Falcon's Pray

By J.T. Lewis

A woman has been killed in the middle of a field...or has she?

Someone is poaching deer out of season...but no one can find the kills...

Now a renegade Native American tribe has taken over the county...

Is it any wonder that Nick Behr is crazy?

I love it! Nick Behr is an interesting character that I have enjoyed getting to know and reading his stories!...It has mystery and action but a funny side that kept me in tears laughing!...Heart stopping action from start to finish!

Reviewer Amy Conley

Includes a preview of J.T. Lewis' newest Gabriel Celtic Adventure...The Book of Gabriel!

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.T. Lewis
• Release date: Nov 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311736413

J.T. Lewis

Mystery abounds in the books of Amazon Best Selling Author J.T. Lewis.Living in Southeast Indiana with his wife, J.T. has always loved a mystery. Striving to bring readers a story packed full of action, adventure, and suspense has led to his current selection of titles.His first full length novel, Murder! Too Close To Home, was the beginning of the acclaimed Adventures of Gabriel Celtic series, and was voted #1 on Goodreads Best Debut Mystery Series list. The thriller/adventure series continued with Gabriel's Revenge,followed closely by In Case of Death as well as The Book of Gabriel in 2014. The Adventures of Gabriel Celtic is as series about the life of Gabriel Celtic...an ordinary man caught up in extraordinary adventures!Another new series, The Nick Behr Mysteries, starts with the story Kidnap Inc., where we get to meet Nick Behr...as well as all of the people that have crowded into his head! Fighting against the craziness of his life while trying to solve the murders of the current case sometimes leads the story to veer off-kilter a little. This unexpected result has caused the story to be labeled, "One of the funnest mysteries I've read in quite some time!"Also added to J.T. Lewis' series list this year...The Artifact Hunter! Jesse Flanagan is just a guy who enjoys making a profit from the antiquities he buys and sells. When one of his discoveries suddenly puts him in the cross-hairs of assassins, he must change his whole life as he goes underground to try and reclaim his life!An electrician by trade, at night JT Lewis morphs into a fictional detective with a keyboard, a transition that suits his need for creating exciting stories for his ever-growing audience.Find and follow JT Lewis @:http://jt-lewis.blogspot.com/https://www.facebook.com/JTLewis.Authorhttps://twitter.com/JTLewis_Bookshttp://www.wattpad.com/user/JTLewisAuthorhttp://pinterest.com/jtlewisbooks/https://www.facebook.com/Murdr.Too.Close.To.Homehttps://www.facebook.com/gabriels.revengehttps://www.facebook.com/ThePepperAndLongstreetMysterySeries

Book preview

Falcon’s Pray

By

J.T. Lewis

Copyright 2015 J.T. Lewis

Smashword Edition

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This book is a work of fiction. The

names, characters, places, and incidents are products of

the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and

are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to

persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or

organizations is entirely coincidental.

Falcon’s Pray

Tuesday, September 2

The brown eyes in the scope show no fear.

The man takes another few seconds to look upon the animal through the lens, admiring the sleek lines of the animal. This is their place in life: he the hunter, the deer the food.

Taking a final breath, he lets it out slowly until it is almost gone before patiently squeezing the trigger.

The sound of the shot.

The comforting compression on his shoulder.

The animal disappearing from the scope as it drops to the ground.

This was the way of things: the hunter…and the hunted.

Hearing something off to his right, the man quickly swings the gun…following the sound until he finds the source of the noise.

Binoculars…trained on him.

She lowers them when she sees him pointing the gun at her.

The blue eyes in the scope show fear. The man takes another few seconds to look upon her through the lens, admiring her sleek lines.

He lets out a sigh…before slowly squeezing the trigger.

The sound of the shot.

The comforting compression on his shoulder.

The girl disappearing from the scope as she drops to the ground.

This was the way of things: the hunter…and the hunted.

Tuesday, September 2

It is 7:30 in the morning, and the sweat is already stinging my eyes as I stand on the front stoop…waiting.

The summer has been unusually cool up until the last week, when it decided that it needed to release its pent-up energies and avail us with its best imitation of hell.

It isn’t the weather that has me sweating now however; it’s the approaching truck that has just turned into the drive.

Earl’s Truck.

Shit!

Earl is my dad, although I seldom call him that. Our relationship is…complicated to say the least, although I have been getting along with him much better as of late. Today is different though. On a family level, I am more or less on equal footing with him. My mom, Estelle sees to that.

But today, he is here in his professional capacity. I have no footing here. I’m a babe in the woods, reaching up to him and begging to be picked up and coddled.

The thought makes my stomach queasy.

Shit!

He looks kinda mad, the voice beside me observes.

My chin drops an inch in resignation before I glance over at Trucker.

Don’t get me wrong, I like Trucker. Of all of them, he is the voice of reason, as well as that of honor and courage.

Ok, maybe not honor so much, but definitely reason…and courage.

The problem is he is my voice of reason. He is a hallucination…and he isn’t supposed to be here anymore.

That’s the way he always is when he starts a job like this, I mumble to Trucker before turning back toward the approaching Earl. He looks at it like the wires are defying him…that he needs to whip them back into shape.

Kinda like a Lion Tamer, Truckers observes from under his wide-brimmed hat.

I nod in reply, but leave his observation unanswered as Earl comes to a stop in front of me.

You picked a hell of a day to come up with an electrical problem, Earl announces with a sad shake of his head…like I had purposely planned it that way. I’m already busier than a cat covering shit on concrete.

Sorry, I reply with genuine emotion. He has no idea how sorry I am that I had to call him!

After a long bout of the crazies last year due to an injury, I had gotten back together with my beautiful wife Amanda. After a time…after I had won her back completely…I moved back into our house with her.

Everything has been idyllic…until a few weeks ago…when my mind started slipping again. And now, during the hottest weather of the summer, the air conditioner has quit.

Since it kept blowing the fuses, I thought I should call an electrician. It was only at Amanda’s insistence that I relented and called Earl. I would have preferred to call Jubal Lancaster, the Amish electrician…but even I had to admit there was something wrong with that picture.

If you don’t call your dad and he gets wind of it, Amanda had reminded me, He’ll have your balls for breakfast. It would be a code of honor thing with him…an eye for an eye kind of thing.

Or ball for a ball kind of thing, I ruminated. Not calling him would be some kind of castrating event in his eyes…and retaliation would be swift.

I had cringed a little at the thought before involuntarily dropping my hand to my crotch. That was when I had relented.

Who were you talking to? Earl asks then.

Shit!

What?

Earl pulls off his crooked sunglasses and gives me the stink-eye.

You were talking to someone when I pulled up…you got them hooligans in your head again?

Hallucinations.

What? he replies with genuine confusion.

They were hallucinations…not hooligans. And no, the hallucinations are not back, I lied.

God may strike you dead for that one, Trucker mumbles from beside me.

I’m pretty sure that God has put off dealing with Earl up to this point anyway, so I am hoping that he has also ignored my lie.

Well, let’s get this over with, Earl sighs as he brushes past me and lets himself into my house. I obediently follow behind him, just another one of his idiot clients.

The first indication that I’m already in trouble is his eyes bugging out as he approaches my electrical box.

You still have fuses? he gasps unbelievingly.

I shrug, Came with the house.

He ignores me as he pulls the cover off of the box, again gasping in surprise as he takes in the jumble of wires inside.

Jesus… he mumbles as he pokes around in the box. Pulling a flashlight out of his pocket, he starts following the wires that are snaking out of the box like an octopus.

Reaching the end of the first line, he swears quietly and returns to the box before following another wire to its end. Time after time he does this, each time swearing quietly when he reaches the end.

When he finally clicks off the light, he turns and faces me, his face revealing a general letdown of me in general and my house in total.

How bad is it? I finally ask.

He is silent for a bit, his face showing no emotion except for a sour look.

Have you ever heard me describe one of my jobs as…oh fuck?

It’s oh fuck electric? I respond worriedly, my heart sinking in my chest.

Don’t know yet, I ain’t seen it all. But it’s definitely at least shit-stained, with the high probability of either being oh fuck or hide the ladder…

Hide the ladder?

This is a new term to me, and I thought I had heard all of his vast collection of metaphors. What the hell is hide the ladder?

That’s where you hide your ladder so when the house catches on fire you got an excuse to NOT climb up on the roof and put it out….cause you want the motherfucker to burn down!

Is it safe to live here? I ask excitedly as a shiver runs down my spine.

Yeah…for now I guess. Just buy a few more smoke alarms. When they go off though, you head for the street…and keep going.

I close my eyes and rub my face with my hand.

Can we at least get the air conditioner working?

Depends…how light of a sleeper are you? he asks through squinted eyes, as if he is trying to make a determination on my present sanity.

Ok, ok, I get it. No air until we get the electric fixed, I sigh. When can you get to it?

A look of concern crosses his face that I mistakenly assume is for me.

Can you afford it? he questions me then.

Can I afford not to? I reply with anger. Why, how much is it going to cost?

He sighs as he replies, I’ll do it at cost of course.

I can tell that this pisses him off.

I have to pay my guys though…and buy materials…get a permit…

Here it comes, Trucker warns from behind Earl, nodding his head with certainty. He’s got your ass on the ropes.

How much? I repeat with a sigh, suddenly weary of the whole affair.

Ten grand, give or take, Earl responds finally.

I receive the news numbly, wondering if a show of faking a heart attack will lessen the estimate any.

I decide against it and nod in reply. Ok, let’s do it.

How long will it take? I ask then.

Couple a weeks, Earl replies knowingly, Once we get here.

Once you get here?

I’m stupefied.

Earl shrugs. Be at least three weeks before we can get here…maybe a month.

Shit!

My jaw drops. We’re supposed to live in this heat for a month while worrying that the house will burn down around us?

Earl shrugs again. That’s one option.

You got another one up your sleeve? I challenge him, Option I mean?

Not really, he replies quietly while he puts his tools away. Lifting his tool bag, he stands there silently for a few moments while looking off into one of the dark corners.

You could always move back home for awhile.

He turns his head toward me then, a smile forming on his lips.

Shit!

I resist the urge to jump back at the unfamiliarity of a smile from Earl.

I suddenly realize that the smile is actually a sneer, and that he has snared me in a trap that I cannot escape from unharmed.

Mom has told him to offer us sanctuary. If I turn him down outright I have rejected their hospitality, which will cause my mom untold mental duress. If I accept…Amanda and I will be under their roof…and under Earl’s thumb.

I’ll talk to Amanda about it, I mumble dejectedly.

No skin off my nose either way, Earl replies, although the sneer is still there. I’ll let you know a couple of days before about when we can get here.

I nod dumbly as Earl exits the basement and leaves the house.

That man is amazing, Trucker says as he watches Earl climb the stairs. No wonder you’re crazy!

When I hear the door slam upstairs, I glance back toward Trucker, thinking about what he has just said.

Unable to argue the point, I sigh and also make my way up the steps.

I told you Trucker was the voice of reason.

***

I’m in a high state of agitation as I make my way into work. Every idiot in town is on the streets, and every one of them seems to need to get to work before I do.

I say…this is reminiscent of a busy afternoon in London…your people here fancy a bunch of lowland apes the way they motor along.

Shit!

I grip the wheel tightly, the voice beside me frightening me on many levels at once. Glancing to my right, I see a proper-looking, middle-aged black man sitting beside me.

Who the hell are you? I shout before slamming on the brakes as I’m once again cut off.

Blimey! That was close!

Turning toward me then, he looks slightly shaken. Might I recommend a slower forward speed to combat this barking until we arrive at our destination?

I stare at him until the car behind me starts honking.

Bite me! I shout to everyone within a hundred feet as I ease off of the brake. When I feel that I am safe for a few moments, I glance at the man again.

Who did you say you were?

Sanford G. Percival Ross, he utters formally while bowing slightly at the waist, At your service.

That’s a mouthful, Trucker exclaims as he too suddenly appears by the passenger door. What’s the G stand for?

That’s none of your concern, the new guy states simply as he moves his eyes forward once again.

La de dah, Trucker mumbles as he pulls his hat down over his eyes and leans back in his seat.

I say there, would you mind terribly passing me some biscuits? Sanford G. Percival Ross asks suddenly. I feel my sugar level plummeting.

That’s Brit-speak for cookies, Alix with an I pipes in as she too makes an appearance on my front seat. You know…in case you didn’t know.

Why don’t he just say cookie then? Trucker asks angrily.

Shit!

Enough! I shout, Everybody out!

I pull off the highway and onto a side street before screeching to a stop as Alix and Trucker disappear.

There is no need to bellow my good man, the new guy states before he too vanishes.

Shit, shit, shit, I exclaim as I lay my head on the steering wheel. I’m supposed to be done with this!

Months ago, my good friend Sam Redhawk’s grandfather, a full blooded Cherokee Indian, had treated me for my hallucinations with an ancient cleansing ritual.

It had been the first time that I had been hallucination-free in months! Being me had suddenly become so much easier when my mind became my own again.

A few weeks back however, I had started to relapse. Having been warned that the ritual may need to be repeated, I immediately called Sam to arrange a refresher course.

Unfortunately, Sam had advised me that his grandfather had gone out west to visit relatives…for three months!

Shit!

I was so screwed!

Knowing that keeping my craziness a secret had almost killed my marriage the last time, I immediately let Amanda know what was going on. My honesty had earned me a couple of rounds of sympathy sex, so at least that had been a plus.

All of the warm fuzzies left over from that had died off this morning however, and now I had a new hallucination to add to my stable. Alix and Trucker had been with me for awhile, but this new guy?

How the hell did I end up with a black man sporting a British accent anyway? Aren’t these hallucinations supposed to be part of my personality?

I sigh as I raise my head and contemplate calling in sick before the phone trills beside me on the seat.

Behr, I bark as I bring the cell to my ear.

Hey Nick, this is Gaylord. You got a minute?

Sure Ben, I lie, What’ve you got?

Gaylord Benning is one of the state’s conservation officers. Since almost everyone in law enforcement has a nickname, and since calling the guy Gay would probably lead to fisticuffs, most people called him Ben…a nickname that isn’t a nickname.

We’ve been seeing a shitload of out-of-season deer poaching this year, He starts as I wonder why this concerns me. It’s concentrated mostly in this part of the state.

Ok, I acknowledge. You need me to take the guy in for processing?

Oh no…nothing like that, Gaylord stammers. Not yet anyway. We haven’t caught anyone yet…don’t even know where to start looking truth be known. But we did find something that I think you should see.

Ok, I reply as I pull out my notebook. Where do you want me?

You know where the old stone head is?

Sure, I reply, remembering the face carved in a rock by an unknown someone in the past. Many thought it was an ancient rendering, left for us as a sign by the Woodland Indians that had inhabited the area a thousand years before. My dad had always said it was a little more recent, having been done by some hobo riding the rails during the depression.

Off Coon Mountain road isn’t it?

That’s the place! Ben replies happily. Drive past the head, we’re a quarter mile on the left…big open field.

Got it, I reply as I start my truck.

Be there is twenty.

Make it thirty if you don’t mind, Ben replies sheepishly. I need to snag some breakfast.

***

Ben’s mention of breakfast makes my stomach roll as I realize that I haven’t eaten anything yet today.

Since it is on the way, I pull into the McDonald’s on my way out of town. Unfortunately, the drive-through line is a mile long. Squinting into the windows, I see that there is barely a line inside.

Shit!

When I’m wearing my crazy hat, I prefer the anonymity of the drive through. Unfortunately I don’t have the time to wait in line, so I pull into a parking slot and make my way across the lot. When I enter the restaurant, there are only two people in line, plus a guy mopping the floor.

Shit!

I recognize the guy slinging the mop. His name is Andy…and he isn’t real! He is a hallucination that I have seen before, always mopping the floor, always at the McDonald’s.

Doing my best to ignore the kid, I step up behind the second guy in line who promptly starts mumbling to himself.

Worrying about being seen with crazy people when I am so close to it myself, I breathe a sigh of relief when I notice his hand go to his ear.

He’s wearing a Bluetooth.

Thank God! I think to myself as I relax for the first time that morning.

That guy ain’t on the phone you know.

I look around and find no one there but my imagination. Andy is now mopping the floor close behind me.

What? I mumble without moving my lips, hoping no one will see me talking to an illusion.

That guy is really just talking to himself. He bought that fake Bluetooth so people will think he’s on the phone. If people look at him funny, he just points to his ear like he’s on the phone.

That’s pretty smart, I say out loud before I catch myself. Kinda brilliant actually, I continue in a whisper.

Ain’t nothing smart about that guy, Andy states as he plops his mop into the bucket and starts to walk off. He’s crazier than bat shit.

***

By the time I get to the field, the sausage biscuit has settled my stomach, and the coffee has settled my nerves…a little.

Hey Nick, Gaylord greets me as he approaches my truck. How’s it hanging?

Offering his hand, I shake it with a strong grip. Everyone in law enforcement has to show off their grip.

You mean the Python?

We both laugh at that…everyone in law enforcement has to have a nickname for everything.

What have you got?

Follow me, Ben says as he walks off toward the field, Gotta show you a couple of things.

The heat is already uncomfortable as the sun beats down on us. By the time Ben points out the first pile of deer guts, I’m sweating like a whore in church.

Got one right there, Ben states matter-of-factly, Field dressed it as you can see. It’s pretty fresh…probably not over two hours old.

I quietly nod as he continues on through the overgrown field. Now I’m getting itchy from the pollen sticking to my arms.

I follow him for another ten minutes and two more kills before I say anything.

Not that I don’t like a good walk through nature… I start.

The good part is right up here Nick.

I nod and continue to follow dumbly, thinking about how stupid it was to not bring any water with me.

By this time, Ben has stopped and is pointing ahead.

That’s the one, he states confidently. But this one didn’t get field dressed…weird huh?

Yeah, I reply as I pull my sticky shirt away from my skin. I’m beyond hot now, and thirsty, and more than a little miffed at this slow-ride exhibition of a Conservation Officer’s daily duties.

That could mean anything Ben.

I sound like I’m whining now.

Maybe it was a fawn, maybe they heard you coming. Hell Ben, there could be a million explanations.

Ben nods thoughtfully at my tirade, seeming to consider my arguments.

You are right of course Nick, but there is one thing I can’t explain. Would you like me to tell you what that one thing is?

Please, I reply a little gruffly as I scratch at another itch on my back, Quickly though…if you don’t mind.

What I can’t explain, he starts slowly, drawing out the conversation, Is why this deer…killed right here in this spot…was wearing a pair of binoculars.

Shit!

***

Binoculars? I question dumbly.

Binoculars, Ben repeats with a nod. Right over there in the weeds. I thought it was just another kill until I saw those. That’s when I backed out of here nice and easy and called you.

How do you know that they aren’t the hunter’s? I ask as I pull out a pair of Latex gloves.

Blood spatter.

Blood spatter? I repeat dumbly.

Blood spatter! Ben reiterates. I noticed blood spatter on the binoculars before I backed away from the scene. Either they were the victim’s…or the killer was standing right close when he shot. And if that were the case…why didn’t he take them with him?

Bloody ‘ell, I hear beside me as I snap the last glove against my wrist. This sordid mess is gon’a put a kink in me day.

Shit!

I glance over at Sanford G. Percival Ross before shaking my head slightly at him.

This is work, my eyes convey with authority. Don’t fuck with me while I’m working!

There’s no need for cursing my good man, he replies to my thoughts. I was just stating a fact. Now I shall have to rearrange my whole schedule.

It comes out sounding like shed-u-al.

I turn toward the crime scene again, only to find Ben looking off in the direction I had been staring moments before.

You see something over there Nick?

Shit!

No, I reply quickly, Just trying to clear my thoughts.

I pull out my phone and put in a call to Sam Redhawk, who is now chief deputy and in charge of such things while he runs for sheriff.

Hey Nick! How’s it hanging?

I decide not to bring up the python again and get right to the point, telling him what Ben has found and requesting backup and the forensics team.

On their way, Sam replies after taking down the location.

I snap the phone closed and stick it back in my pocket before making my way slowly toward the blood.

After about three feet, I can see the binoculars lying in the weeds. There is indeed blood spatter. Crouching down, I take in the whole scene.

Probably facing this way, I mutter as I look over my shoulder. "Shooter