First Contact by Dean M. Cole

Author:Dean M. Cole
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CANDTOR Press

Chapter 7

"This is so wrong," Tony said with a grunt as he pushed the rest of her body into the small trunk of his yellow Studebaker. "I'm sorry, Strem."

Peaked eyebrows worried deep furrows into his forehead. Beneath them, watery eyes gazed sorrowfully down on Strem's tarpaulin-wrapped body. The sheet had been too small to completely encase the woman, but so much blood had begun to stream from her, he thought that if he didn't wrap at least her head and torso, the body would leave a red trail behind the car.

Tony shook his head. "Forgive me, Lord." A lifelong Catholic, he crossed himself and then slammed down the trunk lid just as Strem's free arm tumbled out. The cracking sound generated by the impact made his stomach spasm, but empty, it had no contents to disgorge. Tony just dry heaved as he pushed the arm back in. Finally, the trunk snicked closed.

Physically and emotionally drained, Tony sat on his heels, head hung down.

"What ya got there, son?"

Tony's head popped up. In the weak light cast by one of the parking lot's lamps, he saw the reflection of an Arizona state trooper on the chrome bumper. A smudge of blood darkened the image of the man. Tony placed his hand on the smeared gore and used the bumper to push himself upright. Judging by the relaxed posture in his reflected image, the man hadn't seen the body. Otherwise, Tony doubted the trooper would be standing with his arms crossed. More likely, the man would have a gun pointed at the back of Tony's head.

Standing fully upright, Tony wiped his wet hand on the side of his Hawaiian shirt, trusting the faint light and the shirt's loud colors to camouflage the blood stain. He turned and gave the man what he hoped was a disarming smile.

"Just finished changing a flat, officer." Tony made a show of brushing off his hands. He found they were still damp.

The trooper gestured to Tony's mid-section. "Did you pack the wheel bearing while you had it off? Looks like you got grease all over yourself."

"What?" Tony looked down and was shocked to see patches of blood covered his khakis as well as his arms. Fortunately, the flat light trickling from the parking lot's few lamps rendered them as black smudges.

The trooper chuckled and then pointed at the Studebaker. "It'd be a shame to dirty up the upholstery of that fine car. Is that the Commander Regal?"

"Uh, yessir." Tony nodded. "The Regal Deluxe." Glad for the distraction, he looked around, seeking something to use to wipe away the worst of the blood before a passing car could shine the light of truth, revealing the nature of the stains that covered him.

Before stashing Strem's body, Tony had moved the overnight bag and the "backpack" into the Studebaker's back seat. He pointed to the former. "I have a rag."

He started to extend a hand toward the overnight bag, but then something he could only describe as a mental nudge caused him to reach for the backpack instead.

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