A Backward Glimpse (Interlude Four)

“Natchez Mendoza!” I exclaimed loudly enough to silence the bleating crickets and the yipping coyotes. “I remember him—he’s the Tucson municipal court judge who saw through Harvey Huish’s fiction about his uncle’s ‘accidental’ drowning,” I added excitedly.

“Jesus H. Christ, Vince! Try to keep the volume down, will ya? Sound carries in the dead of night. You’re gonna bring the cops down on us, and, out here in the boonies, it’s the county cops. I don’t know about you, but I don’t have any friends among that bunch, so, please, try to stifle anything louder than a heart-stopping air horn, okay?”

It was a gentle reproach, softer than I expected for having broken my vow of silence once again.

“Sorry, Curtis. It’s just that it hit me all at once. It’s like when I’m reading something really good, and I make a surprise connection. I’ve been tossed out of libraries for my reflexive outbursts.”

“Yeah, well this ain’t no library, so put a sock in it. Old Mr. Natchez Mendoza just might tease another shriek out of you down the road,” Curtis said.

“How so? Tell me more,” I begged.

“All in due time.”

“C’mon, man—don’t string me along,” I whined.

“Nah—you’re never gonna get me to jump ahead again. Now, let’s see…Isabel was fightin’ battles on every front when we left off.”

“Yeah, that lowlife Deputy Aycock had just come back into the picture,” I added.

“That’s right. By the way, Vince, you really are a good listener, aren’t you?”

“Best there is,” I clucked proudly.