Date: Mon, 17 Mar 2014 13:05:44 -0400
From: Jake Preston <jemtling@gmail.com>
Subject: Psychic Detective 17

Psychic Detective 17
By Jake Preston


This is a work of erotic gay fiction, intended for readers who enjoy a
murder mystery in which fully developed characters interact sexually and in
other ways. Their sexual encounters are sometimes romantic, sometimes
recreational, sometimes spiritual, and almost always described
explicitly. My attention is equally divided between narrative, character
development, and sex scenes. If you don't care for this combination, there
are many other excellent "nifty" stories to choose from. And remember that
while nifty stories are free, maintaining a website is not. Please think
about donating at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

Writing is usually a solitary avocation, but not necessarily so on
nifty.org, where a longer story appears in installments. If my characters
and my story grab your attention, you can always intervene with suggestions
for improvements. All sincere comments will get a response!

Jake, at jemtling@gmail.com


      *  *  *  *  *  *


Chapter 17
Making Hay at Eagle Cap Ranch


	Ricky's ranch on the Res was called Eagle Cap, a name he inherited
from his father, along with the ranch. He kept brown Guernseys and goats,
for milk and for cheese. A milk truck from Joseph Creamery stopped by every
morning at ten. Other than that, there wasn't much traffic. Ricky, his
maternal grandmother, and his younger sister managed the chores, except in
haying seasons when he hired Wallowa workers. He was the youngest rancher
in Wallowa County.

	A one-mile dirt road led from a secondary highway to the ranch
buildings. In dry seasons, near haying-time, cumulus dust-clouds signaled
the approach of a vehicle. That's how Ricky Eagle Cap knew Göran was
coming. It was dusk, and Ricky was in the middle of milking. Göran parked
his car by the ranch-house. As soon as the milking was over, Ricky and
Göran mounted horses for a ride around his 'spread', which is bounded by
forest on three sides, and by arid desert on the fourth. Ricky's golden
lab- Wolfie- trailed behind the horses, and at times ran ahead to prove
that he knew the way. "It's amazing how quickly the terrain and the climate
changes in this country," Göran remarked.

	Back at the ranch-house, Ricky invited Göran to dinner with Grandma
and his younger sister. After the meal, Göran fetched a gift-box from his
car. "It's from Pete Durham," he said.  Ricky removed the blue ribbon and
opened the box. Inside was a calumet, engraved with elaborate designs.

	"Patrolman Durham sent you with this?" Ricky asked.

	"He found it in an antique store in Eugene," Göran replied. "He
recognized it as Wallowa. It looks old. Maybe it's authentic."

	Grandma looked closely. She brought an old photo album to the table
and opened it to a photo of her father smoking a peace-pipe with the same
designs. "It's more than authentic, it's a family heirloom," she said. "I
don't know how it went missing... haven't seen it for years."

	Ricky put the calumet back in the box and replaced the blue
ribbon. "Tell Peter that I'll be grateful for this gift when I receive it
from his own hands," he said.

	"May I speak candidly?" Göran said. "Peter is hoping that maybe
you'd want to spend time with him, you know, hang out."

	Ricky's younger sister excused herself and listened to the rest of
their conversation from the other side of the kitchen door. Grandma stayed.

	"If it's not too soon to ask," Göran continued, "this weekend it's
Peter's turn to be off duty. He's free all Saturday and Sunday. He's
hoping...."

	"Peter is welcome anytime," Ricky said, "but he shouldn't expect
any... er... tell him he shouldn't expect romance on the first date." He
chose diplomatic words for Grandma's benefit.  "Of course, if he stopped by
after work tomorrow evening or Friday, then Saturday would count as a
second date," Ricky grinned.

	"That's the benevolent Indian way- set down arbitrary rules and
then point out all the loopholes for the benefit of the guy you want,"
Göran smiled. "I've been around Jack long enough to know."

	"I wonder if Patrolman Durham knows what he's getting into. Is it
safe for a cop to have gay sex in Wallowa County? Is it safe to cross
ethnic lines?" Grandma Eagle Cap wondered aloud.

	"Peter has chosen the danger, Ma'am," Göran replied. "He's more
anxious to get approval from you than from anyone in the Sheriff's Office."



	Next evening one eager Peter drove to the ranch after work. He
arrived in uniform in his patrol car. He was greeted by Wolfie- he wagged
his tail and led Peter to the dairy barn, where Ricky was finishing the
evening milking with Grandma and Little Sister. Peter envisioned pastoral
images of three-legged milk stools and buckets, but found a new-age barn
with computerized milking machines and storage equipment. Ricky showed him
how the output of each cow was tracked by computer. "We've been able to add
twenty head to our stock, thanks to this equipment. It paid for itself in
two years," Ricky said. "It's a European-style dairy, much more advanced
than anything American." Go figure.

	On the patio behind the kitchen, Ricky started the
barbeque. Grandma put them in charge of grilling steaks while she and
Little Sister prepared the rest of dinner. Ricky offered cigars and
Wilderness Beer from the only brewery in Joseph. Peter brought the
blue-ribboned gift-box with him. Their conversation was a verbal dance
around the reason for Peter's visit- but it wasn't idle talk. Peter brought
Ricky up to date about the investigation of the Eagle Cap murders, and
cautioned him that some of the information was still confidential. Finally
he got around to the subject: "I hope you don't mind that I sent Göran to
speak for me yesterday. I wasn't sure of myself. I'm still not. I'm hoping
that we can be friends, maybe more."

	"Here we are, standing by the grill, smoking cigars and swigging
beer. I think we're friends, already," Ricky said.  "Maybe more will come
later." He gave Peter a sly smile.

	Peter handed the gift-box to Ricky, who removed the ribbon and
opened the box. He held up the ritual calumet. "This is an awesome gift,
Peter," he said. "You've rescued a family heirloom." Grandma interrupted
their scene and brought the picture of her father with the calumet. Ricky
pointed out the similarities between the gift-calumet and the one in the
photo.  "You see, it's the same as the calumet in the photo."

	Grandma returned to the kitchen. "Grandma's been keeping track of
our progress," Ricky laughed.

	"Are we making progress?" Peter asked.

	"Para bailer la bamba se necessitŕ una poce de gracía," Ricky
said. To dance the bamba, a little humor is needed.

	"She doesn't disapprove of me being here, then?" Peter wondered.

	"Pete, Grandma is your biggest fan," Ricky replied. "She's been
bugging me for months to find a boyfriend. Yesterday she was disappointed
when Göran came over, because she knew he wouldn't be staying long in
Joseph. Then she learned that Göran was speaking for you. That made her
happy."

	During dinner, Ricky brought up something forgot to mention
earlier. "Saturday is hay- day on the ranch," he said. "We mowed the
hayfields a week ago and it's been dry ever since.  I've already rented the
baler and hired a crew. Still, you could come over in the evening, Pete,
and we're both free on Sunday."

	"I could come Saturday morning and help you make hay," Peter
replied. "How would that be?"

	Grandma nodded in approval. Ricky agreed.

	It was time for Pete to depart. Ricky asked him for a whisker rub
and rewarded him with a kiss on the lips. "I like your five o'clock
shadow," he said. "Don't shave for the next few days."


	Saturday was a day of hard labor. Durham spent the morning with two
of Ricky's hired workers, Wallowas in their early twenties. They trailed
after the hay-rake with pitch-forks, pushing fugitive haylicks into place
for the baler. Another Wallowa youth drove the tractor, and a fourth
operated the hay-rake. They worked shirtless in the sun. Durham attracted
notice as a newcomer, a white man, an unpaid volunteer, and an athletic
male specimen. One of them thought he was Joseph's newest patrolman. Rumor
spread among the Wallowa workers that Durham's undercover presence had
something to do with the murders in Eagle Cap Wilderness.

	"You've got high tech equipment in the dairy barn, but in the field
we're making hay the old fashioned way, with a rented bailer," Peter
remarked. "How is that possible?"

	"A man has to choose where to invest that he's got," Ricky
said. "We process milk every day. We're the largest provider for the
creamery in Joseph, so we use a process that's modern, safe, and
reliable. As for making hay while the sun shines, and milking bulls, that's
another matter." Peter laughed. The Wallowa youth with the pitchfork
overheard and looked puzzled.

	Lunch was a picnic affair behind the ranch-house. Grandma and
Little Sister served meatball spaghetti and lemonade. "No beer," Ricky
decreed: "No alcohol as long as we're working with field equipment." Durham
sat next to Ricky at the table. It was obvious that they knew each other
well. This prompted a rival theory about Durham, that he was Ricky's new
boyfriend, but most of the guys thought that he was a cop under cover. One
thing they couldn't deny was the firm outline of his athletic physique, an
object of envy to some, and to others an ideal to strive for. Straight men
are conditioned to pretend insensibility to other men's bodies, but there
was no way to make Durham invisible. The light complexion of his
countenance was accentuated by dark three-day whiskers- the contrast gave
him a European mystique that the Wallowa men found strangely appealing.

	After lunch, Ricky asked Durham to help bale hay. The baler caught
hay from the ground with rotating brushes, and compressed it into rounded
hillocks that were then wrapped in white plastic sheets. As haying
progressed, the meadow was strewn with great white spheres, eight feet in
diameter. From a distance they looked like eggs laid by dinosaurs. "We
stopped using the hayloft years ago," Ricky said. "It's more efficient to
wrap the hay and leave it in the field. That way we avoid the danger of
burning down the barn. We keep the cows fed in winter by opening the
hay-spheres, one at a time." Ricky taught Durham how to operate the baler
while he drove the tractor.

	The crew finished haying just before dark, and retired to the
farmhouse for dinner-a sumptuous feast of roast beef, potatoes, and a
variety of vegetables. Instead of a sweat lodge, Ricky had a jacuzzi and a
shower-head by the patio. The party of six- Ricky, Peter, and four young
Wallowa workers- soaked in the jacuzzi while Grandma laundered their
clothes.  Grandma and Little Sister prepared a ceremonial blanket in the
lawn by the patio. The men sat in a circle on the blanket. Ricky told Peter
to sit at his right. Grandma brought him the calumet.  Little Sister
brought a pouch of tobacco and a box of matches. Ricky lit tobacco in the
calumet, smoked it, and passed it to Peter, who passed it to the youth at
his right. As the calumet made its way around the circle, Little Sister
served iced whisky in tumblers. The sweet scent of marijuana fragranced
their circle, and rendered the men oblivious to the prying eyes of a young
woman who was curious to see their nudity. While the peace-pipe was passed,
Ricky explained that it was a family heirloom, owned by his great
grandfather, and went missing for decades, until Peter found it at an
antique shop, and returned it to the Eagle Cap Ranch.

      The Wallowa workers saw Peter in a flattering light. To win Ricky's
affection- Peter knew- he had to obtain his family's approval and, by
extension, he had to court the whole tribe, at least symbolically. Ricky
did more than his part to win them over. On the previous evening, when
Peter had jitters about his hay-making date with Ricky, Göran had explained
the Indian practice of laying down an 'arbitrary rule with loopholes'. Now
Peter saw the pattern. It was a game he enjoyed as long as Ricky played on
his side.

      Six naked men sat Indian-style in yard-light and shadow: the
spectacle delighted Little Sister as much as it pleased Peter and
Ricky. The absence of sexual fondling was relieved by a bit of grab-ass and
giddiness brought on by pot. Little Sister kept an eye on their tumblers
and replenished the empties, her curiosity rewarded by a close-up view of
maleness. Most often, Peter was the object of her gaze. Never before has
she seen the result of circumcision. She felt a twinge of jealousy for her
older brother. The four Wallowa workers (no less curious) averted their
gaze as they were conditioned to do, until they looked back and tried to
imagine- what?  Could there be antonyms for 'intergumenary envy' or
'pellicular arousal'? Think about it!

      Grandma brought the men's clothing, washed and dried, in a
basket. They dressed and prepared to spend the night under the stars. They
couldn't drive home under the influence of marijuana and whisky. Sleeping
bags and blankets were spread on the lawn. Twenty yards from the others,
Ricky and Pete rolled out a sleeping bag. They were far enough away that to
be overheard, but they could be seen. In the gaze of the four Wallowa
workers, Pete got naked again. Ricky took control of his body. "I've
dreamed about us together in this way, but I never thought in terms of what
role I would play," Pete said.

      "I can help you with that," Ricky replied.

      When a man says he's undecided, he leaves the decision to his lover
in the secret or subconscious hope that his ass will be conquered. Maybe
Ricky was unaware of this in principle, but instinct caused him to make
love aggressively. When they embraced and exchanged oral endearments, Ricky
squeezed Pete's ass and ran fingers down his cleft. Pete responded with
subtle hints of submission, until he parted his legs and threw modesty to
the wind. While Pete lay on his back with legs in a V toward the stars,
four Wallowa workers crawled through the grass to get a closer look. "Oh my
God, Ricky's kissing ass," one of them whispered.

      "I heard that," Ricky said. He stood proud and removed his clothes in
a striptease unaccompanied by music. The Wallowa youths realized that Ricky
and Peter were good-natured about their spying. It was as if they had been
invited to a wedding and stayed for the honeymoon, and now took the liberty
of giving the newlyweds a chivaree. They moved Green-Beret style toward the
combat zone, and watched while Ricky, in silhouette, drove his rod into
Peter, who suffered and praised his lover, being loath to groan or cry out
in the presence of four spectators.

      The Wallowa farmhands viewed Act One of the scene as gawking
groundlings, but Act Two was a vision of Beauty when Ricky melted in
Peter's arms. They saw the event-horizon of Ricky and Peter: two spirits
merged in a friendship that would never be broken. "For the Wallowa people,
friendship is a sacred bond," Ricky said.


      Next morning at breakfast, the Wallowa farmhands addressed Peter with
a deference normally reserved for their boss. Peter sat between two
farmhands, exuding a laid-back aura of contentment. He felt the physical
memory of Ricky in his sphincter, and was conscious of Ricky's seed in his
anal canal. The number of times he was spread and bred was not discussed on
this occasion. Quality isn't quantity, but if truth be told, the number of
needles on the Norway above them could be counted, but the number of
fuck-stokes delivered to Peter could not be counted. It worked in Peter's
favor that Peter had bottomed. Ricky did them proud. One of the farmhands
hinted to Peter that if he asked for a date, he wouldn't be refused. "Why
not?" Peter said, "or you can call on me in Joseph."

      Peter saw that the time was right to ask questions about the Eagle
Cap Wilderness murders. He showed them pictures of Coleman and his
companion. One of the farmhands remembered Coleman as a visitor taking a
survey. No one saw his companion. Peter reverted to his identity as a
patrolman, and repeated the warning he'd given others: They're dangerous.
Don't approach them. Call the Sheriff's Office.

      "These guys murdered ten men at Eagle Cap Wilderness," Durham
said. "Most of the victims were Nez Persé. Some of the victims might have
been kidnapped and brought here from other tribal nations. We think that
your missing shaman was one of the victims. We've got forensic
anthropologists in Eugene working on the identification. In the meantime,
we haven't identified other victims. Maybe you knew some of them."

      "There was Johnny Rivers and his younger brother Ken," one of the
farmhands said. "But they sent their folks a postcard from Boise, saying
that they were heading to Minnesota to look for work."

      Durham's eyes widened. "Stupido! Stupido!" he exclaimed while he
banged his head with his fists. "That's how he does it. He makes these kids
send cards home to their families.  That's why they don't get reported
missing. We should have figured this out a long time ago."

      "What about Red Elk Johnson," another farmhand volunteered. "He left
home, too. I don't know if he sent a card, but his folks didn't report him
missing."

      "And Tom Henry Parks, he left without telling anyone, too," a third
farmhand volunteered. "He wasn't happy living on the Res. His dad thought
he ran away."

      "It looks like we've got work to do, Peter," Ricky said- his way of
volunteering to accompany Durham on family visits.

      "What about transportation?" Durham asked. "He must be using a van-
maybe with plates from Oregon or Wyoming." One of the farmhands remembered
seeing a dark green van with Wyoming plates. "We see lots of vans on the
Res, but a plate from Wyoming is rare."

      Ricky drove his car to the Rivers' place. Durham got on the phone
with Sheriff Andrews.  It was a long conversation. "Andrews is calling Jack
to alert him that we're calling the FBI," Durham said. "Coleman's been
kidnapping victims and transporting them across state lines. Now that we
know that, we have no choice."

      "Maybe it's just as well," Ricky said. "This case has grown too big
for local sheriffs to handle among themselves." At the homes of Rivers,
Johnson, and Parks, Durham collected personal items-combs, hairbrushes,
headbands, caps, anything that might contain DNA samples. Ricky offered to
help, but Durham said no: "It's a chain of custody issue. I have to be able
to swear in court that on one else has been in possession of evidence."
Their tour of the Res was a sorrowful journey. To make the investigation
official, Durham asked the families to sign 'missing person' reports with
dates and details, yet everyone knew that the families had lost their sons
in a series of gruesome murders.