Wynne grinned at the sight of Senior Deputy Mandy Jalinski's compact, athletic frame moving across the street in her customary stride. Blackie let out another bark that was much closer to a happy woof than the first one had been. The German Shepherd hopped off the bench and ran out to intercept her other owner who rewarded her by scratching the furry ears at once.

"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Lowe?" Mandy said in her patented Voice Of Authority.

Trent Lowe grunted and whipped off the ridiculous paper hat that he was required to wear according to the uniform code set up in the franchise contracts. "I was merely questioning why Miss Donohue failed to show up for work tonight. That's all, really."

"Miss Donohue?" Mandy said, turning to Wynne.

Wynne understood she was talking to the senior deputy of Goldsboro rather than her partner, so she acted as professionally as she could. "It wus jus' a dumb-ass mis'estimate on mah part, De-per-ty. Ah fergot that there tih-me 'cos me an' Mista Warrin'ton he'… aw, he be workin' fer that there lawyer-fella Mista Ma'kinney who done handles mah aunt's testament an' all… well, anyhows, he needed ta talk ta me 'bout som'tin im-pahr-tant. An' Ah fergot that there tih-me. Wussen aneh mo' than that, no Ma'am."

"I accept the explanation and the apology," Trent Lowe said, "but like I just told Miss Donohue, I'm not going to pay her since she didn't show up tonight."

Mandy nodded thoughtfully. "I see. Sounds fair enough. Won't you agree, Miss Donohue?"

"Why, Ah cert'inleh do, De-per-ty," Wynne said and looked at the three people who had gathered near her. "Lawrdie, there jus' be one, li'l thing mo' ta all this he' bizzness… Mista Warrin'ton… that there figger y'all done men-shunned ta me a while ago… fer them rare coins an' all that… wus that figger real?  An' do Ah realleh, realleh got a say in what gonn' happen ta them greenbacks?"

Seymour Warrington nodded. "The fund is in your name, Miss Donohue. It's yours. All of it. Oh, and don't forget the check."

"Haw, Ah almost did ferget 'bout that," Wynne said and looked at the second envelope that contained the five thousand dollars. "Yuh… Mista Lowe?"

The owner of the takeout parlor was getting more than a little confused by the curious conversation; a fact that was reflected by the puzzled expression he wore when he looked at Wynne rather than at the man in black. "Yes, Miss Donohue?"

"Ah be quittin' the chickie bizz. As o' right this he' minute. Yessir."

While Trent's mouth fell open in surprise, Mandy narrowed her eyes in an almost comical fashion. She stared at the man in black for several long moments before her eyes returned to Wynne's grinning face. "Wynne… are you sure about this?"

"Haw!  Ah ain't nevah been mo' sure 'bout nuttin' in mah entiah lih-fe, De-per-ty!  Yuh, Ah be quittin' that there chickie-gig 'cos Ah got som'tin fahr, fahr bettah lih-ned up now. Yessir. Mista Lowe, it wus nice workin' fer ya, but life goes on, yuh?" As she spoke, she thrust out her hand for the classic greeting.

After shaking Wynne's hand out of reflex, Trent Lowe continued to stand there without knowing what to do. "Ah… ah… well… but…" he said in a croak.

"Aw, it ain't nuttin' personal or nuttin'. I'mma-gonn' keep buyin' them great chickie-dees from ya an' all. Ah jus' got bettah things ta do now," Wynne said and rose from the bench.

Trent looked wide-eyed at each individual close to him before he broke out in a shrug and turned around to get back to the takeout parlor. As he shuffled across the street, he mumbled: "Nelson's gonna kill me… now we have to go through those moronic job interviews again…"

Blackie moved over to her owner, sat down and looked up at the denim-clad legs of the Last Original Cowpoke. She understood something important had happened, but she was still unsure of the details; in any case, she couldn't wait to get her golden-furred companion up to date when they returned home.

Mandy shook her head - there was always something weird going on in Goldsboro in general and around Wynne Donohue in particular. Although she wanted nothing more than to dig into what had just happened, she had so much paperwork on her desk that she couldn't allow herself any time away from it. "We'll talk later, Miss Donohue. At length!"

"Haw, y'all can bet a bunch we's gonn' talk," Wynne said sporting an impossibly wide grin. "Mercy Sakes, there gonn' be a whoooooole lotta talkin' in our neah fu-chure 'cos we's 'bout ta be rih-din' a big-ass fiahcrackah headed fer the skah!  Aw!  An' if y'all hear one helluva cheer in 'bout two minutes or so, it ain't no cause fer concern or nuttin'… it jus' be folks cheerin' and celebratin' at Moira's. Yuh?"

"Very well. Please come over to the office before you drive home, Miss Donohue. Goodbye, Mr. Warrington," Mandy said before she strode back to the sheriff's office.

"Ain't she som'tin?  Yessir, that there Seniah De-per-ty Sheriff sure be som'tin… an' then some," Wynne said with a grin. "Why, I sure be thankin' ya, Mista Warrin'ton. I sure am sorry I done ran away from ya an' all. Lawrdie, ta think this he' could all ha' been fixed eahliah… but anyhows. That's how the dung lands, yuh?" she continued as she stuck out her hand for the traditional farewell greeting.

Seymour Warrington nodded slowly like he hadn't understood more than half of what Wynne had just said. "Ah… yes. Thank you, Miss Donohue. It was my pleasure," he said as he shook Wynne's hand.

---

Once Wynne had waved goodbye to the man in black as he drove off in his dusty Lincoln SUV, she crouched down to give Blackie a good fur-rubbing. "Girl, things gonn' be different from now on fer all of us. I sure hope I ain't gonn' be like them there newleh rich folks we see on them there realiteh teevee shows, yuh?  Ya know, like gettin' a gold-plated showah head in our trailah or seventeen Cadillacs parked outside or som'tin… naw, I ain't got no need fer none o' that bulldung. What I do need is ta pampah mah sweet, li'l de-per-ty an' mah ba-yoo-taful furry girls. Yessir, Blackie, y'all an' Goldie gonn' be so dang-blasted spoiled from now on y'all gonn' be the envy o' all dawggies ev'rehwhere… hell, that there Lassie gal ain't gonn' have nuttin' on ya, an' y'all can take that ta the bank, yessir!"

Woof!

"Yuh-yuh, like I jus' tole ya!" Wynne said and broke out in a grin. Getting to her feet, she patted her thigh and pointed at the door to Moira's Bar & Grill. "C'mon, dawggie… les'go tell ol' Ernie an' the Rev'rend 'bout this he' ca-razeh-assed thing that jus' done happened. Haw!  Haw, I jus' had theee best ideah since, lih-ke… evah!"

Woof…?

"Yuh, I sure did!  Lissen ta this… we's gonn' arrange the biggest, baddest, bestest batchellahr parteh fer ol' Ernie that anehbodda evah done saw in this he' weird an' wacky wohhh-rld. Yessir!  Betcha ten bucks they ain't gonn' bah-lieve a wohrd I be about ta tell 'em!"

*
*
CHAPTER 7

Twelve days later: Election day (and the day of Ernie's grand-scale bachelor party.)

Goldsboro's Main Street saw more life than it had in the previous four months put together - more honking, more shouting, more exhaust fumes and above all more people who had flocked to town to have a say in the community's future by casting their vote in the sheriff's election.

The traffic suddenly came to a stop as everyone stared at a tall, dark-haired woman strolling up the sidewalk to get to the movie theater where the voting was to take place. She was dressed in white cowboy boots and a white Western suit that featured brass buttons and golden stitching. She wore white gloves, a scarlet ascot and finally a bright-white, ten-gallon Stetson where the center of the crown reached so high above the woman's head that she would need to bend over to enter any of the stores along the street. She had a puppy-dog on a leash, and the little, black, furry thing yapped loudly at everything and everyone they walked past.

One of the people the spectacular dame went past was Wynne Donohue. Never one for too much change despite the recent hefty addition to her bank account, the Last Original Cowpoke wore her good, old combination of decorated cowboy boots, faded blue-jeans and a black sweatshirt sporting the letters RCR #3 2018 Daytona 500 Victory in white and the appropriate font. Her classic denim jacket featured just as many brass buttons as that worn by the fancy dresser, and her beloved, battered and sweat-stained low-crowned cowboy hat was at least as cool as the ten-gallon version. "Lawwwwwwwwwr-die… wouldya lookie there… haw, good shit almi'ty, that there ladeh sure wussen born undah no dull star, nosirree," she said as she - and everyone else - stared wide-eyed at the impressive woman strolling along the sidewalk.

Resting on the flagstones, Blackie and Goldie lay side by side while they waited for something interesting to happen. They had tried to say hello to the young pup but had only gotten a petulant yap in return - Blackie made a mental note of it for future reference; Goldie couldn't care less about petulant pups so she had already forgotten all about it.

Ernie Bradberry stood next to Wynne with the ubiquitous can of beer in his hand. They had lined up outside the sheriff's office while Mandy finished up her work so she could come with them up to the movie theater. He let out a chuckle at not only the spectacle but at Wynne's comments as well. "Yeah. Y'know, I was kinda expectin' you to dress up like that now," he said before he drained the last of the Dark Lager.

"Lawrdie, I sure do hope y'all be kiddin' there… li'l ol' me, wearin' som'tin like that?  Haw, nosirree. I ain't no Rhinestone Cowboy. Or cowgirl or whatevah. This he' woman be the real deal, Mista Ernie Bradberrah. The Last Oh-ree-gee-nal Cowpoah-ke," Wynne said and thumped an index finger into her chest. She continued in a slightly less blustery mumble: "O' course, without any o' them there hosses or cows or poop-machine sheep or whatevah if I can help it… but that's a whole 'nother storeh."

Ernie chuckled into his walrus mustache; when Wynne narrowed her eyes and sent him a dark glare, he put up his hands in defeat - a moment later, he reached into one his hunting vest's deep pockets to swap the empty can for an H.E. Fenwyck 1910 Special Brew.

"But I sure ain't no misah, neithah," Wynne said and glanced down at the two dogs. Blackie and Goldie wore the second-most visible evidence of Wynne's new status as the richest individual of independent wealth in all of MacLean County: a pair of top-of-the-line leather collars guaranteed never to chafe, choke or otherwise hinder the dogs wearing it. The collars were equipped with GPS-markers so they could be traced in case the girls would become lost, and there was even a function for transmitting audio signals so Wynne could - in theory at least - command them to do something from miles away.

If the collars were the second-most visible items, the number one on that particular hit list was parked at the curb outside the sheriff's office. The leased truck had been returned to the Bang 'n Beatin' Body Shop all shiny after a thorough hose-down and a two-hour buff-job. In its stead, Wynne's friend Cletus Browne had organized a special, express delivery of a brand-new, hot-off-the-assembly-line Chevrolet Silverado Trail Boss Midnight Edition with a 379 cubic-inch V8 and equipped with every single option offered by the factory.

The chrome and brightwork had all been blacked out save for the bow tie in the center of the grille - that emblem had kept its original golden appearance. The truck had been painted a special shade of shiny black before gray foil stripes had been added to the lowest parts of the doors and the section leading to the rear wheels. Large, white foil letters attached to the flanks on either side of the eight-foot long, super-sized bed proclaimed it to be Wynne's Truck. Instead of racing numbers on the doors - she didn't want to get in trouble by accidentally breaking any copyrights - a pair of stylized, forward-leaning 'W' had been added where the numbers were on the official Nascar race trucks.

Such a marvel of modern super-technology was pure eye candy, but Wynne had wanted something for the heart and soul as well so she had bought a tired, old 1979 Chevrolet K10 clunker for hardly anything at all. Cletus Browne was just happy to get rid of the old piece of junk so he would have room on the lot for something less embarrassing.

The new, old K10 was identical to her very first truck. It had been the one she had driven from Shallow Pond to Goldsboro all those years ago, and it had been the one the space aliens had destroyed in the desert the evening she had met Mandy for the first time.

She had already been on her back underneath her new, old truck tinkering away with a screwdriver, a spanner, an oily rag and a wide grin of raw nostalgia plastered all over her face next to a few oil smears - a cooler box filled with beer cans was obviously within easy reach. She had even bought a forty-dollar workshop rolling board of her own so she didn't have to borrow Diego Benitez' all the time.

"You know what I reckon?" Ernie said which made Wynne snap back to the present, "I reckon the Town Council folks have fallen off their damn rockin' chairs even holdin' this election… first of all, why the hell didn't they just give that damn title to Mandy?  She's been the actin' sheriff since nasty, ol' Rains was kicked out."

"Heah, heah!" Wynne said with a grin; her friend's can of beer looked so good she decided to join him by reaching into her jacket's pocket and producing a Double Zero of her own. Out of sheer beer-deprivation, she and Ernie had been on the brink of setting up a duck blind outside Grant Lafferty's liquor store so they could intercept the next delivery truck from the H.E. Fenwyck Brewing Co. when it arrived. Fortunately for everyone involved, the truck had been early so all the beer-related dramas had been swept away on a tide of white suds and golden brew.

Ernie nodded and drained his beer. "Yeah. And then we have that Todd Andrews fella… a nice guy, I'm sure. His wife's a knockout. But they ain't locals, Wynne, and that's never gonna fly with this crowd."

"I be agreein' wi'cha, buddy. Yuh."

"Yeah," Ernie said and put the empty can into the other pocket of his hunting vest. He reached for another beer at once but changed his mind before his fingers could wrap themselves around a new can. "But I will say it's kinda fun to hold the actual votin' in the movie theater… gives it a big-occasion kinda feel. Have you ever been back there after you were-"

"Naw," Wynne said decisively. Years earlier, she had worked as a popcorn-seller and ticket-puncher for the grand total of a day and a half before she had been fired for spending too little time selling popcorn and too much time saying Howdy, Whassup and Lookin' Fih-ne to the people there to see a movie. She had been ecstatic to learn that a movie theater would finally open in Goldsboro, and even more so when they advertised they would be showing all the classics like John Wayne's best and even a Burt Reynolds cavalcade, but it had all turned sour in an instant when she had been fired. She had sworn never to return, and since she was a woman of her word, she never had - until now.

Mandy was finally able to wrest herself away from the work to join Wynne and the others on the sidewalk. Blackie and Goldie jumped up and began to yap when the senior deputy stepped outside and immediately scratched their fur. "What a circus… reminds me of the Strip in Vegas," she said as she looked at the extraordinary amount of activity all along Main Street.

To fit the occasion, she wore her full, dark-gray uniform and had polished her boots to within an inch of their lives. Her pants featured razor-sharp creases, her service firearm had been stripped, cleaned and oiled, her Mountie hat had been brushed and she even wore her ribbons and other commendations she had received over the years - she usually kept the colorful ribbons in a padded box in her closet, but the day was so important they were in full view on her shirt. The letter of resignation she had written in case of a defeat was safely tucked away in her rear pocket.

"Yuh, that sure ain't no lie… c'mon, de-per-ty, les'go up there an' vote in this he' elec-shun. Giddy-up, dawggies!  We be headin' fer that there votin' place, yessirree!" Wynne said and patted her thigh. Once she had Blackie and Goldie's attention, she pointed further up Main Street - the dogs got up at once and took off in a medium-fast stroll.

---

The movie theater was all abuzz by the time they got there. The sidewalk was swarming with voters who all had to wait outside until they were let in in groups. Mary-Lou Skinner and the rest of the Goldsboro Town Council had set up the election in accordance with the latest rules and regulations on such things:

The voters were to be led into the movie theater's lobby in groups of fifteen. From there, the members of the Town Council - who couldn't vote - would usher people in one by one. The voters would first go to a small section of the main theater room itself where they were required to show a valid ID. Then they would receive a small piece of paper listing the two candidates next to open squares. Once the voters had the voting paper, they would be led to a cordoned-off polling booth where they were to put down their X at their favored candidate. After that, they were to fold the voting paper in a predetermined fashion along the dotted line at the center so nobody could see the vote they had cast. Then, they had to slide the folded-up piece of paper into a slot on a ballot box that had been placed at the fire escape doors on the far side of the main theater room. Once the voters were at that point, they were to leave the movie theater in an unhurried but decisive fashion so they couldn't influence other voters by shouting names or even threats if it came to that.

All these instructions had been printed on a enormous sheet of paper that had been sticky-taped onto the movie theater's glass entrance. Wynne stared and stared and stared and stared and stared at the confusing torrent of information with eyes that had grown as wide as saucers. She eventually pushed her hat back to have room to scratch her forehead. "Hooooah-leh shittt!  How's this dang-blasted thing evah gonn' work?  Ah ain't sure Ah be undahstandin' none o' this… Ah mean… Whaddindahell?  No wondah them elec-shuns always end up in them courts an' all… Mercy Sakes, Ah bettah keep a real close eye on where Ah put mah X!  Woudden wanna do som'tin stupid or nuttin'…"

"You'll be fine," Mandy said and put a calming hand on Wynne's elbow. They shared a warm look before Wynne broke out in a shrug and a cheesy grin.

Mandy, Wynne, Ernie and the dogs were eventually ushered inside the lobby with twelve other citizens by two of the members of the Town Council: Brandon Moffatt and Bonnie Saunders. The civil servants pretended not to know Mandy to keep a professional distance, but it only earned them an annoyed snort from not only Wynne but both dogs as well.

While they waited for their turn, Wynne studied the various movie posters for the coming attractions. According to her, American popcorn cinema had taken a turn for the worse with all those near-identical superhero movies that had flooded the silver screens for the past decade, so she was pleased to see that most of the upcoming titles were in other genres. "Haw!  The Cruncheh Cookie Capah. 'Animated fun fer the entiah family,' it says on that there mooh-vie postah… I know I done said I wussen evah gonn' return he', but mebbe we could take li'l Reneh Tooleh ta see that one, huh?  Ta give her poo' momma a breathah fer a couple-a hou-ahs."

"That's a good idea, Wynne… I'm sure they'll both like that," Mandy said with a smile. Though she tried to keep a cool exterior, she was unable to hide the concerned look in her eyes. Regardless of Wynne's newfound wealth, so much of their future depended on the outcome of the election; she clenched her jaw and patted the letter in her rear pocket to make sure it was still there.

"Oooooh!  Clap yer eyes on that there neat postah, de-per-ty!  They gonn' be showin' a Westuhrn perdy soon, dontchaknow… Duel at Sundown. Sounds kinda neat an' all… haw, an' lookie there!  Chronicles o' the Empress!  I didden even know somebodda had a made a mooh-vie o' that. I loved that there teevee show when it wus on a couple-a years ago… an' that says a lot 'cos I u-shu-alleh don't watch none o' that there Fanta'seh bizz."

Ernie shuffled over to stand next to Wynne while she was busy studying the colorful poster that depicted the main characters of the Chronicles, Caid Barlin and Empress Bronwyn. "Well, don't bother askin' me to come with ya… all that CGI shit and those things just put me to sleep. The show was based on a series of books so maybe the author wrote a new one."

"Haw!  Izzat a fact?  An' howdahell would y'all know 'bout that, Ernie?  Since when didya read som'tin othah than the labels on them Fenwyck beers?" Wynne said and nudged her elbow into her rotund friend's side - she aimed for his ribs but the cushion of flesh and fat was so thick she never made it all the way in there.

"Bernadine has all four on her bookshelf."

"Awwwww-yuh that would explain it, woudden it?"

Wynne didn't even have time to hear Ernie's reply before Bonnie Saunders ushered her into the main theater hall and gave her the abbreviated version of what she had to do to vote.

---

One minute and thirty-eight seconds later, Wynne had completed her whirlwind voting tour and found herself in the middle of the alley on the far side of the movie theater. "Whaddindahell jus' happened?" she croaked as she reached up to adjust her cowboy hat that had been knocked askew in the frantic rush. "Lawrdie, I didden even ha' tih-me fer a propah look at that there votin' papah or nuttin'!  Mercy Sakes, I sure hope I didden vote fer the wrong candidate or nobodda… naw… naw, it done said Mandy Jalinski where I done put mah X. Yuh. Yuh. Okeh. I hope. Naw, it done said that-"

Before she could complete her monologue, she was joined by Ernie who looked as dazed by the experience as Wynne did. Another minute and a half later, Mandy and the dogs came out of the side door at the fire escape to complete the ensemble - Goldie had her tongue hanging out after all the running to and fro.

"Whoa… that wussen what I expected at all!  Nosirree!" Wynne said and threw out her arms in a shrug. "Wussen like that at the Presiden-shual elec-shun… an' I be perdy sure it wussen like that the las'time nasteh ol' Artie Rains wus up fer re-elec-shun, neithah!"

Ernie let out a dark grunt as the group headed down the alley to get back to Main Street. "It wouldn't surprise me a damn bit if they were all rigged. Rains' wins and the real President's loss," he said in a mumble.

Wynne opened her mouth to complain about the latter half of Ernie's statement, but she let it slide for once - there had to be room for dissenting views between people who considered themselves good buddies. "So… whadda we gonn' do now, then?  Them votes ain't gonn' be counted until eight or so an' we ain't gonn' be hearin' that there result until much latah… right in the dog-gone middle o' ol' Ernie Bradberrah's wondahful batchellahr parteh tanight… yuh? Yuh?" she said and wrapped her arm around her friend's shoulder. "Lookin' forward ta that, 'r ya, Ernie?  Eh?"

"I guess I am, yeah," Ernie said with a grin.

"Y'all bettah be 'cos that there batchellahr parteh gonn' be a wild affair, yessir!  Why, we even gonn' have one o' them there carreh-okeh machines an' all. Lawrdie, we gonn' be cookin' out an' drinkin' beer an' singin' an' eatin' pork chops an' steaks an' frankfurtahs an' hawt sawce an' drinkin' mo' beer an' carryin' on like a bunch-a wanton foo's an' whatnots!"

Blackie and Goldie shared a long look; then they let out identical woofs that meant 'Sounds like we'll be spending all of tomorrow and maybe the day after on our own, then.'

While Mandy looked a little skeptical about the whole thing - and particularly about the bad timing - Ernie just grinned and nodded. He said: "I think I'll head over to Moira's to see if she needs a hand with anythin'. You comin'?"

Wynne was about to say "Hell-yuh," when Mandy stepped in and hooked her arm inside Wynne's: "No, Miss Donohue and I will take a little walk around town. We need a moment to ourselves." She winked up at her partner who grinned in return.

-*-*-*-

The sheriff's office on Main Street echoed with the gross hacking, coughing, sniffling, snorting and spluttering of Barry Simms. The watch desk was filled past capacity with his cigarettes, a mug of steaming-hot camomile tea and a half-eaten Danish that he couldn't swallow because of his sore throat regardless of how yummy it looked.

Beyond those items, there was a leaky ball point pen, a notepad, a crossword magazine, three pencils and an eraser, a comic book he had borrowed from Rodolfo, eight unused and fifteen spent paper tissues and finally an ashtray that was home to four inches of ash, cigarette butts and spent matches - it had been five inches, but the volcanic cone had been reduced by one inch when an unexpected gust of wind had blown the top part onto the desk and down the front of his uniform shirt.

With Mandy off voting and Rodolfo and Don Woodward busy trying to control the traffic that threatened to bring Main Street and Second Street to a standstill, Barry had the office all to himself and that suited him just fine. It wasn't often he was the man in charge of operations, and he was just waiting for the telephone on the watch desk to ring so he could appear heroic for a change.

When something did finally happen, it wasn't the telephone ringing but a young woman opening the door and entering the sheriff's office. In her mid-twenties, the woman was a reddish-blonde with pale-green eyes and a sprinkling of freckles across her cheekbones. She wore regular street clothes in the shape of white basketball boots, olive-green cargo pants of the rugged sort, a dark-tan, double-breasted trekking shirt and an olive-green hunting jacket. Her stance and body language proved she was the fit and athletic type.

A manila folder was stuck under her arm, but she readied it when she moved over to the watch desk. She couldn't help but do a double-take at the decidedly unusual sight of a deputy from the MacLean County Sheriff's Department wearing a baby-blue, knitted scarf wrapped twice around his throat, but she hid it well. "Excuse me, Deputy… My name is Beatrice Reilly. Would you happen to know where I can find Senior Deputy Mandy Jalinski?  I don't have an appointment as such, but I need to speak with her," she said in a voice that didn't hold much of an accent.

"Reilly?  Any relation to Steve Reilly from Wyatt Elliott's hardware store?" Barry said in a broken-up voice that offered a hint he was on the brink of a coughing fit.

"No. I'm from out of town."

"Oh… okay. Well, the Senior Deputy is out-"

From one word to the next, Barry was overwhelmed by a hacking, croaking coughing fit that saw him nearly turning blue around the edges. Thumping his fist into his chest to dislodge whatever it was he was trying to hack up only worsened his sore throat, so he grabbed the mug of camomile tea to compensate.

Unfortunately, he failed to take the tea's lava-like temperature into consideration. The split second his lips, tongue and palate were scorched, he let out a gurgling croak that turned into a spew and a splutter. The knee-jerk reaction sent the entire mouthful down the front of his uniform where it joined forces with the residue from the ashtray to create a glorious, horrific mess.

The young woman took a hurried step back at first, but soon went into action by running behind Barry and thumping him on the back until he literally cried enough. "Are you all right, Deputy?" she said as she unclenched her fists.

"Gawd, no…" Barry croaked in a hoarse voice as he tried to get his vertebrae back into position, "somebody just knocked the shit outta my back!  Man!  Do you crush stones in a quarry or something?  And I lost my cigarette…" The latter soon proved to be worse than the former as the smell that suddenly rose from somewhere down below suggested it was about to set fire to something.

Yelping, Barry scrambled to his feet and tore through the mess on the desk to find the cigarette. When it was nowhere to be found, he patted himself down several times in case it had dropped into one of his pockets. The stench of something burning grew worse by the second so he took a hurried step back to look below the chair.

Discovering the cigarette in the nick of time - it had already burned a hole in the cracked brown linoleum - Barry threw it back between his lips and drew a deep puff to recoup the twenty-five seconds worth of nicotine that he had missed. The increased intensity of the puffing meant the cigarette disappeared double-quick, so he soon pulled out a fresh one that he lit with the final embers of the old one.

The young woman broke out in a nervous laugh at the bizarre turn of events as she moved around the watch desk once more. "Ah… yeah. Like I said, my name is Beatrice Reilly. I'm a Deputy-in-Training. I've been transferred here to Goldsboro to begin the active part of my courses."

"Oh… right… I think I heard something about that… at some point…" Barry said as he twisted his upper back cautiously just in case any bone fragments had worked themselves loose and were gnawing on something vital - like a vein. "But anyway, Senior Deputy Jalinski is out. I don't know where she is exactly at this point in time."

"Well, would it be possible that you got in touch with her… perhaps over the radio?" Beatrice said as she pointed at the portable radio on the watch desk. "I don't want to appear pushy before I've even started here, but my instructor told me to report to the Senior Deputy as the first thing I did."

Barry took another sip of his camomile tea while Beatrice spoke - unlike the first sip that had only led to a calamity of ungodly proportions, the new one was far more cautious and thus infinitely better. Nodding, he put down the mug and reached for his smartphone instead of the portable radio. "All right, but it's quicker to use the phone," he said and scrolled through the registry.

Mandy's number was soon found and chosen, but at the exact same moment that Barry had established contact with the Senior Deputy, he broke out in another hacking, rattling coughing fit that sent killer lightning bolts through his sore throat. Beatrice rolled up her sleeves and clenched her fists to pound his back again, but he hurriedly shook his head and threw his arms in the air to say 'no thanks!'

'Hello?  Deputy Simms?  I can hear you coughing…' Mandy said from the other end of the connection.

Barry hacked and spluttered too much to talk, so he thrust the telephone into Beatrice's hand and expected her to do the rest.

Beatrice's eyebrows went up, then down as she was handed the smartphone. After glancing at the display to see what was going on, she put the telephone to her ear. "Ah… good afternoon, Ma'am. I'm Deputy-in-Training Beatrice Reilly. I'm in the sheriff's office on Main Street hoping to meet Senior Deputy Mandy Jalinski. Oh, and I think the Deputy on watch is… uh… I think he may need an ambulance or something."

'I'm Senior Deputy Jalinski. I'm up at the other end of Main Street but I'll be with you in five minutes. Pay no attention to Deputy Simms. As long as he's sitting upright, he's fine.'

"Oh… I see. All right. Goodbye, Ma'am," Beatrice said and terminated the connection. After putting the telephone on the watch desk, she withdrew from the spluttering Barry Simms to be at a safe distance in case the bug that had claimed him was contagious.

Another vile cloud of foul-smelling smoke soon rose from the person behind the watch desk; it forced Beatrice to pinch her nostrils and back away even further. She didn't want to create a bad first impression by sitting at the sheriff's desk on her very first day there, so she fled down to the far end of the office instead to be safe from the toxic smoke.

---

"Haw!  This he' sure be excitin', yessir!  Lawrdie, a new de-per-ty o' the female kind right he' in Goldsborah!  Mebbe there be hope fer humanity aftah all…" Wynne said as she and the dogs tried to keep up with Mandy's trademark purposeful stride.

The rapid striding meant they reached the sheriff's office in no time - Barry was still coughing when Mandy opened the door and stepped inside. Wynne and the dogs waited outside to begin with, but Mandy waved them into the office at once since they were literally part of the family.

The moment Wynne stepped inside, her face contorted into a hideous mask and she had to plug her nostrils to stop the onslaught from reaching her brain. "Lawwwwwwwwr-die!  Pee-ew, Barreh!  Whaddindahell y'all be smokin' taday, son?  Good shit almi'ty, it stinks in he'!  Y'all gotta be usin' sheep dung as tabaccah or som'tin!  Jayzus!"

Blackie and Goldie's sensitive doggy-noses were affected even worse by the ungodly stench so they upped their pace and flew down to the other end of the sheriff's office. Once there, they yapped and woofed a bit to ask if the other was all right - it seemed they were both fine, but when they realized they had to go through the stench once more to get back outside, they both let out sad woofs.

"I dropped my cig and the linoleum caught fire," Barry mumbled.

"An' ya didden open the doah ta get some fresh air in he' or nuttin'?  I mean, Barreh, really… dang, this ain't fit fer humans or dawggies or nobodda, nosirree." Wynne moved straight back to the glass door and pulled it wide open. The second she did so, a gust of wind removed another half-inch from the pile of ash in the ashtray - the gray storm cloud flew directly onto Barry's wet uniform which made it turn even messier. "Haw… yuh, I reckon y'all got a li'l problem with yer yoo-niform, there, friend…" she continued with a grin.

Barry just sighed.

While all that was going on, Beatrice snapped to Attention when she faced Mandy. "Deputy-in-Training Beatrice Reilly reporting for duty, Senior Deputy Jalinski," she said in a loud and clear voice that her instructor would have been impressed with. After returning to the polluted front part of the office, the manila folder containing her personnel record was soon put on the sheriff's desk.

Wynne grinned at the enthusiasm displayed by the young rookie, Barry hacked and coughed, Goldie whimpered and Blackie let out an appreciative Woof! and nodded her furry head.

"At ease, Deputy. We're not so formal here," Mandy said before taking off her Mountie hat and hanging it on the nail on the wall; then she picked up the manila folder to give it a first glance. "Reilly?  Are you related to Steve Reilly?"

"No, Ma'am. And I prefer to be called Bea rather than Beatrice. Some have called me Busy Bee Reilly with two E's because I tended to be a little flighty when I was a raw recruit. That's all in the past."

Wynne grinned again - the deputy-in-training's attitude and behavior certainly grew on her.

"Very well. I'll make a note of that," Mandy said with a smile. Looking down, she began studying the data sheet that listed the young woman's results in the various theoretical and practical evaluations she had been through. "You aced your physical trials. That's good. Stamina is very important out here in the real world. We never know how long the working day will be-"

Mandy was rudely interrupted by Barry who blew his nose into a paper tissue - the sound could best be described as that of an elephant trying to clear a peanut from its trunk. Once he was done and had wiped his red nose, he crumpled up the tissue and threw it into the trash while hacking and coughing a little more. After all that, he slurped a little camomile tea, struck a match and lit another of his foul cigarettes.

Wynne and Mandy shared an exasperated look before the senior deputy returned to the data sheet to study it a little more. "Good scores everywhere. Top five in class in the Hostile Environment Survival course. Top five in class in outdoors marksmanship. Top ten in class at the Pursuit Driving course. Hmmm… only bottom ten in class in Hostage Negotiation. What was the reason for the low score in that class, Deputy Reilly?"

Bea shifted her weight from one foot to the other in an embarrassed fashion. It took her a short while to answer, but she eventually did so after licking her lips a couple of times. "I believe it's listed next to-"

"I want to hear your version of the events," Mandy said before she moved around her desk and sat down. "Please, have a seat, Deputy."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Bea said and appropriated one of the vacant swivel-chairs. Everyone else followed suit: Blackie and Goldie tried to make themselves as comfortable as possible down on the cracked linoleum while Wynne shoved a pile of spent paper tissues and other waste aside to sit on a corner of the watch desk - she had to grin at the sight of the rookie deputy sitting on the swivel-chair with her legs and upper body at a perfect ninety-degree angle to each other like they did at the school.

"Well," Bea continued, "we were conducting a case study under realistic conditions. The scenario was that we were first responders to a hostage situation. We were expected to, ah… sweet-talk the criminal until the real negotiator would arrive. I made a decision to try a more active approach. It failed and put the hostage in severe jeopardy. My actions were deemed to be rash, too short-sighted and far too aggressive. Hence the low score."

"Lawwwwwr-die!" Wynne said until she realized she had spoke out loud. "Uh, pardon me fer buttin' in like this, anyhows. Howdy, I be the one an' onleh Wynne Donohue. Me an' the de-per-ty there, we go tagethah. These he' awesome gals 'r Blackie an' Goldie. Y'all can prolleh guess which is which, yuh?  So… wus them judges too harsh on ya or whut?"

"No, Miss Donohue-"

"Aw!  Mah name is Wynne. Yuh?"

"All right," Bea said with a smile. "No, they weren't too harsh on me. I made a stupid rookie mistake. I should have been far more patient."

Mandy nodded and closed the folder. "The trick is knowing when to move fast and when to keep waiting. It'll come with experience. I'm satisfied with what I see. Welcome to Goldsboro, Deputy Reilly. Your first shift will commence at noon tomorrow. I'll introduce you to the rest of my team…" Mandy stopped herself when she realized there was a risk she might not even be a part of that team if she lost the election.

A dark mask fell over her face at the thought; it was quickly swept aside so she could retain her professionalism. "Deputy Reilly, due to certain unfortunate circumstances, you may need to reintroduce yourself to Senior Deputy Andrews tomorrow. It's too early to tell."

"Oh… I see," Bea said with a look in her eye that proved she didn't quite understand the details.

"Where do you stay?" Mandy continued while she rose from the swivel-chair.

"At Mrs. Peabody's boarding house."

A long groan escaped Wynne's throat - down on the floor, Blackie let out a woof of sympathy. "Missus Bizzehboddeh!  Lawrdie, ain't there nobodda who can open up one o' them there hostels or hoah-tels or whatevah he' in Goldsborah so all them decent folks comin' ta town don't hafta stay at that there dang-blasted boardin' house?  We only got mebbe three folks who done rent out rooms othah than Missus Bizzehboddeh an' that jus' ain't enough!"

Though Bea furrowed her brow at the outburst, she didn't have time to make a comment before Mandy walked around the desk. Moving on instinct alone, the newest deputy to hit Goldsboro jumped up and stood to Attention like she had been taught. "Is there something wrong with the boarding house, Miss Dono- I mean… Wynne?  It looked clean enough-"

"Aw-yuh, ain't got nuttin' ta do wi'that or nuttin'. Naw, ya see, it be that there Missus Peabodda who done bein' the wrong part. Yessir. Mandy done stayed there when she moved he' ta Goldsborah an' I stayed there too… an' Mrs. Peabodda jus' ain't be livin' in this he' cen-chureh with tha rest o' us, catch mah drift?  Lawrdie, all them asseh-nine rules o' hers… they sure ain't fit fer us modern folks. A week, okeh. Ten days, that alreddeh be stretchin' it. Lissen, I gotta tell ya straight up an' all, Bea, y'all deffa-nete-leh shoudden be plannin' on stayin' there fer mo' than two weeks. An' prolleh ain't even that. By then, y'all gonn' be reddeh ta blow a head gasket or som'tin… if ya ain't done so alreddeh. An' y'all can take mah wohrd fer it, yes Ma'am."

"I'm thankful for the warning. Do you know if any of the others have any vacancies?"

Mandy took her Mountie hat signaling the end of the introduction. "No, but we can find out. Even if they do, they won't be as cheap as Mrs. Peabody's boarding house." As she spoke, she sent a pointed look at Wynne who lit up in a grin at once and broke out in an exaggerated nod.

"Oh… well… about that…"

"Hoooooold it right there, pardners!" Wynne said so loudly Barry almost choked on his latest cigarette. Down on the floor, Blackie and Goldie both looked up to see if any critters had arrived they could sink their teeth into - when everything seemed quiet, they snuggled back down onto the cracked linoleum. "Ain't nobodda gonn' have no worries 'bout moneh trubbel in this he' town, nosirree!  This he' ol' gal got all that there finan-shual bizzness covah'red, de-per-ty Bea. Jus' lemme know where y'all gonn' end up stayin', an' I'll be havin' a conversa-shun wi'that there new lan'lord or ladeh o' yers befo' the green flag done stopped a-flutterin'."

Beatrice Reilly furrowed her brow all over again - she soon came to realize she would need a Wynne Donohue/English dictionary if she were to stay in Goldsboro for any length of time. "Ah, that would be most kind, Miss Dono- I mean, Wynne. Thank you."

"Ain't nuttin' ta thank me fer 'cos we ain't done nuttin' yet!" Wynne said and broke out in a laugh. "Anyhows, we gonn' be havin' a parteh tanight over at that there bar an' grill y'all see ovah yondah. If y'all be up fer it, whydontcha come ovah an' meet them folks y'all be keepin' an eye on in the fu-chure?  We's gonn' have beers an'-"

"I'm sorry, Wynne. I don't drink beer. I hate the taste," Bea said while sporting a polite smile.

Wynne's own smile faded until it was replaced by an expression of pure shock. She had to blink several times before she could function again - the first thing she did after recovering was to reach into her jacket pocket for a can of H.E. Fenwyck Double Zero that she cracked open and chugged down at once to give her sensitive soul some moral support.

"And that rounds up things here," Mandy said and helped Beatrice, Wynne and the two remarkably quiet dogs over to the door. "Deputy Simms, I'll be on the radio in case of an emergency."

"Yes, Ma'am," Barry said before he broke down in his customary hacking, rattling, spluttering coughing fit.

*
*
CHAPTER 8

As the eventful day wore on and Ernie's bachelor party began in earnest, the relative moods of the four members of the Jalinski-Donohue household couldn't have been more different:

Goldie wasn't even present - she had chosen to stay home in the trailer park as the Golden Retriever knew from painful experience that paws, tails and big, clumsy feet belonging to inebriated humans created an unholy triangle straight out of the seventh level of doggy-hell. Blackie, on the other hand, wouldn't want to miss the celebrations for the world, so the black German Shepherd had been given a great spot not too far from the main center of the action. At present, she snuggled up on a comfortable blanket after digesting a pre-cooked frankfurter in record time.

Wynne was on classic form zooming along in high gear and high spirits trying to coordinate the last few details concerning the bachelor party, but Mandy withdrew further and further from the noisy hubbub in the back garden of Moira's Bar & Grill as the hands of time crept closer to the point where the results of the election would be announced.

At a quarter past eight, Councilwoman Skinner would summon the candidates and inform them of the outcome. Eight-fifteen in the evening could potentially be the exact time when Mandy's career in Goldsboro would come to an undoubtedly bitter end. She continued to keep the letter of resignation in her rear pocket. The battleplan had been laid out in great detail: if she was defeated by Todd Andrews, she would hand over the letter to Mary-Lou, sign off her service firearm and the spare ammunition, clear out her locker and leave it all behind right then and there.

Her gloomy mood was reflected in her demeanor. Rarely one to show exuberance or unbridled emotions even at the happiest of times, she was far quieter than usual as she sat on a lawn chair the furthest away from the hectic activity that she could possibly be. She nursed a Diet Coke and a small sandwich though her inner turmoil meant she had little appetite.

Wynne had wanted to pull out all the stops for Ernie's bachelor party, so she and Moira MacKay had agreed to hold it in the bar and grill's back garden. A wood-burning, rotating barbecue rig of mammoth proportions had been rented, and a full-sized pig had been roasting on it since the early hours of the morning - an additional, smaller, grill would take care of the steaks, hamburgers and frankfurters. The rotating barbecue rig had four aluminum bowls attached to it, and they had been filled with special blends of Ernie's home-made seasoning sauces that Moira and Wynne had also used to enrich the meat during the cooking process.

A.J. 'Slow' Lane had volunteered to be in charge of the entire food department, but Wynne had politely declined his services and had donned the very same apron she had used back when she used to toil away at Moira's cooking panels.

Instead, 'Slow' Lane had been handed the important title of Master Of Pouring Beer Into Plastic Cups. A rectangular table had been set up a short distance away from the smaller of the two barbecues; it was equipped with five beer taps that were each connected to a seven-gallon pressurized cask underneath the table - one each of Double Zero, Pale Lager, Dark Lager, 1910 Special Brew and finally a Midnight Velvet Stout reserved for Ernie. In addition to that cornucopia of beer, the real beer-master Grant Lafferty had organized a special delivery of twenty crates of canned beer from H.E. Fenwyck just in case the casks would run dry.

For those few individuals who didn't drink beer, two crates of soft drinks had been bought as well, but they were stored in the Bar & Grill's refrigerators because the demand was so small they would only get lukewarm if they had been put outside.

A group of tables and lawn chairs had been set up in a semi-circle around the two barbecues and the beer-bar so nobody would have to walk too far to get something to eat and drink. Paper tablecloths and plates as well as plastic cutlery and beverage cups formed the order of the day - that way, they could just throw everything in the trash afterwards instead of spending the next forty-eight hours doing the dishes. Even better, nobody would experience Moira's bark, bite or fiery wrath if they happened to spill hot sauce or any other kind of sticky substance onto the paper tablecloths.

The bachelor party was mostly for Ernie's friends and associates in Goldsboro, so everyone from the trailer park had been chauffeured to town except for the old fellow Zoltan Petrusco who was still hospitalized in the geriatric ward up north at the Barton City County Hospital. Brenda Travers wore a short summer dress featuring a pleated skirt that caught everyone's attention when she swung it around, and she did so often to the classic beats that came from a boom box playing a CD featuring classic hits of the 1990s. Her far quieter husband Vaughn sat at one of the tables and had a beer with Diego Benitez.

Estelle and Frank Tooley had agreed to come to the party under the condition they could be driven home far earlier than everyone else. Not only did Estelle need to get up at four in the morning six days a week for her cleaning job in Cavanaugh Creek, the babysitter they had hired for their daughter Renee had little experience with pre-teens even with Wynne's Goldie backing her up.

When an uptempo rock tune burst out of the boom box, Brenda Travers let out a wild squeal and jumped in the air - then she grabbed hold of Wynne's hands, dragged her away from the roasting pork and threw the two of them into a wild, Texas-style Swing-Yer-Gal that saw them swinging around and around until Wynne's beloved cowboy hat flew off.

"Lawwwwwwr-die, Brendah!  Hoooooah-leh shitttt, y'all sure be havin' a blast tanight, huh?  Ya sure yer husband ain't got som'tin ta say 'bout this he' kind o' gyratin'?!" Wynne croaked as the world literally spun around her.

"He's way over there!" Brenda said between squeals as she continued to swing Wynne around. "And we're way over here!"

"Yuh, ya sure is right 'bout that!  Haw, not that I don't 'preciate the gyratin' or nuttin', but I bettah get back ta mah li'l piggeh there befo' that there seasonin' sawce I be coatin' it with gonn' drip off an' fuel them flames!"

"Ohhhh… all right," Brenda said and eventually let go of Wynne's hands. To finish off on a cheeky note, she dove in and slapped a big smooch right on Wynne's lips - then she was gone in a flash.

Wynne let out a sound of surprise that was somewhere between a grunt, a croak and an embarrassed chuckle. "Mercy Sakes, that Brendah gal sure is a lit stick o' dy-noh-mite… yessir," she mumbled as she moved back to the rotating barbecue to tend to the roasting pork. Once she got there, she opened a can of 1910 Special Brew and used it to salute Mandy who had watched the whole thing with wide open eyes - they grinned at each other before they shook their heads and went about their business.

---

Fifteen minutes later, Mandy had less to laugh about. While the general cheeriness among the friends and neighbors had only gone up with the arrival of Ernie Bradberry - who had donned his best Western suit and a brand new Ford Motor Company baseball cap that he had bought for the special occasion - there seemed to be a localized dark cloud hovering above the table where Mandy had just been joined by Todd Andrews and his wife Kerrie.

The last thing Mandy wanted to do was to chit-chat with her fierce opponent, but it appeared there wouldn't be any escape from it. Pushing down all her inner negativity, she even managed to smile at the married couple. "Good evening, Deputy Andrews. Mrs. Andrews," she said in a voice that she tried to keep as neutral as possible - she succeeded as it was neither cold and rejecting nor warm and welcoming.

"Good evening, Deputy Jalinski," Todd Andrews said in a voice that held the exact same neutral tones as Mandy's. Kerrie Andrews just reached out to shake Mandy's hand instead of speaking. The Senior Deputy of Brandford Ridge wore regular street clothes that created a stark contrast to Mandy's black and dark-gray uniform.

An awkward silence fell over the three people at the table. The silence spoke volumes, so Kerrie eventually excused herself and went over to the next table to introduce herself to some of the other partygoers. Todd tracked his wife with his eyes before they returned to Mandy's passive face. "Thank you for talking to Mrs. Peabody. The situation she put us in was completely unacceptable. I doubt I would've been able to keep a civil tone."

"You're welcome."

The awkward silence returned in full force. In the background, Brenda Travers grabbed hold of Ernie and treated him to a wild hands-on dance that wouldn't have looked out of place in one of the side street saloons or pink parlors in Las Vegas. It drew plenty of hoots and hollers from the peanut gallery; not the least from Wynne Donohue who whooped at the top of her lungs over by the rotating rig barbecue.

Todd Andrews tried again: "If I win this election, my aim is to keep a solid working relationship between us. With you as my Senior Deputy, of course. Your experience will be invaluable while I get up to speed on everything and everyone."

"Mmmm."

"I've yet to meet the other deputies. Are they any good?"

Brenda's provocative dance act had finally come to an end, and Ernie bumped down onto the nearest lawn chair and cracked open a can of Midnight Velvet Stout at once while he tried to regain his breath. The cheers slowly died down, but they went up all over again when someone produced a set of cups meant for the old chestnut Beer Pong.

"They're all good," Mandy said in a monotone. "Barry Simms has potential to be a fine law enforcement officer despite his excessive smoking habit. He needs to be given a nudge now and then or else he tends to lose focus. Don Woodward is only on loan from Jarrod City to fill a gap in the roster. He won't be here much longer as Deputy-in-Training Beatrice Reilly reported for duty a couple of hours ago. Although a rookie, she seems to have potential. And Rodolfo Gonzalez is an excellent man. He'll be perfect as your Senior Deputy."

"No, wait-"

"If I lose the election, I'll transfer out," Mandy said in such a decisive tone there was no purpose for Todd Andrews to counter the statement, question it or even continue his attempts at making conversation.

A short minute went by. Todd eventually got up and put out his hand for the traditional shaking. "All right. May the best candidate win," he said as Mandy shook it.

Mandy sighed as Todd Andrews walked away from her table. The Senior Deputy of Brandford Ridge soon found his wife and left the party. "Best candidate, my eye. This is nothing but a popularity contest," Mandy mumbled before she drained her can of Diet Coke.

"Piggeh's reddeh!  Come an' get some!" Wynne cried while holding a carving knife high in the air. "Yessir!  Grab yer plates an' form an ordahleh lih-ne ovah he'!  An' there ain't gonn' be no pushin' or shovin', ya hear?  There be plenteh fer ev'rehbodda!  Plenteh o' piggeh-wiggeh, plenteh o' beef steaks an' plenteh o' them there frankfuhrtahs!"

The people sitting at the tables all jumped up like swarm of moths and formed a line that could perhaps best be described as somewhat orderly if viewed in a dim light. They each held their paper plates ready so they didn't have to waste any time once they got to the important part.

As Wynne began to carve chunks out of the roasted, seasoned pork, she noticed that most people poured a good-sized glob of hot sauce onto it afterwards. "Aw, an' deah, ol' Ernie done provided plenteh o' his famous hawt sawces, that's right… now, y'all need'a pay spe-shul atten-shun ta which o' them there bowls y'all be scoopin' it outta, yuh?  'Cos there be mild sawce an' garlic sawce an' reg'lar hawt sawce an' then there be supah-hawt sawce… a real fiah-sawce that y'all gotta be real cau-shus of, an' that ain't no exaggera-shun, nosirree!"

'Maybe we should use it as a fuel additive, then!' somebody cried from somewhere in the group.

"Yuh, yuh, ya sure could… that would getcha from A ta B in no tih-me flat- whaddindahell, where's Ernie at?  Ernie?" Wynne stopped carving when she noticed that her friend was still sitting at the table. "Why, Ernie Bradberrah, ya ol' sombitch!  Geddup he' an' be the next in lih-ne, dontchaknow!  Awwww, y'all ain't gonn' turn shah on us now, are ye?  This he' entiah shindig is fer y'all, anyhows, so ya might as well get the best chunk o' roasted pork too!  Aw-shoot, I nearly fergot!  Y'all!  Slab a ladleful o' them there mashed patatahs onta yer plates on yer way back ta yer seats, yuh?  Them li'l red an' black dots in it be ground chili flakes ta give it a li'l taste dontchaknow!"

When Ernie finally got up with his paper plate, he was greeted by a loud cheer from the other people that nearly made him run for the hills - it did in fact send him back to the table to load up with a large mouthful of stout much to the amusement of his friends and neighbors.

At the same time, Beatrice Reilly entered the back garden from the rear of the Bar & Grill. The young deputy looked a little lost among the general craziness of the bachelor party, so Mandy decided to be the welcoming committee by waving Bea over to her. When the gesture was spotted, the deputy-in-training broke out in a smile and headed that way.

"Good evening, Deputy Reilly," Mandy said and shook hands with the newest member of the Goldsboro team. "The food and beverages are free if you're interested."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Bea said and sat down at the table. "I've already eaten, but I might take a Coke or something on my way out. The mood is certainly jaunty here. Wynne already told me of the occasion, but I must admit I couldn't quite understand what she meant…"

"It's the bachelor party for the gentleman with the walrus mustache," Mandy said and pointed at Ernie who had just begun to dig into his chunk of roasted pork and the mountain of mashed potatoes he had scooped up from the bowl. Because he was the pivotal guest, Wynne had presented him with a plastic cup that could hold thirty-five fluid ounces so he wouldn't have to leave the table to visit the beer-bar too often - of course, the cup's excessive size would most likely mean he would frequently have to leave the table to visit the men's room instead.

"Oh… I see. I thought bachelor parties were usually only attended by guys so they could have strippers or girls jumping out of cakes and those things. I guess it's different out here in the rural communities," Bea said as she looked at Brenda Travers, Moira MacKay and Estelle Tooley. Turning back to face Mandy, she let out a short grunt. "Anyway, I exchanged a few words with Mr. Andrews and his wife out on the street. Looks like I joined you at a really bad time with the election and all that…"

Mandy sighed; then she shrugged. "Well. Let's see what happens. From what I know, Senior Deputy Andrews is a consummate professional. His current sheriff… G.W. Tenney over in Brandford Ridge… worked here in Goldsboro when I arrived a decade ago. I recently spoke to Sheriff Tenney and he only had good things to say about Mr. Andrews."

Another cheer rose from the crowd when A.J. 'Slow' Lane lived up to his nickname and Diego Benitez ran out of patience while getting a cup of beer - the latter had to show the former the best way to operate the taps so he could get his beer the same day he ordered it.

Mandy glanced over to Wynne who had sat down at Ernie's table. The two buddies were engaged in friendly banter while comparing portions and beers. The special connection that existed between Mandy and Wynne was not to be denied, and they soon locked eyes across the noisy back garden.

"Well," Bea said and got up from the lawn chair, "I don't want to disturb the partying so I'll just head back to the boarding house. I'll be at the sheriff's office at noon sharp tomorrow. Frankly, Ma'am, I hope you'll win the election."

Mandy cocked her head as she looked at the young deputy. "Thank you, Deputy Reilly. I hope so too. Tell you what… unless you're in a hurry to return to Mrs. Peabody, I'd like to invite you along for my evening patrol. Goldsboro may be a small, rural community like you said, but it has a rich and varied history. I could give you a few tips on this and that around town."

"Oh!  I'd like that very much, Ma'am!"

"Good," Mandy said and got up. "I'll just inform Wynne and then we can get underway."

-*-*-*-

By the time Mandy returned to the Bar & Grill after her patrol and a quick update from Barry and Rodolfo over at the sheriff's office - there was nothing to report - the noisy and occasionally bawdy bachelor party had relocated indoors. The spirited Brenda Travers had been the cause of much of the bawdiness when a small trip-up while dancing had revealed she wore tiger-striped underwear that could best be described as 'hardly there at all.'

The entire roasted pig had been devoured, the frankfurters had disappeared and the beef steaks had followed hot on the heels of the sausages. Three of the five beer casks had been emptied: the 1910 Special brew had gone first with the Double Zero and the Midnight Velvet Stout leaving the scene in hot pursuit. Only the pale and dark lagers still had a little left at the bottom of the barrel, but at least there were still fifteen crates of canned beer and both crates of soft drinks left to keep everyone amused.

Ernie Bradberry remained remarkably un-intoxicated, but Diego Benitez had succumbed to the dastardly effect of the golden liquid after ending up on the losing side of a three-way speed-drinking contest against Wynne and Ernie. Having had more than his fill, he was sleeping it off with his head resting on his arms across one of the indoor tables. He had chosen one from the group of tables adjacent to the public restroom so he could hurry in there whenever the pressure would build up too high - and it did so frequently.

Estelle and Frank Tooley had left after wishing Ernie all the best and giving him a big kiss and a thumping slap on the back, respectively. Roscoe Finch had been given $200 to act as the night's designated driver, and he had already returned to Moira's in case someone else needed to be driven home - the young fellow found it exceedingly amusing that he of all people was the so-called responsible adult among the group of people who were all twice his age.

While Mandy had been away, the retired pro-wrestler Joe-Bob Millard had caused an embarrassing scene before he had left in a huff to seek his poison up at Derrike Iverson's dive: After moaning and groaning for five minutes straight over the fact the video poker machines had been turned off for the night, he had heaped an obscene amount of profanity-laced abuse on poor A.J. 'Slow' Lane when he was told he couldn't have any mashed potatoes because there weren't any left. To add insult to misery, he called Wynne a li'l lady twice to her face when she had come to A.J.'s defense. That had settled it - Moira had kicked Joe-Bob out on the spot and had slapped him with a three-day suspension to boot.

The reason for turning off the video poker machines stood tall and proud in the center of the floor not too far from the pool table: a karaoke machine - and not just a dull, standard version, but one that literally had all the factory-option bells and whistles by way of its advanced 128-bit musical computer.

The box it came in was five feet tall, two feet deep and three feet wide to have room for a huge speaker at the bottom end. At the top, it was equipped with a thirty-two-inch SpectaCOLOR touch-screen display where the person singing into the cordless microphone could keep up with the lyrics through a ball that bounced up and down above the words that he or she was mangling at the time. It promised great fun for those brave enough to try, and perhaps even more fun for the listeners, a.k.a. the hecklers.

As Mandy walked past the karaoke machine, it displayed a demo song that had been put on Silent Mode so it wouldn't be too intrusive while everyone worked to get ready. She paused for a moment to look at the manically bouncing ball that hopped, skipped and danced over the words to the Village People's In The Navy.

Chuckling at the silliness, she continued up to the bar counter and got another can of Diet Coke from A.J. whose facial color had only just returned to normal after the barrage of unpleasantness that had spewed from Joe-Bob Millard.

Wynne entered the bar and grill a moment later. Coming from the back garden, she carried a clear plastic sack filled with the paper tablecloths and all the other disposable items that had been collected from the outdoor tables. Her face lit up in a beery grin when she clapped eyes on Mandy waiting at the counter. "Howdy there!  Haw, if it ain't mah sweet, li'l de-per-ty," she said once the plastic sack had been dealt with. "An' ya still be sippin' one o' them there ass-borin', dullah-than-dirt diet sodapops. Lawrdie."

"That's because I'm still on duty, Wynne," Mandy said and held up the can. "It may be my last night so I'm determined to get the most out of it."

Dusting off her hands, Wynne came up to stand on the business side of the counter - she carried an entire cloud of beery smells with her, but she managed to make it work for her rather than having it be a turn-off. Leaning forward, she put out a hand and smiled when Mandy gave it a little squeeze. "Aw, I got one o' them there good feelin's 'bout tanight. Yuh. A real good feelin'. Trus'me. Ev'rythin's gonn' be awright. Say, wussen wotshername… the new gal…"

"Beatrice Reilly."

"Bea Reilly, yuh!  Diddencha leave tagethah or som'tin?  Where she at?" Before Mandy could answer, Wynne reached down below the counter to grab a can of beer from one of the crates. It turned out to be a Dark Lager that she cracked open at once.

"She went over to the boarding house to make it an early evening. I took her along on my evening patrol," Mandy said and turned the Diet Coke around between her strong fingers. "She's clever and asks good questions. I think she's going to fit in just fine regardless of what else happens tonight."

"Haw, ya sure know how ta spoil a gal on yer first date an' all, dontcha?  Goin' out ta see ca-razeh, ol' Goldsborah. Eh?  Eh?" Wynne said and winked repeatedly while she reached across the counter to poke Mandy in the side. "Why, takin' her along on a patrol… Mercy Sakes, I'mma-gonn' ha' some stiff competi-shun perdy dog-gone soon, lemme tell ya!" - A second later, Wynne couldn't contain a beery laugh any longer and leaned her head back to let it burst out of her.

Chuckling, Mandy took a long sip from her Diet Coke before Ernie Bradberry assumed control over the scene:

He walked up to the karaoke machine - in a far straighter line than anyone had thought possible after drinking nearly all of the Midnight Velvet Stout on his own - and grabbed the cordless microphone. "Let's see how this thing works," he mumbled as he tried using his thumb to manipulate a small slider on the side of the electronic device.

The howling whine that came from the speaker should perhaps have alerted him to the fact the volume was set quite high, but he didn't notice anything unusual until he started speaking: "ALL RIGHT, EVERYB- HOLY CRAP!" blasted out of the large speaker with tremendous force.

Several things were set in motion as a direct result of Ernie attempting to create the world's first indoor sonic boom: not only did it make dust trickle down from the ceiling, it sent Blackie into a barking frenzy as she stormed out of the doggy-cave underneath the pool table thinking they had been invaded by some kind of undead zombie critter after all. Out the back, A.J. Lane managed to nearly drown himself as he dropped a bucket full of hot water and soapy suds that splashed all over the floor. And finally, the wall of noise kicked Diego Benitez awake so rudely that he fell off his chair and ended up in a heap on the floor - Brenda and her husband Vaughn rushed to his help and guided him back upstairs after having had a good snicker about it.

"Hoooooooooooah-leh shittt!" Wynne cried as she slammed her eyelids shut and hurriedly clapped her hands over her ears to protect the mushy bit between them. The can of Dark Lager that she was drinking from had been placed on the counter a mere second before Ernie gave everyone a shock - a stroke of good fortune for a change.

Blackie's frantic barking was joined by modulating electronic whines and howls from the large speaker that didn't go away until Ernie pushed every single one of the buttons on the SpectaCOLOR touch-screen at least once. The German Shepherd eventually came to the conclusion that it had been a false alarm or simply a drill. Grunting, she returned to the doggy-cave and her fresh stick of salty beef jerky.

A sigh of relief rippled through the assembled partygoers as Ernie's next attempt at addressing them proved more successful: "One-two… one-two… Ford one-two-"

"Haw!  Ya wish!  Ernie, ya ol' sombitch!" Wynne cried from her spot behind the counter - Ernie's only reply was a wide grin.

"Okay," he said into the cordless microphone, "I think this is better. Yeah… okay. This is my evenin' so I'll start. Yeah?  First of all, I wanna say that I've had one helluva fantastic evenin' so far. Thanks, everybody!  I really appreciate what you've done for me."

"We love ya, Ernie!" Wynne cried much to everyone's delight - the rest of the guests in the Bar & Grill all clapped and cheered at Ernie and Wynne's statements.

Nodding and grinning at the support of his friends, he put the microphone back to his mouth: "I found one of my favorite songs and it's been programmed to kick off when I press this button, so here we go!" - Nothing happened - "Or maybe it's this button… no… help!  Wynne!"

"Wotcha askin' me fer?  I ain't got no clue how ta operate that there dang-blasted thing, son!" Wynne said from her spot at the counter.

Moira MacKay had been the only one who had bothered to actually read the instruction manual when they had unpacked and set up the machine. The fiery owner of the establishment soon pressed the correct field on the touch-screen that controlled the playback. A few seconds later, a computerized version of Bruce Springsteen's immortal Born In The USA began playing.

Ernie tried very hard to hit the right notes at the right spots, but what came out of it wasn't quite in the same league as Bruce Springsteen's version - it didn't matter a bit as his glowing eyes and beaming face proved he was having the time of his life.

Everybody cheered, sang or clapped along to the legendary tune as Ernie went through the various verses until he reached the end. As the song faded out and was replaced by one of the machine's demo tracks, he wiped a bucket of sweat off his brow and took the applause of his friends and neighbors. "Thank ya!  Thank ya!" he said into the microphone. "Who's next?  Huh?  Who dares wins!  Anybody?  Wynne?  Aw, come on!"

Over by the counter, Wynne reached across it to nudge Mandy's shoulder. "How 'bout it, de-per-ty?  Mebbe that thing got som'tin y'all can go tra-la-la ta?"

"No."

"Awwwww!  C'mon!  Whaddaya say!"

"Not. In. A. Million. Years," Mandy said and tapped an index finger down onto the counter for each word.

"Well, if y'all ain't gonn' trah, I sure as stink-on-shoot will!" Wynne said and hurried around the corner of the counter. "Ernie!  Mah man!  Vacate that there micro-phoah-ne o' yers 'cos the one an' onleh Wynne Donohue be comin' through, yessir!"

Ernie had barely left the makeshift stage in the center of Moira's Bar & Grill before he cracked open a can of 1910 Special Brew and emptied it in less than five gulps.

"Haw!  That's right, Ernie, y'all bettah get some o' that there beah down yer gullet, fella, 'cos y'all be doin' some major hootin' and hollerin' in a li'l mo'!" Wynne said on her way over to the advanced karaoke machine.

Once she stood next to it, she used her long fingers to scroll through the list of licensed songs. Her face lit up when she recognized one of the titles: the original 1975 version of the number-one hit Convoy by C.W. McCall. After she had pressed Play, she held nothing back when it came to good, old-fashioned Texas-style showmanship. The C.B. lingo sounded real, the verses were sung loud and the familiar, melodious choruses were even louder and ably assisted by the assembled partygoers.

The song eventually ended and Wynne took several bows as the appreciative audience showered her in equal measure with hoots, hollers and heckles. Staggering back to the counter where Mandy still clapped at the astounding performance, she immediately grabbed a Double Zero that she poured down Double Quick.

Next in line at the karaoke machine was Brenda Travers. She had only just begun gyrating and moaning her way through All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You by 1980s rock band Heart when the Bar & Grill's front door opened and a couple stepped inside.

One by one, the cheerful people fell silent as they stared at the two people. Though Brenda's singing trailed off into nothing, the electronic music continued which created a highly awkward situation until she pressed a button labeled as Pause.

Wynne wiped her damp brow once more before she came out from behind the counter to stand next to Mandy - the senior deputy was the one who finally broke the pregnant silence. "Good evening, Mr. Rains. Mrs. Rains," she said in the same neutral voice she had been employing all day.

Arthur 'Artie' Rains and his wife Velma remained standing just inside the door. It was clear from the former sheriff's flushed skin and watery eyes that he had been drinking hard for most of the day. Like the other time Wynne and Mandy had met him after he had been thrown out of the MacLean County Sheriff's Department, he wore regular clothes: pale-brown Polyester pants, a gray shirt where the top two buttons were undone, the same 1970s-style, washed-out sports blazer and finally the same olive-green, floppy-brimmed bucket hat that was still ungainly and didn't improve his looks one bit.

Rains' long-suffering wife was in her late thirties and thus a full decade younger than her husband. Most people would appear mousey next to the loud, large, aggressive and abrasive former sheriff, and Velma Rains was no exception. The mother of five wore sensible shoes and a dark-gray dress that didn't sport frills of any kind. Her face - that certainly wasn't unattractive - was devoid of makeup as well as ear rings or any other kind of jewelry, and her long hair had been tied into a tight bun at her neck that made her look twenty years older than her true age.

"Th'hell's going on here, Manly?  I didn't know Moira organized private parties…" Artie Rains said in a slurry voice. It was as gruff and gravelly as ever and a good match to his rough looks that seemed to suggest he had been drinking almost non-stop since being dismissed from duty.

Mandy narrowed her eyes. The unwelcome return of the old, despised nickname made her cringe, but she stepped forward out of professional courtesy. "It's a bachelor party, Mr. Rains. For Mr. Bradberry."

"Oh…" Artie Rains said and glared hard at Ernie - not because he had an unsettled quarrel with him, but because he didn't know how to look at anyone using any less than a hard glare.

Wynne chewed on her tongue and cheeks to stop herself ruining the fun evening for everyone by taking advantage of Rains' civilian status to tell him what she really felt about him.

Before Wynne had made up her mind about what to do instead, Ernie had made the decision for her by saying: "We're out of food, but you and your wife are welcome to grab a free beer and hang around for a while, Sheriff."

The comment made Wynne let out a dark grunt and shoot her friend an equally dark look. She knew Ernie wasn't as opposed to Artie Rains as she and Mandy were, but he had never been exposed to the worst sides of the former sheriff unlike pretty much every woman in town.

A moment or two went by before Artie Rains nodded. "Thanks, Ernie. We'll do that," he said before he grabbed hold of Velma's arm and took her up to the counter. They gave Wynne and Mandy a wide berth once they got there. Fortunately for all concerned, Moira came out from the back room to serve the former sheriff so Wynne or A.J. 'Slow' Lane didn't have to.

Life slowly returned to the previous levels of loudness inside the bar and grill. Wynne and Mandy left the counter to find a table the furthest away from the former sheriff as possible, and Brenda restarted the song that had been playing when she had been interrupted.

---

Ten minutes and a whole lot of beer later, the fine mood had been reestablished fully and the bachelor party was going at maximum blast once more. After Brenda's rather adult presentation of the 1980s rock song, her husband had been a great deal more restrained singing Glenn Medeiros' Nothing's Gonna Change My Love For You in an off-key fashion that literally brought tears to everyone's eyes - not for its sentimental values or high artistic flair but for the exact opposite.

Mandy glanced at the clock on the wall with increasing worry and trepidation as the hands crept closer to a quarter past eight and the official announcement of the election result. She let out a sigh. Her last remaining appetite had abandoned her to such an extent she couldn't even enjoy the free diet soft drink she had taken from the refrigerator.

At the same time, Wynne, Ernie and Blackie drew cheers and applause from the partygoers when they performed a stirring, but not exactly faithful, rendition of The Smashing Guitars' Friends 'Til The End. Blackie was a full-blown member of the trio by laying down the background atmosphere through a series of yaps, woofs and barks.

Diego Benitez was next in line at the karaoke machine. He tried really hard to add his own flavor to the great event, but he was so drunk he couldn't keep up with the bouncing ball on the display and had to call it quits halfway through Kenny Rogers' The Gambler. Brenda saved the day by finishing that particular one before she selected a track that suited her voice better: Dolly Parton's rousing Nine To Five.

Before Ernie could go again, Artie Rains stunned everyone by staggering over to the karaoke machine and taking the microphone. Mandy cringed, Wynne grimaced, Ernie broke out in an embarrassed grin and Diego stuck his fingers in his ears as a pre-emptive measure.

The former sheriff's choice of song was no surprise - the flag-waving, extraordinarily patriotic Ballad Of The Green Berets - but the fact that he was actually able to hold a tune even in his inebriated state came as a shock to everyone. His gruff singing voice suited the track perfectly which made the audience break out in scattered applause. Now on a roll, Rains selected America The Proud & Glorious as his encore, and that was just as effectively sung as his first had been.

Wynne and Mandy shared a long look and a pair of identical shrugs. Cracking open a can of Dark Lager, Wynne took a long sip before she put it on the table they were sitting at. "Lawrdie, who'd'a thunk it, huh?" she said in a quiet voice so she wouldn't disturb the former sheriff's performance. "I sure didden see that one comin'. I still hate that there nasteh fella's guts, but I gotta admit that there singin' o' his ain't too bad."

"No. It must be all that bourbon," Mandy said absentmindedly - she was far more focused on the clock on the wall than the musical qualities of her former superior. Her lips had been reduced to a pair of gray, narrow lines on her face. The pulse point on the side of her neck thumped hard proving she was far less calm on the inside than her cool exterior would lead anyone to believe.

Ernie and Brenda took care of the entertainment for the next ten minutes with a solo song each and then a duet - Sonny & Cher's I Got You, Babe. Wynne hooted and hollered to the best of her abilities as each song finished, but Mandy had grown so quiet she was barely there.

When her smartphone vibrated in her pocket, she reached for it at once in case it was Rodolfo or Barry calling to inform her of an emergency. The caller-ID turned out to say 'Cwm. M-L Skinner' instead. Mandy's face fell into a stony mask as she accepted the call and stuck a finger in her other ear to be able to hear the Councilwoman's words. "I see. Very well. I'll be there in two minutes, Mrs. Skinner," she said before she closed the connection.

Her face held no emotion as she put the telephone away and reached across the table to grab Wynne's arm. "Wynne… honey. The results are in. Mrs. Skinner wants to see me over at the sheriff's office right away."

"Lawwwwr-die… good shit almi'ty, I be crossin' mah fingahs an' toes an'-"

"Please… I need your support. Whatever happens, I need you there," Mandy continued, giving Wynne's arm a tender but almost desperate squeeze.

"Yes, Ma'am!  I'mma-gonn' back yer up a hundred purr-cent!" Wynne said and quickly drained her most recent can of beer before she hurried out to the back room to get her trademark denim jacket - regardless of the eventual outcome, The Last Original Cowpoke and the Senior Deputy were about to make a stately entrance worthy of their titles.

-*-*-*-

Goldsboro in general and Main Street in particular had once again become devoid of life after the large number of people swarming through town for the election earlier in the day had returned home. A chilly breeze that came from the wide open desert surrounding the small town in the middle of nowhere sent the usual litter whirling around in mini-twisters. The leading edge of the wind carried the desert's characteristic smell as well as a smattering of sand that went everywhere. A short distance up Main Street, a drain pipe sent out a series of rattles and clangs as the breeze repeatedly knocked it into the building it was attached to - it sounded like it was playing a funeral dirge.

Their friends' unbridled singing and the karaoke machine's pling-plong music faded behind Wynne and Mandy as they crossed Main Street. The distance to the sheriff's office seemed longer than usual, but they took advantage of that odd fact by holding hands all the way there.

When they reached the familiar glass door that Mandy had already used for an entire decade, they stopped to peek inside. There were more people in the office than at any one point during the past several months: in addition to Rodolfo and Barry who were supposed to be there, Mary-Lou Skinner, Konstantin Aranowicz and Colleen Bolton were there as representatives of the Town Council. Todd Andrews and his wife Kerrie had arrived as well, and it was about to get even more crowded.

Wynne knew when to carry on incessantly in her inimitable style and when to pipe down to let others have some space - this was a perfect example of the latter situation. Pulling Mandy aside so they weren't visible to the people in the sheriff's office, she smiled wistfully and leaned down to claim her partner's lips in a warm, loving, reassuring kiss that ended in a little nose-on-nose tickle.

The wistful smile was reflected on Mandy's face as she drew a deep breath and moved back to the glass door with Wynne in tow. Once inside, they nodded a brief good evening to the other people present. A strange mood permeated the sheriff's office - because of the odd circumstances that had forced the election to be brought forward, the air was pregnant with a tension that could almost be described as oppressive or at the very least unpleasant.

Mandy was too wired to do anything but stand with her legs slightly parted and her arms folded across her chest, but Wynne pushed some of Barry's waste aside and inched onto a corner of the watch desk. She glanced at Todd and Kerrie Andrews who looked as nervous as Mandy. Barry and Rodolfo didn't appear overly happy about the strange situation either, even if Barry's constant sniffling and muted coughing masked his true emotions.

Mary-Lou Skinner - who had changed into a flowery dress that sat like a circus tent around her hefty frame - cleared her throat and held up a piece of stationery that carried the Town Council logo at the top. Her chronic asthma had improved recently, but she still needed to take breathing breaks while she spoke: "Ladies and gentlemen, now that we're all here, we'll announce the results of the election that circumstances forced us to hold nearly a full year ahead of time. There were six-hundred-and-forty-seven votes cast in total. Forty-four of those were invalid or simply blank which is roughly the average. As an aside, twenty-nine of those forty-four invalid votes were cast for Mr. Arthur Rains."

Wynne let out an annoyed grunt and shook her head.

Before Mary-Lou Skinner continued, the tension grew exponentially in the small office; it was almost possible to carve slices out of it. After a breathing break that went on for perhaps a little too long, Mary-Lou finally returned to the results: "Mr. Andrews received two-hundred-and-seventy-nine votes while Senior Deputy Jalinski received three-hundred-and-twenty-four votes… that translates to fifty percent of the total votes cast. Since the town legislation does not require an absolute majority for the position of sheriff, it means that-"

Before anyone could even count to One, Wynne let out the loudest Rebel Yell ever heard west of the Brazos. Jumping up from her spot at the watch desk, she whipped off her cowboy hat and threw it high in the air. When it bounced off the drooping felt tiles in the ceiling, it dislodged one of them to the point of near-collapse - fortunately, the ceiling didn't come crashing down on the collection of Very Important People in the sheriff's office.

The wild cry caused Barry to jerk up from his chair at the watch desk. Upon landing, his latest cigarette was knocked out of his mouth and promptly burned a hole in his uniform shirt that he had only just changed into after the horrific mess earlier in the day involving the ashtray and the camomile tea. Rodolfo let out a slightly more restrained whoop, but the meaning was the same.

Mandy was finally able to let out the sigh she had been holding back for the past several hours. A great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, but she knew it was a temporary high - an even greater weight would soon settle there permanently. Nodding thoughtfully, she moved over to Mary-Lou Skinner and the other two members of the Town Council to shake their hands.

Todd and Kerrie Andrews tried to maintain a brave face even after hearing the disappointing results, but a defeat was a defeat. They were already on their way out when Mandy took hold of her fellow law enforcement officer's elbow. "Todd, please don't leave until we've had a word. All right?"

The Senior Deputy of Brandford Ridge looked at his wife who nodded in return. "All right. We'll wait in our car. Congratulations, Sheriff."

"Thank you," Mandy said, but that was all she had time for before Mary-Lou Skinner hustled her over to stand behind the sheriff's desk for the photos meant for the press release on the town's official web site. The items on the desk top were quickly rearranged so they would look more photogenic - nothing could be done about the worn desk's frayed wood or the obsolete maps of Goldsboro and the surrounding territories that were pinned to the wall behind Mandy.

The Councilwoman snapped several images on her telephone before she put it away and reached out to shake Mandy's hand once more. "Congratulations, Sheriff Jalinski!  This is a well-deserved victory. You are now the first female sheriff in the history of MacLean County and even our neighboring counties. The progress made today is astounding. On a grander political scale, this day will be long remembered as a high-water mark for equality and diversity within law enfor-"

A dark shadow raced across Mandy's face upon hearing the - perhaps inevitable - political slant to the event. "My gender is irrelevant, Mrs. Skinner. I'm a law enforcement officer first and foremost. The star I'll carry on my uniform will say sheriff, not female sheriff. This job is too important to be turned into a glorified spectacle and I certainly have no desire to be anyone's media darling. Now, if you'll excuse me," Mandy said and brushed past the stunned councilwoman.

Mandy pulled a beaming Wynne into a strong hug once they were close enough to do so - there would be much more to come later, and a quick, but highly saucy, wink proved it.

Eventually stepping outside the sheriff's office after having her back slapped and her hand shaken by Rodolfo and Barry, Mandy looked up and down Main Street for a few seconds before the headlights of a Ford Explorer flashed on-and-off a short distance down the street.

Striding down to it, she was met on the sidewalk by Todd and Kerrie who both carried the tell-tale signs of disappointment in their expressions and body language. "Senior Deputy Andrews… Mrs. Andrews," Mandy said as she shook their hands.

"Once again congratulations, Sheriff Jalinski," Todd and his wife said as one. Todd continued on his own: "I know you'll do well. This is your town… I realized that when I spoke to some of the storeowners and regular folks on my brief election campaign."

"I wish they would have told me!  It would've saved me a mountain of worry," Mandy said and let out a tired chuckle. "Todd… I know you probably don't want to hear this, but I'd focus on being the best Senior Deputy I could be instead of trying to jump ahead in the ranks. Once Sheriff Tenney retires, you'll be the best option to take over because you already know the ins and outs of your town and the people living there."

Todd sighed; then he broke out in a shrug. "You're right, Sheriff… I really don't want to hear that," he said and matched Mandy's tired laugh from earlier. Kerrie reached out to give her husband's hand a squeeze. "Sheriff Tenney may be a middle-aged fellow, but he still has ten good years ahead of him. At least. Frankly… I don't want to wait that long. I need to run my own show. Soon."

The burning ambitions of the Senior Deputy from Brandford Ridge were almost tangible in the evening air - Mandy made her opinion on the matter clear when she nodded and smiled at him. "Well, go for it, Todd. Just don't do it here!"

A round of laughter followed before Todd Andrews and his wife climbed into the Explorer, made a U-turn and drove along Main Street to get back to their own town some sixty miles south-west of Goldsboro.

---

Returning to the sheriff's office, Mandy was surprised to find that Mary-Lou Skinner and the two other members of the Town Council had left. With everything finally calming down after having run in the red zone all day, she let out a sigh of relief and headed for the swivel-chair at the sheriff's desk.

Wynne hurried out of the restrooms at the back once she heard Mandy entering the office - the massive quantity of beer she had consumed over the course of the afternoon and evening had ganged up on her to such an extent she had felt like she was about to explode if she didn't do something about it. "Howdy, there, Sheriff Mandy!  Awwwwwww-hell yuh!  Ain't that som'tin, fellas?  Sheriff Mandy!  Yessir!  Ooooh, what's the first thing y'all gonn' do now that there elec-shun's been won an' all?"

Rodolfo and Barry stopped what they were doing to stare at their new sheriff.

"Well-" Mandy started to say, but the hacking, rattling coughing fit that burst forth from Barry ruined the moment.

Rodolfo let out a howl of indignation and promptly threw a wadded-up ball of scrap paper at his colleague. His aim was as good as ever - he had the Expert Marksmanship ribbons to prove it - and the scrap paper bopped Barry on the exact center of his forehead before it continued down onto the cracked linoleum.

"My first task," Mandy continued as she leaned forward on the chair so she could reach the official letter she had written in case of a defeat, "will be to tear this up. I'm here to stay."

A firm round of applause came back at the newly-elected sheriff as she tore the envelope and the piece of paper inside it into tiny little fragments that she threw into the nearest waste-paper bin. Grinning, she pretended to dust off her hands before she put them firmly on the desk top. "With that out of the way, my next task will be to appoint Deputy Rodolfo Gonzalez as Goldsboro's new Senior Deputy. Congratulations, you've deserved it. There's no raise and your workload will double."

A series of contrasting emotions flashed across Rodolfo's face: first excitement, then surprise and finally resignation. "Thanks," he said flatly before he lightened up and broke out in a grin. "Senior Deputy Gonzalez, huh?  I'll bet that title alone will send a fire racing through my Dolores. And if it won't, I will!"

While Mandy and Wynne let out a few chuckles, Barry blushed hard at the undoubtedly steamy implications. "I've told you a hundred times to keep such things private!  Thankyouverymuch," he said in a surly tone of voice before he lit his next cigarette with the dying embers of the old one.

Still chuckling, Mandy got up from the swivel-chair and moved over to the door. "Rodolfo, I'll take a page out of Artie Rains' book now… I'll be conducting a Health And Safety Inspection over at Moira's for the rest of the evening. Call me if there's a crisis somewhere that you can't handle on your own."

"Ah… yes, Sheriff Jalinski. Don't worry. Barry and I will hold the fort," Rodolfo said with a grin. "Or I will, anyhow. Barry will just be Barry."

The offended party at the watch desk reacted with a loud snort before he picked up the errant ball of scrap paper and threw it back at Rodolfo - he missed by a country mile. "Oh, what is this?  The Official Shit on Barry Simms Week?  I'm doing what I can over here!  Can't ya see I'm sick?!"

Mandy and Wynne let the deputies fight it out among themselves. Walking back across Main Street, they held each other's hand tight like they had done when they had yet to learn the result of the election.

---

Wynne had barely opened the door when she let rip in her typically loud style: "Breakin' news!  Y'all be meetin' the new sheriff o' Goldsborah, yessir!  Lemme intra-dooce Sheriff Mandeh Jalinskeh ta all y'all!  He' she be!  Stomp them feet an' clap them hands, ev'rehbodda!  Les'blow out them windahs, yeeee-hawww!"

The partygoers all responded with plenty of cheers. Brenda put two fingers in her mouth and created a piercing whistle that could have made the dead rise had there been any nearby. A.J. Lane slammed two pot lids together to create a little kitchen thunder while Diego let out an equally loud "Whoop-Whoop-Whoop!"

Mandy could hardly believe her eyes when she noticed Artie Rains clapping at her - it appeared to be genuine rather than mocking her. His applause only lasted a brief moment but it had been there.

The crazy racket alerted Blackie who flew out from her doggy-cave and went into another barking frenzy. Like the first time, it only lasted for a short while until she realized it had been another false alarm. She growled and gave everyone present a stern glare to tell them they shouldn't be yanking her chain unless they wanted her eye-teeth sunk deep into their buttocks at some point. Her stick of salty beef jerky had vanished a long time ago so instead of returning to the cave, she shuffled over to her owners and rubbed her black fur against Mandy's uniformed legs.

At the same time, Ernie hurried over to the karaoke machine to find a track that would suit the occasion. He came up short when he found that the only one even remotely usable was Happy Birthday To You - it was better than nothing so that's what he selected. Once it started, he turned up the volume so the pling-plong music blasted out of the large speaker.

"Lawwwwwr-die… it's Fenwyck time!  Yessir!" Wynne said and made a beeline for the nearest open crate - it happened to be the one containing cans of 1910 Special Brew. Grinning, she grabbed a can and cracked it open. Once she had chugged down half of it in one gulp, she belched and repeated the good, old H.E. Fenwyck slogan: "It's high tih-me fer a Fenwyck!  Fenwyck, the tih-me is right!  The tih-me is right now!  Haw-yuh!  Head back, can up!"

While Ernie, Diego and Wynne were busy raiding the beer crates to wet their whistles after all the exhaustive singing, whooping and cheering, Mandy moved over to the table that Artie Rains shared with his wife despite knowing she would never, ever get him to say even a single nice word about her or the years she had been on his roster of deputies.

Pain, anger and bitterness were written all over Rains' face. His jaw began to grind as Mandy stepped closer to the table; his eyes were alight and his skin flushed from more than merely the can of H.E. Fenwyck Extra Strong he held in his meaty paw. "Congratulations, Sheriff Jalinski," he said in a voice that was less cold and more sincere than expected.

"Thank you, Sir."

Happy Birthday To You continued to blare out of the karaoke machine's speaker in the background. The overly cutesy rendition of the traditional song was completely at odds with the somber attitude on display at Rains' table. Mandy was about to leave when the former sheriff continued:

"Don't forget what I told you at the council meeting where they deposed me. The buck stops with you now. You probably think you'll come in and make sweeping changes… trust me, you won't. Now they don't have Artie Rains to blame anymore, the vultures will move to the next best target. They'll come lookin' for you, Manly," Rains said and got up from his chair. He needed to put a hand on the table for support for a moment before he had regained enough of his balance to move away from it.

"I'm aware of that," Mandy said darkly.

Moving over to the door with his wife supporting and guiding him along, Artie Rains stopped halfway there and turned around to face Mandy once more: "I'll be watching. Not to see you fail, but to see how long it'll take you to 've had enough of their bullshit. And that day will come."

As the former sheriff turned to leave, Mandy spoke in a hard, authoritarian voice: "Your wife will drive you home tonight, Mr. Rains. Won't she?"

Artie Rains let out a grunt and a dark chuckle; nodding, he let his wife open the door and guide him out to their gray Dodge Intrepid.

Mandy kept standing in the doorway to Moira's Bar & Grill to see if they had caught the hint. Velma helped her husband onto the passenger-side seat before she ran around the front of the Dodge and got behind the wheel. The gray vehicle soon drove north on Main Street until it turned onto Second Street and went out of sight.

Sighing, Mandy returned to the bar and grill where Wynne and the others were trying all they knew to get the karaoke machine to stop playing Happy Birthday To You - all the buttons had become inoperable so it seemed the musical computer had frozen up while caught in an endless loop of the traditional tune. The problem proved insurmountable for the beery crowd so they could only stand there and shrug, scratch their necks and do nothing.

A cheer rose when Moira fixed the mess by simply yanking the power cable from the socket. The fiery owner snorted loudly at the boozy inefficiency of the partygoers before she spun around and headed back to her office.

"Haw, we don't need no carreh-okeh machine anyhows!" Wynne cried, "we's got beers an' beers an' beers an' great comp'neh an' ev'rehthin'!  Yessir!  Ernie, ya ol' sombitch!  Why dontcha play a round o' strip pokah with li'l ol' Brendah ovah yondah?"

An all-too predictable splutter was soon heard as a fountain of beer shot out of Ernie's mouth and nose at the bold suggestion. It caused everyone to laugh and cheer at the unfortunate jack-of-all-trades whose hours as a bachelor were numbered - once the clock hit midnight, there would be a day and a half until he and Reverend Bernadine Russell would walk up the aisle of her own church down south in Cavanaugh Creek.

Mandy chuckled as she sought out Wynne's hand. The warm grin they shared lasted until their lips were too busy kissing to have time for anything else.

*
*
EPILOGUE

Four days later - just after nine in the evening in the trailer park south of Goldsboro.

"Lawwwwr-die!  Howindahell can I be outta be'ah alreddeh?  I onleh bought them there Fenwycks yestahdeh!  Or wus it the deh befo'… aw, nevah mind," Wynne Donohue said from halfway inside her old refrigerator. A few more sounds of rummaging around followed before the voice turned dejected: "I onleh got one can left!  I guess I musta drunk 'em all, then. Sombitch…"

Moments later, she took a step back and slammed the door shut with the toe of her flip-flop. After pulling down her black sweatshirt and pulling up her worn, faded blue-jeans, she shuffled back into the living area of her trailer where Blackie and Goldie waited for her.

The final can of H.E. Fenwyck Double Zero was soon cracked open before she leaned her head back and downed half of it in one gulp. "Ahhh… yuh, 's what I been sayin' fer years an' years. There ain't nuttin'… nuttin' whatsoevah that can't be cured by drinkin' a good be'ah. Nosirree. Works wondahs on everythin' from a sore ass to a black eye. Ain't that right, girls?"

Woof! - Yap…

"Yuh, I knew y'all would agree," Wynne said and moved over to her new reclining EZ-Chair that she had bought after being impressed by the one Ernie had over in his trailer. Sitting down, she made it stretch all the way out before she reached for the remote on the coffee table. "Ya girls wanna watch a li'l teevee or som'tin?  Naw?  Yuh, prolleh the best… ain't nuttin' worth viewin', anyhows."

The can of Double Zero was soon emptied and the inevitable belch had soon been delivered in quadraphonic quality. The cool can still had a final task to accomplish before it would find its permanent resting place out in the recycling bag: she rolled it across her forehead and the part of her throat that wasn't covered by her black sweatshirt.

Like most of Wynne's attire, the long-sleeved garment displayed her life-long allegiance to Nascar and General Motors' various teams and products. This particular one carried the familiar GM Goodwrench logo across the chest with the words Winston Cup Champions 1990-1991-1993-1994 written in white beneath it.

"Mercy Sakes… since I ain't gonn' be havin' no be'ah fer dessert tanight an' that there teevee ain't drawin' a crowd, neithah, I might as well read the dang newspapah now that I bought it an' all," she said as she made her EZ-Chair go back into an upright position so she could vacate it.

---

Two minutes later, she and the dogs moved out to her hopelessly crooked porch where they all found good spots to watch the late-evening sky. Wynne grabbed one of the two deck chairs and moved it closer to the lamp she had personally mounted on the wall of the trailer. That it was as hopelessly crooked as the porch and that she had managed to destroy four screws in the process by stripping the slots didn't count - she had made it and she was proud of her accomplishment. Sitting down, she unfolded the newspaper and began to read.

Blackie and Goldie woofed a little with each other as they snuggled down at their owner's feet. Now and then, the fearless Blackie swept the horizon to check for intruders of an otherworldly or supernatural kind while the scaredy-cat Goldie did her best to push another horrible drama as far from her doggy-mind as possible.

For a few minutes, the only sounds heard were breathing and a steady flutter produced whenever Wynne turned the page. "Snakes Alive… this he' newspapah is dullah than dirt taday… them folks ain't written nuttin' funneh anehwheah. Dad-gummit, even that there comic strip o' theirs ain't particularleh funneh. Not that it evah realleh wus… but that's a-whole-nothah storeh, ain't it?"

She put the dull newspaper in her lap and took to gazing at the evening sky instead. Her line of sight on the porch was toward the north-east, so the sky had already turned bluish-black as night approached.

It had been a cloudless day so the sunset hadn't been too spectacular; to compensate for the lack of awesomeness when it came to crimson and orange clouds, Mother Nature had sent the stars out to play in force. The wide open desert cooled off faster than most people expected which led to the stars appearing rock-steady against the black backdrop rather than twinkling like they did over populated areas.

Goldie broke out in a wide doggy-yawn; it made Blackie shuffle closer to her golden-furred companion to offer a little shoulder-nudge.

"Ya know, girls… this he' be so dang relaxin'. Yuh… it woulda been even mo' relaxin' with a be'ah an' all, but that gonn' hafta wait until tamorrah," Wynne said as she studied the myriad of stars above her. "O' course, this also be the tih-me o' day when som'tin weird an' wackeh done happened so dang often. Ya know, when some crittah or somebodda done popped up an' bit us on da buhtt. Lawrdie…"

Goldie promptly whimpered and buried her face in her paws. Just to make sure that any potential ghouls, ghosts, goblins, humanoid monsters, lizard-beasts or assorted other denizens of the Otherworld who could be lurking out there knew who was in charge, Blackie let out a thunderous bark that rolled across the desert - if it carried out to a certain cave in Maynard Canyon six miles east of the trailer park was hard to say, but it might have.

"Awww-yuh, Blackie!  Tell 'em bizarroh folks out yondah who realleh be runnin' this he' place!" Wynne cried before she broke out in a grin at her beloved dog's behavior. Leaning back on the deck chair, she happened to look up at the sky just as a shooting star streaked past. "Haw!  I wish the great love an' happiness that be goin' on between mah sweet, li'l dep- naw, sheriff Mandy an' me gonn' last forevah an' a day!  Y'all be lissenin' up there?  Ya bettah be!"

Chuckling, Wynne settled down once more. A short minute later, she could hear a car engine approaching her trailer. When a pair of headlights momentarily swept across the small stretch of desert beyond the crooked porch before they were turned off, a wide smile spread over her features - she knew what it all meant.

It didn't take long for Mandy Jalinski to stride around the corner of the trailer and wave a greeting at Wynne. Blackie and Goldie jumped up at once and intercepted her in the hope of getting a little rub. Once they had been duly rewarded, they returned to the porch but shuffled around so they could look at their owners instead of the wide open spaces.

Wynne moved up her hand to pretend to tip her cowboy hat that she wasn't in fact wearing. "Good evenin', there, Sheriff Mandy. Y'all be home earleh tanight."

"Sheriff's prerogative," Mandy said with a grin before she leaned in to place a kiss on Wynne's lips. They smiled a little at each other before she took the other deck chair and moved it over next to Wynne's.

"Anythin' excitin' happenin' in Goldsborah taday?"

"Not really. Robert Neilson will spend the night in the holding cell. Another DUI."

"Lawrdie," Wynne said and shook her head. "He don't get it. That there sombitch jus' don't get it."

"Have you heard from Ernie?"

Grinning and letting out a "Yuh!" Wynne reached into her pocket to find her smartphone. When she realized she had left it in the charger on the kitchen table, she shrugged and pushed it from her mind. "He done sent me one o' them there text messages. He an' the Rev'rend 'r doin' jus' fih-ne ovah yondah in Miami Beach an' all. They be havin' a great honeymoon from what he wrote."

"That's good."

"Yuh… but H.E. Fenwyck ain't sold ovah there so I don't know what the ol' boy gonn' do when he gets that there urge ta imbibe a li'l. That there sour wine shit sure ain't Ernie's thing at all, nosirree."  Wynne broke out in a snicker as she thought back to the photos she had taken at the recent wedding. " 'Member how that there face o' his neahleh turned inside out an' all when he done trah'd sippin' that there ro-seh wine?  Lawrdie… an' can y'all see him sippin' a mo-hee-toh or one o' them there Cosmahpoli-tonies?"

"No. I'm sure he'll get by somehow," Mandy said and finally unzipped her uniform jacket.

"Yuh. Haw, I done saw a shootin' star jus' now!  At least… I reckon it wus a shootin' star… it might'a been one o' them there alien spaceships or som'tin… naw, it wus a shootin' star," Wynne said as she scanned the skies once more. When nothing happened, she looked back at Mandy. "But anyhows, I got a perdeh nifteh no-shun in mah noggin 'bout som'tin, yuh?  Moira done asked me 'bout enterin' a bizzness partnahship where we set up one o' them there bed an' breakfasts or mebbe even a boardin' house like Missus Peabodda's. She done heard the buildin' next ta the bar an' grill gonn' be put up fer sale… Ernie an' me could easileh renovate them floahs an' rooms an' things. Them folks spendin' the nights could eat at Moira's an' all… yuh. It sure ain't no bad ideah, but I gotta think 'bout it a li'l moah befo' I'mma-gonn' commit ta it. Whadda y'all say ta that there no-shun, Sheriff Mandy?"

While Wynne carried on about her idea and Mandy, Blackie and Goldie listened intently, a strange light appeared just above the eastern horizon. It pulsated between bright-white and crimson several times before it seemed to move straight up into the night-time sky. After hovering there for a moment - perhaps to get its bearings - it zoomed off toward the west in the general direction of Oswald Creek, North Greenville and Jarrod City like it somehow knew it shouldn't mess with the residents of the trailer park eight miles south of Goldsboro, Nevada…

*
*
THE END

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