Those of you that keep track of such things will notice that the time I traditionally post on Mondays and Thursdays will change in the coming weeks. The fine folks at Amalgamated Monster are changing my schedule.
This is the last section of chapter 6 of Trouble in Taos. If you’re the type of person who likes to know what’s going on – check the four posts preceding this one. If you want to know more (or you feel like wasting money,) you can buy the book on Amazon.
Slimy was surprisingly clean. Well, he didn’t have much blood on him anyway.
Slimy was the first to stir. I called to him, but he either didn’t hear me or was thinking about something. I guess he didn’t hear me. It took longer for Father Julio to move. Being a relatively short man saved him, that and the fact that the four dead men were pushin’ him away. Some of the blood was his, though, coming from his forehead.
Two things changed about Father Julio. One, he never heard so well anymore. People who came to his service could sit in the back and still hear his homily, because from that day onward Father Julio was a shouter. He also had a rough dark patch on his forehead.
Each year, sometime between Christmas and Easter, the folks at Saint Frank’s come in to put soot on their forehead. Father Julio looked like that every day of the year.
Claybourne Petree and me worked for a while matching bodies with head parts. They weren’t pretty, but I think we got ’em mostly right. The tallest ugly one didn’t look any worse as a mangled mess than he had in life, so we weren’t all that worried about it. It wasn’t like anybody cared about ’em. They weren’t as rich as Rutherford James, so Father Julio offered to pay us. Maybe he felt responsible ’cause he put Slimy in the casket. I didn’t think that was right, and I was going to refuse the money, but Claybourne took it before I could say no. I gave Claybourne a dirty look, but once the money was in Claybourne’s hands, I made sure to get my part. I guess I’m no more a saint than Claybourne.
If Slimy was troubled by what happened, he never said a word about it. It took him a spell before he stood up, but when he finally did, he looked over himself once and headed out the door without a word. By the time Claybourne and I had the first body together, Slimy’d finished his ditches and was heading for Estevo’s. I caught up with him ’cause I was worried he might shoot Estevo for tellin’ those fellers who shot Rutherford James and where to find him.
Slimy was just there for his glass of water and to tell about that dog that barked one night. He didn’t look any different, smell any different, or act any different.
Well, that’s not completely true. Slimy musta seen me attack those men with my stick. I think it meant somethin’ to him, ’cause he was always nice to me after that.
Too bad that was what killed him.
People keep sending me this video. I guess they think it's funny so I should share it here - it couldn't be about my writing, could it?