Stony Mesa Sagas. Chip Ward

I was asleep when you knocked.”

      “Who was with you?”

      “‘I was by myself, why?”

      “What were you doing out there alone?”

      “I was screwing my horse and finding a cure for cancer. What the fuck, Dunk? Is there a problem?”

      “When was the last time you saw Bo Hineyman?”

      “I try not to see that bastard. It’s bad for my blood pressure. When was the last time you saw him, Dunk?”

      “This morning at his ranch. He was sprawled out on a coffee table in his living room staring at the ceiling. He’s dead, Otis. Dead.”

      Otis paused while he tried to process what the sheriff was saying. Then it dawned on him. “Oh shit, Dunk! You don’t think that I . . . oh shit!”

      It was soon clear that the mayor had no alibi. The company he kept on his camping trip was Jim Beam and Johnny Walker. He’d spent the previous two days falling off the wagon in an epic way. He was not the kind to drink alone but he had promised his mom, Ida May Dooley, to stop drinking after he ran over her favorite cat with his ATV, plowed through her flower bed, and passed out just as three members of the church choir arrived at Ida May’s for practice. Otis did not want anyone to know he was getting smashed, especially Ida May. The Fourth of July business with Bo had pushed him over the edge.

      On his way back from Spider Woman Mesa he promised himself that was the last time. He had worried that his lapse would have some bad consequence and now here it was.

      “Shit!”

       Chapter 4

      Orin Bender was the CEO of Superior Pipes Corporation, a multibillion dollar enterprise that laid gas, water, and oil pipelines throughout the American West. Superior was often the low bidder because Orin had many well-placed cronies who let him know what other companies bid before Superior issued their bids. This was not legal, of course, but it was lucrative. So lucrative that Orin spent much of his day on the phone managing the placement of pipes, the deployment of personnel, and the exchange of favors across his sordid empire.

      Orin was talking on his cell phone to a foreman on a new project near the Sea Ledges. Although Bender was not in charge of the strip-mining operation, he did have a contract to lay pipe. The place was remote and would require a lot of pipe. Gif Hanford, the foreman, was upset and Orin accepted his interpretation of the Sea Ledges situation which was, according to Gif, dire.

      “Okay, Gif, I got it. I’ll see what I can do. I gotta go. I’m in a meeting of all my regional managers and sales reps here at the Regency Suites and I’m about to get called to the podium. Just sit tight now. If I need to talk to you about this again, I’ll call you. Got it?”

      “Mr. Bender, they’re ready for you.”

      Orin Bender straightened his silk tie, pulled on the sleeves of his suit to straighten the wrinkles, and ran his left hand lightly over his silver mane to smooth any wayward strands of hair before walking up to the front of the stage. His managers applauded wildly, each one checking out the others to be sure he would not be outdone or stop clapping a moment too soon. Orin smiled briefly and nodded to acknowledge their adulation. As he scanned the audience in the Regency ballroom he remembered that he had meant to hire more women and people of color. This bunch was very white and male. His clients were also white and male. They wouldn’t buy pipe from a woman unless she had some sexual favor to trade and he didn’t want that kind of woman in the company. He thought of Superior as a decidedly Christian outfit. And black people? Well, they just made his clients uncomfortable.

      The applause faded all at once when his employees, like a swarm of starlings, picked up some subtle cue from one another and quit. He began: “They are as fundamental as fire. Forget the plough, ships, the internal combustion engine, electricity, refrigeration, trains, planes, and automobiles. All the hallmarks of civilization cannot compare.”

      A suspenseful pause. “Pipes! That’s what I’m talking about. We take them for granted but you couldn’t live the way you do without them. You’d have no water in your home. Without pipes you’d be living in your own shit—pardon me.” Nervous laughter. “Do you think we are healthy today because of modern medicine? Well, what would your health be without pipes to bring you potable water and carry away your waste? The wires for all those appliances you have that make life convenient and entertaining run through pipes. The fuel that runs your car runs through pipes. The heat that makes your office and home warm—pipes!

      “So next time some granola-crunching, self-righteous know-it-all tells you you’re in the wrong business, that you’re just salesmen and managers, you tell them that you’re what keeps civilization civilized. Tell them you make and lay the keystone in the architecture of our modern world. Our economy without pipes would be like a human body with no arteries or veins. Dead! So, say I’m proud because my business is pipes!”

      The audience went wild. The old man was an inspiration, all right. No wonder he’d built Superior Pipes into such a successful enterprise, they told one another. He acknowledged their hysterical applause with a brief salute and then turned and left the room. Smiling and nodding, he made his way through a gaggle of wannabe winners vying for his attention, spinning in his wake and babbling to themselves. He had no time for them. He experienced an annoying moment of guilt. He’d read in an airline magazine about CEOs who make themselves available to their employees. He shrugged off the feeling of guilt quickly. Winning, he told himself, is not about playing Mr. Nice.

      Orin Bender left the Regency and climbed into the back seat of his company SUV, a silver monster big enough to house a small bar, a laptop station, and a flat screen television. He reached into his valise for a cell phone he only used on special projects. He speed-dialed a number and shut the divider between him and his driver so he could speak in privacy.

      “Nole, is that you? Orin here. I have an assignment for you.”

       Chapter 5

      Elias Buchman was surprised to see Otis Dooley at his door. The two were friends long ago when they were boatmen for a river-guiding outfit in Utah. River rats. Three seasons a year for three years they took tourists on week-long adventures down the Green and Colorado. Then Otis applied to vocational school to get his plumber’s license and Elias left for graduate school in journalism. Otis had worked with his dad who was a plumber and figured he was already halfway there. And you could move anywhere and find work because plumbing was ubiquitous and could be counted on to rust, clog, and leak. Elias took the academic route because he hoped that if he could explain a crazy world to others, he might understand it himself.

      Otis moved to Stony Mesa twenty years before Elias arrived. They hadn’t seen or heard from each other longer than that. Although they had renewed their friendship after Elias and his wife Grace retired to Stony Mesa, they were not close. Otis thought Elias had changed and was not so easy to be around, but he thought highly of Grace, who had retired from a career as a nurse to become a massage therapist. Grace laughed easily and Otis felt calm in her presence. She could teach yoga, ride a horse, and was a gourmet cook. She was lean and looked much younger than her years. Otis thought Elias was the luckiest dog on the planet. He was even a bit jealous. Otis had almost married twice after long courtships that ended when both women decided that although Otis was both likeable and good, they could do better. When asked why he was still alone in his middle age he just shrugged and said he wasn’t the marrying kind.

      Elias didn’t drink. It wasn’t a moral thing but a health thing. The wine he once loved now split his head, even one glass of red. Beer could give him dizzy spells the next day. He’d never had much of a taste for hard liquor but in the last few years it made him feel like he was poisoned. It was hard to conduct a social relationship with his old river-running buddy Otis if drinking wasn’t your thing, because drinking was Otis’s thing. Nevertheless he thought highly of Otis and admired him for stepping up and being the mayor.

      Elias noticed that the mayor had