Sequoia Trail-A Bo Jon Littlehorse P.I. Novel. Second Edition

by Danny E. Allen

It was Monday-morning, the beginning of November. The sun was bright on the oil-rigs of Texas… David or 'Dutch', as he was now called had began duty as a rig-manager… Reporting to the overseer and keeping checks-over maintenance, rig-status and tanker-accounts. Deliberate, designing and determined he enjoyed the work. Knowing most of what handling, in an acute and accurate- espousing. Capable of running things on his own and control operations... Eliciting calculation, careful detente and out-flow on a nominative-scale...

  ...Everything ran efficiently and definitively. Working from 6 a.m. to 8 p.m. Choosing the name Dutch Reynolds and reported to his overseer every other-day. Getting paid-on a weekly basis soon, to be salaried… Growing to be ‘apt’ and upwardly, mobile in the business-of things. He had a double-wide trailer on the company’s private-dwellings. He didn’t drink or smoke spent his time watching cable and relaxing. He was very committed and thoughtful. He had reached the management-level in months after his-knowledge of petroleum, mixtures and regulations. In actuality, he wondered what would be his next-move. Maybe he’d stay low, not travel.

  He was working-in the Mississippi Delta region…but the APBs for him were going-out over band-radio, so he told them he had to move to Texas. He had heard that he was seen in the Oklahoma City area so he wanted to back-track to a region, he was partly familiar-with. When his supervisor learned he was headed-to Texas he-knew a guy there, who could put him to work. He had money to buy a car; a S-10 Chevy. It cost $21,000-new. He packed-all his equipment and arrived-in Texas.

  …He liked the warm air, there. Mostly, flat-land yet it was all David, needed. Away from ‘any’ authorities, and in a-way, free from any cares… It had been awhile since he thought of his-acts. He rarely, considered the ‘void’ that once held his life, in all its comprising. He worked hard all his-life and having the virtue of a serving-vocal. Once the vitality-of his life was in confirming which had given a great swath of studiousness, stridency and formative-duties… He’d been made in-charge as ‘attaché’ which was no easy feat which he had taken in stride. He was very competent, and it showed… …His work-attitude was infectious and it showed, in his present-work… David was slowly realizing as he carried-out and became successful in his present job had, in a way, pointed-to his former-reputation.

  He remembered almost reminiscently the apparition of appointment; the ‘Corps’ assignments; achieving a diligent-status and working with followers, and higher-ups. He didn’t remember any conflicts, no serious oppositions. Yet in many instances, his work had taken away most of his-life. Which in ruling-principle, was more idyllic than determinative… He held no ill-virtue toward his managing-officers. In fact, his most recent assignment, he didn’t want to remember… Actually, a ’just’-appointment, and approval still some things, he couldn’t justify was how elaborate, and consigning and in-derivative it was; in any case, he’d been short-listed by those he knew, more than others…who’d liked his work but never question his personal-values…

  As he actuated while carrying-on a very concise-duty, he felt ’good’. But he knew perhaps with certainty, it to would be a ’furlough’. A killer rarely, had ideas. David was astute and affirming, not lost on issues or desperation. He’d experienced killing at its height, and service as honored, and construed. Although he’d once given his-life in dedication; now, honor in deeding meant ’little’. The once special ’littleness’ of self-’preservation’ seemed an inhibited, sacrifice… David Calvin Garr, Lt. Commander of Navy and U.S. Naval Guard...

  Special-attaché to U.S.F.S. and now assailant and perpetrator; but now, as well oil rigger in a Texas oilfield. It seemed service did reward, and also come at some-cost… …He felt the growing scale of his out-witting the authorities, he once knew the resolve of being a servant. Now, he knew the ‘despair’ only with the conscience of failing-purpose. It was a perception of promise and improvisation, the ominous-parallel of solitude; in a sensitive design… He knew the facts of what had occurred. A centralized-demise of committer to-give of in self, undaunted-by courage.

  His hands grew sweaty as the controls to the oil-ducts sitting-in the towers; sweat-on his brow, he couldn’t keep admonishing what he’d done… He went home to sleep that night dreaming of the forest with its forests-green nice sun-rays through the foliage, the fires came at him. ‘Help me.’ Said a man in the thickets. Then the whole forest was on fire. ‘Fire, sir…’ ‘Fire!’ Then he awakened in a sweat. He thought it was one of those night-mares of war or the T.V.-dinner he ate because he was sick to his stomach. He went-to work the next-day feeling ‘chipper’. He carried himself with out thinking what happened. Afterward, of responding and startling to a dream. It was Wednesday, as the sun-rose. He had eaten with a couple of his workers enjoying the conversations.

  ...He had heard about their-families, what they wanted out of life, about vacations and what they planned to do next year. He didn’t think of what he’d do next year… He told them of what he used to do on vacations then, he turned the topic to work. He seemed to perhaps be enjoying work too much, they were much different than he once was, but no one noticed. He was a good-manager and proficient-worker. Dimensionally, he didn’t object to the terms in which he’d worked.

  He was healthy, enjoyed his free-time, identified with workers, and was accumulating a sum of money. Yet once or twice a week, he had nightmares. Yet his honored-discipline allowed him to work well at his job… Till one-day, a fire started in the oil rig some sparks must have ignited; then it rushed, back into his past… ‘Fire…’ ‘Fire in the well’-yelled the workers. David knew the procedure for emergency he froze, more yelling, and then the flashbacks.

  -Men, trying to escape, gunfire, munitions; then the yells for help. He went into sweats, he knew what to do… And he did it. 'Dutch, Dutch.', yelled his foreman. They were all sitting outside the facility with paramedics. ‘I’ll be alright guys…’ ‘You sure?’ ‘Yeah…’ He jerked away from his supervisor and got in his truck and drove away.

  Then he thought on the last time he’d been near fire. And his brother, his-home and the war. He couldn’t be sure, why or how, but he knew there’d be a battle. Then he remembered the ‘six’-man contingent, the orders; necessity in arming in the face-of danger. He couldn’t ignore the status, and had to be ‘ready‘. He was in-charge, and that responsibility was too close to the flames-of-misfortune. He felt the heat, as he did in war. He had no gun, no defense, then he thought of his men.

  Those hopes and dreams, in thoughts that came-next. And of what would happen if they’d died. He couldn’t go-on, in his job. Next day, he quit his job. He hastily packed his truck and was on the road by ten. There were no parallels. He had operated on an entirely different-plane… And men, were now dead. Superficially, he’d ignored his acts, a substance of war. -He knew as, in war, innocent-men died in the periapt of duty... David was confused, he’d donned the inter-mining, invocation to kill in name of ‘chaos’. He’d been through the ‘perils’ of provision. Yet now, he realized the epithet of what occurred, invoked a bizarre, ‘largesse’…

  A mission, and merger-in ‘mortality’… A morose-decision to survive and the personally, psychic-reality in a remoteness. David had never eddied what had been a pretense of peril. He had to make it out, in his own mind. Mortality, manifestation and motive the prelude-details were begun, long ago. He’d committed to an ardor of killing, conceding to a succumbing, to conditions. The eviscerate of-contradiction by availing… In his-life, he’d overcame, attained and convinced himself and others in deep-obligations.

  Yet, that some commitment ordained an illusion of conceiving. He began to realize and rationalize the implication of instance; imposing and the deeding ‘relevance’-of an impact. Soldiers, sometimes hide the ‘vortexes’ they hide-in, and sometimes lessening the effect through feeding its abatement, to cease-its control. He’d nearly, taken the situation in hand, never being superstitious...
The disorder, military-men went-through could not be easily surmised-yet he didn’t want to be an average-individual; he’d always pushed himself farther; adjusted, being well kept to his-purpose. Yet now the flames, in the conceived-’monster’ within. He could not pardon, himself…

  Yet he did not conceive his-condition that had went beyond, pardon… In-actuality, he had not adjusted-well… In his 22-years, in the service to his country it had inherent-distresses and astraying, that could not be objectified. He’d done better than most and engendered the destined-revolt of an interring inversion. Imposing on himself aberrant intensity of intensive, embellish… It had been imposed, in impetuousness… He had never perceived of its in-civility.

  Had he accepted that war was not the course undaunted, but the super-imposing, of a certain proxy… As he’d rode his-truck which held all he-owned, he headed-East to the Arkansas-region through Missouri then to Tennessee to the Fire Creektownship. Where the town of 600, sat between the region of Southwest and Southeast. The skies had cleared. And the town was quiet it was a nice rustic-region where the temperature was in the sixties and the local church had just let-out. David, liked the studious and stable… He wanted to stay awhile. He went into the local-grocer.