My hotbed mess of blog fiction continues...
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DARKENING
STURGEONS
Chapter Thirteen
by John L. Harmon
Chief
Deputy Clyde Woodhouse sits in a generic grey car, with POLICE painted on its
sides. His hazel eyes are alert and
focused on the white van and the entrance to Gordon’s bar. This particular street is empty, but a
more-than-dull roar can be heard in the distance. The sound of vehicles and people…the
vibration of fleeing humanity.
He
shudders, thinking about everything as he fiddles with the turning signal
switch. It would be easy to join the mob
and get the hell out of Sturgeons, but there are too many questions that need
answering. One of which he may have a
personal stake in. This is something he
should discuss with Ben, but hasn’t figured out how to broach the subject.
As the
Sheriff enters the Chief Deputy’s thoughts, he emerges from a nearby
alleyway. Walking slowly, but steadily,
Ben’s physical appearance is initially lost on Clyde. He is simply blinded by relief that his
superior made it through the hotbed mess of Sturgeons apparently unscathed.
Apparently.
Exiting
the generic gray car, Clyde Woodhouse is, for the first time, stunned
motionless. No fiddling or fidgeting occurs
as he sees that the Sheriff is far from unscathed.
His slacks
are dirty and ragged, while his shirt is untucked and ripped on one side. Dirt is smeared on his grim face, giving
texture to the blood from a gash near his left eye. Benjamin Straker has seen better days.
Upon
leaving Headquarters and realizing the SUV was blocked in, Ben was confronted
with the scared and ill-tempered citizens of Sturgeons. They hollered at him. They cursed him. They illogically blamed him for Bob Kinney,
Tommy Schroder, Bertha Waterbottom, and a few other disappearances, including
Gordon, that had not been officially reported.
Even after
cutting through the initial street madness, Ben had to dive out of the way of
several missile-like motorcycles. Then
as an act of final indignity, for all involved, Tommy’s father and a group of
men followed him from the vehicular bedlam, itching for old-fashioned justice. Ben was forced to knock out two of them and
restrain Mr. Schroder with wrist straps before Mrs. Schroder showed up,
stopping the bare-knuckled fight before it escalated beyond control…beyond fists.
Yet,
despite his ransacked appearance, the beige hat of Lawrence sits proudly upon
his head. This one seemingly small
detail lets Chief Deputy Clyde Woodhouse know that Sheriff Benjamin Straker is
not down for the count and there is no need to press for details.
The two
men exchange silent nods as Ben comes to a stop beside the hood of generic
gray. He gives a glance to the large
white van in front of Gordon’s bar.
“Inconspicuous is not their strong suit.”
“No, it
sure isn’t,” Clyde agrees with a breathless chuckle.
Ben
reaches a raw-knuckled hand up to adjust the beige. “Are you ready to find out who they are and
what they know?”
“Ready as
ever.”
The law
enforcement duo maneuver across the street and down half a block. Ben gives Clyde a firm look as they reach the
bar entrance. Before either can react,
the door suddenly swings open and they come face to face with the scientific
duo.
“We’ve
been expecting you…” Christine, the yellow-blond woman, begins and then looks
down upon the shorter man, “…Clyde.”
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JLH
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