I was scrambling to get things done on Monday morning. Namely, I was trying to figure out my lead for the boat cop story. Of course, there was the book project and sociological research of the sand bar left to do. But in the meantime, I still had to justify my ride-along with the boat cops by writing a straight news feature on the boat patrol and boating safety.
“The only thing that separated the Williams family from any of the other families departing from the docks of Marina Del Mar, in Madisonville, Louisiana, on Sunday, was
their willingness to bring aboard a journalist for the day.”
This was a strange note I had scribbled to myself while I sat in my car, waiting for the Sheriff’s Office boat to come pick me up.
I’d been trying for a month to hook up the ride-along through the sheriff office’s
public information guy, Glen. However, primarily due to other obligations on my behalf, I’d been unable to do this.
6-7-06
Douglas Brinkley:
So, today is inauguration day today for our buddy Ray Nagin. I wonder if you’ll be there in the audience at the Convention Center booing, or better yet, throwing Hieneken bottles at him. Somebody certainly should be. Or maybe one of those little kegs they make. I understand those things pack a pretty good wallop.
On second thought, though, a Chocolate Soldier bottle might be even more fitting.
Can you imagine Ray picking glass shards out of that pretty bald head of
his with a pear of tweezers right there in the middle of the press conference?
Well folks, I did it.
I have completed the 2008 National Novel Writing Month 2008 Challenge. I wrote a 50,601-word novel, The Long Hunt, in a month; actually 18 days. But who’s counting?
Most of the time, it didn’t seem like work. And, most importantly, I’m pleased with the end result. I like the damned book. At the risk of sounding vain, it’s a very good book; much better than I ever dreamed or imagined it could be; especially considering time constraints.
The full moon seemed to radiate stronger than a burning sun and, along with a cloudless sky and seemingly endless canopy of stars, lit up the night on all sides, as Jesse and Rakov made their way to Mill Creek.
It was also a quiet night. There seemed to be no night time sounds, no crickets, no wind, nothing save for the solitary sounds of their horses hooves clopping repeatedly onto the tired earth, as they traveled.
They rode at a moderate trot. They had both followed the tracks, wolf tracks, out of town, but as Rakov had pointed out, they knew where Namid was going, so they stopped trying to see the tracks in the dark of night, and just made their way to Mill Creek.
Neither Jesse or Rakov said too much. At this point, there wasn’t too much more that could be said. They didn’t really have a plan, but by the same token, it was difficult to plan for something as unprecedented as the task before them.
Jesse and Rakov were still outside, looking for Namid’s footprints or a blood track and had not even made it out of Henderson, when they heard the gun shot.
Rakov was surprised and bristled when he heard the sound. Jesse, however, who was still unnerved by what they’d just witnessed, cringed with a start, nearly jumping. He turned to look at Rakov just as the realization hit him.
“Oh no,” Jesse said. “Oh shit, the kid.”
Jesse knew something was wrong before they even walked in. He didn’t know how, it was like a vague sensation of a light electric shock. The his foot crunched a pile of broken glass and he saw the window was busted out.
He tried to say something, get out some sort of warning, but Rakov had already opened the door and stepped inside.
Jesse followed close behind.
Jesse and Rakov made it to Mill Creek in less than an hour, with time to spare before darkness fell. Jesse had spoken to Doc Ogle at length and had a good idea as to where it was where the Parsons girl was attacked and killed.
Thankfully, it had started to warm up a little. It was still cold, but at least it wasn’t freezing any more.
As he suspected they would, they found the spot almost immediately. While the elements had done their job, there were still several patches of ground that were darkly stained from dried blood.
