Foreign Deceit

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“What? Why you stopping?” Connell yelled from below, making his way up the rocky slope.

“I think I found something,” Wolf said, wiping his forehead-sweat with his uniform sleeve. He plopped his buffalo felt Stetson back on his head and looked again to the forty foot sheer cliff immediately to his right. He looked down the trail to Connell who was hiking toward him like a muscle bound mountain goat.

He decided a change of position was definitely in order. Any other officer, and he wouldn’t think twice. But this wasn’t any other officer.

Wolf walked the ten feet to the tree line, and to the oval discoloration in the rocky soil he’d spotted a few seconds earlier. Only after stepping over it and turning towards Connell’s approaching scrapes and grunts did he bend down to study his find.

Connell charged over the rise to the granite shelf. “What? What the hell do you think you found now?” He sucked in air through his clenched teeth and hocked a spit off the cliff edge. “Fuckin’ Hardy Boy.” Sergeant Derek Connell’s chest rose with alternating flexed pectorals. His thick arms slapped on his hips, threatening to rip the tight sleeves of his brown uniform shirt.

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