By James Lee Burke

From James Lee Burke, referred to as "America's most sensible novelist" by means of The Denver submit, comes a new e-short a few younger man's stumble upon with the notorious Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow—a tale that turns into the 1st bankruptcy in Burke's upcoming novel Wayfaring Stranger.

Sixteen-year-old Weldon Holland has needed to develop up speedy as he attempts to aid his relatives within the aftermath of the rural catastrophe of the airborne dirt and dust Bowl.

One evening, a carload of strangers seems to be at the Hollands' estate, sporting the air of incipient probability beneath a veneer of pleasantries. Weldon unearths himself inexplicably attracted to the gang of trespassing vagabonds—who, regardless of being camped out on a hidden riverbank in the midst of nowhere, force the most costly vehicle that Weldon has ever visible.

In the insufferable, rainless warmth of a dirt Bowl summer time, Weldon will locate himself combined up in an come across with the notorious financial institution robbers Bonnie and Clyde—an stumble upon that alterations the process Weldon's life...and heritage itself.

Rich with legal and social historical past of the yank West and a tender boy's fight to turn into a guy, "A airborne dirt and dust Bowl story of Bonnie and Clyde" is simply the start of Weldon Holland's tale.

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Additional info for A Dust Bowl Tale of Bonnie and Clyde (A Short Story)

Sample text

Laura looked towards the voice. It was a young officer she had never met. She looked back to the scene ahead. She could see the photographer getting busy around the bloodstains, a compass on the floor, with a ruler setting the scene for scale. The long-range shots had already been taken, the tourist snaps, a collection of views along a trendy London street. Now he was down to the money shots, the stained pavement under a green awning. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ’ They ducked under the crime-scene tape.

Laura nodded. ’ There were two people, a male and a female, both smart in suits. Except that one had a pool of blood around his head, gravity doing the job that the heart had stopped doing, and the other hadn’t moved for some time, despite the open eyes. ’ he said, looking back into the room. ’ Laura peered into the gloom, tried to see the detail of the scene at the other end of the room. ’ Tom looked back into the room and then looked down. ‘Shit. Three murders in one afternoon. ’ Laura sighed to herself.

I hang around police bars and pick up the gossip, the rumours. Sometimes I get enough to write something big, maybe bring down a name or two, backed up by leaked documents and unnamed police sources. Most nights, though, I chase drug raids and hit and runs. Dawn over the rooftops is my rush hour, blue and clean, as I condense a night of grime into short columns, each one sent to the big London dailies. Some of the stories might make the second edition, but most make the next day’s paper, so I spend the mornings chasing updates.

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