Spirit Walk. Jay Treiber
Читать онлайн.| Название | Spirit Walk |
|---|---|
| Автор произведения | Jay Treiber |
| Жанр | Вестерны |
| Серия | |
| Издательство | Вестерны |
| Год выпуска | 0 |
| isbn | 9781937226329 |
PRAISE FOR SPIRIT WALK
“A thrilling and elegantly wrought debut about the far-reaching effects of our decisions, and our irrepressible desire to undo the worst of them. Treiber is a writer of enormous talents, and Spirit Walk will leave you breathless until the final page.”
—JONATHAN EVISON, author of The Revised Fundamentals of Caregiving and West of Here
“At once gritty and lyrical, Spirit Walk is a haunting tale of the modern American West. Out of the explosive violence, hard living, and stark beauty of the Arizona borderlands, Jay Treiber has woven a gripping story of remembrance and redemption, beautifully painting the place and giving voice to its people. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
—JENNIFER CARRELL, author of Haunt Me Still and Interred with Their Bones
“There’s a wonderful sense of authenticity and place here, as well as a credible and engaging set of characters. It’s a book that on one level is a strong page-turner, with a plot that takes us into a trip of discovery as the best of mysteries do, but also explores in good Faulknerian fashion the burden of guilt and pain that discovery of the truths about the past brings with it. Add to that just a taste of Tony Hillerman’s recognition of the other kinds of mystery that always hang over the Southwest’s past (and present), and Jay Treiber has given us a rich, well written, multi-layered book to satisfy wide reading appetites.”
—ROBERT HOUSTON, author of Bisbee 17
“The borderland setting of Spirit Walk only appears empty. This landscape is inhabited by commingled cultures, crisscrossed jurisdictions, and colliding values—where a rancher wouldn’t leave a bottle cap, traffickers litter bodies. Depicting an episode of violence as confounding in memory as the day it erupted, Jay Treiber shows the corrosive costs of the drug trade—and of burying the past. In the vein of Philip Caputo’s Crossers.”
—CHARLIE QUIMBY, author of Monument Road
First Torrey House Press Edition, May 2014
Copyright © 2014 by Jay Treiber
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form or by any means without the written consent of the publisher.
Published by Torrey House Press, LLC
Salt Lake City, Utah
ISBN eBook: 978-1-937226-32-9
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014930122
Author photo by Egnecia Stafford
Cover and interior design by Rick Whipple, Sky Island Studio
Spirit Walk
by Jay Treiber
In dedication
to the memory
of my father,
Tom Treiber
1940 - 2004
Contents
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
A hoarse wind had piled up from the south and by afternoon blew strong enough to make the wires on that particular stretch of fence hum. Kevin noted their faint music as he looked down at the kid, maybe half an hour dead, his jacket sleeves tangled in the barbs as if he had tried to climb his way out of oncoming death. The boy’s hazel eyes had clouded, and with his slack body hanging from the strands, he appeared for all the world like a scarecrow on permanent vigil over his charge of jack wood and cedar trees. His hat had fallen to the wayside, and a lock of his sand colored hair lifted with the late fall breeze. The neck wound had emptied down the front of his shirt, the blood gone tacky and smelling, Kevin thought, the same way an old penny tastes on the tongue.
A tapping noise lifted Kevin away from the grip of that long-ago moment. He turned his head to find Julie, the student aid, rapping lightly on the doorframe to his office. “Dr. McNally?” she said, smiling. “Are you okay?”
He pushed his fingers