Alamosa

OTHER FICTION BY DAVID EDWARD

Dirk Lasher Thrillers

●  Panama Red – Book 1

●  Drive Faster – Book 2

●  Meat Market – Book 3

●  Ground Game – Book 4

●  Prayer Drum – Book 5

●  Down Ballot – Book 6

Supernatural

●  Alamosa – Judge Stone Book 1

●  The Smalls – Judge Stone Book 2

●  The Bigs – Judge Stone Book 3

●  Marthas – Judge Stone Book 4

Westerns

●  Rick Calhoon and the Town Full of Really Evil Cannibals

Sci-Fi

●  X7

It is rarely what you meant but often what was agreed. - Judge Stone

AUTHORS NOTE

Alamosa is my first book. It introduces a world, concepts, and characters with a long life ahead of them (well, many of them have a long life ahead of them).

As my first book, I am told the mechanics of some parts of Alamosa are a little rough around the edges. Yet, I consistently receive a lot of interest in the actual story. Many of the more philosophical elements are also mentioned in feedback as something people like and find exciting and thought-provoking. Even though this is a Western, the story's main point is to get you thinking about today's world differently; the ideas here are foundational.

I think it’s a great first book, but I love all my books. The fundamental essential elements outside of meeting the characters are the conversations between Judge Stone & Jack Abbott and Judge Stone & Maggie Summers.

The following three books in the series are The Smalls, The Bigs, and Martha. Where Alamosa was my first book, The Smalls is my eighth, and The Bigs is, I think, my 43rd, and Martha is something like number 50.

Everything in Alamosa has been meticulously researched. All the locations mentioned are places I visited; the first-hand accounts in the book are actual first-hand geographical accounts.

Welcome to the world of Purgatory Oaths. I hope you enjoy the book and that the story gets you thinking!

ALAMOSA

JUDGE STONE BOOK 1

THE TRIAL

CHAPTER 1

The town of Alamosa reeked like the north end of a southbound mule.

The sun burned hot and bright in a cloudless sky. A small lake nearby was bluer than blue. The fields in the valley were dark green and lush. There were yellow and purple flowers in the fields, and the very tops of the mountain peaks in the distance were still white with snow.

The cool overnight mountain air had given up. It did every day at about this time. Losing its daily battle to the relentless energy of the summer sun.

Waves of heat fell hard, coming in at angles to the horizon. Having defeated the night air, the sun worked on everything else. The town and the landscape glowed white on the edges because of it. The higher elevation made everything that much closer.

In town, everything was hot. The sun cooked everything like the inside of an expensive city slicker oven. You could see the heat bounding here and there, just having a grand old time.

Alamosa’s Courthouse stood grand and intimidating under it all in the center of the town against the majestic backdrop. The building was built as a desperate bid to be the territorial capital in anticipation of Colorado becoming a state.

If you looked past the buildings and up into the mountains or looked over to the bright blue lake or north to the green flowered pastures, it made you want to leave Alamosa.

You felt drawn away. A yearning. A desperate excuse to leave this hard-luck crossroads town for any reason you could invent.

Here it was hot, and everything was hard. Even breathing was hard. Once you make the deliberate decision to inhale the hot oily air, you immediately regret your choice. Forced to deal with the hypocrisy of the palpable stench in direct contrast to the picturesque surroundings.

Despite the ungodly temperature and mother nature's tempting distractions, the town of Alamosa should have been bustling this time of day. Instead, everyone was packing into the courthouse building for the scandalous end of the murder trial.

As the last of the townspeople pushed their way through the entryway, past the small clerk's office, and into the large courtroom, the bailiff shouted, Please be seated.

The inside of the building was just as grand and intimidating as its exterior. It was cool and smelled different from the outside, not better, just different. The crowd of sweaty people created in their own stench.

The combination of people and fear filled the courtroom with a palpable sense of dread. The oily stillness seeped here and there in the large room as if it had a mind of its own.

It searched for something, someone maybe. Looking for more of its kind. Attracted to the muffled sobs of a plain-looking young woman seated near the front. Whatever it was, it recoiled when it neared the man sitting in the judge’s chair. Judge Isaac Hobart Stone, of sturdy build with piercing gray eyes, black hair, and a well-trimmed white beard.

He looked like a judge from the picture books; the whole place did. Stone could see the evil as it danced around the room. He hated at it, and it hated right back.

A lone figure was seated at the defendant’s table. James McGuire. A disheveled fat city lawyer who was providing his own defense for the charge of murder.

As everyone settled down, McGuire rose from his chair. He wore a wrinkled white suit that showed stains at the armpit and around the collar. He held a dirty handkerchief to his nose and mouth. The evil stench paid it no mind and clung to him anyway. An ally from which it could taunt Judge Stone.

Almost as if performing a magic trick, McGuire nimbly used his hand to pocket a handkerchief he had been holding. It was a quick move. On casual observation, the dirty cloth seemed to just vanish. In contrast, he wiped his sweaty upper lip on the opposite sleeve of his well-worn suit before he spoke.

If it pleases the court. I renew my objection to the perjured testimony of Maggie Summers, the fat man announced. He proudly looked about the room as a showman might, reading the room.

Stone stared at McGuire without blinking for a few moments. They finally locked eyes. Without a motion, Stone looked to where Maggie Summers sat a few benches back from the front. Her face was puffy red. Snot ran down from her nose. The front of her blue dress was soaking wet with tears.

Turning his gaze to the center of the room with little movement, Stone asked pleasantly, Has anyone seen Sheriff Burton this afternoon?

His voice had a deep bass to it. It echoed in the room. Hanging in the air and slowly dissipating after it seemed the time was right. Wherever Stone’s voice went, the evil recoiled form it. As Maggie sobbed louder, the evil returned, unable to resist.

Your honor, fat man McGuire said. He wiped his upper lip on his sleeve again to continue.

Stone cut him off.

Hold on, Mr. McGuire, Stone's words were not loudly spoken; they were soft. But his voice cut through the air like thunder, nevertheless. He turned his attention and again locked eyes with McGuire, then slowly down and over to Doug Marks, the city prosecutor. Marks would not return the gaze.

Doug Marks was a drunkard. He had a large red nose and long greasy blond hair. The bailiff looked at Judge Stone. Stone nodded back while still glaring at the city prosecutor and his incompetence.

The court recalls Missus Maggie Summers, the freeman bailiff spoke loudly and formally.

McGuire sat back down in his defendant’s chair. He had a very unpleasant smile fade across his face underneath the dancing handkerchief.

With all eyes on her, Maggie slowly stood up and walked to the front of the courtroom. She was a thin woman. Plain and weathered, but looked like she had been attractive once. Life on the range had taken it from her.

The evil in the room danced around and out of her way. It seemed gleeful, looking forward to something. Maggie did not notice it. After she sat down in the witness chair, Judge Stone looked over at her.

Missus Summers, Stone asked in a soft voice that still carried to the back of the room and hit the back wall, you got anything you want to clarify after we heard from Sheriff Burton in this morning’s session?

Maggie composed herself.

Yes, judge, she said as she moved the hair from her forehead with her left hand pushing it behind her ear. She looked as dignified as she could.

Your honor, McGuire said.

He rose from his chair for a second time. The fat under his chin jiggled with the effort. McGuire had been a corporate lawyer for the railroad until six months ago. He had abruptly closed his practice and started working across several Colorado mining towns. Primarily working for wealthy railroad clients from Denver City. His appearance almost two hundred miles away in the mountain town Alamosa was a surprise.

Stone looked back at McGuire, annoyed. Everywhere he looked, the evil in the room hid, fearful of being caught in his gaze, Take your seat, counsel. You can relax; we’re following the book here. I ain’t interested in no city lawyer trickery though, it came out straight. Let's all be given a chance to speak the truth.

Missus Summers, if you will, Stone said, unhappy with where he knew this was going. There was too much interest in this by the shadows for it to go well.

Thank you, judge, Maggie said.

I’ve been giving this all a lot of thought, she paused, introspective.

Sheriff Burton says he saw me shoot my husband when William was running after Mister McGuire here after he left our house, she was looking at McGuire suspiciously.

At first, I didn’t have words, she said, turning to Judge Stone, I couldn’t understand why he’d say that. He claims he saw what happened, Maggie had calmed down a lot.

She still seemed to be in shock, but she was managing herself. Looking past McGuire, she observed the townspeople in the room, Judge, can I have some water?

Judge Stone made a motion to the bailiff, and after a few moments, a porcelain pitcher and some small cups were brought in. Maggie took a cup and drank all of it.

While she drank, the shadows danced.

Then I started thinking, why? She continued, Why would he say that? It didn’t make any sense. Mister McGuire shot William. He shot him when he turned his back on him after the argument about the land deed.

Maggie turned to Stone, Why did he want that land so bad, judge?

Stone looked back at her. It was a reasonable question, and if Marks the prosecutor had any wits, it’s what they would all be talking about. Stone felt conflicted. He didn’t know what happened at the ranch. His job as a judge came with laws, and obligations with rules. He often had to balance both.

Motive, Marks spoke softly as if from a daze. It broke the moment between Maggie and Stone.

Motive, Maggie said back. It seemed she was trying the word out as it broke the spell.

I ain't got no motive, Maggie said as though understanding something. Mister McGuire does; he wants our land. I needed William to work the land and make our life. We were happy out there. Everyone here knows it.

There was a long pause, and it seemed she was finished talking.

Mister Marks, Stone said, looking over at Doug Marks, who still looked shell-shocked after his single utterance, do you have anything to ask before I turn the witness over to Mister McGuire?

As the city prosecutor, Marks had been out of his element since the trial started. Even though McGuire was acting as his own council, he was twice the lawyer Marks could ever be.

No, your honor, Marks said in a defeated voice. The evil danced around him and consumed him until he was just a shadow himself. If he had ever had anything to offer, it was certainly gone now.

Stone exhaled, reluctant as he spoke, Your witness Mister McGuire.

Moving gracefully across the room, for such a heavy man, McGuire stood between the empty jury box and the witness box in no time. He almost floated there with the help of the shadows. Surrounded by darkness but as if in divine light. He gestured at Stone with a question. Waving his arm a bit to bring attention to the vacant jury section.

Stone noticed the damn handkerchief was back.

This here is preliminary, Mister McGuire. We’ll bring them back in once I’m satisfied, Stone said with a thin, humorless smile on his face.

Of course, your honor, McGuire returned with the same amount of false graciousness. 

Missus Summers, McGuire began quickly; he was nimble in thought and mannerisms once engaged in the court. Just yesterday, you told us that the sheriff was not out at your place when all this happened, McGuire gestured to where the sheriff had been seated for most of the trial, shooting your husband dead at your ranch a month gone. It was a terrible tale, and we all felt the weight of it. You being alone and helpless after the shooting and all. Do you remember that?

Yes, I remember, Maggie said in a regal voice. Her head held high as she looked to the back of the courtroom, doing her best to avoid eye contact with McGuire without showing it.

We all remember very well too, said McGuire. You went on to say that me and William had a fight over the deed to your ranch. If my memory serves, you were in default. Do you remember that as well?

Maggie turned to look at McGuire, twisting her head a bit and answering indignantly, Yes, I remember that as well.

We all remember, McGuire said again. You could feel him building up to something. And were you in default?

Maggie said something softly.

What did you say? McGuire screamed. It was a quick change in mannerism and jolted everyone in the room.

Maggie reacted as though she had been physically slapped. Maybe she had been by the shadows. Her entire body took on an outwardly terrified look. 

Were you present earlier today when Sheriff Burton testified? McGuire yelled.

Good lord, sir, you know I was, she snapped and yelled back, sobbing again as her voice cracked, you all know it. I was the one yelling at him and calling him a liar while you went on with your jolly little story.

McGuire issued a singular chuckle that snapped into the room like an electric bolt.

Stone hit his gavel on the desk twice in an attempt to interrupt McGuire's growing storm.

Maggie’s low sobbing developed a slow rhythm to it. She tried to hold it back.

McGuire looked to Judge Stone to continue and then up to Maggie. A sort of mock apology by making a face he thought only she could see.

"So