The man was driving south on 191 while the police station began to rot miles north. He was on his way to Monticello in San Juan County. He got there in about an hour and stopped at his brother's house. He had about 24 hours. The news wouldn't broadcast the shootings till then. In the back of his mind, he figured that the Sheriff didn't even know yet.
"Hey brother," the man's brother pulled him through the crowded house. It was a mid-day-lets-get-drunk-and
"Hey, can I stay her for the night?"
And he stayed there for the night and got up before five in the morning and left before his brother knew. The news about the shooting came on the radio around seven. He listened to it closely, now heading for Winslow in Navajo County, Arizona. He thought about staying in La Posada.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Sheriff walked into the station. He carefully made his way past the prone bodies, the floor stained with blood and still wet. He bent down over the chief's body and took the hat from off his face. His eyes were both shot out -- point blank.
The Sheriff couldn't stand looking so he looked down, but the blood on the floor nauseated him, so he looked up. And on the ceiling was blood, painted into large letters: "You started this."
The Sheriff slammed the front door open and emerged into the arid exterior of the police station. An officer was standing near his cruiser.
"Son, get on the road and head south."
"Where you goin', Sheriff?"
"I'm gonna go get Barnes and get some God damned people over here."
The two drove off in opposite directions.
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