. Laughs.

“That the best you can do? Guess I should have killed you when you were a boy...I did your background...I knew who you were...half breed...your mother put up a better fight before I fucked her.”

They’re gone. I remember now. The night he beat her to death. I grabbed his leg and bit. He pistol whipped me. My Acheii made him stop. łeeh 'íyátééh. A death spell. Didn’t kill him then. I will now. My dad had come back to talk to me. To apologize. He’s in the door five minutes after they go. I tell him everything. Everything.

“What're you gonna do about it, son?”

“Gonna fuckin' kill'm...fuckin' kill'm...kill every fuckin' one of'm…”

“That's fine...that's fine, son...first you gotta learn to walk again...”

Thursday, December 18, 2008


I haven’t done any rehab since the surgery. Didn’t care. I’m one motivated motherfucker now. I’m back on my feet in no time. Have to wear braces on both legs, but I’m moving. A couple of months go by. Down to one crutch. Then just a cane. My Acheii’s cane. The wolf head. I use it, but I can get by without it in a week.

I’ve been thinking this whole time. How do I get these motherfuckers? They’ve been watching the house…where I go. They’ll be looking for me. I come up with a plan. Talk to my dad. He thinks it might work. And, it protects the girls and my folks if I fail.

We head to the mission. Make a big show of it. I want these fuckers to know I’m going. I just need them to let their guard down a little. We get to the mission. My dad gives me his old 380 Colt. Prays with me. Kisses me. There’s nothing at the mission for me now. My Acheii is dead. DĮĮD. The few that might remember me, that aren’t dead, live way out in the back country. The little girls that play with Ruby and Renee call me Tsii' yiiłch'iil. Curly hair. No one remembers Naaki. Too long ago.

I go the back roads to Crown Point. No bellagannos are going to follow me here. Hop a bus. Head back to LA. Time to do or die…Crip or cry.

On my last transfer. Back in the jungle. I look just like I did when I left long ago. Except for the cane. Some tiny Gs get on. Start fucking with the passengers. I tap the leader with my cane. He turns. Sees me.

“Jesus Christ...ain't you dead?”

“No, he ain't...neither am in my ride, mother fucker.”

They move like gahtsohs. Jack rabbits. I’m home.

Back with what’s left of my old set. Most of them are in the joint now. The ones that are left aren’t sure they want me back. They’ve been getting fat with me and BD out of the way. Time to remind them who I am.

“So, where you been, Duece?”

“You writin' a fuckin' book, cuz?”

“No, no, I, uh...I jus' askin'.”

“I’ll tell you where I been...doin’ your fucking job, motherfucker…findin' out who fuckin' rolled over on us...who got B.D. smoked...somebody's been sleepin' with the, you down for that shit, or not? Maybe it was you?”

“We know we down...jus' tell us, man...”

“That’s what I fucking thought…now, listen up. We got work to do.”

Wednesday, December 17, 2008


Time for straight Crippin’…

First, I got to show them I know my shit. I take them to see the Rev. He doesn’t look too happy when we run the underage girls out of his bed and drag him to the basement lab. In fact, he needs some encouragement. The bois are more than happy to oblige.

The Rev. sits at one of the computer tables, his head on the table, his hands behind his back when they’re done. Bloody and bowed. We gather around him.

”Tha's all I know...swear to God... tha's all.”

“You sure that's all of 'm?...all right...if you can put money in his account you can take it out.”

I watch him transfer the funds out of the captain’s account into one I’ve set up. Every fucking penny. The bois load up the boxes with the Bibles full of cash. I’ve got to show my bois I mean business. We have the addresses of the captain’s whole crew. We’ve closed out his private account. Taken all of the cash. Now it’s time for the Rev’s last rites.

He’s begging for his life. Or mercy and forgiveness. He might get it from God, but I doubt it. He sure as shit ain’t gonna get it from me. I rip off the gaudy crucifix he wears on a thick, gold chain around his neck. Cover one of his eyes with a playing card. Duece of spades. Hold it in place by driving the crucifix through his eye…into his brain.

I want to make sure when the captain finds him, he knows who did it.

Timing is going to be everything tonight. I divide my boys up. Send them out after the crew. Tell them what to do to each one. I already knew where they were. Finding out from the Rev was a cover so the bois wouldn’t suspect anything. Have to keep my cover to the end.

They meet back up with me three hours later. The whole crew’s dead…except one. The leader. We’re about to find out just how much he loves being fucked by niggers, instead of the other way around.

To make a long story short, the bois chase him out of his house. Catch up with him in the railroad yards. In a boxcar. Stomp him half to death. Strip him. Hang him by his balls in the box car. It’s personal for some of them. He fucked some of them over in the jail. More personal for me.

I slit his throat. The way we used to kill dibe for stew. I enjoy watching him bleed out. They ask about the captain now. I tell them he’s mine. They don’t argue. I have one of them call him. Tell him to check his bank account overseas. I know where he’ll go. I’ll be waiting for him when he gets back.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008


I try and picture the look on his face when he finds the Rev. His dawning realization when he sees my calling card. I wonder how frantic he’ll get when he tries to reach his crew…and no one answers. He’ll head home. Panicked. And I’ll be waiting.

I watch him from the shadows as he storms into his study, a trail of blood behind him. Must have been a fun ride back from the Rev’s house. I would have loved to have seen his face…but this will do.

He holsters his weapon. Goes to the bookcase. He presses a button under one of the shelves, and the bookcase opens in the middle. He pulls the two sides open wider, and steps in between. There is a wall safe behind them. He opens it, takes out a large manila envelope, goes to the desk, sits down, and puts his gun in the drawer, but leaves the drawer open. Turns his attention to the envelope. He opens it, and shakes five micro-cassettes into his hand. He squeezes them tightly, then puts them back in the envelope. That’s what I’ve been waiting for…his dirt on me…in my own voice…have to find out if he made any copies…I don’t think so, but I’ll make sure…soon.
A shadow falls across his desk. My Shadow. He looks up.

“Jesus Christ...”

“No...don't won't make that mistake're gonna meet him...real soon...but not yet.”

He reaches for the open drawer. Tries to pull out the gun. I slam the desk into the wall. Pin him behind it. His hands are trapped.

“No guns. Not this time. You ain't going that easy.”

He’s still pinned by my weight…can’t get his hands free. I grab him by the ears. Slam his face repeatedly onto the desk. Drag him out from behind it.

“Let's go for a ride...don't worry, I'll drive.”

It’s a long drive back to the Rez…lots of time to think. Plan out exactly what I want to do. Normally, I’d make this drive in eighteen hours or so…not this time. I go the speed limit the whole way. In the back country now…follow the trail to Devil’s Mesa…

I was little the first time I went to Devil’s Mesa. It was before my folks came to the mission and adopted me. The bellaganno missionaries wanted to go on a picnic. My acheii and I went with them. They picked the wrong place…grandfather tried to tell them.

“This is a bad place…my people don’t go here.”

Smirking at the old Indian as they spoke…

“Really? Why is that?”

“This is Chindi Dzilijiin…the Devil’s Black Mountain…not safe…especially for bellagannos.”

“But the mesa is red…just like all the other ones around here.”

“It is not called Black Mountain for its color.”

“We want to go anyway…come on.”

Grandfather looked at me. Smiled. I was afraid. Grandfather was the only one I knew who had ever come here. The Dine said this place was evil. We took them up the mountain.

It was a typical summer day in northwest New Mexico. About a hundred and five in the shade. Not a cloud in the sky. Not a breath of wind. The bellagannos set up their picnic…plastic tables and chairs. Grandfather and I sat away on the ground. We ate pine nuts and drank water. We hadn’t been there very long when grandfather tilted his head to one side…sniffed the air. He told me to wait while he talked to the bellagannos. I followed him anyway.

“Going to rain. Bad wind. We go…now.”

They all started to chuckle under their breaths.

“Is that so…when do you think that’s going to happen?”

“When is soon?”

Grandfather never wore a watch. He looked up at the sun…at a tree to our left.

“In ‘bout half an hour…about three.”

“I think we’ll take our chances.”

They were all laughing as they spread their food on the table and began to eat. I had seen the man’s watch…it was 2:35.

Ten minutes went by…fifteen…then twenty. Nothing. They kept looking at him and laughing. A few minutes later grandfather took me by the hand. Led me down the back side of the mesa. That’s when I saw it. A small, dark spot on the horizon…no bigger than a hummingbird. Five minutes later the sky was like midnight…lightning and thunder. The wind was blowing harder than I had ever felt. We huddled into a crease in the rocks. I could see that it was worse on top of the mesa. The tables and chairs blew off…hats and plates spun crazily in the air.

They were coming down in two trucks and a van. The van blew over…rolled down the side of the mountain about thirty feet and landed on its wheels. The rain was so thick you couldn’t see ten feet. The bellagannos pulled their vehicles together…looked like wagons in an old western…hunkered down to wait out the storm.

I don’t remember how long it was like that…too long ago, I guess. After a while, grandfather led me to the trucks. It was still raining, but the wind was dying down. They opened the doors…whitest bellagannos I’d ever seen. They looked at grandfather with abject fear. He just smiled.

“We can go now.”

I remembered all of that as I staked him to the ground on top of Chindi Dzilijiin…sitting close by now next to a small fire. Chanting. Łeeh íyátééh. The death chant. He wakes up. Starts moaning in pain.

“Hurts like a bitch, don't it?”

“What are you doing to me?”

“My Acheii, my mother's grandfather, was a medicine man before the missionaries came. He was old. Real fucking old. Even he didn't know how old he was. Saw a lot. Used to tell me stories. Taught me the old ways. How to smell a storm coming. Empty yourself to find your vision. Call on the spirits. Shit like that.”

“Look, there's more money in this than you can imagine. I'll set you up. You can have it all.”

“Set me up? Bad choice of words.”

“Jay, please...”

“My name is Naaki...Naaki Tslichi. Two Dogs. My mother's grandfather named me. You remember my mother, don't you?”

“Oh dear God, please...”

“Grandfather told me what they used to do with a Black dog. Can't reason with it. Can't cure it. So, they'd stake it out. Cut open it's belly. Pull the intestines part way out. Wait for the wolves.”

“Oh fuck.”

“Wolves would try and run off with the intestines...fight each other for them. Eat the Black Dog alive.”

“No, no, you...”

“Don't worry. No wolves around here. Haven't been for a long time.”

He hears growling. Two dogs approach him. Slow sniffing. Hungry. I brought them back with me from the mission. Fourth or fifth generation from my old dog. They’re feral. Only get to eat what they kill. I haven’t fed them since I left to go back to LA. They must be ravenous by now.

“I think dogs will work, though. My dogs. This might take awhile. Hope you don't mind if I smoke.”

“You can't do this to me Jay...I'm your father.”

“Fucking my mother don’t make you my father. That's why I've got some extra shit for you. Gonna cut out your eyes...tongue...ears...and that tiny little dick of yours. My mother told me she never could understand how you ever got her pregnant with that limp, puny thing.”

“No, no, no...”

“Then I'm going to burn them. Scatter the ashes to the winds. Do you know what that means to my people? Your spirit will be left here to wander. Blind... Deaf... Dumb... Starving... Impotent. The other spirits will taunt you. Mock you. Spit on you. Forever. I think my mother will like that. What do you think?”

He screams.

I light a smoke as the dogs close in. They’re too busy fighting each other over his intestines to realize he can’t put up a fight. That’s good. Means it will take awhile. I sit back and watch. Smoke. There is lightning and thunder, but no rain. The wind is blowing, but it’s more of a howl than a storm. I finish off one pack. Almost finish another before they’re done. They eat slower once they start to get full. They come over to the fire when they’re done and lay down. I go over and cut off the things I told him I would. Burn them. Put the ashes in an old Dine bowl. Time to clean up.

The government still issues lye to the Dine to make their own soap. I’ve brought a few bags of it with me. And an axe. I cut him up. My grandfather told me that some bellagannos tried to prospect here back in the thirties. Lots of abandoned mines. I scatter him in a few. Salt the mines with lye. It helps with decomp. Won’t be long till there’s nothing left. Pack up the dogs and go. One more piece of business.

Monday, December 15, 2008

TWO DOGS PART 16...The Final Chapter

Back to the Rez…gotta let my Dad know I’m OK.

“It’s done Dad…all done.”

“Not quite boy…you can’t let anyone live who thinks “Duece” is still alive.”

“Been a lot of killing already Dad.”

"You have to think about those girls son.”

“I know…I know…just tired.”

"I’ll keep them here…your Mom and I will look after them…do what you have to do.”

“Do you trust me Dad?”


I head back to LA. Time to finish my biz.

Fuck me. Where’s my fucking bottle of Patron…be right back…that’s better. Let’s finish…

I call my bois. Tell them to meet me at the lab. I’m waiting outside when they show up. Make sure they see me go in. I’m out the back door and over the fence when the house blows.

Ruptured gas line and all of those chemicals make for one hell of an explosion. I’ve got witnesses to Deuce’s death. The bois are kind enough to pay for my funeral. The casket's empty. Fire marshal tells them I’m scattered all over the county. There’s no records anywhere for Duece…never got arrested. There just happened to be a body in that house when it blew…lucky me.

They assume…you get the idea.

I send a box of “Bibles” to BD’s wife. Should help out. One to Shawna’s Mom. Mahoney sees to it that the Rev’s and the Deputies’ deaths go down as a Columbian hit squad’s work over a drug deal gone south. Leaks info on how dirty they all were. Everyone figures the captain took off with the money. No one expects to find him. They never do…and never will.

My Dad takes me camping a month later. A lake we used to fish at a good distance from the mission. That’s where I scatter the captain’s ashes. I think my birth mother is finally at peace. I’m glad someone is.

That was twenty-four years ago. That fucking captain has a long reach. The county’s still fucking with me, and they don’t even know why. I found out a couple of years ago when I finally got a copy of my official personnel file. Must have been a civilian employee who made the copy. The cover sheet is a Xerox of a blank page with a square cut out. That’s code. It means that person no longer exists as a Deputy. Fuck him or her at every opportunity.

They have.

The people who meet me now assume I’m the paranoid asshole that I am because I’m a retired cop. They don’t know this story. If they did, they’d be sure they were right. They’d be wrong.

What happened to me started me 'e'etiin..down this path that stretches to the horizon. But it didn’t make me the way I am now. Working as a bodyguard did. Working for a man who started as a medical doctor in the OSS during World War II, and became the leader of a group that traces it’s history way, way back…all the way to the Garden of Eden. Call themselves, “Priests of the Morning Star.”

That’s when I met Thatcher…Mitterrand…Bush Sr. when he was VP. They all came to meet privately with my boss. The only one we went to see was Reagan at his ranch. Working for the “Good Doctor” was when I found out who killed JFK…RFK…Martin Luther King…and why.

When I learned that our fates are controlled by a small group of men who believe it is their divine destiny to bring the world to peace. But…that’s a story for another day.

I can tell you all about it, if you want.

If I live long enough…


About Me

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Christopher Blake is a loving husband...devoted father...minister...crippled more than a little rough around the edges...