Peter H. Cropes

Dimitri and the boy's papa looked at each other. Even though the papa was guilty of hiding evidence, he had good country charm, and that went a long way. Soon he and Dimitri were spinning yarns and telling tales out of school. It turned out that Dimitri had known about the lake from a while back.

From the bushes, an unseen eye watched them. They did not notice when the hidden figure darted off. Was it Eustace Dobbs?

His old pick-up truck's winch pulled the state trooper's car out of the deep, muddy lake. Mud squished between his toes. There was no dead body in the car, or in the trunk. He released the car and let it sink back into the muck. He did not want trouble.

Dimitri Warnock had been on a long tour and wanted to do some simple fishing. He came into the clearing just as the last bubble from the state trooper's sinking car popped.

The men looked at each other. Not a lot of people knew about this lake.

The bobber sat in the water on top of the lake. It suddenly began to jerk, and the small boy reeled in his fish. Only, it was not a fish. It was the hat of a state trooper. He went home later and showed it to his papa, who knew that something was not right.

Dimitri was flying down the country lane. Corn plants were on either side of him. They were blurred, he went so fast.

Suddenly, he ran over a body.

Thump-thump.

Dimitri knew better than to go back and see what was going on. Often times such a situation is a trap where a body is thrown into the road and you run over it, then when you go back a third person kills you.

He threw up a big rooster tail of dust and went tearing down the lane. Soon he had arrived at his cousin's house and they ate corn bread and spicy stew.

"How was your concert," said his cousin.

"It was good," said Dimitri. "Thank you for the food."

Meanwhile, on the country lane, an unseen hand pulled the body slowly back into the corn plants.

Dimitri Warnock was a famous guitar player. He finished his concert at the saloon and got onto his motorcycle as the fans came around him to say praises. Laughing thankfully, he rode off into the distance. One of the fans, Eustace K. Dobbs, looked perhaps too strongly at him as he rode off.

He went onto the country road where his cousin lived. It was far out into the country. He began to rev the bike up fast, then too fast. Soon he was going way too fast. He was going to stay with his cousin, and he was Hell Bent.

The flies were real bad that year. I remember it. They were the size of grapes.

The policeman rolled along in his car, through the fields. His car went fast, then faster. Too fast. Suddenly he ran over a body.