The Coalition of Confused Criminals

By Shannon Harrison

The Coalition of Confused Criminals is the real-life punch line of so a cryptozoologist, his narcissistic girlfriend, and a preacher walk into a bar . . .
Kind of.
Oscar and Elise have a problem. And its the same problem as the rest of the world: they need more money. The solution? Convincing a preacher to dabble in the tiniest bit of fraud. The only thing worse than the ill-conceived plan is its execution. When they inadvertently involve a dim-witted transient, things get even stranger.
What starts off as a virtually victimless crime quickly evolves into a cluster of misdeeds, untruths, and an impressive list of felonies.
There is no moral to this story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jan 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490724324

Shannon Harrison

Shannon Harrison has been a teacher, a school administrator, a college instructor, and ghost hunter (not really.) Mostly, though, she just likes to read and write weird and interesting stories. Her husband, Tyler, currently serves in the United States Air Force. They have three children—Morgan, Gage, and Kate. She loves New Mexico, Doc Holliday, and coffee—all of which play a small role in this book.

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© Copyright 2014 Shannon Harrison.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

isbn: 978-1-4907-2434-8 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4907-2433-1 (hc)

isbn: 978-1-4907-2432-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014900700

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Contents

Donnie

Elise and Oscar

Coffee and Coercion

The Plan

Two Days

The Beginning

Media Frenzy

Boone

The Shake Down and Other Nefarious Things

Kidnapping 101

Things Start to Get Weird(er)

The Juarez Brothers

Arrival

Collision

Enlightenment

Six Months Later

For My Family

Donnie

S ometimes good people do bad t hings.

Donnie Whitman stood at the back of the church, watching the remaining parishioners make their way to the small, dirt parking lot. He smiled and waved, pleased to have any parishioners at all. He certainly didn’t want them to feel his disappointment.

Donnie placed both hands on the cool metal handle that lay across the door to the church and pulled as hard as he could. It was, unfortunately, the only way he could get the door to close all the way. Three years ago, when he took over as pastor, he remembered thinking that the door was going to be the first thing he fixed. Even pastors procrastinate.

As the door shut, Donnie sighed. He walked over to the last pew, sat on the edge of the bench, placed his head in his hands, and sighed again. He tried to count, from memory, the members and visitors he had at the service moments ago. Was it twenty? Twenty-five? With numbers that low, he found it easier to pretend he didn’t know the exact amount. It was too difficult to admit, even to himself, that the church numbers were dwindling to such low levels.

Donnie looked around his little church. The lights were down, very low, and dozens of small candles gave a comforting glow. He began lighting candles last year after being told by one of his deacons that it would give the church a quaint feeling that people would appreciate. Deep-red velvet covers had been sewn onto the pew seats by several of the elderly ladies in the church, who had connections with a fabric store and were able to get the material donated. Donnie recalled how they had given him two choices: the red velvet or leopard faux fur. Despite secretly preferring the fur for reasons he couldn’t explain, he wisely chose the velvet. It was a church, after all.

As he looked around, Donnie saw the cross by the pulpit, almost directly in the center of his view. He glanced to the left and smiled when he saw the baptistery. Despite the frustration with which he was struggling, the reminder of his work was comforting to him.

Five years ago, at the age of twenty-three, Donnie had been a guest at this church. Not many guests arrived in Blue River, Colorado, but Donnie had. In those days, he was contemplating what to do with the rest of his life and, on the advice of one of his professors, had taken a road trip to clear his head. At that time, he was finishing his degree in Theology from a large Baptist university. Raised as Baptist, Donnie decided midway through that cutting religion into denominations ruined the purity of the message. That realization, along with finishing college and no longer being solidly certain of his future aspirations, led Donnie to drive through three states alone and with no plan. Through town on his way to Glenwood Springs, he noticed a sign that read Blue River Church Welcomes You. No Matter Who You Are. He instantly felt drawn to this church in the middle of the mountains; he instinctively knew that Blue River Church mirrored his own philosophies. He sensed that the isolation and opportunity to work with a small community would be the chance for him to perfect his own attempts at pastoral work. He walked in one Sunday morning, attended service, and became fast friends with the pastor at that time, Henry Johnston.

Donnie and Henry e-mailed each other often and spoke on the phone at least once a week. Donnie kept Henry busy, asking theological questions, having philosophical discussions, and even laughing at the innocent gossip of the church. Henry was Donnie’s mentor, in every sense of the word. In fact, it was the chance meeting with Henry that helped Donnie to make the decision to become a full-time pastor. His original plan was to continue on with his formal education and teach courses in religion for whichever university would hire him. After spending some time with Henry in his charming church, however, Donnie decided to do more with his degree than he ever thought possible: change people’s lives by guiding them through their spiritual journey. Meeting Henry, finding Blue River, and feeling so at home in the church seemed to make the decision the easiest Donnie would ever make. It made sense two years later, when Henry decided to retire, that Donnie took over Blue River Church. The church members knew Donnie, trusted him, and loved him as their own. It was a natural fit, and Donnie loved it.

This is why he found himself worrying aloud more and more often now. He loved Blue River Church so much that it was impossible not to be worried about the low attendance lately. It had been almost a year since there had been a full house and even longer since the donations were more than needed to pay the basics.

Donnie took a deep breath, stood up, and walked toward the door at the right of the pulpit. He turned the knob, opening the door to a small, cold hallway. He walked a few feet to his living quarters. The church, although small, had provided him with ample personal room. He lived in a two-story apartment attached to the main hall itself. He opened the door to his apartment, walked up the flight of stairs, and made his way to the thermostat. It was a brisk day, and so he bumped up the heat just a little. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and grinned. His wavy brown hair was longer than he usually liked to keep it, and it had managed to create a dramatic part on the side of his head. He ran his hand through the front of his hair to keep his bangs from touching his forehead. He was relieved to see that his blue eyes still had some sparkle to them despite his recent worries. He picked up his cell phone and dialed Henry’s number.

Well, hello, Donnie, Henry said as he answered the phone.

Henry, hi. How are things in Florida? Donnie asked.

I’ll tell you the truth, Donnie, things are spectacular. It’s November, and I am in shorts. Shorts! If you had called a half hour earlier, you would’ve caught me on the golf course. When you’re not in charge of the sermon, you would be amazed at all the free time you have. How are things there?

"Well, you know November in the Colorado mountains. Everyone was bundled up at the service today. I feel quite safe in assuming that none of them will even look at a golf course for months. But listen, I actually called you to get your advice on something if you have a minute."

Sure, kiddo, what can I help with? Henry asked, knowing by the tone in Donnie’s voice that he needed fatherly advice. Their relationship had initially been built on the understanding and belief that Henry had all the answers. Sometimes, he did not have the answers but helped Donnie to work through things on his own.

It’s been three years, Henry, and things were great at first—just great—and then the last year or so, I just keep losing people. People are moving out of the area fast, moving to the bigger cities for better jobs. I completely understand that, but I am just not able to replace these families. Do you know how many people were at the service today? Maybe twenty-five or so—no more than that. Maybe one or two of them was a guest passing through or something, but that doesn’t help us grow.

Donnie paused, waiting for Henry to start speaking, but he didn’t. Henry always waited for Donnie to tell the story before he interjected, largely because most of the time Donnie would answer his own questions if you gave him long enough.

Donnie continued, I am ashamed to admit this out loud, but guess what I tried last month? Waffle Wednesday! Yes! I tried luring people in with free waffles if they came to the Wednesday Bible study and service.

Henry laughed and asked, And what did you learn from this?

That I can’t bribe people into attending church, said Donnie, sighing with defeat.

And?

And people aren’t that fond of cold waffles for supper, Donnie admitted.

Listen, kiddo, Henry said. You love what you do, and you love your flock. This is rough right now. It happened to me plenty of times. In fact, any time I was a pastor in a town as small as Blue River, we went through rough patches. Families are following jobs, sure, but soon other families will move to the mountains to find their inner peace or whatever it is they are looking for. You will have a bigger church again.

But how? Donnie asked. For the first time in three years, he felt totally lost.

The same way we get everything else on this earth, son… faith. Listen carefully and keep your eyes keenly aware. The Lord will show you a way.

Saying their good-byes, Donnie felt somewhat better as he always did when he spoke to his friend and mentor. As he hung up the phone, Donnie felt free of worry and stress for the first time in a long time. Be alert, Pastor, and you’ll know exactly what you should do, he thought to himself.

He didn’t know it yet, but Donnie Whitman was about to do something very bad for a very good reason.

Elise and Oscar

E lise Cunningham threw the door open and stomped inside the research lab. The wind howled as she took off her hat and coat, throwing them in the corner. Oscar Marcos followed directly behind her, deciding to retain his light jacket for the time being. The door slammed shut behind them, startling the other researchers and assistants but causing Elise and Oscar no alarm whatsoever.

The pair walked over to the lab table in the center of the room, making as much noise as possible. Oscar threw a thick manila folder on the desk, defiantly. The others in the room stopped what they were doing and watched him for a moment. His tall, well-built frame tended to get people’s attention. He adjusted his glasses and smiled at the ladies in the room, who secretly swooned over his olive skin and devilish grin. It was to the women’s advantage that Elise did not notice them watching him. She most certainly would have been fuming.

Okay, weather drones, Elise announced, time’s up. The lab is ours. Oscar loved it when she was uncouth to other people. He couldn’t explain it, but he looked forward to it every time.

Everyone began packing their things, grumbling under their breath as they did so. It wouldn’t do them any good to complain aloud. They were scientists and researchers who used this lab, set on top of an isolated Colorado mountain, to study weather patterns and conditions. The bulk of the research was geared toward integrating the data from field observations with existing technology in order to improve forecasting methods. In addition, this particular lab was used to test new weather radar technology to gauge its effectiveness and value to society. The lab was strategically placed on top of the mountain because of the array of weather conditions they could observe but also because its altitude made it ideal for mobile observing systems. In short, they tried to make sure the weatherman was right.

The university that financed the weather project had agreed to share the research center with Elise and Oscar, thanks to a large amount of grant money and an almost obscene donation by a private agency that was hoping to become a viable, profitable replacement for federal weather programs that were facing extinction. This meant that every forty-eight hours, the weather researchers had to abandon the lab and give complete privacy to Elise and Oscar, who would return the favor after another forty-eight hours.

The scientists hated giving up their space, but particularly to these two, who they considered to be jokes—insults to science. Elise and Oscar were cryptozoologists. Their chosen profession was an attempt to find proof of things that most people doubted ever existed. All over the world, there were always photos of the unexplained, footprints that couldn’t be identified, or an eyewitness who was simply convinced he had seen something bizarre and cryptic. It was a cryptozoologist’s job to prove that these things were real by examining the evidence and interviewing the witnesses.

Elise and Oscar became aware of Blue River over six years ago when peculiar things were reported in the area. Several of the mobile balloons used in a test flight by the weather researchers came back with perplexing photos of unexplained shapes—all very near the lab where the balloons were launched. Oscar, who became intrigued by cryptozoology early in college, studied the area thoroughly. He looked at the photos and considered everything he knew about the terrain of the area. The inaccessible mountains, bitter temperatures, and abundant wildlife were promising criteria for undiscovered species. After concluding that this could be a possible location for a Sasquatch, he brought the information to Elise. Because her interests were entirely based on what would bring the couple the most extrinsic comforts, she spent some time studying the area as well. She, too, came to a conclusion: Blue River and the lab were remote enough that no one would bother them if they could convince an organization to send them on a research project of their own.

Because of its reputation as being a pseudoscience, it wasn’t exactly easy to find people to finance such research. So Elise and Oscar had applied for, and received, money that paid them to study the existence of Sasquatch, most commonly referred to as Bigfoot. Research grants aren’t especially difficult things for which to gain approval. They are taxpayer’s dollars, for one thing, and so the standards for spending them are fairly lax. Second, the process is so covered up in bureaucracy that almost no one who reads the grants pays any attention to what the money is actually being spent on. It seemed to Elise that the federal government was simply dying to hand over money to them. In her mind, it was a wonderful system.

And so the weather researchers found themselves being forced to give up their lab every two days, whether they liked it or not. The organization that retained its status as the fiscal agent for their grant was intrigued by what the cryptozoologists did and seemed to be unable to say no to Elise. She was a master negotiator, and her feminine wiles didn’t hurt much either. Furthermore, grants often allow for strange things, and this arrangement was just a part of it. You can get away with much more when you are using government money, sometimes things that private industry would never allow.

Realizing the weather group was taking too long by her standards, Elise became impatient.

Let’s go, let’s go! The clock is ticking, and don’t think I won’t remember this when you come back. For every minute you take from us, I can assure you I will take from your little weather project.

"You know, Cunningham, some of us are actually trying to study science," a female scientist blurted out.

No more than we are, Elise bit back. "And if the mysteries of the fucking snowflake continue to elude you, then I doubt our presence here is really your biggest problem."

As usual, Elise had won this round. No one argued with her much because it was apparent to everyone that she rather enjoyed it. She was a fiery woman, although not particularly physically intimidating. She was thin, but the last few years of being out in the wilderness for her job had given her sufficient muscle tone and a mental toughness that many people of her size would not have possessed. Today, as usual, she pulled her shoulder-length brown hair into a ponytail, which flailed around wildly as she dashed around the lab hurrying everyone along.

The weather researchers grabbed their things and left, leaving Elise and Oscar to prepare for their rotation. Usually, they would watch surveillance tape, looking for movement of an unknown creature that they might be able to prove was Bigfoot. They also went through dozens of e-mails, photos, videos, and eyewitness accounts, trying to determine whether or not any validity existed among them. So far, it had not.

Today, however, they were bracing themselves for a visit from Dr. Hollis Avery. Dr. Avery was the director of Independent Research Group (IRG), the company for which Elise and Oscar had worked. Dr. Avery became intrigued with the Bigfoot project after meeting the pair at an alternative science conference three years ago. They were quickly able to sell him on the idea of a research project in Blue River after showing him the evidence and the research they had been working on for years, but it took a little more than being competent salespeople to get the job done. Thanking Elise’s persistence and Oscar’s abilities to dissect government grants, the three researchers enthusiastically began the Bigfoot project in Colorado two years ago. Unfortunately, things had not gone as they