Psychic Detective 17 By Jake Preston
This is a work of erotic gay fiction, intended for readers who enjoy a murder mystery in which fully developed characters interact sexually and in other ways. Their sexual encounters are sometimes romantic, sometimes recreational, sometimes spiritual, and almost always described explicitly. My attention is equally divided between narrative, character development, and sex scenes. If you don't care for this combination, there are many other excellent "nifty" stories to choose from. And remember that while nifty stories are free, maintaining a website is not. Please think about donating at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
Writing is usually a solitary avocation, but not necessarily so on nifty.org, where a longer story appears in installments. If my characters and my story grab your attention, you can always intervene with suggestions for improvements. All sincere comments will get a response!
Jake, at jemtling@gmail.com
Chapter 17 Making Hay at Eagle Cap Ranch
Ricky's ranch on the Res was called Eagle Cap, a name he inherited from his father, along with the ranch. He kept brown Guernseys and goats, for milk and for cheese. A milk truck from Joseph Creamery stopped by every morning at ten. Other than that, there wasn't much traffic. Ricky, his maternal grandmother, and his younger sister managed the chores, except in haying seasons when he hired Wallowa workers. He was the youngest rancher in Wallowa County.
A one-mile dirt road led from a secondary highway to the ranch buildings. In dry seasons, near haying-time, cumulus dust-clouds signaled the approach of a vehicle. That's how Ricky Eagle Cap knew Göran was coming. It was dusk, and Ricky was in the middle of milking. Göran parked his car by the ranch-house. As soon as the milking was over, Ricky and Göran mounted horses for a ride around his 'spread', which is bounded by forest on three sides, and by arid desert on the fourth. Ricky's golden lab- Wolfie- trailed behind the horses, and at times ran ahead to prove that he knew the way. "It's amazing how quickly the terrain and the climate changes in this country," Göran remarked.
Back at the ranch-house, Ricky invited Göran to dinner with Grandma and his younger sister. After the meal, Göran fetched a gift-box from his car. "It's from Pete Durham," he said. Ricky removed the blue ribbon and opened the box. Inside was a calumet, engraved with elaborate designs.
"Patrolman Durham sent you with this?" Ricky asked.
"He found it in an antique store in Eugene," Göran replied. "He recognized it as Wallowa. It looks old. Maybe it's authentic."
Grandma looked closely. She brought an old photo album to the table and opened it to a photo of her father smoking a peace-pipe with the same designs. "It's more than authentic, it's a family heirloom," she said. "I don't know how it went missing... haven't seen it for years."
Ricky put the calumet back in the box and replaced the blue ribbon. "Tell Peter that I'll be grateful for this gift when I receive it from his own hands," he said.
"May I speak candidly?" Göran said. "Peter is hoping that maybe you'd want to spend time with him, you know, hang out."
Ricky's younger sister excused herself and listened to the rest of their conversation from the other side of the kitchen door. Grandma stayed.
"If it's not too soon to ask," Göran continued, "this weekend it's Peter's turn to be off duty. He's free all Saturday and Sunday. He's hoping...."
"Peter is welcome anytime," Ricky said, "but he shouldn't expect any... er... tell him he shouldn't expect romance on the first date." He chose diplomatic words for Grandma's benefit. "Of course, if he stopped by after work tomorrow evening or Friday, then Saturday would count as a second date," Ricky grinned.
"That's the benevolent Indian way- set down arbitrary rules and then point out all the loopholes for the benefit of the guy you want," Göran smiled. "I've been around Jack long enough to know."
"I wonder if Patrolman Durham knows what he's getting into. Is it safe for a cop to have gay sex in Wallowa County? Is it safe to cross ethnic lines?" Grandma Eagle Cap wondered aloud.
"Peter has chosen the danger, Ma'am," Göran replied. "He's more anxious to get approval from you than from anyone in the Sheriff's Office."
Next evening one eager Peter drove to the ranch after work. He arrived in uniform in his patrol car. He was greeted by Wolfie- he wagged his tail and led Peter to the dairy barn, where Ricky was finishing the evening milking with Grandma and Little Sister. Peter envisioned pastoral images of three-legged milk stools and buckets, but found a new-age barn with computerized milking machines and storage equipment. Ricky showed him how the output of each cow was tracked by computer. "We've been able to add twenty head to our stock, thanks to this equipment. It paid for itself in two years," Ricky said. "It's a European-style dairy, much more advanced than anything American." Go figure.
On the patio behind the kitchen, Ricky started the barbeque. Grandma put them in charge of grilling steaks while she and Little Sister prepared the rest of dinner. Ricky offered cigars and Wilderness Beer from the only brewery in Joseph. Peter brought the blue-ribboned gift-box with him. Their conversation was a verbal dance around the reason for Peter's visit- but it wasn't idle talk. Peter brought Ricky up to date about the investigation of the Eagle Cap murders, and cautioned him that some of the information was still confidential. Finally he got around to the subject: "I hope you don't mind that I sent Göran to speak for me yesterday. I wasn't sure of myself. I'm still not. I'm hoping that we can be friends, maybe more."
"Here we are, standing by the grill, smoking cigars and swigging beer. I think we're friends, already," Ricky said. "Maybe more will come later." He gave Peter a sly smile.
Peter handed the gift-box to Ricky, who removed the ribbon and opened the box. He held up the ritual calumet. "This is an awesome gift, Peter," he said. "You've rescued a family heirloom." Grandma interrupted their scene and brought the picture of her father with the calumet. Ricky pointed out the similarities between the gift-calumet and the one in the photo. "You see, it's the same as the calumet in the photo."
Grandma returned to the kitchen. "Grandma's been keeping track of our progress," Ricky laughed.
"Are we making progress?" Peter asked.
"Para bailer la bamba se necessità una poce de gracía," Ricky said. To dance the bamba, a little humor is needed.
"She doesn't disapprove of me being here, then?" Peter wondered.
"Pete, Grandma is your biggest fan," Ricky replied. "She's been bugging me for months to find a boyfriend. Yesterday she was disappointed when Göran came over, because she knew he wouldn't be staying long in Joseph. Then she learned that Göran was speaking for you. That made her happy."
During dinner, Ricky brought up something forgot to mention earlier. "Saturday is hay- day on the ranch," he said. "We mowed the hayfields a week ago and it's been dry ever since. I've already rented the baler and hired a crew. Still, you could come over in the evening, Pete, and we're both free on Sunday."
"I could come Saturday morning and help you make hay," Peter replied. "How would that be?"
Grandma nodded in approval. Ricky agreed.
It was time for Pete to depart. Ricky asked him for a whisker rub and rewarded him with a kiss on the lips. "I like your five o'clock shadow," he said. "Don't shave for the next few days."
Saturday was a day of hard labor. Durham spent the morning with two of Ricky's hired workers, Wallowas in their early twenties. They trailed after the hay-rake with pitch-forks, pushing fugitive haylicks into place for the baler. Another Wallowa youth drove the tractor, and a fourth operated the hay-rake. They worked shirtless in the sun. Durham attracted notice as a newcomer, a white man, an unpaid volunteer, and an athletic male specimen. One of them thought he was Joseph's newest patrolman. Rumor spread among the Wallowa workers that Durham's undercover presence had something to do with the murders in Eagle Cap Wilderness.
"You've got high tech equipment in the dairy barn, but in the field we're making hay the old fashioned way, with a rented bailer," Peter remarked. "How is that possible?"
"A man has to choose where to invest that he's got," Ricky said. "We process milk every day. We're the largest provider for the creamery in Joseph, so we use a process that's modern, safe, and reliable. As for making hay while the sun shines, and milking bulls, that's another matter." Peter laughed. The Wallowa youth with the pitchfork overheard and looked puzzled.
Lunch was a picnic affair behind the ranch-house. Grandma and Little Sister served meatball spaghetti and lemonade. "No beer," Ricky decreed: "No alcohol as long as we're working with field equipment." Durham sat next to Ricky at the table. It was obvious that they knew each other well. This prompted a rival theory about Durham, that he was Ricky's new boyfriend, but most of the guys thought that he was a cop under cover. One thing they couldn't deny was the firm outline of his athletic physique, an object of envy to some, and to others an ideal to strive for. Straight men are conditioned to pretend insensibility to other men's bodies, but there was no way to make Durham invisible. The light complexion of his countenance was accentuated by dark three-day whiskers- the contrast gave him a European mystique that the Wallowa men found strangely appealing.
After lunch, Ricky asked Durham to help bale hay. The baler caught hay from the ground with rotating brushes, and compressed it into rounded hillocks that were then wrapped in white plastic sheets. As haying progressed, the meadow was strewn with great white spheres, eight feet in diameter. From a distance they looked like eggs laid by dinosaurs. "We stopped using the hayloft years ago," Ricky said. "It's more efficient to wrap the hay and leave it in the field. That way we avoid the danger of burning down the barn. We keep the cows fed in winter by opening the hay-spheres, one at a time." Ricky taught Durham how to operate the baler while he drove the tractor.
The crew finished haying just before dark, and retired to the farmhouse for dinner-a sumptuous feast of roast beef, potatoes, and a variety of vegetables. Instead of a sweat lodge, Ricky had a jacuzzi and a shower-head by the patio. The party of six- Ricky, Peter, and four young Wallowa workers- soaked in the jacuzzi while Grandma laundered their clothes. Grandma and Little Sister prepared a ceremonial blanket in the lawn by the patio. The men sat in a circle on the blanket. Ricky told Peter to sit at his right. Grandma brought him the calumet. Little Sister brought a pouch of tobacco and a box of matches. Ricky lit tobacco in the calumet, smoked it, and passed it to Peter, who passed it to the youth at his right. As the calumet made its way around the circle, Little Sister served iced whisky in tumblers. The sweet scent of marijuana fragranced their circle, and rendered the men oblivious to the prying eyes of a young woman who was curious to see their nudity. While the peace-pipe was passed, Ricky explained that it was a family heirloom, owned by his great grandfather, and went missing for decades, until Peter found it at an antique shop, and returned it to the Eagle Cap Ranch.
The Wallowa workers saw Peter in a flattering light. To win Ricky's affection- Peter knew- he had to obtain his family's approval and, by extension, he had to court the whole tribe, at least symbolically. Ricky did more than his part to win them over. On the previous evening, when Peter had jitters about his hay-making date with Ricky, Göran had explained the Indian practice of laying down an 'arbitrary rule with loopholes'. Now Peter saw the pattern. It was a game he enjoyed as long as Ricky played on his side.
Six naked men sat Indian-style in yard-light and shadow: the spectacle delighted Little Sister as much as it pleased Peter and Ricky. The absence of sexual fondling was relieved by a bit of grab-ass and giddiness brought on by pot. Little Sister kept an eye on their tumblers and replenished the empties, her curiosity rewarded by a close-up view of maleness. Most often, Peter was the object of her gaze. Never before has she seen the result of circumcision. She felt a twinge of jealousy for her older brother. The four Wallowa workers (no less curious) averted their gaze as they were conditioned to do, until they looked back and tried to imagine- what? Could there be antonyms for 'intergumenary envy' or 'pellicular arousal'? Think about it!
Grandma brought the men's clothing, washed and dried, in a basket. They dressed and prepared to spend the night under the stars. They couldn't drive home under the influence of marijuana and whisky. Sleeping bags and blankets were spread on the lawn. Twenty yards from the others, Ricky and Pete rolled out a sleeping bag. They were far enough away that to be overheard, but they could be seen. In the gaze of the four Wallowa workers, Pete got naked again. Ricky took control of his body. "I've dreamed about us together in this way, but I never thought in terms of what role I would play," Pete said.
"I can help you with that," Ricky replied.
When a man says he's undecided, he leaves the decision to his lover in the secret or subconscious hope that his ass will be conquered. Maybe Ricky was unaware of this in principle, but instinct caused him to make love aggressively. When they embraced and exchanged oral endearments, Ricky squeezed Pete's ass and ran fingers down his cleft. Pete responded with subtle hints of submission, until he parted his legs and threw modesty to the wind. While Pete lay on his back with legs in a V toward the stars, four Wallowa workers crawled through the grass to get a closer look. "Oh my God, Ricky's kissing ass," one of them whispered.
"I heard that," Ricky said. He stood proud and removed his clothes in a striptease unaccompanied by music. The Wallowa youths realized that Ricky and Peter were good-natured about their spying. It was as if they had been invited to a wedding and stayed for the honeymoon, and now took the liberty of giving the newlyweds a chivaree. They moved Green-Beret style toward the combat zone, and watched while Ricky, in silhouette, drove his rod into Peter, who suffered and praised his lover, being loath to groan or cry out in the presence of four spectators.
The Wallowa farmhands viewed Act One of the scene as gawking groundlings, but Act Two was a vision of Beauty when Ricky melted in Peter's arms. They saw the event-horizon of Ricky and Peter: two spirits merged in a friendship that would never be broken. "For the Wallowa people, friendship is a sacred bond," Ricky said.
Next morning at breakfast, the Wallowa farmhands addressed Peter with a deference normally reserved for their boss. Peter sat between two farmhands, exuding a laid-back aura of contentment. He felt the physical memory of Ricky in his sphincter, and was conscious of Ricky's seed in his anal canal. The number of times he was spread and bred was not discussed on this occasion. Quality isn't quantity, but if truth be told, the number of needles on the Norway above them could be counted, but the number of fuck-stokes delivered to Peter could not be counted. It worked in Peter's favor that Peter had bottomed. Ricky did them proud. One of the farmhands hinted to Peter that if he asked for a date, he wouldn't be refused. "Why not?" Peter said, "or you can call on me in Joseph."
Peter saw that the time was right to ask questions about the Eagle Cap Wilderness murders. He showed them pictures of Coleman and his companion. One of the farmhands remembered Coleman as a visitor taking a survey. No one saw his companion. Peter reverted to his identity as a patrolman, and repeated the warning he'd given others: They're dangerous. Don't approach them. Call the Sheriff's Office.
"These guys murdered ten men at Eagle Cap Wilderness," Durham said. "Most of the victims were Nez Persé. Some of the victims might have been kidnapped and brought here from other tribal nations. We think that your missing shaman was one of the victims. We've got forensic anthropologists in Eugene working on the identification. In the meantime, we haven't identified other victims. Maybe you knew some of them."
"There was Johnny Rivers and his younger brother Ken," one of the farmhands said. "But they sent their folks a postcard from Boise, saying that they were heading to Minnesota to look for work."
Durham's eyes widened. "Stupido! Stupido!" he exclaimed while he banged his head with his fists. "That's how he does it. He makes these kids send cards home to their families. That's why they don't get reported missing. We should have figured this out a long time ago."
"What about Red Elk Johnson," another farmhand volunteered. "He left home, too. I don't know if he sent a card, but his folks didn't report him missing."
"And Tom Henry Parks, he left without telling anyone, too," a third farmhand volunteered. "He wasn't happy living on the Res. His dad thought he ran away."
"It looks like we've got work to do, Peter," Ricky said- his way of volunteering to accompany Durham on family visits.
"What about transportation?" Durham asked. "He must be using a van- maybe with plates from Oregon or Wyoming." One of the farmhands remembered seeing a dark green van with Wyoming plates. "We see lots of vans on the Res, but a plate from Wyoming is rare."
Ricky drove his car to the Rivers' place. Durham got on the phone with Sheriff Andrews. It was a long conversation. "Andrews is calling Jack to alert him that we're calling the FBI," Durham said. "Coleman's been kidnapping victims and transporting them across state lines. Now that we know that, we have no choice."
"Maybe it's just as well," Ricky said. "This case has grown too big for local sheriffs to handle among themselves." At the homes of Rivers, Johnson, and Parks, Durham collected personal items-combs, hairbrushes, headbands, caps, anything that might contain DNA samples. Ricky offered to help, but Durham said no: "It's a chain of custody issue. I have to be able to swear in court that on one else has been in possession of evidence." Their tour of the Res was a sorrowful journey. To make the investigation official, Durham asked the families to sign 'missing person' reports with dates and details, yet everyone knew that the families had lost their sons in a series of gruesome murders.