Blood Atonement
by Jim Tenuto
Summary
Funny, sharp, gritty Dahlgren Wallace is a Montana fly-fishing guide caught in a nasty war over land and history. A former college football star, a veteran of the first Gulf War, a former member of the Marine Corps’ elite Force Recon, he thought he had put the world of intrigue and special forces behind him. When his boss’s latest guest is bludgeoned to death, Dahlgren is immediately suspected of the crime. In an effort to defend himself, he must resort to the skills he learned in Special Ops--skills he hoped he’d never need again.
Excerpt
I neared a moment of perfection. My definition of perfection involves moving water, solitude, a fly rod, a dry fly, and a trout. Building new memories to replace the old. The slow-moving water of the spring creek was icy, stained a peat green. No other angler spoiled the morning. The bamboo fly rod was one of my favorites a Granger Victory half a century old…. I had tied the fly myself. An Adams. The one fly to carry if you carry only one fly.
The trout fed steadily, rising to take insects from the water. A trophy trout. Not the fish of a lifetime, but close. Two feet long, fat and healthy.
On my first cast the fly drifted over the trout. The fish rose, taking another natural, and this time the rise was flashy. I picked my fly and line from the water and made another cast. Again the presentation was classic, textbook. The fly dropped softly into the feeding lane and again it drifted drag free past the trout.
The third cast brought me incrementally closer to that moment of perfection. This time I cast the fly so that it dropped nearly on the trout’s head. This would produce one of two results. Either I would put the fish down or the trout would take the fly in an instant, an instinctive feeding response.
The trout took the fly.
The beeper in my pocket vibrated and buzzed and perfection crumbled.
The trout was off.
There was never any question about who had called. The telephone numbers might be different, I could find myself returning the summons to just about anywhere in the world, but Fred Lather always waited always impatiently, at the end of the line. When Fred called, I jumped. Reluctantly, but I jumped.
I reeled in the line, attached the fly to the hook minder near the cork handle of the old rod, and waded to shore. With some effort I pulled my boots from the silted shallow water near the creek’s bank and clouds of silt, iridescent in the sunlight, drifted downstream. Cradling the rod under my arm, I dug my right hand into my waders and fumbled around until I found y right pants pocket. Fred, of course. The display flashed his number at the Carved L Ranch, followed by his emergency code.
“Where the hell are you?” Fred asked without preamble.
“Standing in a phone booth,” I answered. “Near Armstrong’s.”
“Didn’t you see the emergency code on the page?”
“Yes, I did. What I didn’t see were any phome booths on the creek.”
“Change of plans,” he said. “Need you back at the ranch like right now.”
As I drove into the courtyard in front of the ranch house, Fred was pacing on the lawn, gnawing on a cigar. He walked over to my truck.
“You look like shit,” Fred said. “In fact, I would go so far as to say you look like hammered shit.”
Reviews
"Hooked from the very first sentence, the reader is caught and held until the very end"--ForeWord Magazine
"Suspenseful and satirical and laugh-out-loud funny"--William G. Tappley
"A full-bodied, multidimensional hero with a believable, detail-rich story….A strong debut that may make a fine series"--Bookli
Author's Biography
Jim Tenuto is a 1975 graduate of the United Sates Naval Academy. His short fiction has appeared in Gray’s Sporting Journal, California Fly Fisher, and Sporting Classics. He is at work on the second Dahlgren Wallace mystery.