Spin Out
a Deputy Joe Novel

The sequel to Hard Fall is out.  Right now it’s available through MLR Press Direct in eBook.  I’ll post links for Amazon and other distributors as they go live.

Right guy. Wrong time.

Deputy Joe Peterson understood the risks when he got involved
with ex-con Kabe Varghese. He didn’t, however, see fit to warn Kabe.
Now, in the middle of searching for the killer of a local boy, he
has to contend with his career and his relationship spinning out
of control. Solving the case may be easier than repairing broken
trust.

Ain’t nothing like
the mountain air first thing in the morning. As I swung out of my new
department issue Explorer, I could almost taste the first touch of
snow on my tongue. Wouldn’t be long before winter hit. That meant
skiing, Christmas and snuggling up next to my Kabe’s fine body under
a layer of quilts. Not that I needed much excuse to do that. Three,
sometimes four, nights a week he spent over at my place…and boy
didn’t the gossips like to pass that bit around.

No sense ruining my
day thinking on that.

I headed on into the
oldest dinner in Panguitch, nodding as I walked into the café and
getting a round of grunts and, “Hi, Joe.” in return .
A few other folks I said howdy to even though I knew I’d get nothing
but glares back. Didn’t mean I still shouldn’t be polite. Slid into
my usual booth in the back corner so’s I could watch everyone coming
and going. I didn’t bother to order nothing. Jane, at the front
counter, just always seemed to know what I was in the mood for and
brought it on out to me.

A knot of men
clustered around the big table, all of them with heads down and
trading low whispers. If’n I didn’t know every last one of them and
what they were up to, I’da been suspicious. But they all either made
their living off the big hunts or liked to pretend they did. Hunting
season meant stingy strategy sessions rivaling those of warring
nations. Everyone trying to figure what each other knew about where
the game was and each trying not to let spill what he’d figured
already.

After a few bites
into my pancakes, I caught Carl Haley standing up out of the group of
hunting guides and wannabes. He stretched. He hemmed and hawed a bit
about going. Then he pulled out a few bills, tossed them on the table
and…

…walked out.

I actually dropped
my fork. Slipped right out of my hand. I think the big table, well,
all them just froze in place halfway through whatever they was at.
See, ’cause all that play outta Carl, at this time in September,
usually prefaced him sauntering on back, sliding into the opposite
side of the booth and grinning out, “So, seen any deer lately,
deputy?”

Going on five
seasons of that-me being something of an informant of sorts. Came
with my job and being up and around long before the butt crack of
dawn driving my patrol route along the highways and roads in a county
that didn’t have hardly one person for every square mile of land.

Elk, deer, moose;
saw ‘em all the time, everywhere. And I kept it in my head and gave
it off to Carl from about start of fall on through hunting season.
For that, I always had a little bit of something in my freezer ,
and if I got a permit in the local lottery then Carl would take me
out.

I cain’t say how it
even hit me right then. My mind just kept backfiring on how he’d
pretty publicly snubbed not only me, but a decent professional
association. And Carl wasn’t even a member of the Latter Day Saints,
just a cowboy, one who apparently let his prejudices rule his wallet.
Sorta set me down into this whirlpool of really black thoughts. Most
times something like this happened-you know after everything hit the
fan about me liking guys and shacking up with an ex-con pretty boy
and getting excommunicated-I managed to just stick it in my pocket.
But there’s those you expect it from ,
and then those that hit you blindside.

Carl caught me off
guard.

As I’m all wrapped
up in that, staring at a plate of pancakes that are getting less
appetizing by the moment, I heard somebody’s butt slide into the
booth. “Morning, Joe.” Rough voice, paved like country road
asphalt and varnished with years of smoke-Randy Small. I looked up.
He saluted me with his coffee mug. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure you want
to?” Yeah, I was right ready to dive into a little pity party.

“If Carl’s
going to let his uptight ass keep him from good info…” With a
roll of his eyes, Randy let the rest of that thought slide on by. He
took a few swigs of his coffee. Me, I just tried to remember how to
breathe again. Finally, Randy grunted, “Your flapjacks are
getting cold.”

I pushed them away.
“Not all the hungry right now.” The whole thing soured my
stomach even if Carl didn’t say nothing. Didn’t have to. I’d have had
to be dead to not hear that unspoken disgust loud and clear.

Randy chewed on my
words for a moment, his mouth almost working with the thoughts, then
he grunted again. “Don’t let it ride you too much, Joe. Not
everyone is as limped dicked as that son-of-a-bitch.” He grinned
and leaned in. “The moment we all realized that Carl weren’t
headed over here…well I thought we’d have ourselves a good old
fashioned brawl right here over coffee to see who could get over here
first.”

“What,” I
grumbled, not at him but at the whole darn mess, “you stared ‘em
all down?”

“Naw, I just
stood up and walked on over.” The laugh that started ended up as
a hoarse wheeze. Once he’d caught his breath, Randy finished, “Lazy
dogs don’t get fed.”

I almost managed a
smile at that. “Guess not.” Eased the hurt a little knowing
that not all of them felt like Carl.

Randy grinned back.
“So, seen any deer lately, deputy?”

1234

working on a cross-posting gadget, but it uploaded a boatload of old posts.

Sorry…

working on a cross-posting gadget, but it uploaded a boatload of old posts.

Sorry…

https://docs.google.com/viewer?a=vpid=explorerchrome=truesrcid=1Ogzy2s3LTipRH3acCzl6XLsQihh5iZE8Uc7hkDP1QyKfPiNPT8_1JuMkuTIShl=en
I have a write up in an Italian fashion/lifestyle magazine. It’s in Italian, but still, it’s a two page spread with two of my covers.