People, Places and Murders

Far to the east the December sky was ebon overhead and deep blue along the edges of the horizon where the last reflected rays of the sun hung for a few seconds longer. There was no wind; the air was icy and people still out and about could see the vapors from their breath grow steamy when they hit the air. The man standing on the bluff was like a flat paper cut-out, opaque, without detail as he stood outlined against the sky. In the far distance, street lights from the small town glowed in the dark. Cars on the highway could be seen moving east and west, their headlights marking their progress through the night. Overhead the stars were an icy presence. He hunched into the down parka he was wearing. He paid no attention to the t-shirt clad figure kneeling in front of him. The headlights from a large, diesel outfit created a circle of intense glaring light. Outside the circle was black nothingness. The figure on the ground before him was a man, shaking with fear and cold. A dirty rag was stuffed in his mouth, another rag wrapped around his eyes. His hands were clasped together in back with handcuffs. His struggle had torn the skin around his wrists and blood seeped between his fingers, but now he was like a trapped animal. The standing man pulled his pistol and attached a silencer. With cool deliberation he placed the barrel against the man’s temple and fired the gun, the bullet exploding the man’s skull. His body fell forward, hitting the ground with a soft thump. The watch on the man’s wrist read 7:18 p.m. Another man moved from the shadows in back of the pickup, unlocked and detached the handcuffs and rolled the body over the edge of the bluff and down into the coulee. The body rolled over tall grass and pine cones which muted every sound until it came to rest at the bottom of the draw. “Thus die all traitors.” The killer muttered, as he walked away, handing his weapon to the second man.