Tahquitz Dawn

TAHQUITZ

DAWN

Book Three of the

Debris

Series

A Novel By

Denis J. LaComb

Tahquitz Dawn

Second Edition

Copyright © 2017 Denis J. LaComb

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Published by BAMs2 Publishing

A division of Sharden, LLC.

Credits:

Cover Design by Vida Raine

To Sharon who believed in me at the

beginning and still does after all these years.

To my children; Brian and Melanie, who

continue to inspire me.

To Vida for her help with editing, book design,

blogging, web design, and other sundry

crafts of writing and publishing.

CHAPTER ONE

The raven swung in slow circles high above the desert floor. As the bird’s arc grew wider, it was joined by a prairie falcon whose high-pitched squawk reverberated off the canyon walls far below. The two raptors circled in graceful patterns against a cloudless brilliant blue sky.

Far below, exiting one of the many canyons that interlaced the mountainside, an old man worked his way among the jumble of rocks and scrub brush. He wore a wide brimmed hat that protected his wrinkled eyes from the glaring sunlight. His old gray tattered clothes made him invisible among the colorful juxtaposition of green leafed palms, battered red rocks, gravel, and brush.

He would pause momentarily as if listening to the wind that rustled the palm leaves and kicked up small dust devils around his feet. He cocked his head one direction, then the next. His body was tense and alert. There could be danger in the canyons for the uninitiated.

Something else caught his attention. Something in the winds that resonated with the birds above. Something that explained the lack of small desert creatures that normally followed him on his wandering path. Something or someone else was back in the canyons cutting much the same trail he was. Someone or something that hadn’t yet found his tracks but might cross them at any moment. Someone or something that came into the canyons with evil.

The shaman bent over and scooped up a handful of dirt. He threw it high into the air and watched the dirt dissipate into a vapid cloud of dust before drifting away. The cloud said there were men in the canyons; several of them moving in the same direction as the shaman. They were not yet aware of his presence.

The old man looked up at the two birds still circling high above. It was good. They were leading him back to the sacred place his place of worship where he would be safe from all intruders. He stopped by a small stream and drank from its clear shallow pool. A squirrel nearby chattered and was soon joined by yet another creature of the desert both communicating in a manner that only the shaman could hear and understand. He was safe…for now.

The old man moved at a faster pace now lengthening the distance between himself and the others behind him. He scrambled up an ever-increasing incline of rocks and boulders and was soon able to drop down among them and slip through an invisible fissure there. It led him to a smaller pathway among the high rocks and yet another small canyon. After traversing the length of that canyon, the gravel pathway led him to a much larger one and a small cave invisible among the high rock walls. He was home. He slipped inside the cave and rested.

They were deep in the canyon trudging along its bottom through a stifling heat. Their khaki pants were dark with sweat and their t-shirts plastered against their sticky backs. The last man in the file carried a backpack while the other two just their canteens. Each wore a regulation Marine knife in their web belts next to their canteens. The first two men were in their early twenties and the last man closer to thirty.

You sure there’s caves here? the man in the lead asked.

Yeah, I’m sure, the man behind him answered. I read about them. Just keep moving.

The first man shook his head. Damn, I think we’re lost, bro.

Keep moving.

The first man looked back at him before picking his way around the scrub brush and large boulders. His partner moved closer to him and said, We aren’t lost if we stick to this trail. We can backtrack our way out.

I’m not so sure…

Shut the fuck up, you idiots, the third man snarled at the other two.

The pair for a moment and looked back. The third man dropped his backpack and peered up at the sheer canyon walls that towered over them. It was sweltering in the bottoms. The air was still and stank of dying vegetation. He wiped his brow and dug a water bottle out of his pack. Drink up or you’ll get dehydrated. Didn’t the marines teach you jarheads anything?

Yeah, the first man answered, a crash course in chemistry. His partner laughed and slapped him on the back.

God, you’re funny Chemical Man.

The Chemist, you dumb shit, call me ‘The Chemist’ not Chemical Man. He turned back to their leader. Jason, how we gonna haul all our shit back here to set up shop?

The third man stepped forward. He upended his water bottle for a long swig then dropped it back in his backpack, I told you before. We find a cave, mark our trail then go back to the motel and start to buy our supplies. Once we’ve got enough for one large batch we come back here and set up shop. Twenty-four hours and we got our first batch of meth and we’re in business. No one comes back here and if we cross paths with some hikers, we’re just a bunch of backpackers, like them.

What if they find our cave?

Then we kill them, Jason answered matter-of-factly. The other two looked at one another.

Damn, Jason, I think Afghanistan really fucked up your mind, The Chemist said. His partner nodded. The Chemist dug a cigarette out of his hip pocket and lit up. His partner did the same.

Why do people call you Mush? The Chemist asked his partner.

Short for Mushroom Man; got that nickname in Iraq cuz I was so good at finding just the right kind of mushrooms…if you know what I mean.

No shit, they got them there?

Sure as shit. Like around the Four Corners area in the Southwest. Special kind that’ll give you the trip of a lifetime. Guaranteed Section Eight if you got caught with even a smidgen of them on your person. Buddy of mine got five years in the pen for trying to sell his stash to his bunkmates.

We were smart to get out of Joshua Tree when we did. Bet you those park rangers would have found our lab if Jason hadn’t come around.

I suppose we coulda moved to Yucca Valley or Morongo. Cops aren’t as observant there. Maybe even over to Pioneer Town. Locals don’t care if you leave them alone.

There are no old mining caves outside of Joshua Tree, locals will tell you that.

Mush looked up at the towering walls of dirty brown. His voice lowered. Ever hear about the ghost of Tahquitz Canyon?

No.

Supposed to be a ghost that haunts these canyons. Indians have all kinds of legends about him. Been here since before the beginning of time.

Indian folklore, Jason laughed, God, you’ve been watching too many John Wayne movies.

No, I’m serious, Mush replied defensively, it’s this evil spirit named Tahquitz that is supposed to live here. He hunts for men’s souls and if you see him, it’s like a green meteor ball of fire. They say he was first a shaman…

A what? The Chemist asked.

A medicine man or something like that, then he was banished by his tribe and he became this evil spirit.

So he couldn’t have been here before the beginning of time, Jason said.

What do you mean? Mush asked.

Forget it. There’s no evil spirit in these canyons. If anything, it’s just a rumor started by the Indians to keep white folks away. Anyway I don’t have time for that shit. Jason shook his head in disgust. Saddle up; we got miles to travel before we rest again.

The Chemist and Mush stood up. They finished their drinks and sidestepped brush and rocks as they moved forward again. Jason followed a distance behind. He kept glancing up at the canyon rim, wary of any intruders looking down on them.

Jason had heard the tales of the ghost of Tahquitz Canyon. Although he would never admit it, the legend did bother him. Ever since the trio slipped past the ranger cabin and disappeared into the first canyon, Jason had felt something come over him. It wasn’t anything he could identify. Yet something was tugging at the back of his mind. It was as if someone else was in those canyons and very much aware of their presence. Jason rested his hand on the knife handle and pressed forward.

The shaman sat quietly by the cave entrance. The sun’s penetrating heat beat down on his body yet he felt no discomfort. He looked up from under his wide brimmed hat and saw a hawk in the sky. It had suddenly appeared alongside the other two raptors. As he watched, the raven and falcon gradually widened their circles until they disappeared beyond the canyon rims. The lone hawk continued to float in tight circles above him. There was still danger in the canyons.

The shaman moved back into the shadows. He was well away from the cave’s entrance but close enough that he could see anyone moving along the trail, which spilled out of the narrow fissure and onto the canyon bottoms. He knew the hawk would stay until it was safe to leave the cave.

As he had moved through the canyons, the shaman had gathered small twigs and sticks, which he put into a leather satchel attached to his waist. Now back inside the cave he dug a small hole in the sand and jammed the kindling inside it. He lit a match to the pile and as smoke curled up, he dropped several pinches of powder into the flames.

The flames changed to fingers of soot gray smoke that wafted into the shaman’s face. Keeping his eyes closed, the old man breathed in deeply. His body relaxed and he fell into a trance. As the smoke dissipated, the old man sat motionless, hunched over the dying embers.

There were other men in the canyons. Evil men intent on no good. Men who would harm anyone who crossed their paths. They were seeking something. A place to hide perhaps…or a place for evil.

There was something else too. It was not an evil spirit but one seeking clarity and guidance in the ways of the Gods. This second force wasn’t as strong as the first but its intent was pure and good.

The swirling kaleidoscope of colors seeped out of the shaman’s trance and he fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, it was dark outside. He moved to the entrance and looked up at the sky. It was empty. The hawk was gone. He could hear coyotes in the distance. They would lead him out of the canyons. It was now safe to return to civilization.

CHAPTER TWO

Robert was sequestered at the Palm Springs Swim Club on South Palm Canyon drive. Dusk was fast approaching. The pool was glassy smooth; its surface reflecting the empty lounge chairs and umbrellas surrounding it. Long shadowy fingers of black curled and wrapped themselves around the bar chairs and stools clustered in one corner of the compound. Robert sat at the bar with his work papers spread out in front of him. An untouched bottle of beer sat in the lingering sunlight getting warmer by the minute.

Hey, Bobby, the bartender called out from the far end of the bar.

Robert.

The middle aged bartender approached the young man, I thought since you’ve been coming here so often we could be less formal.

It’s still Robert.

"OK, Mr. Morales. If that’s the way you want it.

Want to give me another beer?

Sure thing, Mr. … Robert, sure thing.

The bartender scurried back to the cooler and brought another Dos Equis, which he placed in the shade this time. You sure do work a lot. I suppose that’s why you’re so successful. Did you see that article in the Desert Sun last week about you and Mr. Goldstein? The one about you guys being one of the largest property managers in the valley?

Palm Springs; we haven’t gone down valley yet.

That part of your plans? Are you going to expand? I suppose now that you’ve got so much property around here…

Robert looked at the middle aged man behind the bar and said nothing. He took a long swig of beer and held the bottle for a moment by his lips then gently laid it back down. Johnny, he answered, I don’t know what our plans are, but if and when we decide to make more acquisitions, you’ll be the first to know.

Seriously, you’d tell me?

No, Johnny, I’m just shitting you.

Oh, that’s good. That’s a funny one, Mr. … Robert. Shits and giggles, I get it.

I don’t know what we’re going to do next. There’s some land up north that we’re looking at.

By that motel you’re rehabbing?

Next to it.

Interesting.

Harold likes the direction we’re going so there’s no reason to change gears as long as the economy holds and the banks are there.

Speaking of banks, there’s a rumor going around town that you or you and Harold just made a bid for the Desert Regional banking system. Any truth to that?

I’ve got someone coming to meet me here soon. Once she arrives…

She?

She! I want you to disappear. Understand? I’ll cover any losses if you can’t serve customers, but I want to be left alone.

Got it, Robert. In fact, once she arrives I’ll lock the front door. How’s that?

Do whatever you want to do. Just leave us alone.

Got it. I really…

Robert’s cell phone rang and he looked at the screen. He hesitated for a moment then picked up.

Francesca.

Robert, where the hell are you? No one at the office knew where you went.

I’m at a meeting, Francie. I can’t talk.

I’m lonesome, honey. Why don’t you come over after?

I told you I can’t. I’ve got this meeting then I have more walkthroughs with Carlos this evening.

Will you come by after that?

No, not tonight.

But I haven’t seen you forever.

Oh Christ, Francie, use your dildo if you’re that horny.

Don’t be rude.

Then don’t bug me at work unless it’s an emergency.

Don’t get mad at me, Robert.

I’m not mad. I’m busy…big difference.

Who are you meeting with?

Doesn’t matter.

It does if we’re going to combine our businesses.

Francie, that’s your idea…not your parents’. I never said we were going to combine your parent’s business enterprise with mine. That’s an illusion of yours.

Try to come over tonight.

I’ll call you tomorrow, Robert answered then hung up. He took another swig of beer and went back to his papers. The bartender reappeared from the kitchen and approached him again, Who are you meeting with? he asked.

Can you keep your mouth shut, Johnny?

Of course, I can, you know me…

That’s why I asked.

So?

Some Hollywood publicist called me out of the blue last week. She read some articles about Harold and me and thought there might be something there.

Like?

Like maybe a reality television show about development in the valley.

No shit, you a television star! God, that would be great for business. You could do some of your taping here. I could clean up the place; get a bunch of teens in their thongs. I could…

"Wow, slow down