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

by Danny E. Allen

‘Final settling...’

  ...The evidence was mounting. They had been gathering as much as could be found. David had left a trail from Arizona to Georgia. He had stayed apparently, in the South for most of his-run from the law. Bo Jon and F.B.I. were investigating as much evidence which could-be mulled-over a month could put-together. They knew his M.I., his alias, the timing and leads. -More Feds joined the place-in the Southwest, that was left. But David wasn’t in the Southwest any-longer, he-was in the Southeast. North Carolina could-be relied-on to keep him beyond capture. And he-didn’t need the name he’d since used. He’d decided to use a beach-bum’s name, by-permission of one of his friends he made. A fellow-sailor; Sam Nauts allowed him to use it. They’d gotten to know others but David never-mention his name. He-rode up the coast-line as far as he could then went North into Alleghany country. The Smokey Mountains were cool and quiet. With not many people around. He enjoyed forest-country, since he was a kid. He enjoyed the solitude. The thick-brush, tall Sycamores and un-traveled country gave him tranquility as, in other-times. He came across few vacationers, and followed those-to their-campsite; more, he setup camp. He’d bought much equipment-over the last-year. He-felt he’d stay-there a few days, and plan his next-move.

  He didn’t know-how far the dragnet, had-gone. He-decided he’d take excursions-into Richmond and study-what was going-on in the case. He was startled when he checked the F.B.I. website a ’‘contingent’-block had-appeared, on his-name. ~...”David Calvin Garr, wanted for murder. Last known sighting: Arizona, Texas, Alabama, Arkansas known to work under alias Dutch Delman. Not considered dangerous. Driving a red pick-up. Any information please forward to local F.B.I....” He was mildly, shocked. He-read as much information, as possible. A true escapee knew how to outwit his pursuer. Rather fortuity or not David was one of these, for the time-being. He-read as much psyche he could remembering exactly, what they knew... He read and remember voraciously. He spent four hours at the computer-terminal before leaving for back to his vacationers-site. He-memorized, what it said. There were seven-men on the case. In differing-regions. They had a new-tactics in re-specifics. He knew, how the government-machine worked from the inside-out. He first, looked-up what office they worked under; the manager, the unit and region. He made tandem-points of emphasis, routine and recognition. He realized they-were very-competent. He-left the library-with sufficient information to alter himself from-capture.

  He-realize what he-was doing now, was survival. Knowing he’d no-longer had a choice. He-wanted a little more time to enjoy his last-days of solitude. He-knew ’‘access’-could give-solace by data-retrieval; he-knew they wouldn’t suspect a man on-the-run to have need-to do-so but he-had to, to alter his-identity. He redirected the identity, of his-profile... He-engineered a whole new-image as ‘Sam Nauts’; a man, with his-face and brand new-circumstance. Then he change the access-code to appear nothing was unusual. He had a license, social-security number and birth-date. He knew his time was critical. He understood time was of the essence. By the next-week, he would pick-up all of his new identity then he’d registered-his with North Carolina plates using Sam Nauts’ address. By the third week in September he had anew self-start. He was free to travel through-out the state but stayed at the campsite awhile longer, then head-North. He didn’t feel boxed in any longer. Before everything turned-over he wanted to reach the Northern-coast. Then he had decided the time would be right. And that he didn’t have a choice. He had calculated it to be somewhere in Vermont. He decided work was out of the question choosing to enjoy the short-time he had left. He thought of his brother whom he had not heard from in-over a year.

  He wondered about him since becoming a fugitive. He now regarded him as someone, no longer a part of his life. He knew once captured he would leave everything he owned to Chris. He knew he could get along fine. He had probably graduated-by now. He had his own interests and understanding. Far less fretting and feverish he began ordering, pontificating for what it was worth. He had engineered a new-life without him. He knew now his life had reached a turning-point. And the obvious was that the ending-of intentions, involvements and imposing had reached-its zenith. Effort was meaningless yet the meaning of his last-days was immeasurable. He knew that things had obviated-in a final-duty. Once a highly, regarded soldier, agent and elite-fighter but hidden-in his soul-was the reality of a murderer. A multi-murderer who’d erased all he become. At issue still was the edged vital estimate, was a contempt... He-wanted to forget the ‘what’ but he knew ’‘how’ and ’‘why’-subjectively. A young man had epitomized a ‘fate’ in the courage-of indemnity, priority, and pressing that partitioned the reality that was. He indeed, earned his honor yet at an ominous cost.

  He was trying-to understanding fully what had happen-to him inn those intervening-years. He had no theories about it or why it erupted in his mind as violence 28-years later. He was a self-controlled individual, not lost on spur-of-the-moment acts or behavior. He never-ventured to comprehend the hardships of life... Only milestones in life’s installing. Perhaps he'd come to realize success as succumbing were two-sides of the same coin. He’d taken war seriously, as his-life but maybe what he should have considered was the once statuesque-of-war, was far too ’civil’. Far too acceptable and easily, assertive. He’d done what the military had wanted with regret and thinking. He’d known the pressures of war in those who were G.I.s and sailors taking the brunt of the action. Yet soldiers wanted to do their duty and in loss of life and limb... Life is precious yet the success as a warrior meant, its less than honorable-contentions. David, his career-duty and honor was supplanted in life-long, demand. Entitled to lead and use liturgy did not use it on himself. Military law had it that an officer would abide and adhere to its code which he’d done studiously. His only raison d’ etre as a soldier was rather ‘terms‘ realized now, with the defining, deluge of conferring and confirming.

  It was purported to in his mind that he rejected blame as he had rejected fear, fate and failure. He’d been taught that way. And what ensued was an act of fate for which he now had to take responsibility. He had to take the full blame now. He could have said it was the system, war or instance. Yet he entered, what dwelled within him. He’d accepted, and this acceptance whether ‘fair’, found or failure was his-head. His agency was honorable, abiding and compellingly, studious. They’d hired out of his-dedication, to his career. Now, he was being hunted down as a ‘rogue’ agent. Bo Jon was now driving the route East through Georgia. No sighting of David alias Dutch Delman through the forests roads. There wasn’t much to see accept countryside. If he did have some strange reliance on back-country he could be anywhere from Louisiana to Florida. Yet Bo Jon choose Georgia because it had a ’‘natural’-hospitality and solitude. Dutch was alone, and didn’t stay-in one place too long. So he obviously, felt being seen or exposed meant too much of a chance to be captured. He probably was becoming truly, in solitude. He fit the role of a seclusion-killer. A military man, turned fugitive as to time; knowing the ins and outs of the system.

  Yet Bo was careful not to over-draw David’s profile. Bo Jon had known men-like him in his-service to the U.S.M.C.... Normal-men, doing their-duty, until for whatever reason they snapped and someone was killed... Usually, against-superior or what was considered so... The creed ran too deep and studiousness, too astounding. Never receiving help until it was-too late and a mild-mannered disciplined individual struck the one he thinks-was responsible. ...A sort of tort and terse-configured, in a disturbed-mind... He had entertained that, when he talked-with Chris. Untypical, was that he’d been a-time, gentleman, a soldier and successful government-agent. He did see he had the ’‘vice’ of being conceived-with fire and that he’d became a fire-fighter that’s where he probably, broke. Yet he’d worked-over the last-year, with petroleum. Yet no-incident occurred, he changed his identity and worked consistently; highly recommended-by his super
visors. This made-him think that David, Dutch, had-changed modes and was looking to reflect. And that’s were Georgia and the South came-in... There were 765 square-miles to Georgia yet narrowing that to the oil fields-over, and its-secluded townships, and now a conventional-’motis’... He had to confirm certain pretext that would fulfill a mental-contentiousness which could be formatively, errant...

  It was definitively, serious. Being a suspected-murderer. Yet Bo-felt it was not ’‘leaning’ that way. Many of David’s intent-rationalities were dutiful, utilizable and ‘frank‘. He wasn’t a desperate conducive-type, this made him stand-out among his-worker-peers yet this very thing, Bo Jon thought he could count-on. He wasn’t reeling or worrisome, but astute, actualizing and frugal. He didn’t ’‘must’ a situation, he worked in tandem-officially, employing the tendency-of the actual, and relative. Bo felt he, as assailant, was a man in objective rather than subjective-polarity... He-was efficient in didactic, preliminary and vital-security of confidence; concise and comparative-incentive. He could not judge just what was his thoughts. Yet, in his protocol he’d felt he was chancing, a man of simple-dignity. Perhaps lost on compelling, trying to find the better-part of self-surmising. He knew he was caught between a ’‘rock’ and a hard-place. Men of military duty had filtered through much mental proclivity, actualized. He had went far to disguise his life as a fugitive, so perhaps he did want-to leave what had been his-life. Much of what David had experience was the deeming of stridency. An afferent-typology established-on terms and duly.

  ...Ideas and energies went-into his-work and confirmative arrival-arrest few-men could accomplish. As Chris Garr was be-loving of his brother so was David-in life, accountable; complicit-to and reliable of that reliability-being the actuality-of-terms... As he’d compiled-evidence, portrayal and incidents he-could tell that David acted without-issue. He-thought that after his ’‘high-pay’-action; it must have been a turning-point... Yet as this, he had flourished financially and socially and to some point, mentally. Perhaps a new reality-of-remitting...