His people would not have a problem with his present-deed. He met with the first-level commending-unit, which had acted as welcoming and in duly-compendium and active-assessment. Then he was taken to an appropriating, enactive-unit. They were the Spearhead, and the final-enlistment of approval and annotation… Both-implied in engender of the activeness and of conduct in the proposed-strategy, that had the say-so.
Import, to the legal-’result’, the mend that would implicate, expedite predicate-decision as they went to court and adduced, proponent decisiveness. In whatever were the resolution of pro-quotient. Now, as Bo was conferring in the ways, factors and worthiness it was the drawing-together of pro-elicits, and indignant-courses by delineate& course-reclusion… The plying requiem of redemption, in a putative-complicity. Bo accessed the particulars, abridging and protocol-to-defense, hearing and movement-before the judge. And any impress-stated. He was well on his-way to making precipitation of his rising incidentals, apparents and corollaries as they worked until late. The strategy of the case was beginning to materialize. With every studious-implication came an advancing-intricacy importing and eventually evolving-of their-strategy… Of all the dynamics of malfeasance of the case, the stipulations became incentives to work toward. There was to be no-chance for error. Each man knew, there had to be definite-intentions. Arraigned on a serious-evasive technicality, the four, had to leave no stone-unturned.
The men were deciding ‘pretense’ that would convict a man of murder. A wealthy-man’s fate in general-court. Bo was told that a judge’s decision was not to try him in Indian court but that a reprieve was declared for a verdict, to be reconsidered upon ten-days… This is where Bo would be their major-factor. If any more truly, respective-evidence was to be found, it would be recovered, by his discovery. Bo knew this and now knew where to look. Having certain-instances, to “expound”, in avail. His-station was now to go-into action, he’d now go forward, draw-together loose-prepositions and to what was the indications originate, certain transitory-conviction, posing as stipulation. Bo had 7-days to find, amount and predicate impact-impending. If he hoped to make prodigious, position it would be in the way of procured-specifics… He was to make proof-of pro-extenuation an admissives, he was given a aspirant-account. Of the crime, the pertinent-evidence and of what timing, mentality and motis still-needing a modal, mitigation… Men-were waiting for the chance to resolve an almost un-vindicating-murder that had a taint of being over-looked, by the proposition of money, and an aire of prejudice not unknown against non-whites.
Began developing his legal-sleuth expertise, some of the factors were possibly, faint. But as in the court-work, earnest-men seldom gave-in to the un-jurisprudence boundaries… But money does speak-’louder’, than words. Cloudy-suspicion, ordinal-conjugational and the sometimes slowed, impetus had human-flaws. Bo was working against-time, testament and terms. If he was to make the necessary attainment from clause to pose-ability. …On, in operate-duplicity, to work-with intelligent-eyes, ears and mind. As derivational and devising, score that would form and affirm litigate-circumspect and allude to intended iterance, this was a detective’s common make-up… And Bo was to substantiated, in all its tropic-challenges…
Edging-forward, in dutiful-resemblance. Bo Jon began to center-on indicative, variance from the coordinated-statuses, to complicit-aim. David Stacy, had been established as main-subject… The focus, the depicted-perpetrator yet something between court and conclusive-evidence, went astray. He’d been the only-suspect. Yet while put to trial, he was renounced. His cooperatives, said he was brought into doubt-by prestigious-lawyers. Who knew how to talk their way out-of questionability. It was emphasized that David was no-direct suspect. He was questioned, due-the history of an Indian who they-said might have run up against someone else, perhaps. The tenacity in imposed, imperatives. So, this registered-impress ordinate to a compilation, all lucidly discerned as the pressings-to position... As this deliberate-arbitration, of formulation-in incursion. He was procuring, partitioned to the council along-pro-figurative… Consistent in-fragrant and corporeal-to a effulgence of the figurative-defining, extenuate competence, to imply to decision. Contently, for which the further-facilitation commended-to deposition to an aligning-directive.
Now Bo Jon was on his own, he’d handled less imported court-compendiums from incursive- commute and for intricacies, a mold-of-reciprocity. David Paul Stacy, as much of what he found as implicative, he’d been incurred as “adductive” from the ‘first-call’. Having been an obstruct-of incite, was he a willing-intender, how in facet, was David. They had taken-it all around… In the eighteen-days before, had been a “clean”, dispersion-of facts. Leaning-toward the edict-motions of the court. The obtrusive correlatives& fixatives of a young-man…
Out of this, was Bo Jon’s weighty-persistence to restructure, erect and attest. Bo Jon had many-relatives, and a sorted-relativity all capitulating-in discouragement to disconnect from all of the reprehensive pre-immanent… As he went-on his solitary-tasks, not-one he’d allow ‘defective’… It was his-officiating and predicate-aim, he was now under-pursuit of dispensation. He breathe with a quite appreciative-cunning, against, a less, tracking-mode. Every which way he’d eyed tell-tale weaknesses, wary-traits and wanted-clausal of the courts hidden that would intricately, light-’Wit’. The oracle, was engineered-under presuppose cognitive-constrictiveness, edging very-serious, ideal-workings. Warren Greengrass was 93, when he died. He’d lived-in reclusion, after most of his-life in a proud and respectable way. He lived a disciplined, way of life rarely achieved-by the “best” of men.
He was an example to his people, yet end to his life came by the way of a young-relentless boy, who had an unreparable, past. That his father let-run freely to do as he pleased, drink and be an immodest-philanderer unopposed or responsible, in individual-esteem… It all-seemed an ‘unequal’ result of careless, celebration of delinquency that brought two-people into a lethal-interaction… Punitive& obvious-delegation, of pre-legitimateness, David went to court with a-fragmentation. He was of reckless-abandon while the victim was virtuously, pious. Each were deserving, respect in durability chanced to be receptive and a life, but ‘overshadowed’ the other. And now, Warren J.Greengrass’s hold-on life was taken-away so unnecessarily. David’s life was unhindered, partially, by the work of his father.
Bo went into the records-on him trying to put-together a freed-man’s criminal-arraignment, in
life… He was a young-man, the defense of young& unimportant-unity, being-one he must have had at least a superficial attention in-life… Bo Jon knew this portrayal was an adjudicator’s ‘white-wash’ of very crucial-incentive. The poor young-man was divestingly, emulated to be easily pass-out against accounting in sustained-reconciliation. For as remunerative assembly from staging of the claim, he was employing; prescient-atop a discrimination, in a haze of insecurity… The thoroughway-path so contrasting, issued-from the all-accepting supposition, an intriguing as any plot-denied by inventive. Yet corrigibly, ‘interactive’-distortion befitting the loosely-litigate but sardonically, avowed truism…
Bo had, while reading ,researching and diametrically, inviscerate was deedfully, ‘ecked-out‘. He was finding the ‘foot-prints’, hidden-by self-law emanative, collusive and submissive. David’s father had done his son a great service-by… Bo knew how better to ‘expose’ those ‘dimmed’-lines of very-serious indentation, and with precision, proliferate and instrumental. He began his ‘opus’-to proffering the true-depth of extrinsic-evaluate. He found family-records, personal-history from birth to present, legal-progressives, family, financial-entities, schooling even his best-’light’ of what was a greater-picture… “Who”, he went to with concerns, and who he-relied upon, what was he proud-of or what was his-worse mistakes. What redeemed him and what in, all propagated into the person that was labeled:David Paul Stacy… He made silhouette then made-it return
to the expounded-work that exists only in paper. He then was the spirit-keeper, till he-needed it in his vital-ethic. With the dealings going-on, he estimate, anew the comprising-as capacity-of depositor, or evidentiary branch.
Un-par by prehensile, predilection, or an institution of lamina-text, he was ready to overturn with propitiation. Bo Jon was no-’immortal’ nor the prophet of perdition, but complier of the ‘looser’, tact. Within 36-hours, he’d accounted for a full-balance now prepared for his court-associates... He’d be the motile, ‘portal’-of expurgated comportment. Yet Bo had the last-lingering, precipitance that, lay in a slain-man’s last living-site the Rocashesi High-land, holy-to Cherokee, and never-fully known to the white man.
Two-Cherokee priest accompanied him in protective-passage of his people honoring the land’s preciousness. He went with sobered-hope, he-told by the appointed-Shaman of his-comport that they support him in his resolve of his-purpose. Molded, unsharpened-issuance the final ‘titer’-to the topology of the murder of W.Greengrass...
***
-The day of first-release.-
“Hey, officers.” “Hey Davey, sir.”, said the officer of release. He respected his father’s power. They gave him his-belongings and escorted him-to the release-door… They were trying-not to feel intimidated. “Okay, boys if you’re up by the ranch, drop-in anytime, we’ll have a beer…” “There your are, sir.” His father was awaiting him-outside were no-one would notice. “Hey, Daddy”, said the burnish-haired bright-skinned 25 year old. “Get-in…” He did as his father instructed and rode home in his Lincoln-Continental. His Daddy seemed on-edge. He started to whistle to ease his unknowing-fear of his Dad. “Son, I know what you did”, he said informingly. He knew when his Dad told him something, he knew-there was no-’ways’ about it. The courts had given in to William Stacy’s powerful-hand. And he-knew he had to draw in on alot of “points“… He didn’t want to admit-it but his only-son had committed, the reprehensible-’act’. Perception-aside he was hiding from a very divisionary, situation that probably was a expensive-cost that he wanted to throw-away but in purport he was ignoring what had-happened. He still lived with the hanging-in-the-wind, suspicion that a impetuous-progenitor, could only feel self-perplexingly… He-”started” awhile longer-for almost, individual;the retribution of under-developed, chastens.
The liturgical, over-exertive, left him-stifled and in ‘silent’-superstition… In his long-suited way, he’d been annoyed-by the symptoms of ‘slights and chances’ that hanged now, in ominous. He-knew his only child would never be without. He’d-raised him by himself, from the age of eight, when his mother left-him. David’s mother was Cherokee and his father was white. They married while he was in the Navy before he’d become wealthy, and eccentric. They were in-love for awhile until William’s money became more important than their-relationship she was devoted to their-son. Until William no-longer cared for friends and felt-’less’ consideration for her-needs. She decided she had had enough, despair and neglect made her separate-for good, from any relationship. One day she-left and never returned. William-felt the loss for the boy and what was the last of a loving-relationship, abandoning-him… She-returned to the reservation and never went-back. She knew that she had no place in his life.
He carried on, without a mother of his child. David grew up having the best things in life:horses, cars anything he wanted. He unfortunately, inherited his hate for Indians, he never fully knew his mother. While he was still young he’d only known the perspective of a now hardened male-head. Thus, he-adopted his father’s belief. Within, that intimate-circumstances. This-would be his undoing. David ran with the wrong crowd, did rough things, became a reckless cowboy. Drinking, fighting and womanizing. He then had his rich father to pay for it. And now he had done the worse of things in life as a result of his undisciplined hand. His-father knew he was a murderer and he’d done all he could from keeping him out of prison. But he would now, live with the cost of allowing his only child to grow-up and kill-someone. This was what stirred-him as the loss of his wife due to his carelessness, hatred and selfish-gain. Immediately, he wanted an end to the nightmare. Some way to fix what had been deriding self-control, he wanted to take full-‘blame’…
He began to think of his-mother, who’d left him so defenseless, it stung and burned. That a non-white person would ‘get away’ with chiding him and leave him baring the once, hoped-weight of a off-spring who in-turn, seemed to spit-venom in his-face to rebuke him, as well… “Boy, we got something to do.” “What’s that Dad?” “We’re going to make sure we can’t defy us ever, again…” “What you talkin’ about?”, he said needing a false yet servile-security. William was caught-in himself. “We’re going-to correct those wrongin’ injuns for good so ‘you’ can go to Germany to live at a nice-estate, away-from the ‘red-man’”… “Why you gonna do that?” He wondered, brought-forth from a buried-place in his-mind…
He began to catch-on when they weren’t returning to the ranch but heading-toward Indian-territory. He mused on this awhile, then it came to him. He had told his Dad everything-before he was even brought to justice, when the murder was still-warm… His Dad didn’t believe him, until he was arrested. He’d come home drunk and told his father, proudly. He-slapped him, coldly. Then David realized he was motivated for what happened one drunken-night he’d now been given a grave-accord… William was speeding-passed territorial border as night fell. There was two of his best-rifles placed with ammunition-in the backseat. David had come to awaken to what he-thought was a silly-boyish trick, and quite-serious. William and his son were quite solemn-what was to happen. William-knew the route up to the holy-land. he and his friends had went there to hassle and defame it as boys. He even showed his boy yet only as:‘where his mother’s people-lived’. He looked-over at the boy who was a man, and got-out.
Bo Jon and his-traveling troop, were at the site of elder Warren Greengrass’s hut looking-over evidence. He’d entered it quietly and somber as an act-of respect of the dead. He’d-examined where everything was, how it sat and whether anything had been disturbed. That’s when he heard voices approaching. Bo Jon had an idea-that it was not someone ‘friendly’. It came-together in his-mind. He-told his friends to stay low, and that-there may be trouble. He peered-out at a startled-pair of white-men. He recognized both, they were startled, the older man carrying rifles pulled-up to aim. And gunfire hit the leather hut, no one was hit. Bo had told the others to escape gunfire by cutting a way out of the back with his bowie-knife, unnoticeably. More gunfire, then Bo-jumped from the hut and rolled then set with his .357, with deadly-aim. He-fired three-shots all aimed at the shooting-rifleman… The man fell-dead. The son went to his dead-father, “Daddy, why, why.” “I, I didn’t want-this…” “I’m sorry.” “So sorry…”
***
...David Paul Stacy, was given murder in the second-degree. He was sentenced to 20-years in the state penitentiary. For the murder of Warren J. Greengrass leader, teacher and wise-guider… He had been killed after a his life-time devotion to his-people. David’s mother had died of disease, 8-years earlier. David was never-told…
The end.
The trial of Al Bowmer
[Twelve]
It was Spring, Cherry-blossoms were blooming. The air was chilled it was early morning, six a.m. Traffic-leading into the city of Washington D.C., was heavy… With visitors, travelers, commuters and commercial-business. Cars, trucks, buses and RVs came in through the Northern-entrance to do activities known for the nation’s Capitol. From Congressman to Consulates, did their-functions;commerce, society and those composed to national-affairs, as well as those given to that espousal… Bo Jon rode-in a RV. He was there as a visitor. Early-April was the less-populous time of year when normal-society was impressed-to their occupations. Bo-knew this and also that it was still an “in-session” time.
Many jobs of office would-be an exc
iting goings-on and a truly vibrant-period in America’s duty. A large-bus with all the amenities as well as a t.v., band-radio and HAM, he had installed… He had rode-in along the beltway, wanting-to get views-of the entire-city, the White-House, Capitol rotunda, Supreme Court, and many roadway-sights. The air-warmed as the sun-rose, in the sky… He had maps for sightseeing, touring-brochures as well as dates and calendar-of-events… He had personal-endeavors as well. He wanted-to see the Vietnam Memorial, WWII Iwo Jima monuments and several uniquely moving, grounds which spoke of Patriotism. …Bo Jon would see over a few days. It was his time-off. He wanted to take advantage of many-of the city’s declarations-in a country, “of the Brave, and Land of the Free”…
The radio-was on, as he-entered the formal-lanes. He-peered into the rider’s side-window and caught views of Washington’s greatness. He was a one-time service-man and once protector of Her-defenses as many of his-comrades. After several-hours of touring-by bus he’d rest, at the appointed-RV rest-stop. Honoring, those that made many of the ‘country’s finest’. By evening, he was up again driving-through central-Washington with maps and calendars for later-use. He attended some tours but mostly, he went by himself. He read upon his nation’s greatness through-out high-school and college. His favorite president was J.F.K. The man who stood up like his friend M.L.K.;as Ghandi-against suffering, and those that needed their help, and gave all, for the betterment of everyone. As he stood before the eternal-flame and felt the greatness, of a man who gave his-life so others might-find peace. Many great men dead and alive stood on those hallowed-grounds;yet “spoken” for, yet to complete their dutiful, selfless-intentions…
The Continuing tales of Bo Jon Littlehorse, P.I. Page 13