Killing Time: A Nick Cotton Crime Story

By Thomas Cox

A torrential storm knocks out communications and power stranding travelers, including Nick Cotton, in a tourist convenience store near the Oglala Sioux reservation. Inside the store a murder was committed and a tribal cop enlists Nicks aid in the investigation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781477294017

Thomas Cox

Thomas Cox is an award winning writer of adult crime stories in the mystery/suspense genre. He also writes adventure and fantasy books for your readers. Currently the author lives in Indianapolis, Indiana.

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© 2013 Thomas Cox. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 1/2/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9402-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9401-7 (e)

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CONTENTS

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

1

(9:57 PM)

It was the kind of storm you don’t see very often, and one you don’t want to be caught in. First, that late afternoon, the sky had blackened over. Not the usual dark, gray, and purple clouds portending an upcoming thunderstorm. This was a pitch black punctuated by jagged streaks of lightning and close, smashing thunder. Then the hail and the rains came. Some of the hailstones were large as golf balls, a whole lot larger than Nick Cotton had seen in a long time. The hail hammered his rental car, certainly denting it, and even putting some small cracks in his windshield.

So much for bad decisions. Too late he realized he should have sought shelter earlier. But ego and overconfidence had gotten in the way. He had thought he could avoid it or possibly outdistance it. No such luck.

Angling north to try and get to the interstate that would take him to Rapid City, South Dakota, on a narrow state road beneath the horrendous downpour, Nick gave serious thought to pulling over and stopping. He knew he should, but he didn’t know where he was. He had absolutely no visibility. He didn’t want some cowboy trucker to run up on his ass sight unseen. Also, he didn’t know how long it might be for the storm to pass over, and he had a hotel reservation for that night in Rapid City.

The car radio was dead, nothing but static, and so was Nick’s cell phone. Evidently the storm had interfered with all communication towers. Moving slowly, sometimes less than five miles an hour, he feared more than ever running into someone or someone running him over. He saw no other vehicles, coming or going, unable to see much of anything even with the wipers swishing at high speed in the thick water pouring down his windshield, and found himself tight with tension as he tried to maneuver the car.

The tiredness descended on him like a weight. He had been up and moving about all day, having attended a funeral in the morning and a reception later at the widow’s house. The last time he had been able to call home on his cell phone had been late afternoon. He had checked in with his girlfriend in Indianapolis, Kaycee Tucker, and told her he would be seeing her sometime tomorrow afternoon. Now he could only hope.

Suddenly, only a few yards ahead of him, Nick found the road blocked by a highway patrolman’s Chevy Tahoe with flashing lights. He was almost upon it when he applied the brakes.

In a sense it was a relief to him because for the last few miles he had been practically driving blind. He had started another debate with himself as to whether he should pull over and wait out the storm until it lessened. If this wasn’t a tornado, or the tail end of one, it was close enough until something better came along. He felt certain that his rental car had been damaged, but that wasn’t his fault.

That’s when Nick saw the outline of the patrolman ahead with lantern in hand, swinging the lantern back and forth as a warning.

Nick eased to a stop and expelled his breath, for the first time realizing how tense he had become. He shivered involuntarily.

The poncho-clad policeman with his rain hat pulled down and tied beneath his chin, the brim of his rain hat flipping in the powerful wind, approached while waving his light.

Nick cracked his window and instantly felt the hard rain pelt inside on him. Looking ahead he saw that the hail had decreased somewhat, though the ice pellets still bounced around on the highway.

How about this? Nick shouted to the cop.

The trooper came in close and leaned down to call through the opening in the window. No kidding. You picked the wrong night to travel. This road’s totally flooded ahead, underwater. You have to turn back. This whole area here’s already impassable.

Turn back where? Nick shouted.

You passed it about three miles back, the trooper said. It’s a convenience store called The Outpost, run by an Indian and his wife named Steppe. The power lines are down, and you won’t be able to call anybody. You should be able to see the place when you get close. It’s on elevated ground, and it’ll be on your right going in that direction. This flood shouldn’t get into it. You’ll have to shelter there. The road in the other direction will be closed, too. You can’t go back where you started.

Nice, Nick said. I have a room reserved in Rapid City.

Not tonight, you don’t, the trooper said, sounding apologetic enough. You can’t go forward or back. It’s for your own safety. We have to stop everybody. In a few minutes we’ll be on a rescue mission.

How long will this keep up? Nick shouted.

No telling with one of these blows. By tomorrow morning the roads might be clear again. We’re looking for people in trouble, but we have to get out, too.

Suppose I follow you?

Sorry, mister. The water’s too deep. We can’t drive out. We’re parking our vehicles and using boats, the trooper said. We don’t have to use ‘em very often, but when we do, it’s pretty serious.

I can barely see where I’m going, Nick said.

"Keep your defroster and wipers on, use high beams, and drive real slow. I do mean slow. You’ll make it to The Outpost. Good luck. I’ll help you get turned around."

Nick followed the officer’s waving light, inching forward and backward, turning his rental car. At last he was in the middle of the highway moving slowly. The car radio still wasn’t working what with all the static. He had already tried his cell phone several times to no avail. Communication was out of the question.

It took Nick almost thirty minutes to make the three miles. Finally, when the lightning flashed, he did see vague shapes of a building with vehicles outside in front of it. He caught a glimpse of the off-road’s entry which was bordered by an old rail and post fence and eased off the highway and bounced and splashed his way as close to the building as possible. From what little he could tell, it looked like the structure was L-shaped with the extension to his left.

He had to stop his car beside an old, rust-coated van with tinted windows. Not that it would have mattered because he couldn’t see inside anyway. The van was as close to the front entrance as possible, so Nick parked in a no-parking zone. More lightning brightened the sky, and thunder crashed immediately.

Nick caught a quick look at the other vehicles. There was an SUV with an indistinct symbol on its side door and a light rack on the roof, and three pickup trucks in parking aisles to the right of the road, one of those having an official looking light rack on its cab roof. Beyond the old van and Nick’s rental was a small sized moving truck. To the left side of the entry road, parked sideways to the front of the building, was a mini-bus. He glimpsed a look at it when lightning flashed again.

The bus was one of those side-loading, sliding door vehicles that could carry ten or twelve passengers. Writing showed on the side that he couldn’t read clearly. It advertised something about a Badlands Tour. The script on the side of the moving truck that he could see in lightning flashes read: Anders Moving—Long or Short Distances.

The building in front of Nick looked to be a log structure with a stone foundation. There appeared to be no interior lights inside the place, but there might have been a dot or two of light close to a window. In another flash of lightning he could see the front door and a wooden bench off to one side.

Nick sat in the car a few more minutes. Again he tried his cell phone without success. At last he reached into the back seat and extracted a rolled-up plastic raincoat he had had the foresight to purchase that afternoon when the skies clouded over. He wriggled his way inside the raincoat. Again he considered waiting it out inside the car, but that meant he would have to have the engine running and heater on, and that could be for a long time. Finally, swearing softly, he jumped out and made a run for the door.

He got under the outside overhang, but it did little good for him. The rain now swept almost parallel to the ground. His feet and pants legs below the knees were soaking wet even after his short run. Fumbling with the handle and bracing himself, he pulled hard at the door to get inside.

2

(10:31 PM)

The first thing Nick noticed was that there was no electricity at all. The dots of light he had barely discerned from outside belonged to candles that had been set up around the room on the counter top and lanterns that had been placed on the wooden floor inside the front wall.

A younger man came to him and helped drag the door shut against the pounding rain that was sweeping inside.

Nick shuddered and shook himself, sending droplets of water flying from his raincoat, and then stood and looked around.

In the dim lighting he couldn’t see much distinctly, but he could tell the interior was laid out close to the same design of another Native American convenience store he had visited that morning. From one of the lanterns Nick could see the display tables stacked with folded clothing as souvenirs, mostly Indian style but some with the reproduction of a map of South Dakota. Someone entering the store could not walk in a straight line between rows of merchandise. There was no direct aisle from front to back. You had to wend your way around the tables, which meant you had to at least shift your eyes downward to note the displays. Which was exactly what the owners wanted.

First thing one had to get past were the spinning racks of postcards, decorative calendars, videos, DVDs, books, and packaged figurines. To the far right corner was a teepee replica with Native American mannequins dressed in tribal garb and stuffed animals looking up at them. To the left stood a gumball machine and the