Page 9 of Running to the Mountain Man

This young man is a buffoon.

I blink at him, suddenly thinking I should keep my mouth shut.

I watch him examine the body from a distance, snapping pictures with his phone and scribbling in a notepad.

“Aren’t you going to call the forensics? Homicide?”

The deputy chuckles. “A homicide unit. Where do you think you are? Billings?”

“Are you serious?” I ask.

“Serious as a doornail.”

That makes no sense, but I don’t respond. If I do open my mouth too much, I’m afraid I’ll get all riled up and punch this moron in the throat.

I stand there with my arms crossed, watching him text someone on his phone.

“Pretty sure you call in the FBI if you don’t have a unit to handle this. And depending on where he was shot and where the body was dumped, a crime could have occurred on Native land.”

Deputy Mark, all of 24 years old, shoots me a condescending look. “Are you in law enforcement?”

I don’t answer. He doesn’t need to know dick about me.

“Didn’t think so. I suggest you be on your way, Boy Scout, and let me do my job investigating this hunting accident.”

Hunting accident?

Instead, I park my ass back on the fallen log and wait. I don’t know what it is about this guy, but I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him.

“You’re now interfering with a police investigation by loitering.”

If this guy decides to book me, I plan to smile in my mug shot. “Don’t you need a statement from me, the guy who found that poor son of a bitch?”

Suddenly, three more units come wailing down the gravel road and pull over at the trailhead.

An older officer gets out, slams her driver’s door, and shouts, “Deputy, why the hell is this not roped off yet?”

Sure wish I had some soda and popcorn instead of homemade trail mix while I watch the shitshow.

After a thorough dressing down, the sergeant turns to me and takes a statement.

We exchange contact information in case she has more questions later.

I shake her hand. “I’ll be in touch if I see anything suspicious.”

“We appreciate that.” She turns to Mark in a commanding tone. “Deputy, you’re dismissed. Please give this man a ride back to his house. It’s too dark to hike back to wherever he came from.”

The last thing I want is to spend another minute with that dude, but I will enjoy the fact that his sergeant put him in his place.

Despite this guy’s running commentary, I say nothing on the drive back up Windgrave Mountain.

“Bet your wife is wondering where you are.”

Silence.

“You must be one of those rich Hollywood guys buying up land in Montana like it’s your personal playground.”

Again, silence.

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