The Serpent and the Crow

Book 1: Chapter Eight

Douglas' house was modest. But at least it was new. Wade expected he might have lived on the Rez. Mind you, Doug just said he wasn't Navajo. But Doug said he was raised at the Rez. Why is he not on the Rez?

The drive was long, and the Camaro kicked up a lot of desert dust. Two dogs, both German Sheppard breeds that were most likely retired SPPD dogs, came to greet the pair as they pulled up to the house.

Wade let Douglas get out of the car first. In case those dogs were mongrels loyal to one master.

The dogs leapt at him, all ecstatic he was home. Douglas shouted, "Riggs and Murtaugh. Have you been good dogs?"

Wade stepped out, and before he planted his feet, Riggs and Murtaugh growled. Wade ducked inside the Camaro and pulled his leg inside.

Douglas shouted something out in Siouan or Navajo Diné, or whatever Douglas spoke. The dogs planted their tails and awaited further instructions. But they still growled with suspicion. It was apparent the dogs were not used to white folk around here, considered Wade.

"This man is a guest. He's not dangerous. At least I don't expect so?"

Wade stepped out again. Not trusting Douglas or these dogs. Trust needed to be earned. So, it was in Corpus Christi, and so it is in Solemn Pines.

They approached the front door. Douglas rifled through his pocket and produced some house keys. But before he could open the door. It opened up on its own.

"Daddy", Whispered a little girl.

She looked about six years old. Her little hands clenched into fists as she rubbed her eyes, pushing her thick-rimmed glasses up above her forehead. Her hair was jet black and long, like Doug's hair. She wore a onesie with cute baby turtles from some daytime cartoon. Douglas scooped her up. He nuzzled her neck with kisses.

Wade was not expecting Doug to have a family waiting.

The interior looked nice, adorned with furniture, photo frames, the classy touches you could only get from Ikea, perhaps. Wade was a little disappointed in himself for assuming he was going to some mud hut full of Natives in loincloths and women with breasts hanging out for the National Geographic photographer.

Douglas whispered, "Halonie, what are you doing up? Do you realise mister moon is in the sky?"

Halona whispered, "Shh... I'm sleepwalking."

"You should be sleeping." Said a Latino woman in the hallway.

The hands placed on her hips told the story behind little Halona's story.

Another girl, about twelve, stood next to the woman. Douglas put his finger to his lips.

Douglas begged, "Hush, now. Little Halonie is sleepwalking back to her bed."

Halonie wondered, "Who's your friend, Daddy?"

"Yeah, who's your friend?" asked the woman.

Douglas pointed at Wade. "Him? We ain't friends."

Wade extended a handshake. He said. "Detective Wade Derringer."

She hugged Wade and kissed both his cheeks. Wade smiled.

"Welcome, Spade," She said.

Derringer emphasised his name, "Wade." The children giggled at their mother's mistake. The woman scolded them with her eyes, and the older girl suppressed her laugh with her hand.