Broken Road, Prelude Havelock Emerald

By Tom Frye

If you've ever read Scratchin' on the Eight Ball, this is where the story begins. During the aftermath of a school bus wreck caused by a drunken biker, Rain Nelson finds a map leadingto a white buffalo robe with a Cheyenne peace treaty marked on it during the Night the Stars fell from the Skies.In attempting to retrieve the relic, Rain kills a c

• Language: English
• Publisher: White Cat
• Release date: Oct 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781958557228

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

THE CHOPPED HOG came roaring over the hill like a black streak of motorized lightning. The grungy-looking rider’s blond hair streamed over his shoulders as he clung to the ape-hangers of the big 1200. Even as fierce winds clawed at him, threatening to pluck him from his seat, he laughed hysterically, cutting in and out of both lanes, hooting like a mad owl. A short distance ahead of him, coming in the opposite lane, a yellow school bus trundled along the highway running between the small towns of Crete and Sprague in lower Nebraska. All six kids riding the bus that Friday afternoon stared in terror at the crazed Harley rider speeding toward them.

Thirteen-year-old Rain Nelson sprang up from his seat at the back of the bus, his black hair trailing to his shoulders. Jack Holland! he gasped, recognizing the oncoming biker. Beside Rain, his twelve-year-old brother attempted to stand up, as well, but Rain pushed him back into their seat. He then slid in beside him and said, Grab onto the seat in front of us, Jessie!

Jessie looked at him, dark bangs hanging down into his eyes. Rain said, We’ll be okay. And then out on the roadway, Jack Holland swerved directly in front of the bus on his black iron horse.

Ben Black Bull, the bus driver, cranked the wheel to the right to avoid running over the rider careening crazily toward them. Shooting past the bus, 17-year-old Jack Holland, skidded into a sideways slide before crashing into the ditch beside the road. Clawing at the wheel of the bus, Ben felt the back end fish-tailing as he braked hard to avoid the ditch on the left side of the road. The bus then came crashing down into Miller’s Pond in the pasture beyond the highway.

At the back of the bus, Rain did a face-plant on the seat in front of him. Dark clouds gathered at the edge of his mind. When his vision cleared, he saw his little brother writhing beside him in a great deal of pain. Rain, Jessie cried, my arm’s broke! I heard it snap!

Rain grimaced as he stared down at the white bone sticking out of Jessie’s left forearm. He reached for him to pull him out into the aisle, but a sick feeling swept up over him and he passed out. A few moments later, Rain found himself being carried by Ben Black Bull, who had removed Jessie and several other injured kids from the bus, seating them on a berm overlooking the pond. As Ben placed him beside Jessie, the little blue-eyed kid looked up at the blood flowing down Ben’s forehead and into the long strands of his raven hair. Rain removed his shirt, leaving himself standing there in a black T-shirt, an orange Harley Davison emblem dominating the center of his chest. Here, Ben, he said, placing the shirt against his wound.

Did you see who was on the bike, Rain? Jessie asked.

No, Rain lied. It all happened too fast.

Jessie narrowed his eyes in suspicion. But I heard you say something just before the guy nearly hit us. What did you say?

Nothing, Rain said, looking up at Ben as he placed one last kid on the ground beside him. Rain glanced over to the drunken biker staggering up out of the ditch, blood trickling into his golden beard. Jack Holland squinted in pain. Damn you! he snarled. Damn you, Chief! Should have let that dog die! You interfered in Den business!

Jack placed his hands on his knees, then retched and threw up. He stumbled across the road and down into the ditch, his eyes locked on Ben. Jack lunged at him. The Lakota executed a palm strike that connected with Jack’s chest. The blow was so sudden, that the gangly kid was catapulted off of his feet and went flying backward into the ditch.

Ben’s long braid of raven hair glistened in the afternoon sunlight as he cocked his head, hearing the sudden wail of a distant siren coming from the direction of Crete seven miles away. Still standing in the pasture, Rain looked off to the west, hoping it was the sheriff coming. He doubted very much whether the ambulance techs had any experience subduing the enraged son of the president of the Elder’s Den.

Jack pulled a knife from his boot top and clambered out of the ditch. Rain blinked in surprise as he watched Ben deflect each thrust with his raised arms and the backs of his hands. He moved gracefully, calculating where the knife was aimed, and managed to keep Jack at bay as he defended against his mad attack. Seeing that Ben was in trouble, Rain searched through the debris left scattered behind the bus as it had sailed off the road. Snatching up a Coleman thermos bottle, he focused on Jack’s face and let fly. The bottle struck Jack in the center of his forehead. The enraged kid staggered back, the knife falling from his grasp. The sirens wailed, the red light of the state trooper’s cruiser flashed half a mile down the highway. Jack reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out a pint-sized bottle of whiskey. Dousing Ben with the contents of the bottle, he laughed, Explain that to the cops.

With one last glance at the oncoming cruiser, he vanished into the rows of a cornfield. Rain spotted the silver cigar tube that landed at Jack’s feet as he’d pulled out the bottle. As Ben turned to check on the injured kids, Rain walked over and picked up the metal tube, sliding it into the top of his left boot.

Seated there, grimacing in pain, Jessie asked, What was that?

Rain shrugged and said, Nothing.

Sheriff Clyde Baxster brought his cruiser screeching to a halt on the highway beside the pasture. He killed his siren, yet left his rotating lights on to signal to oncoming traffic that they were approaching the scene of an accident. Clyde was a big man, whose beer-gut stretched his brown uniform shirt to the max. He sported a buzz cut and had a craggy face. Most folks in Sprague claimed Clyde was a bully with a badge. As he heaved his bulk out of his cruiser, Rain could see that Baxster was in his usual dark funk. He surveyed the mangled Harley in the ditch, glanced back toward the bus submerged in Miller’s Pond, then glared at Ben standing there badly shaken from the wild ride into the pond. What in hell happened here, Bull? Baxster snarled. Have you been drinking? You smell like a damned brewery!

Ben said, I will explain that after we get these kids up on the road.

Sirens wailed, piercing the country air as the ambulance raced toward them. Ben kneeled beside Bobby Morris, being careful not to touch his broken leg. We best not move this one, he said. Best wait for the techs to move him on a stretcher. This is a bad break.

Shut up, Bull! snapped Baxster. He carried the injured boy up onto the highway, setting him on the trunk of his car. Rain helped Jessie to climb up and out of the ditch, being careful not to touch his broken arm. What happened here? Baxster asked.

Gesturing at Jack Holland’s mangled hog laying crumpled in the ditch, Jessie said, A maniac on that bike swerved in front of us.

Who, Baxster asked, was the maniac on this hog?

Rain said, Don’t know.

Baxster nailed Rain with a stern look. Jessie grimaced and said, We are telling it true, Sheriff. Ben had to swerve out of the path of that biker. He fish-tailed off the highway. It wasn’t Ben’s fault.

I’ll be the judge of that! snapped Baxster, watching Ben lead two injured kids toward the road. Any idea what club he belonged to? Did you see his colors?

Colors? Rain said, trying to play dumb.

Baxster moved so fast that Rain had no chance to dodge his meaty hands as they closed tightly on his upper arms. The big cop swung the scrawny kid around and planted his slender frame against the side of his car. Rain shook back the long strands of his dark hair and glared back at the enraged Sheriff. Whoa, said Ben, let’s turn this down a notch. We’ve got injured kids who need treatment, Sheriff.

The ambulance skidded to a stop behind the patrol car. The driver switched off his siren and a paramedic climbed out of the vehicle. As he assessed the injuries, thunderous rumbling came from Sprague as a Harley came roaring toward the place of the accident. Chase, Baxster said. He’ll know who was riding this bike, won’t he, Rain?

Rain ignored him as his little brother was led away by a tech to the ambulance parked on the road. Chase Nelson, father of Rain and Jessie, pulled his bike up behind the cruiser. At thirty, Chase was tall and lean, with long dark hair that fell past the collar of his black leather jacket. He sported a neatly-trimmed beard and his blue eyes missed nothing as he inspected the mangled hog in the ditch.

Do you know who that Harley belongs to? the big Sheriff asked. Chase said, No, I don’t have a clue. He shot Rain a piercing look.

Do you, son?

CHAPTER TWO

NO, RAIN SAID, lowering his gaze. He gestured toward the ambulance pulling away from the scene of the accident. Jessie got a busted arm. There was a bone sticking out—"

They’ll take him to the Crete clinic, Chase said. We’ll drive to Crete to give Jessie a ride home in the old wagon.

The sound of more thunder filled the air. Chase looked off down the highway, where a large bike flew past the ambulance on its way back to Crete. Not good, he said.

Daws Holland rode his Harley up behind Baxster’s cruiser, placing Sheriff Baxster between him and Chase Nelson. Daws, father of Jack and president of the Elder’s Den, was a large man in his early thirties. He had long, blond hair and was built like a tank, with broad shoulders, thick chest, and muscular arms. Daws and Chase had once fought, and Rain had been there to watch. It had been brutal, each of them trading blows like well-swung hammers, battering away at each other. Rain cringed through the first ten minutes of their bloody brawl, determining he did not ever want to be at the receiving end of either of the two bikers. They went toe-to-toe, both of them giving as good as they got. In the end, Chase had dislocated Daws’s jaw, and yet after delivering such a brutal blow, Chase cradled his mangled hand against his chest.

The President of the Outlaws, let loose with a string of curses at the five bikers who had ridden there with Daws. He challenged anyone of them to stand in the gap for their fallen leader. Instead, they had picked up Daws from where he had fallen. The big biker, dazed and in pain, had climbed on his hog, trying his best to look pissed off. But Rain could clearly see that Daws barely managed to kick his bike over and wove his way out of Sprague unsteadily. It was Rain’s first lesson he learned about brutal fist fights: Not all of them ended well for either fighter.

Daws killed his bike. He said, Got a call from my son, Sheriff. He survived this wreck and managed to get to a farm house over this hill here to call in for help. Another ambulance is on its way here. Jack was even thoughtful enough to call Grady’s tow service. He’ll be along shortly to haul that bus out of Miller’s Pond, Sheriff. Jack claims the Indian was swerving all over like he’d been drinking.

Oh, hell, too! burst from Rain’s lips.

Rain? came from Chase. Shut your mouth. Got it?

But that just ain’t true, Rain said.

Daws focused his attention on Ben, leaning against the patrol car. Should be ashamed of yourself, Chief. Not a lot of folks around here take too kindly to a drunken Indian putting their kids at such risk. I’d say you’ve got a lot to answer for. And you smell like a tavern.

Rain was regretting the fact that he had so boldly defied Chase. He had no doubt that Chase would deal with him later. And so he kept his mouth shut while Baxster arrested Ben for driving while intoxicated.

Rain had known Ben Black Bull ever since he’s started school in Crete back in first grade. He knew him as the first friendly Native he had ever met. Of course, he had never met an Indian before that, but Ben had such a way about him that he put him at ease with his soft-spoken words. When the Lakota was not driving the bus for the Crete district, he worked as a dog handler at his rescue ranch west of the small town of Sprague. The past two summers, Rain and Jessie had seen the magic of Ben Black Bull, who had spent all of his life around dogs back on Pine Ridge where he was born. He had learned the secret of how to work with the most challenging dogs. Ben was a dog whisperer, and Rain and Jessie had been fascinated with his ability to correct and tame each dog who passed through the ranch. That the Lakota man took the time to share his secrets with the two brothers was considered an honor to them. To sit there and listen while Daws convinced Baxster that the bus crash had been due to the fact that Ben had been drinking, was causing Rain much distress. He groaned inwardly when Daws crossed the ditch and picked up the empty whiskey bottle.

Rain’s stomach churned as Daws held the bottle up for Baxster to see. Daws said, Ben, you shouldn’t drink and drive. Now we gotta fish your bus out of Miller’s Pond all because you’ve been drinking in Whiskey River!

Chase pulled up beside the Sprague general store and Rain leaped off of his dad’s bike and strode over to the dusty porch. While the thunder of the Harley slowly faded, Rain planted his butt on the rickety wooden bench situated there. He looked squarely at his dad.

Chase slipped his kick stand down, dismounted his Harley, and walked over to the porch. Rain shook back his raven hair and stuck out his chin in a show of obstinance. You gonna hit me for not backing down from Daws?

Chase said, I am gonna hit you for not shutting your mouth when I told you to.

Reluctantly rising from the bench, Rain snapped, Go for it, then!

Chase let loose with a swift round house, his fist slamming into Rain’s startled face. Staggered by the blow, his boots slid out from under him and Rain landed hard on his butt. Slapping him upside his head, Chase doubled up his fist to deliver a solid punch to his face. Chase, a voice came from beside the store. Rain got the point. Back off.

Chase froze, holding Rain up by his chin. You’re a wise ass, Beef Tory! This is club business!

Fifteen-year-old Beef flicked his long, blond bangs out of his eyes. Yeah, but Rain doesn’t even belong to the Outlaws yet. Pummeling him, would not sit well with Pops, Chase.

Chase flung Rain away, sending him stumbling, his palms creating furrows in the gravel-covered street. Rain pulled himself to his feet, staring at his dad in disbelief. Chase was president, and not one of the sixty members of the Outlaws ever defied him and he was clearly out of line and drawing a line in the sand for some odd reason. Rain knew there were reasons his dad kept his cool with Beef stepping into club business. One, Chase and Mike Tory had grown up together and their friendship meant something to them. And number two, Big Mike was a deputy of Gage county and he didn’t like domestic abuse one bit.

You’re just pissed, Beef said, over the dog, ain’t you, Chase? Now that Daws threatened to make the phone call, he’s got all the clubs on edge. Outlaws. Elder’s Den. Gladiators. Screaming Eagles.

Chase looked over to the female Pitbull waddling up beside Beef. She was a brute, with her stocky chest, thick muscular legs, and her Brindle markings covering her bulky head. Beef said, Just giving Molly a break. Her puppies have been gnawing on her all day.

Chase patted his leg and the dog sidled up to the Outlaw president. Beef, you’re taking a chance by letting her be seen. Best way to keep her safe is to keep her hidden in the barn. Word gets to the Den that we’ve got Molly here in Sprague, her and her pups are dead.

Chase Nelson was a bear of a man, standing six-foot-five and weighing 285 pounds. Beef had to look up into his piercing blue eyes. He could feel the burn from his seething glare from where he stood five feet away. Chase said, You two take Molly back to the barn. I’ll pick up the wagon to pick up Jessie from the ER.

Rain waited until Chase kicked over his bike before wiping blood from his bottom lip. He didn’t want to give his dad the satisfaction that he’d hurt him. He spit a stream of blood onto the dusty floorboards of the general store. He forced a grin at Beef with his split lip.

Later that night, Beef shared the porch of the general store with Rain and Jessie. Sheltered by the overhanging roof with its ancient shingles and lulled by the falling rain, Beef and Rain smoked cigarettes, watching the puddles swell in the streets on either side of the old store. A cast on his left arm, Jessie groggily leaned against Rain, then snuggled his head into his lap and fell asleep, the pain medication kicking in. Rain said, The rug rat’s fallen asleep. If Dad seen this, he would say, ‘How gay.’

Right, Beef had said. Chase is hard that way. Me? I’ve always been proud of the fact that you never pick on Jessie, unlike Chase who always picks on you.

Rain said, Dad once told me it was only to make me tough. Jessie ain’t built like that. He cries if Dad even looks at him wrong. Besides, I think Dad likes it when he sees me being cool to Jessie. Just probably not like this. If he’d see this, he would definitely make a fag comment.

For long moments, the two of them sat there listening to the patter of the rain on the shingles above them. Rain looked over at his friend, his face illuminated by his cigarette as the cherry glowed bright red. Rain said, He got hurt before he even got his first Harley. And it wasn’t due to the fact that his first and second wives ran off. Teresa, my mom, took the Nelson name, and yet Jessie’s mother, Krystal Dalton, never made their marriage official. That’s why we are always explaining that we are brothers with different last names. Losing both wives hurt him, but my dad’s carried another pain for a long, long time.

Beef flicked away his cigarette butt so that it flitted through the air like a firefly. Rain said, My dad’s little brother was gay. In an attempt to change him, Dad made Josh’s life a living hell. He even beat him up one night. Two nights later, Josh took their dad’s gun out into a field behind their house and put a bullet in his head. Now you know what sorrow plagues Chase Nelson and makes him the man he is today.

Changing the subject, he withdrew the cigar tube from the top of his boot. Check this out. Jack Holland lost it today when he caused our bus to crash.

Beef took the metal tube, removing the cork topper sealing it at the top. He removed a badly yellowed page that had been rolled tightly to make it fit into the tube. It’s a map. Looks like something valuable is buried at Quarry Oaks outside of Lincoln. Those words are badly faded, but it looks like they say Indian artifacts. To a relic collector, ancient artifacts are worth millions. You say Jack dropped this? What in hell would he be doing searching for Indian relics?

Rain rolled the map back up and slid it back into the cigar tube. Don’t know, but finders keepers, losers weepers. As far as I am concerned.

CHAPTER THREE

CHASE DROVE THE old Chevy Impala station wagon out of their small town of Sprague, population 110. The town’s business district consisted of five buildings, three situated on the main street, and the other two sitting on two adjacent corners. The hub of community activity took place at The Saloon, where the local farmers jawed about their crops and the war being fought in Viet Nam. Bob, owner of the tavern, had a black and white just beyond the bar, and the moment any news announcer came on its screen, patrons would hush up and listen to reports about the war taking place thousands of miles away.

Chase said, George Kramer, Rusty Hicks, and Hob Nash all had sons drafted into that war. George and Rusty were proud fathers, too, bragging up their sons fighting for the US Marine Corp. Hob, however, does not condone a war that has nothing to do with America. He was not pleased that his son was being made to serve in the jungles of an Asian country. Thirty-thousand lives so far, and for what? How many more boys have to come home in body bags?

Chase gunned the old wagon. The rolling farm fields passed by in a blur. With summer fast approaching, those fields were dotted with farmers planting seeds on their John Deere tractors. They passed by the place of the accident. The school bus had been hauled away and someone had hauled Jack Holland’s mangled Harley out of the ditch. Rain figured that the Den took it so that someone could repair the damaged beast.

Five miles down the road they passed by the Bluestem, a favorite fishing spot for most locals. Rain and Jessie had camped out there many weekends during summer breaks. The lake made Rain think of his little brother and he said, You should have seen Jessie, Dad. He hardly cried at all with that bone sticking out of his arm. It must have hurt him some-thing awful, but Jessie sucked it up and didn’t lose it like most kids would have done. You would have been proud of him.

Chase glanced over at Jessie. I want you to be honest with me, boys. Baxster locked Ben up in jail for driving intoxicated—

No, Dad! snapped Rain. It was Jack Holland who caused that wreck when he swerved over in front of us! Ben lost control when he tried to avoid running him over! Jack attacked Ben with a knife. Before he disappeared in Miller’s field, he poured a bottle of whiskey all over Ben to make it smell like he’d been drinking. That’s the truth.

Chase said, Keep that truth to yourself. If Jack was to blame, Daws is gonna be gunning for anyone who can testify about what you just told me. Outlaws have enough trouble right now. Hell, one wrong word to the Guardians of Omaha, and the Elder’s Den will crush the Outlaws.

He drove in silence for several moments, a troubled look on his face. Things are tense right now, boys. I have to be careful how I tread. As president of the Outlaws, I drew a line that has us crossways with the Den. We certainly don’t need to set off any sparks to ignite the mess.

Rain stared at his dad. So, what am I supposed to do? Keep quiet about Jack Holland while Ben takes the blame for the crash?

Chase slowed for the light ahead marking the first intersection into the small town of Crete, population 1500. He said, I know you and Jessie consider Ben your friend. In the past two summers, that Indian taught both of you boys a lot about dogs. But I’ve always thought Ben a little off balance the way he talks to those dogs while breaking them.

He doesn’t break them, Jessie said. He repairs the wild in them, inviting them to reinvent themselves, using powerful medicine to still the whirlwind within them.

Oh, I get it, Rain said. Let the drunk Native take the blame, right? Because everyone will believe that story! That just ain’t right!

Chase stopped in the parking lot of the Crete police department. Before the car engine died, Sheriff Baxster approached the station wagon, his beer gut causing him to waddle his way up to Chases’s side of the car. Baxster gruffly growled, Maybe on account of your boys I can sort this bus crash out, Chase.

My boys, Chase said, aren’t here to give you no report.

What the hell’s the problem? Baxster asked. Biker protocol got you going silent? Ben is facing some serious charges! Motor vehicle homicide. The Morris boy? The one who broke his leg? The bone in his leg pierced his artery and he bled to death!

Rain felt dizzy. The same sick feeling that overcame him back on the bus when he’d seen Jessie’s bone sticking out of his arm stole up over him. He reeled to one side of the backseat. Little Bobby Morris bled to death? And Ben is taking the blame for that, as well?

Ignoring Rain, Baxster said, All I needed was information from the kids, Chase. So far, I’ve got Black Bull being responsible for the crash due to his intoxication. If your boys might testify that Jack Holland was a victim of a drunk Indian, Judge Saunders can throw the book at Ben Monday morning in court!

Chase snapped his fingers, causing Rain to lean back in his seat, removing himself from the range of his dad’s fists. Chase started up the station wagon and drove them out of Crete. Rain admired his little brother then, for only Jessie dared getting smacked when he snapped, What the hell, Dad? Last summer you wanted us to work with Ben, and now you’re refusing to help clear him of any wrong doing? Why?

Not one word was spoken by any of the three on the drive back to the small town of Sprague. The two brothers sighed in relief when Chase stopped the car in front of the driveway and gestured toward the wrap-around porch of their two-story house. Rain climbed out of the car, opening the front door for Jessie. He helped him out, being careful not to bump his cast on the door as he exited the front seat. Do your chores, Chase said. I’m heading to the pit to prepare it for church tonight.

Rain said, Dad, could we sit in on church? That way, we’ll understand why we have to keep our mouths shut about the bus crash.

Chase said, Church is club business. See to your brother’s meds.

Chase then drove the car into the driveway, past the Nelson house, and continued down into the wide, open field beyond. As Rain joined him on the porch, Jessie said, That was ballsy, asking Dad about us attending church, my brother.

When they entered the kitchen, they found Molly and six of her pups sprawled on the floor next to Jack Holland, who sat there in a chair, aiming a .22 pistol down at Molly. Jessie bolted forward, but Rain stepped in front of him and blocked his path. He used one arm to keep Jessie in place. Jack said, Fix that attitude or I’ll shoot the dog. Understood?

Jessie sobbed as he leaned into Rain for support. Jack said, You boys need to keep your mouths shut about this damned wreck. So far, the blame for this crash has settled on that Indian. Since alcohol was involved and that Morris kid died, he’s gonna be nailed to the wall.

Rain glared at the tall, skinny kid and said, We haven’t told Baxster about your involvement. Our dad refused to let us.

Jack said, "It’s not him I am worried about. It’s you two punks that could sink my ship. Let me give you boys a history lesson on Chase Nelson. At 16, he started the Outlaws here in Sprague. He built a solid crew of five members until they branched out with chapters in twenty small towns throughout Nebraska. Chase ruled his club members with an iron hand, too, dealing harshly with any who beat their old ladies. He also rode solo into Guardian territory up in Omaha to have a sit-down with the president of the Nebraska chapter. Chase asked him to leave Sprague and Crete out of his network. While marijuana was the cash cow of the day, Chase argued that coke, heroin, speed and acid posed a danger. The president of the Guardians wouldn’t agree to his terms. So, Chase had a sit-down with Billy Connors, owner of the Emerald Pub in Havelock. The leader of the Irish granted that the two small towns would be deemed a no-man’s land for the sale of these stronger drugs. Since the Vietnam war started, drugs have been making the mob very rich. Drugs spread like wildfire through the states. I am a major player in these sales. For me to stay in that position, both of you need to keep your mouths shut. Trouble started when Fat Ferg and Bear beat the hell out of a dealer who had the backing of the Elder’s Den. Daws called up to Omaha to speak with the Guardians. They told Daws one more interference with drug deals, they would send some maniac down here to clean house on the Outlaws. They call him the Nomad. To keep the peace between the Outlaws and the Den, you