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CHAPTER 4

Two days later - Wednesday, February 22nd - 11:15am.

Goldsboro's Main Street saw a staggering amount of vehicular activity as the hands of time moved toward noon - or more to the point, the most important time of the day for many a hard-working man or woman: their lunch break.

No less than fourteen pickup trucks, panel vans and medium-sized delivery trucks were parked at the curb outside Moira's Bar & Grill. The line of vehicles reached all the way from the corner of the alley adjacent to the building and nearly a hundred yards north past the Bed & Breakfast and even going into the next building's parking space.

The fourteen vans and trucks represented many different trades and came from several different companies, but it seemed that everyone among the plumbers, carpenters, bricklayers, electricians, truck mechanics, glaziers, ranch hands, construction workers and self-employed, independent cleaning contractors who had lined up on Main Street had had the exact same notion at the exact same time: that their hard-earned lunch was best served at the top eatery in all of MacLean County.

Across the street in the sheriff's office, Mandy observed the chaotic scenes of frantic parking from her spot at the large windows. She nursed a mug of the excellent coffee that A.J. Lane had made for them just before the customer storm had set in - an empty plate over on the large desk proved the buttered biscuits he had brought had been excellent as well.

A series of coughs heralded the return of Barry Simms who had spent the past fifteen minutes in the restroom. It was still early enough in his shift for his hair to remain wet-combed and his uniform spotless, but the first strands had already broken loose of the former, and several specks of ash had coalesced on the latter.

He blew the trumpet several times on his way back to the watch desk. Tossing the tissues at the nearest trash can, it quickly became obvious that his aim had yet to improve from its long-term status of 'Pitiful.' He let out a groan or two when he leaned over to pick up the spent tissues, but at least he didn't pass wind. "I think I'm coming down with something," he said as he finally made it back to the watch desk and lowered himself onto the uncomfortable chair.

"How can you tell?" Mandy said in a mumble.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing."

Barry pushed a few items around on the desk - the incident report sheet, a few pencils, a pencil-sharpener, an eraser and a small magnifying glass - to create more room for the ashtray and its inch-high, and ever-increasing, volcanic cone of ash.

The old Bakelite telephone remained quiet which handed him the perfect opportunity to strike a match and light a cigarette - the column of foul-smelling smoke soon rose toward the long-suffering felt tiles in the ceiling. He leaned to the side to open the watch desk's bottom drawer. It only took a little rummaging around before he found a magazine containing dozens of crossword puzzles of varying levels of difficulty.

Grinning, he put it atop the incident report sheet, grabbed a pencil and went to work filling out the missing letters of a puzzle meant for kids and absolute beginners.

---

Ten minutes later, the peace and quiet was finally broken when the old telephone on the watch desk let out its typically shrill ringing. Mandy, who had sat down at her own desk in the meantime, rose at once and put her hands on the desktop almost as if she was getting set to start a 200-meter Olympic sprint.

Barry picked up the receiver and swept the crossword puzzle aside so he had room to update the incident report sheet. "You've reached the MacLean County Sheriff's Department, the Goldsboro office. How may we help you?" he said as he held the pencil ready. "Yes, Mr. Williams. The Sheriff's right here," he continued while waving the senior officer over to the watch desk.

Mandy strode around the corner of her desk to get to the telephone. Holding the old-fashioned receiver to her ear always reminded her of scenes from classic police procedurals like Dragnet, 77 Sunset Strip, The Streets Of San Francisco or even Hill Street Blues that she had devoured in large quantities as a young girl. "This is Sheriff Jalinski. What's your emergency, Mr. Williams?"

'Actually I'm calling to avoid getting into one,' Keshawn Williams said at the other end of the line. 'I've just been contacted by a man from California who appears to be a shady character. After we had spoken, I called an associate in L.A. to do a cross-check of him-'

"Really?  So you suspected him from the start?"

'Not exactly, Sheriff. It's pretty much standard practice when it comes to people who offer valuables over the telephone. Actually, the insurance companies demand that we do it.'

"I see. Go on," Mandy said as she dug into one of her uniform shirt's pockets for her trusty notepad and a ball point pen.

'Well, my associate said the caller is known within the thrift-shop community for offering stolen goods… or what we call items obtained through improper means. I'm pretty sure the caller chose my new shop because we're so far removed from everything, so I don't think he expected me to run a check of him… if you see what I mean.'

"I do. Please go on."

'While we spoke over the phone, the suspected fence emailed me numerous photos of a batch of jewelry he claimed to have for sale. Not top tier or handmade, but of a decent quality. According to what he said, it had been his late mother's.'

Pinning the receiver between her ear and her shoulder to have both hands free, Mandy performed an impressive run of high-speed scribbling to keep up with Keshawn's flow of words. "All right. In your opinion, how valuable is the jewelry in the photos?"

'Oh, that's very hard to say, Sheriff. I need to test their weight to know for sure. He initially wanted four-hundred dollars for the entire batch. If the jewelry really is what it seems, that's not an unrealistic sum. Of course, it would be pure profit for him if he really did steal the items. And after speaking to my contact in L.A., I suspect that the caller, or one of his associates, did.'

"It would also be laundered money. That's an entirely different kettle of fish these days. It would automatically turn into a federal case, as a matter of fact," Mandy continued as she crossed the T's and dotted the I's.

'Yes, I read a press statement about that some time ago. The crook might not know that, either.'

Mandy nodded to herself - they could use that to their advantage. "Were you able to get his name, Mr. Williams?"

'He made sure only to give me his street name. It sounded like 'Chunn.'  No, I have no idea what that means!' A brief laugh at the nonsensical name flowed over the connection. A few moments went by before Keshawn assumed a more somber tone: 'It may end up as nothing, but who can tell?  In any case, I'm asking for advice or a suggestion on how I should react if he contacts me again.'

Mandy briefly glanced at the hands on the wall-mounted clock. "Mr. Williams, I'll be up at your store in fifteen minutes. Let's continue our conversation in person."

'Oh!  That's a good idea, Sheriff!  Do you want me to make some coffee, or-'

"No thank you, Mr. Williams," Mandy said with a smile. "Just the details of the case. I need to see the pictures he sent you."

'No problem. I can print them out if you wish?'

"I can't say yet. If it's necessary, we can do that while I'm there."

'Okay!  See you then, Sheriff. Goodbye.'

"Goodbye, Mr. Williams," Mandy said and put the receiver back on the Bakelite telephone. She had to step away from the watch desk in a hurry when Barry let out a cloud of foul-smelling smoke that shared many similarities with a 40-year-old diesel engine starting up.

Barry didn't even bother putting down the cigarette as he updated the incident report sheet with the date, time and initials of the officer processing the call - in this case, Sheriff Mandy Jalinski. "I love browsing Keshawn's Second-Hand Treasures," he said as he finally knocked off a long tip of ash. "It's one of those things we had no idea we needed here in town. Like when Chicky Kingz opened a couple of years ago."

"I agree. And Wynne certainly does, too," Mandy said, letting out a chuckle at the thought of the previous day's horror show that re-assembling the glass cabinets had turned into - fortunately, the subsequent dusting off, cataloguing and displaying the colorful diecasts had improved Wynne's mood by leaps and bounds.

Sobering, Mandy walked back to the large desk and pulled out the swivel-chair. "Well. Back to the present. It seems Mr. Williams has been contacted by criminals who are looking to hawk stolen goods. Jewelry."

"Mmmm!"

Mandy reconsidered her actions and went over to Beatrice Reilly's desk instead to pick up one of the case files the Junior Deputy had worked on earlier in the day - at present, Beatrice was undertaking an assignment up at Morton Fredericksen's poultry farm north of Goldsboro.

Barry took such a deep puff from his cigarette that the tip of ash fell off and landed on the incident sheet - a flick of the wrist sent it onto the cracked linoleum down below. Shrugging, he said: "I guess that's kinda inevitable. He owns two further stores in L.A… or was it… no, it was Los Angeles. I think. Anyway, we all know how those big city people can be."

"There are criminals everywhere, Deputy Simms," Mandy said on her way back to the large desk.

Drawing another deep puff of his latest cigarette, Barry looked at the sheriff before he shrugged again and concentrated on his crossword puzzle.

A few moments later, the sticking glass door was smashed open by Beatrice and Rodolfo who had joined forces on the sidewalk to conquer the stubborn piece of wood.

Although both were in uniform, their appearances couldn't be more different: where Beatrice's was squeaky clean and followed the dress code to the letter, Rodolfo's was dusty and disheveled. The knees sported ungainly, dark patches and his necktie had been yanked aside as if he had been working hard on something that really didn't want to be worked on.

"Whoa!  You look like you've wrestled a bull!" Barry said and broke out in a loud laugh. The exclamation caused a persistent cough that began slow but soon turned into a rattling, hacking, spluttering fit that rendered him unable to do anything but rattle, hack, splutter and slam a clenched fist against his chest to get the clot of mucus to release.

Even Mandy had to stifle a smirk at the unusual sight of Rodolfo Gonzalez being so unkempt - and that was to be taken literally as his slicked-back locks had rebelled against him and stood out in all directions. "Senior Deputy, I think I'd like to hear your story first," she said, moving away from the desk.

Rodolfo straightened his necktie which almost seemed a waste of time as it was the least of his issues. "I had a flat, Sheriff. In the middle of nowhere… obviously. And the tires we use on the Durangos weigh a frickin' ton!  I need a shower-"

"I can attest to that," Beatrice said, winking at Mandy and fanning her nose as she walked past the sheriff to get to her own desk.

"Oh, ha, ha!  And another ha!"

The old Bakelite telephone rang once more to interrupt the session. Barry was still too far into his rattling coughing fit to respond, so Mandy strode over to the watch desk to pick it up. "You've reached the MacLean-"

'Hello again, Sheriff. It's Keshawn Williams. Listen, things are moving fast now. I've just been contacted by that Chunn character again. He said that he and a buddy will swing by at two or so this afternoon with the merchandise.'

Barry's coughing was so loud that Mandy needed to stuff a pinkie into her auditory canal to hear what Keshawn said, but that made it impossible to take notes. She couldn't move away from the watch desk as the old-fashioned extension cord wasn't long enough. The only alternative was to send Barry outside, and she did so by snapping her fingers, pointing at the deputy and then the sidewalk - nodding, Barry crabbed out of the sheriff's office to continue his gross-sounding fit outside.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Williams. We had a little problem here," Mandy said as she grabbed her notepad from her shirt pocket and sat down at the watch desk. "Would you mind repeating what you said?"

'Was that Barry hacking up a lung as usual?'

"Yes."

'Thought as much,' Keshawn said with a laugh. 'All right. The Chunn fellow just called me again to say that he and a friend will come to Goldsboro this afternoon at two or so. They'll have the jewelry with them. I agreed to the deal, but honestly… I'm not really comfortable with it. Who knows what might happen?'

To save time, Mandy jotted down the new information in bullet form for later expansion and analysis. "I agree, Mr. Williams. These kinds of people can be unpredictable as I'm sure you're aware. We'll have someone there to monitor the exchange and intervene when necessary. The deputy will appear as a regular customer so Chunn and his partner won't suspect a thing."

'Okay… good. Thank you, Sheriff. Oh, are you still going to come up here so we can discuss the plans in person?'

"Yes, but it'll need to be slightly later. The deputy in question and I will be there at…" - she checked the time - "twenty to one. That's in forty minutes or so."

'All right, Sheriff. Goodbye.'

"Goodbye, Mr. Williams," Mandy said before she put down the receiver to work on her notes. Barry continued to hack, cough and splutter out on the sidewalk, so after expanding on a few details here and a few thoughts there, she turned to Rodolfo and Beatrice instead. "Senior Deputy, since you already need to shower and change your uniform, you're going on a plain-clothes assignment."

"Yes, Sheriff," Rodolfo said, giving up on trying to brush off his shirt.

"Mr. Williams has been contacted by a man he suspects is trying to hawk stolen jewelry. The person in question will show up with an associate at two or so this afternoon. We obviously need to be present during the exchange. Prior to that, we need to go up there to allay Mr. Williams' concerns."

Nodding, Rodolfo loosened his necktie and began to unbutton his cuffs. "Very well, Sheriff. I'll hurry."

The black eye Rodolfo had received in the brief fight against Gregory Jones in the jail house didn't stand out much because of his medium-brown complexion, but Beatrice's face looked like she had fallen off a moving train. Her brow was still bruised and the bridge of her nose shone as red as Rudolph's in spite of all the hard work put forth by the bag of frozen sweet peas and the slices of cucumber. She didn't have a pair of shiners as such, but the skin around her eyes and on the upper parts of her cheeks was purple and looked plain evil.

"Deputy Reilly," Mandy said, "you could have called in sick today, you know. It's obvious you're not back to full fitness yet."

Beatrice looked up from the case file she had been working on. "I'm fine, Ma'am. Just a slight headache… and I hope I don't need to sneeze. I did that twice last night and it took me ten minutes to recover."

"I can imagine… in any case, you have my permission to go home if you start feeling worse."

"Thank you, Ma'am. I hope it won't be necessary."

Mandy let out a grunt as she moved back over to the largest of the three desks - she had plenty of paperwork of her own to work on.

---

A short fifteen minutes later, a freshly-showered Rodolfo emerged from the crew room at the back of the office wearing his street clothes. The response from his fellow deputies wasn't exactly what he had expected: Mandy furrowed her brow and Beatrice let out a "Hmmm?"

Barry just laughed out loud - he even took out his cigarette to do so which only happened on the rarest of occasions. "Oh yeah, that's definitely gonna work!  Not!  You won't fool any crook looking like that!"

"Shaddup, Barry!  There's nothing wrong with this outfit… it's a genuine Sergio DiSantos," Rodolfo said and looked at his shiny leather shoes, the black, creased pants, the stark-white shirt, the stylish necktie and the black suit jacket where a white handkerchief peeked out of the breast pocket.

His face and fingernails had been scrubbed clean, and his black hair had once again been slicked back to sit like a shiny helmet on his head. The pencil-thin mustache worked perfectly with the rest of his movie-star looks, giving him a distinct air of Golden Age Hollywood.

"Senior Deputy," Mandy said, getting up from the large desk, "I believe Deputy Simms is trying to convey that you don't exactly look like the type of person who'd frequent a second-hand store. You'll stick out like a sore thumb. The people we're there to meet will spin around and walk away the moment they spot you."

"Well… okay…"

Mandy scratched an eyebrow as she took in the splendor before her. "You wouldn't happen to have… well… maybe a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt in your locker, would you?"

"I most certainly would not, Sheriff!"

"Hmmm…"

Beatrice stood up straight and broke out in a grin. "I do, Sheriff," she said in a strong voice. "And I'll be back in three minutes."

---

Three minutes later, Mandy needed to scratch an eyebrow all over again. Now it was Rodolfo's turn to let out a "Hmmm?" and Barry just laughed so hard that smoke poured out of his nostrils.

Beatrice Reilly had hopped into sturdy work boots, a plaid flannel shirt and a pair of blue-jeans equipped with a leather belt and a large brass buckle. She wore a cap celebrating the Barton City Raptors basketball team's divisional championship the previous year, and she even had a silver chain down her right thigh that went from her belt to her wallet. "Now what the hell are you laughing at, Barry?" she said, glancing down at her clothes just like Rodolfo had done earlier.

The cause for Barry's laughter was obvious to Beatrice's senior colleagues: while the Junior Deputy certainly looked the part - and her bruised face even added some 'rough and ready' character - her patented steely gaze, strong presence and stereotypical law-enforcement stance gave her away at once.

"What?  I don't get it," she said, breaking out in a wide shrug.

Her confusion only caused Barry to laugh harder, but the laughter got stuck in his throat and turned to a big gulp when he heard the sheriff's next order:

"Deputy Simms… you're it. Get changed. Now. We need to be up at Mr. Williams's store in less than fifteen minutes," Mandy said in a stern tone of voice before she turned back to her other two deputies. "Thank you both. You may change back into your uniforms now."

Rodolfo and Beatrice looked at each other for a moment before they broke out in identical shrugs and went into the crew room - another moment beyond that, Rodolfo was kicked back outside to wait for Beatrice to redo her change of clothes.

-*-*-*-

A short time later across Main Street, the familiar matte-black Chevrolet Silverado Trail Boss Midnight Edition reversed into the parking spot reserved for it in the alley adjacent to Moira's Bar & Grill. Behind the wheel, Wynne warbled along to the final stanzas of Jed Dunston's classic Country Rock anthem Nothing Holding Me Back before she turned off the radio and grabbed the protective bag that contained her expensive pool cue.

As soon as the rear door was opened, Blackie and Goldie jumped down onto the ground. The dogs soon ran around to get reacquainted with the alley and any potential new smells they'd find there. Several happy yaps and barks were exchanged along the lines of 'I love her because she feeds me, but I wish she would sing less.' -- 'I agree. I think my ears are bleeding.' -- 'Well, they're not.' -- 'Thanks!'

Strolling out onto Main Street, Wynne came to an abrupt and screeching halt at the sight of the pickup trucks, panel vans and medium-sized delivery trucks that continued to take up so much space at the curb that the tail-end of the line nearly disappeared from view. "Whaddinda-wohhhhh-rld?  Haw!  I reckon it ain't gonn' be easy ta ordah some chow taday… shoot. Ol' Slow Lane prolly gonn' be close ta explodin' alreddy. An' that there pool table gonn' be occupied too, darn'it."

A string of downcast woofs and yaps escaped Blackie and Goldie as they took in the sight with wide doggy-eyes.

"Yuh, sure ain't no lie, girls. Not ta men-shun all them boots jus' waitin' ta step on all y'all's paws. Ugh."

Wynne's attention soon shifted from the column of vehicles to the sheriff's office across the street - her eye had been caught by the swarm of law-enforcement officers who exited the office and began striding up the sidewalk: the strike team marched north in a combat box formation with the Sheriff up front, the Senior Deputy at her side, Barry shuffling along in the middle wearing street clothes, and the Junior Deputy acting as the tail gunner.

"Whaddahell-izzat saposed ta be, now?" Wynne said and pushed her cowboy hat back from her brow - her rugged Last Original Cowpoke outfit made her the ideal undercover agent in any kind of rural location, but nobody had bothered to ask her. "Lookie ovah yondah, girls. Wus we invaded ag'in?  Or mebbe there gonn' be anothah Eff Bee Eye ex-uhr-size?  An' whah is ol' Barry wearin' them reg'lar duds o' his?  Girls, I reckon we got usselves one o' them there mysteries on ou'ah hands an' paws. Ain't dat som'tin?"

The dogs responded like they always did: Goldie whimpered and dove behind Wynne's denim-clad legs while Blackie let out an excited bark. A moment later, the black German Shepherd took off in a fast run to join up with her other owner. She came to a quick stop at the side of the Main Street to make sure she wouldn't end up as a hood ornament, but when she realized she had the street to herself, the fast run was resumed.

"Naw, I need-a figgah out whut mah darlin' Mandy an' them de-per-ties be up ta. The beer can wait. Lawwwwwr-die, I nevah done thunk words like that wus gonn' spew outta mah mouth… but they sure did. Haw!  Eithah I be gettin' real ol' or I finally be gettin' all grown-up or som'tin. Whadda-y'all reckon, Goldie?"

Yap…

"Yuh-haw?  Ya reckon I be gettin' ol'?  Yuh, mah dang back sorta-kinda agrees with y'all. Anyhows, we be goin' on a li'l adventure. C'mon, girl!"

When Goldie was more than a little reluctant to go on the supposedly little adventure, Wynne whistled and patted her thigh to let the Golden Retriever understand she had no say in the matter.

Two steps into their journey, Wynne came to a halt and stomped back to the Silverado to deposit her expensive pool cue on the rear seat - a mumbled utterance of "An' I can't 'membah worth a dad-gum, neithah…" followed her all the way back.

---

The two groups reconvened on the sidewalk in front of Keshawn's Second-Hand Treasures. Wynne was quickly brought up to speed so any confusion could be ironed out beforehand.

"Haw, lemme get this straight, Sheriff Mandy," Wynne said, scratching her neck. "Y'all be askin' if I wanna be ol' Barry's wingman out he' while he be in the sto'ah tryin' ta… haw… yuh… haw… do som'tin ta them crooks when they show up?"

"Yes," Mandy said with a grin.

Down on the sidewalk, Blackie walked around practicing her most feral sneer in the hope she would get to use it to frighten some bad people - the look certainly had Goldie's attention as the Golden Retriever had rolled herself into a ball of fur up on the white bench that had been placed in front of the store.

"Haw. I figgah'd that wus whut y'all done asked. Okeh, ain't no trubbel. So… whut 're Rodolfo an' Quick Draw be doin' in there right now?"

Mandy smiled some more as she took Wynne by the hand and guided her over to the same bench Goldie had already claimed. "They're setting up a hidden camera that's equipped with a wide lens. It'll cover the entrance and the counter. We need to get solid proof of the exchange, and Mr. Williams doesn't have his own security cameras hooked up yet."

"Whah, sure he does… I be perdy sure he got one o' them there swivel-things above the countah, don't he?"

"Technically yes, but it's a dummy."

"Haw?  Whazzat?"

"The camera's fake."

"Aw… okeh. Clevah… it done fooled me, awright. Anyhows. So whah is ol' Barry even in there, then?" Wynne said, nudging Goldie aside so she had room on the bench to sit down - Mandy kept standing.

"To respond at once in case the situation escalates. I've contacted HQ up in Barton City and relayed the sparse info we have on the suspects, but they're still searching their databases. We only have the man's street name. Chunn."

"Chunn?  Haw. Betcha fiddy cents tha guy's name is John only he got a speech impediment so he can't pronounce it right or som'tin."

The two women looked at each other in silence for a few moments before Mandy leaned her head back to laugh. "You know, it wouldn't surprise me. We'll find out before long. The suspect said that he and a friend would be here at two or so."

"Okeh. An' y'all jus' want me ta sit out he' lookin' at mah phoah-ne or som'tin until them bad folks done show up?  An' when I see 'em comin' t'ard us, I call Barry an' all y'all ta letcha know?"

"Exactly."

"Haw. Ain't gonn' be no trubbel, Sheriff. No trubbel whutsoevah. That kinda job I can do. Sit on mah buhhhh-tt watchin' a li'l Nascahhhh-r or playin' a li'l Rubbin' Fendahs on mah phoah-ne. Yes, Ma'am!" Wynne said with a grin.

-*-*-*-

The digits on Wynne's telephone showed 2pm, then 2:05pm, then 2:10pm, then 2:15pm, then 2:20pm. Sighing, she shuffled around on the hard bench hoping to find a softer spot as her rearward-facing cheeks had started to complain about the lack of a cushion.

No matter what she tried, time refused to go by faster. 'Chunn' and his associate were more than just fashionably late, so she reached for the next can in the six-pack of H.E. Fenwyck Double-Zeros that she'd had Ritchie Lee bring her in exchange of a $5 bill.

Pssshhhht!

"Shoot, I been he' fer mo' than an hou'ah now… I be hungry. An' this is ass-borin'," she mumbled before she took the first sip. She glanced up and down a Main Street that was as deserted as ever. A field tractor rumbled north down the far end of the street, but the chances of the supposed crooks arriving on a tractor were slim to none - and as the old saying went, Slim had been on a bender all week so he hadn't even bothered to show up for work.

Goldie mirrored her owner's mood by yawning. With Blackie returning to the sheriff's office with the deputies, there was nothing for her to do but pant, yawn and snooze.

Wynne took a sip and looked north along Main Street. Then she took a sip and looked south along Main Street. Then she took a sip and looked north along Main Street. Then she took a sip and looked south along Main Street. "Hawwww-shittt, can this gig get any wohhh-rse?  Ain't nobodda answah that!"

Yap… yap!

"Yuh, sure ain't no lie, Goldie. Lawrdie, I shoudden ha' said yes. I be so dang-blasted hungry I could eat a chicken that wussen even plucked or nuttin'. Haw, I prolly get a lotta feathahs in mah mouth, tho'… mebbe not. Som'tin else, then."

She picked up her telephone to continue watching NASCAR's XFinity-series - the second division - race from Daytona, but soon lost interest all over again when the ad breaks seemed to outnumber the racing laps. Stowing the phone into her pocket, she took yet another sip that turned out to be the last one of that particular can. The empty container was soon put on the bench, but she forced herself not to take the next one at once.

A distant engine note made her and Goldie look south on Main Street. Once the vehicle in question came into view, it was revealed to be Kenny Tobin in his old truck - he duly waved at the pair when he drove past on his way home to take over as the afternoon tour guide of their family-run Bug Bonanza insect museum.

Wynne waved back using her cowboy hat but Goldie couldn't be bothered to do anything. Once the hat was safely on Wynne's dark locks, she let out a deep sigh.

"Whaddahell keepin' them foo's?  Man-oh-man, this he' gig blows chunks," she mumbled as she got up to stretch her legs. The colorful billboards and posters at the movie theater across the street soon caught her eye.

Since nothing at all happened anywhere near or afar, she eventually patted her thigh and let out a brief whistle to get Goldie's attention. Once she had it, she pointed across the street, and the two soon shuffled over there to take a peek at the coming attractions.

---

The next ten minutes were spent studying the posters for the upcoming titles - two of which were superhero movies of the loud, CGI-infested kind that she had zero-point-zero interest in. One was a romantic comedy featuring some of Hollywood's major stars, and the last one was a science-fiction drama that couldn't build any kind of excitement within her whatsoever.

"Lawwwwr-die, this he' is even wohhh-rse than waitin' fer one o' them there dang-blasted rain delays," she mumbled, kicking her heels and shuffling back and forth in a small circle to kill time. "Some o' them there delays wus jus' nuts. Shoot… I plum ferget which track they wus racin' at, but tha dang rain delay went on fer so dang long they hadda complete the race on Tues'dy!  An' then there wus that time in Atlanta in 'ninety-three where it done snowed!  That there race wussen held until da followin' weekend!  'Membah that, Goldie?"

Yap?

"Naw, ya prolly wudden 'cos y'all wussen born then. Ack-chew-ly, it be kinda funny that I done thunk o' that race jus' now 'cos I bought that there winnin' cahhh-r the othah day. Yessirree, I sure did… that wus tha Motahcraft Wood Brothahs Fohh-rd driven bah Morgan Shepherd- naw!  Naw, it wussen 'cos Motahcraft done sponsah'd Bud Moore's team, ya dumb Cowpoah-k!  Them Wood Bros wus sponsah'd bah Citgo!  Yuh. Not that y'all know whaddahell I be yakkin' 'bout or nuttin'…"

Yap…

"Yuh. Like I done said."

Down at Wynne's feet, Goldie finally gave up the unequal struggle with boredom - the Golden Retriever simply stretched out on the lobby's carpet like a furry roadblock. Her owner's last comments required some kind of reply, so she let out a bored Yap… that she hoped would satisfy the tall Human.

The rumble of another engine in the middle distance made Wynne shuffle back out onto Main Street to take a peek. Her eye soon caught a two-door Chevrolet Lumina from the early 1990s driving slowly toward her from the north.

As the car got closer, it became painfully obvious it had seen better days as there were dings, dents and wrinkled sheet metal all over the roof and on every visible body panel. The windshield was cracked and the multi-colored paint job seemed to have been applied using a fire hose or a vacuum cleaner that had been set to run in reverse. The tires on the left-hand side weren't matched: it had a regular black one up front and - of all things - a whitewall at the back.

Having finally woken up, Goldie soon joined her owner on the sidewalk. She took a casual, highly bored glance at the dented car but couldn't even be bothered to yap.

"Haw, Goldie… izzat a Z-thirty-fo'ah?  Naw, can't be… or mebbe it is?  I dunno. Kinda looks like it 'cos it got them skirts, but… aw, they prolly be aftahmarket parts. Whadda piece o' absolute junk… mebbe they done bought it at a demoli-shun derby or som'tin… man!  That there thing there don't even desuhrve ta wear them there bow-tie emblems or nuttin'!"

Out of sheer instinct, Wynne took off her hat and waved it at the people in the General Motors vehicle. When they both pretended not to have seen her, she let out a "Haw?" and began to take a closer interest in the two men.

Both appeared to be in their mid-to-late twenties, both wore black Lettermans and both had similarly-fashioned facial hair. Neither wore any kind of headwear so it was easy to see that each of them wore his hair short although not quite to the level of a buzz or a crew cut.

"Them guys shoudden ha' done that… they shoudden ha' ignored li'l ol' me," Wynne mumbled to herself as she whipped up her telephone and quickly found Mandy's number in the registry - down below, Goldie covered her eyes with her paws as things were once again getting dangerous and scary.

Once the number had been selected, Wynne put the telephone to her ear. A 'Go ahead, hon,' soon filtered through to her.

"Sheriff Mandy," Wynne said, trying to modulate her voice to give it a tone of authority for once, "I be standin' up he' at that there mooh-vie theatah clappin' mah eyes on an old piece o' junk drivin' thru' town right this minnit. It be an ol' Loo-mina that sure ain't in no good condi-shun or nuttin'. Two guys be in it an' they sure smell suspi-shuss ta me. If all y'all wait a minnit or so, it gonn' be drivin' straight past y'all, I reckon… naw… stand bah!"

'Standing by,' Mandy said with a chuckle from their spot further down Main Street.

Wynne ran out onto the street to keep an eye on the Lumina. Instead of continuing south, it turned right at the traffic lights and disappeared up Second Street. "Whaddahell?  Shoot… mebbe dat wus one o' them there false alarms an' all. Sheriff-"

'I heard you, Wynne. Where did it go?'

"Them guys done drove onta Second Street. They went outtah mah line o' sight from he' so I ain't sure where they be at now. Mebbe they gonn' be visitin' somebodda ovah on Josiah Street. Y'all want me ta follow 'em ovah yondah or som'tin?"

'No, stay where you are. We don't want them to feel cornered before the transaction has been carried out.'

Wynne nodded while she kept an eye on the intersection at Second Street. Even listening hard, she was unable to pick up any engine notes which offered a hint the Lumina had been parked somewhere. "Darlin', jus' a quick thought… how come y'all don't jus' arrest 'em whenevah they get inta town an' all?  Keshawn done tole us that they done tole him they wus gonn' bring that there jewelry there… so it be bound ta be in their vee-hickel."

'Well, yes… unless they didn't bring the real deal but are just trying to scam Mr. Williams into buying a worthless imitation. And even then, we'd need Probable Cause for pulling them over.'

"Shoot, I didden think o' that," Wynne said, giving her neck a thorough scratching. "Okeh, nevah mind, darlin'. Y'all be tha Sheriff an' I be tha Cowpoah-k. I reckon I oughttah stick ta cowpoah-kin'."

'Well, thank you for reporting it, hon.'

"Aw, ya sure is welcome an' all, darlin'… shoot, it wussen nuttin' aftah all. Anyhows. Uh… okeh, tawk ta ya latah. Bah-bah!"

Once the telephone was back in her pocket, she resumed the old party game for singles of all ages: kicking her heels. That soon lost its luster, so she spun around and stomped inside the movie theater's lobby to buy a bucket of warm popcorn from the stand that had just opened as the employees prepared for the day's showings.

All that activity made Goldie do a double-take, but she was soon back on all fours, shuffling along to go back inside the lobby.

-*-*-*-

Down the other end of Main Street, Mandy stepped away from the round table in the crew room to key the button on her portable radio. "Base to Mobile Unit Three. Base To Mobile Unit Three. Does your earphone work, Mobile Unit Three?  Over."

Behind her, Rodolfo and Beatrice continued to look at the moving images on the flip-up display of a laptop they had borrowed from Grant Lafferty - although no one would ever expect it given his somewhat grandfatherly exterior, the owner of the Beer & Liquor Imports was also Goldsboro's undisputed Internet Uber-nerd.

The movie playing was a live stream recorded by the hidden camera up in Keshawn's Second-Hand Treasures. It showed the counter in vibrant colors and 4K UHD, and the image was so crisp and crystal clear that it was possible to read the price tags on some of the items for sale.

Several seconds went by before Barry replied in a trembling voice: 'It works too well, Sheriff!  It nearly popped my eardrum!  Gawwwwd, I jumped a foot in the air when you called me!  It howled and whined and-'

"Roger that, Mobile Unit Three," Mandy said while shaking her head at Barry's legendary ability to moan about the most insignificant things. "May I suggest you turn down the volume a notch or two?  Oh, and Deputy Simms… don't forget we have a ultra hi-def image on the monitor. We can see you picking your nose. Over."

'Oh… all right… uh, over.'

"If the suspects haven't appeared at three P.M., we'll assume they're no-shows. You can stand down at the top of the hour, but not sooner. Over."

'Understood, Sheriff.'

"Very well. Base out," Mandy said before she attached the radio to her belt. Wynne's report about two men in a strange car showing up on Main and then disappearing onto Second Street continued to be processed at the back of her mind - the odds of that happening at the exact same moment they were waiting for two crooks to show up had to be astronomical.

Moving out into the office itself, Mandy went over to the windows to take a closer look at the goings-on out on Main Street. Everything was as quiet and uneventful as always, but she had experienced enough over the years to know that first, and even second, glances would often deceive.

Blackie rested on the blanket just inside the door. The German Shepherd had been given a stick of chicken jerky and a full bowl of cool water to keep her happy, but she jumped up and left it behind when her owner came close to her. She was soon sitting next to the sheriff's legs, observing Main Street.

Unable to see anything from her regular spot, Mandy stepped outside to see where the battered car Wynne had reported seeing might have ended up. Blackie let out a puzzled Woof? but soon followed her owner onto the sidewalk.

There was nothing for either of them to see or hear anywhere. The constant winds sweeping in from the desert had picked up which meant that any fainter sounds would be drowned out at once by the rattling drain pipes and whistling TV antennas - and besides, it was far too chilly to stand there in shirtsleeves for any length of time.

Before they went back inside, Mandy took a final glance at Main Street. Her sixth sense seemed to want to whisper something in her ear, but she had a hard time discerning what the message could be.

The piles of paperwork on her desk didn't go away just because other issues came to the forefront, so after stocking up with a couple of butter-baked crackers and a mugful of coffee from their own machine, she went back to filling out forms and doodling her signature on completed case files.

Mirroring her owner, Blackie soon gnawed on the stick of chicken jerky while pondering the strange, strange behavior of even the smartest of Humans.

-*-*-*-

A constant drum roll of popcorn-style munching and crunching preceded the tall figure of Wynne Donohue as she strolled back through the lobby of the movie theater.

Choosing the type of popcorn she wanted had been one of those major stumbling blocks she had never expected to crop up on such a dull day. During the brief time she had worked at the movie theater's concession stand - back when the establishment had been under its original management - there had only been one type of popcorn: regular, old-fashioned salted ones.

Now, she had nearly been bowled over when she had to choose between Regular Salt, Extra Salt, Regular Butter, Extra Butter, Regular Caramel and Extra Caramel. There was even an option of adding black pepper to the mix, but that was where she drew the line. After endless hemming, hawing and head-scratching, she had sprung for a good ol'-fashioned, traditional, basic Regular Salt.

And then she'd had to decide how large a bucket she wanted. The Small was far too small, the Large far too large and the Extra-Large was nothing short of ridiculous when it came to how much popcorn it could hold. More head-scratching had ensued before she followed her instincts and had settled for yet another of the good ol'-fashioned, traditional, basic things: a bucket labeled Medium.

She and Goldie had barely set foot on Main Street when a croaking "Whaddahell-izzat now?!" sent several popcorn flying out of her mouth. She came to a dead stop as she clapped eyes on the semi-wrecked Chevrolet Lumina that had re-appeared out of nowhere and was littering the street at the curb in front of Keshawn's Second-Hand Treasures.

Munching and crunching for all she was worth to clear her mouth, she tried to hold onto her hat and the bucket of popcorn while she dug into her pocket to get her telephone - and all at the same time.

Something had to give, and that ended up being her hat. When she removed her hand from the dented crown, the perpetual winds sent an ill-timed gust in her direction that blew the cowboy hat clean off her dark locks. "D'awwww!  Mah hat!  Sohhhh-mbitch!" she croaked, prompting yet another flurry of popcorn to fly out of her mouth.

Goldie expertly evaded the flurry of white, salted puffs on her quest to retrieve the errant hat. She chased it along the sidewalk for half a dozen yards before she grabbed it with her teeth and brought it back to her owner.

Several more pieces of popped corn flew over the edge of the bucket as Wynne carried out a deep-pocket archaeological excavation while juggling her snacks. Growling from somewhere deep in her throat, she finally managed to thrust her hand far enough into her pocket to get the electronic gizmo.

Because of the telephone's design, she needed to use both hands to go through the registry - that left her one hand short for the brand new and almost full bucket of popcorn. If she put it down on the sidewalk, the puffy corn would be blown away and thus ruined. If she put its edge between her teeth, she would have both hands free to operate the telephone, but she would be unable to speak.

Down on the sidewalk, Goldie kept the greasy cowboy hat between her teeth as she slowly shook her head at the bizarre behavior she witnessed.

The bucket of popcorn eventually ended up between Wynne's own set of pearly whites so she could find and select the correct number. "Som'gifff… whaddahaye… aw, fhoot, thiff he' day goin' from bad ta wohhhh-rfffe!  Gahhhh-gammit!"

'Hello, hon. Any news?' Mandy said at the other end of the line.

"Yeffff!  Haw, fhoot… wait a mimmick!" - Now that the connection had been established, Wynne tore the bucket of popcorn from her teeth so she could speak in her regular inch-thick Texan drawl instead of trying to simulate the rarely used Popcornian. "That there piece o' junk Loo-mina done returned from I ain't sure where!  Hell, it don't matter none where it wus, anyhows, 'cos now it be right he' in front-a that there sto'ah there!  An'… an'… yuh, them guys I done saw drivin' it ain't innit no mo'!"

'Dammit!'

"Lawrdie, that be 'xactly what I done said!  Anyhows, me an' Goldie be ovah at that there mooh-vie theatah so we done got a clear view o' the whole mess."

Sounds of commotion and barely audible words filtered through the speaker and into Wynne's ear. She took the opportunity to grab a handful of popcorn so they wouldn't go to waste. When Mandy started speaking in her ear, she broke out in double-fast chewing so she could reply.

'The suspects haven't entered the store yet… we can see that on the live stream. Are they anywhere in sight, Wynne?'

Crunch-crunch-crunch-crunch-gulp! "Naw. Ain't nobodda he' but me an' Goldie… an' judgin' how bad Goldie be whimperin' right now, I ain't even sure she be all he'!  Anyhows, y'all want me ta, ya know, get a li'l closah an' check out-"

'No!  No, this is a police matter, Wynne. Please stay away, all right?  Please?  We both know you have a tendency to get mixed up in all kinds of weird stuff…'

"Lawwwwwwwr-die, that sure ain't no lie!  Okeh, darlin', me an' Goldie be stayin' right he' an' all. Yuh. Chewin' popcorn an' wishin' I done hadda beer. Well, I do, but them Dubbel-Zerahs be onda bench onda othah side o' the street, dag-nabbit!"

'Just stay at the movie theater-'

At that exact moment, the two men appeared from around the corner of the second-hand store and walked over to the Lumina. One was revealed to be taller, and perhaps older, than the other. Both were of Latino descent. In addition to their black Lettermans, one wore black jeans while the other wore dark-tan cargo pants.

Goldie let out an impressive series of whimpers before she spun around and stormed into the movie theater's lobby. Wynne grabbed a handful of popcorn and kept on observing the latest development.

Once she had swallowed the latest batch of white puffs, she held the telephone up to her mouth. "Sheriff Mandy," she said in a quiet voice so it wouldn't carry over to the men who hadn't seen her yet, "them fellas done showed up. Yuh. They be mean-lookin', I be tellin' y'all. Real reddy-teddies, catch mah drift?  Can all y'all see 'em on that there stream-thing there?"

'No, the camera angle only covers the counter and parts of the floor. We're moving in, but keep describing the situation, Wynne!'

"Sure thing, darlin'," Wynne said and inched even further into the nook that existed between the main entrance and the box office booth. She reached for the popcorn but reconsidered before she could scoop up any. "Okeh… da first fella is openin' that there trunk there an' reachin' inside… he done took a small, black box o' som'tin. Wussen big enuff ta be a document case or nuttin'. Woudden know whut it might be."

'The jewels if we're lucky. A gun if things go as usual around here.'

"Haw…"

'Can you see if they're armed?'

"Naw. Ain't no visible guhhh-ns or nuttin'. Neithah offem. Haw!  Da first fella done closed da trunk an' he an' the othah fella is… whaddahell?  They ain't going thru' da front do'ah or nuttin'… they be walkin' back t'ard tha far end o' the buildin' an' outta mah sight!"

'Dammit, they're going in from the rear!  Stand by, Wynne!'

"Haw, sure thing, Sheriff Mandy!" Wynne said, hurriedly scooping up a big handful of popcorn that she started chewing on double-quick with a Crunch-Crunch-Crunch-Crunch-Gulp!  "This he' be Wynne Donnah-hew standin' bah, awright. Yes, Ma'am, sure ain't gonn' do nuttin' 'bout them fellas 'cos they be mean-lookin' an' I done had mah fair share o'-"

'We've lost radio contact with Deputy Simms!  We're moving in!'

"Go get 'em, Sheriff!  Yeeeee-hawwww!"

Wynne took a probing step ahead to look south on Main Street. All three white-and-Gold Dodge Durangos soon raced toward her with all their lights flashing but no sirens. It only took a handful of seconds before the first of the three came to a dust-flying halt in front of the old Lumina - the second arrived a moment later and boxed in the suspects' potential getaway car.

The third Durango pulled over at the curb on Wynne's side of the street. The SUV had barely come to a halt before Sheriff Mandy jumped from it and ran into cover behind the tall fender.

"Howdy, darlin'!  Lawwwwwr-die, we gotta stop meetin' like this, yuh?" Wynne said with a grin. Digging into the bucket of popcorn, she scooped up a large handful of the salty things that she began to munch on with great relish.

Mandy, who had drawn her service firearm and had assumed the proper firing stance behind the Durango, looked over her shoulder at her grinning partner. A grunt of absolute disbelief escaped her at the improbability of Wynne Donohue accidentally wandering into boundless chaos and confusion all over again.

"Say, darlin', didya man-itch ta get hold o' ol' Barry ag'in?" Wynne said, peeking past the box office. "I ain't heard no shootin' or nuttin' so mebbe he jus' took out that there ear-thing 'cos it be botherin' him or som'tin?"

"We haven't heard a peep. Wynne… please get further out of the firing line. This is Goldsboro, after all."

"Yuh, that there sure be good thinkin', darlin'… I bettah hussel ovah ta them beers an' all befo' some crook done comes bah an' steals 'em!"

Moving with surprising speed, Wynne hurried across the street to get to the bench where she had left the remainder of the six-pack of Double-Zeros. She had barely cracked open the next can with a Pssshhht! when she happened to look down the side of the building housing Keshawn's store.

A "Buhhhhh!" escaped her when she saw Barry Simms performing a frantic wave at her from an open window halfway down the wall. "Awwww-shoot… an' he' I be with mah beer an' mah popcorn an' mah hat an' only two dang hands ta hold onta all o' them there things… an' da sheriff is way-da-hell ovah yondah an' I reckon she ain't even gonn' hear me whisperin' or nuttin'!  Sheriff!  Sheriff!  Mandy!  Darlin'!  Naw… awww-good shittt almighty!  Three heavily armed de-per-ties out front an' then it be the Last Ohhh-ree-gee-nal Cowpoah-k who done needa save tha dang-blasted day an' all!"

After draining half of the beer in a single gulp, she stuffed a large handful of popcorn into her mouth - while her champing jaws made her entire face move like a forage harvester, she used the can of beer to clamp down on her hat. Once all that had been accomplished, she hustled over to the open window where Barry continued to wave at her.

"Whaddahell y'all doin', ffff-on?!" she said in a whisper while she crunched the corn between her jaws.

"There are bad guys in here!" Barry replied in a matching voice, frantically pointing behind him.

"Ya don't fffff-ay!" The popcorn finally disappeared down her gullet save for one, single husk that insisted on getting stuck on her uvula, but a large swig of beer sent the little scoundrel swimming - it also emptied the can that was subsequently stuffed into a jacket pocket. "So arrest 'em!  Y'all bein' a de-per-ty an' all!"

"Me?!"

"Naw, yer aunt Mildred!  Yuh, you!  An' whah aintcha respondin' ta them de-per-ties?  They been trah'in ta raise y'all fer a while… they ain't sure if y'all still alive or alreddy done checked out or whutevah!"

"The batteries in the walkie-talkie went dead 'cos it had to be turned on the whole, stinking time!"

"Shoot… yuh, why'dahell not?  Goldsborah in a dang nutshell," Wynne said, scratching her neck.

Barry looked over his shoulder. Wynne inched to her right so she could see what went on further into the store. The two men from the Lumina stood by the counter debating with Keshawn, but their voices didn't carry over to the open window so she had no way of telling what was really going on.

"Haw, that ain't gonn' be enuff fer da Sheriff ta arrest nobodda. Them guys might as well be discussin' tha price o' Kelso's burgahs fer all we know. Naw, it be time fer Supah-Woman ta entah da scene, dontchaknow… stand back, Barry. Femi-powah comin' thru'. Aw, I bettah finish them popcorn first…"

Once the rest of the popped corn had been poured into Wynne's yap, she ducked through the window by moving her long legs up one at a time as if she was climbing aboard a racing stock car. Munching-munching-crunching-crunching as quietly as she could, she hunched over and sort-of shuffled through the store trying to avoid bumping into any items with any body parts.

Strange noises reached her ears when she and Barry crouched down between a pile of old suitcases that carried tourist stickers from all over the United States and even a few of the Canadian provinces. She furrowed her brow to begin with but soon had to smirk when the noises turned out to be Barry's chattering teeth and knocking knees. "Y'all think o' whut ta do next, son?  Y'all got a plan?" she said in a quiet whisper.

"No!"

"Well, y'all bettah be usin' that there noggin o' yers, then. Them folks sure look nasty an' all."

While she spoke, one of the two Letterman-wearing strangers broke out in a cold, fake laugh - Keshawn looked as if he was about to bolt, but didn't yet know if he wanted to use the front or rear exits.

"Yuh, whut I done said!  Didden I tell ya they wus nasty?" Wynne continued in an even quieter whisper.

Barry rubbed his face several times. A sheen of sweat glistened all over his waxen skin - not just from the fright, but from the fact that he had no access to either his beloved cigarettes or his nicotine chewing gum. He eyed the two men at the counter before he inched so close to Wynne's ear that his cigarette breath made her dark locks fly around when he spoke: "What are you gonna do?!"

Not only did the hot air upset Wynne's locks, it upset her nose greatly with its ashtray-like quality. "Me?  Y'all bein' da de-per-ty he', Barry!" she said, scrunching up her face to save her nostrils from receiving permanent scar tissue from Barry's breath.

"Yes, but you played an outlaw in that crappy horror Western you made… I thought it might have rubbed off on you…"

Wynne narrowed her eyes down into blue slits - to complete the picture, her upper lip even curled into a sneer worthy of Clint Eastwood in one of his Italo Westerns. "Y'all sure picked a fihhhhh-ne moment trash-tawkin' mah movie, Barry!  An' lemme tell y'all som'tin, son… it wudden that bad!  It wus jus' low-budget, iz all… okeh, the CGI wus Gawd-awful, but-"

One of the men up at the counter let out a grunt of surprise before he spun around to stare at the pile of suitcases Barry and Wynne used as cover. It was obvious he had heard something, but wasn't sure what it could have been.

Barry's teeth chattered even louder - his hands grabbed hold of Wynne's denim jacket and threatened to tear the fabric. Wynne growled and tried to brush him off, but the fright had apparently given him extra strength as there was nothing she could do.

The tension continued to mount for a brief moment before the stranger gave up and turned back to the counter. As he did so, it was revealed he had a nickel-plated automatic pistol stuck into the back of his waistband underneath the Letterman jacket.

Barry and Wynne caught it at the same time - both gulped and looked to the other for a suggestion that would solve the potentially dangerous situation. "I reckon Supah-Woman-Femi-Powah jus' left da buildin' an' all," Wynne said in a mumble. "This wussen no good ideah, Wynne Donnah-hew… no, Ma'am. Barry, y'all gotta do som'tin!  Them de-per-ties done blocked da street!  When them nasty crittahs there exit he', they gonn' be walkin' inta one o' them there brick walls an' they gonn' start shootin' fer dang sure!"

Barry's face held an expression that said he wasn't sure whether to laugh, cheer or boo at Wynne's suggestion. Ultimately, he just remained where he was.

Wynne blinked several times as the seconds ticked by with no further action from the Deputy Sheriff. She glanced at the bad guys up at the counter - then she looked at Barry all over again. A third glance at the things nearest to them seemed to form a plan somewhere inside her brain as she gained a focused look in her eyes.

"Okeh, I got a plan… yessir, I got a plan. Y'all lissenin'?" she said in a whisper. When Barry nodded, she continued: "I'mma-gonn' throw som'tin as a distraction. Then y'all gonn' jump ahead an' rassle both o' them there guys ta da flo'ah while I skedaddle outta the windah!  Haw, an' tell Sheriff Mandy ta move in, obvis'ly."

Before Barry could explain exactly what he thought of Wynne's plan, they both ran out of time as a shadow fell over them. Looking up, they stared wide-eyed at the bad guy who proved his nickel-plated automatic wasn't just there for show.

Wynne tried to let out an exclamation, but she only had time to utter a "Holy-" when the Ghost Of Heroes Past possessed Barry Simms.

The unlikeliest of heroes jumped up and grabbed hold of the pistol to yank it out of the criminal's hand. They struggled for a moment or two before Barry actually managed to snatch the weapon and turn it against its previous owner.

Drawing a deep breath, he let out bellowing: "Hands up!  Get your hands up!  Now!  You too, over there!  This is the MacLean County Sheriff's Department and you're under arrest!  Get into the center of the floor!  Get down on your knees!"

Barry continued to hold the pistol ahead of him in the proper firing stance while remembering to stay out of the criminal's reach so it couldn't be reclaimed by one of the suspects.

Wynne just stared in wide-eyed, slack-jawed disbelief.

The first of the criminals backed up toward the center of the store like he had been told, but the other proved reluctant - his eyes constantly moving to find something he could use as a weapon.

Keshawn Williams hurriedly reached under the counter to grab an aluminum baseball bat. At once, he performed a practice swing with plenty of whooshing force to show he wasn't afraid to use it if need be. "You heard the man!  Get on your knees!"

The reluctant criminal relented and shuffled over to his partner. Soon, they were both on their knees with their hands in the air.

And Wynne just kept staring.

"Hands behind your backs!  One arm at a time!" Barry said in a booming voice. As he spoke, he began patting his own back for the pouch that usually kept his handcuffs when he wore his utility belt.

When Wynne saw Barry's hand tap-tap-tapping his belt but finding nothing, she finally snapped out of the stupor to jump to her feet. "Shoot, that ain't good… haw!  Barry, Keshawn… keep 'em covah'd, yuh?  I be right back an' all!"

Moving past the two criminals to get to the main entrance wouldn't make any sense anywhere, and certainly not in Goldsboro, so she scrambled back to the open window instead. Her haste made her less careful than she needed to be which led to a trio of calamities: first, she thumped her cowboy hat - and her head - against the lower part of the window frame, then her knee made a cracking impact on the jamb, and then she very nearly took a nosedive out of the open window when her boot snagged on the windowsill.

"Owch… sombitch, sombitch, sohhhh-mbitch!" she mumbled as she hobbled along the side of the second-hand store while rearranging her hat and rubbing her knee.

Once she got to the sidewalk, she whipped off her cowboy hat and flailed it high and wide in the air. "Ol' De-per-ty Barry got 'em, girls an' boy!  He dang-blasted got 'em, bah-lieve it or not!  He gonn' need some o' that there backup right 'bout now, tho'!"

Beatrice, Rodolfo and Mandy tore away from the Durangos to form a textbook arrow-head formation entering the store. Blackie - who had grown increasingly impatient on the back seat of one of the SUVs - jumped out of the window and stormed inside chasing the other law enforcement personnel uttering a string of thunderous barks that rattled all the panes in the vicinity.

Wynne's aching knee meant she moved a great deal slower than everyone else present, but she still managed to hobble back to the front door in time to see the action unfolding - on her way there, she picked up and cracked open the second-to-last can of H.E. Fenwyck Double-Zero to quell her bad case of Jumpy Nerves & Aching Knee-Joint.

Inside Keshawn's Second-Hand Treasures, Mandy, Rodolfo and Beatrice continued their textbook approach by wasting no time slapping the familiar shiny manacles onto the wrists of the two suspects.

Blackie kept a close eye on the proceedings while letting out the occasional thunderous Woooof! to let everyone know that not only had she arrived, she had no intention of putting up with any kind of silliness on the crooks' part.

Barry stood off to the side as white as a sheet. Keshawn tried to comfort him by patting his shoulder, but it seemed the deputy was about to keel over unless he got either a cigarette between his lips or a piece of nicotine chewing gum between his molars. He continued to hold onto the nickel-plated pistol he had appropriated from one of the criminals though it was obvious he was about to drop it.

Chuckling at Barry's expression, Wynne took the long, long way around the suspects on the floor as she shuffled over to the two men. "Whah, Barry Simms… I ain't nevah seen nuttin' like it!  Good shittt almighty, son," she said as she gave his shoulder a huge smack. "Them smart money folks oughttah be makin' mooh-vies 'bout y'all!  Haw?  Mebbe anothah remake o' them there Walkin' Tall flicks, haw?"

Keshawn let out a few chuckles of his own. The owner of the store briefly left the scene before he returned with a swivel-chair that he wheeled in behind the hollow of Barry's knees. "C'mon, Deputy… sit here… just sit down… that's better… okay. You're seated. Try to breathe, okay?  Breathe… breathe… you're really pale. Maybe you should put down that gun so we won't have any accidents?"

"Huh?  What gun?" Barry said, staring at all the hectic activity going on around him with wide, disbelieving eyes. His gaze eventually fell on his hand and the customized firearm he continued to grasp. "Oh… is that still here?" he mumbled as he leaned down and put the weapon on the floor.

Wynne let out a brief chuckle. "Yuh, sure ain't no lie," she said before she took a long swig of the beer. "I reckon ol' Barry gonn' need a pick-me-up o' some kind ta get some color back in them cheeks o' his. Leave that ta me, Keshawn. I got jus' tha thing for 'im, but I need-a go down ta Moira's first ta get it, an' I ain't sure them de-per-ties gonn' lemme leave jus' yet."

Keshawn moved back from holding onto Barry's shoulders. When it became obvious the deputy could sit unassisted, the owner of the store put his hands on his hips instead. "Wynne, did you get the diecasts home safe the other day?"

"Aw, I sure did, pardnah!  I take 'em one at a time an' dust 'em off an' catalogue 'em an' things before they go on display. I'mma-gonn' take a-bunch-a pic-chures fer y'all so ya can see how them things look, yuh?  But Lawrdie, them there display cabinets… Mercy Sakes, they wus som'tin else, awright."

"Really?"

"Yuh!  That there ideah we done had takin' 'em apart fer transportin' wus a good one in theory, yuh?  But holy mackerel, it wussen so good when I done trah'd re-assemblin' 'em yestah'dy. Good shittt almighty, it done cost me plenty o' sweat, tears, beers an' pork rinds puttin' 'em tagethah, I be tellin' y'all!  I done spent two hou'ahs on tha first o' them dang-blasted things!  An' three tries 'cos them first two times wus nuttin' but wrong-wrong-wrong. But othah than that, them diecasts be lookin' real fine, yessirree."

"Well, that's certainly good to hear. Another happy customer, eh?" Keshawn broke out in a smile as he reached out to thump Wynne's shoulder.

"Sure is!  Say… while we be on that there subject there… y'all woudden happen ta know if yer othah sto'ahs got mo' Nascahhh-r memorabilia or som'tin?  Mah flo'ah ovah in that there Bed an' Breakfast always need som'tin new."

"Wait… your floor?"

"Yuh-yuh, y'all know I co-own that there B an' B, yuh?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"I done fixed up an entiah flo'ah with nuttin' but Nascahhhh-r-themed rooms. Yessir, I sure did," Wynne said with a beaming smile.

Keshawn nodded several times almost as if he was trying to imagine what such a scenario would look like. "Oh… okay. I've only ever walked past the B and B. I've never actually been inside it. I'm more of a soccer kinda guy, but maybe you could give me a tour some day?"

Wynne reached over to give Keshawn's shoulder a small return-thump. "Ya betcha!  Y'all got yerself a deal, there, pardnah!"

"Good. And back to your question… I'm afraid I don't know about other Nascar memorabilia. To be honest, it's not something I've ever thought to catalogue. I need to ask my store managers before I can give you an answer."

"That sure works fer me. Yessir!"

In the background, Beatrice and Rodolfo - ably assisted by a growling, sneering Blackie - pulled the suspects to their feet and guided them outside to the waiting Durangos for further processing. With the drama over for the most part, Mandy dusted off her hands and strode over to Keshawn, Wynne and Barry.

She cast a sideways glance at the pale, seemingly moribund Deputy Simms and decided to talk to the others first. "The MacLean County Sheriff's Department would like to extend our gratitude to you both for your efforts and involvement in the apprehension of the suspects. Miss Donohue, Mr. Williams… thank you very much."

"You're welcome, Sheriff," Keshawn said. "It got a little scary there for a moment, but Barry saved the day. One for the record books!"

"Mmmm-yes," Mandy said before she turned to Wynne who grinned so broadly the toothy smile could hardly fit between her ears.

"Haw, ya sure is welcome, darl- I mean, Sheriff Mandy!  Yes, Ma'am, it be all inna day's work fer us Last Ohhh-ree-gee-nal Cowpah-ks. Yeee-hawww!  Down-a hatch!" Wynne said before she leaned her head back to empty the latest can of Double-Zero.

Shaking her head at Wynne's typical mannerisms, Mandy needed to wipe a grin off her face before she turned back to Keshawn. "Mr. Williams, the concealed firearm carried by one of the suspects will be enough by itself to lock that person up, but I need to ask if you were able to discern whether or not the jewelry could possibly be stolen?"

"Yes, and I may even have solid proof of that, Sheriff," Keshawn said and moved over to the counter. He soon returned with a piece of paper that he had printed out from an online message board operated by the Association Of Second-Hand & Thrift Store Owners Of California. "Comparing these images to the set the men showed up with, I'm almost a hundred percent certain it's a match. It was reported stolen in Los Angeles in August of last year… it's not unusual that it takes that long to resurface."

"Good," Mandy said, studying the printout. "Very good. Thank you, Mr. Williams. Where's the set now?"

Keshawn pointed over his shoulder. "Under the counter. I was about to put it in my safe, so… or do you need to claim it as evidence or something?"

"Technically, yes, but since we don't have access to any kind of safe, the set might as well stay here for the time being," Mandy said, displaying a professional smile.

"Okay. From what I could tell, there's a ring missing. I guess it's possible… or perhaps even probable… that they tried this approach somewhere else as well."

Nodding, Mandy studied the printout some more. Originally issued by the Federal Bureau Of Investigation, the California State Police and one of the major insurance companies, it listed the various pieces of jewelry contained in the set. "Very well," she said and held out the printout - when Keshawn shook his head, she folded it and slipped it into a pocket instead. "I'll contact HQ up in Barton City. Circuit Judge Etherington is due to hold court here in Goldsboro next week, so I wouldn't be surprised if we're told to keep the suspects in lock-up here until that happens."

"Haw!  Judge Etherin'ton, eh?" Wynne said, pushing her cowboy hat back from her brow. "He be a coo', ol' fella. Kinda strict, but kinda fair. Yuh. Shoot, whut wus his first name ag'in?  Harry… naw. Theodore… naw. George… naw. Bruce… naw. Wus it Archibald?  Naw. But it wus som'tin like that… A… A… A-som'tin-or-othah-"

"No, it's Cornelius," Mandy soon said to cut Wynne off before she could really get going in one of her trademark monologues. "All right. Thank you once again, Mr. Williams," she continued and put out her hand.

Once the traditional handshake had been exchanged, Mandy spun around on her bootheel and strode out of the second-hand store. Five seconds later, she strode back inside, took the nickel-plated pistol and pulled the wobbly Barry Simms up from the chair - then she strode out all over again with Barry in tow.

"Yuh," Wynne said, sporting a wide grin. "That be mah darlin' Mandy, awright. All bizzness when she be workin' an' all pleasure when she ain't. Haw, I bettah be goin' as well, Keshawn. I can hear a burgah callin' mah name down at Moira's, yessir. Y'all hungry?  Mebbe we could-"

"I'm afraid I need to clean up a little. Those crooks made a mess of my floor."

"Okeh!  See y'all 'round these he' parts, then… stay coo'!"

"Bye, Wynne," Keshawn said with a grin before he went behind the counter to get a broom and a dustpan to sweep the last traces of the drama out of his store.

*
*
CHAPTER 5

The following day - Thursday, February 23rd - ten to noon.

The kitchenette of Wynne's trailer wasn't merely hectic, it was a heaving mass of activity. She juggled a tray, a six-pack of beer, a stack of napkins, several hot dog buns, a pack of nuke-ready frankfurters, bottles of ketchup, mustard and hot sauce, a small bowl of chopped onions and another bowl of pickled cucumbers while listening to the Daily Groove NASCAR-news podcast on her telephone and trying not to step on a pair of hugely excited dogs who never stood still for more than one second at a time.

Since she had no audience who could admire her Cowpoke duds, she had chosen to forego them and simply wore purple flip-flops and a black-and-golden sweatsuit that featured the logos and likenesses of the #8 RCR Chevrolet Camaro and the famous driver who had just joined the team for the 2023 season.

In the living area, she had already cued a 45-minute highlight show of the previous weekend's wrestling event on Channel 78 which would be a perfect match to beer and hot dogs when it came to the running time and content.

Just as she put three frankfurters into the microwave to set the wheels in motion, the podcast host went into an indignant monologue about the big and completely unnecessary wreck that had taken place in the latter stages of the Daytona 500. Wynne had to chuckle at the host's words as she had uttered many of the same sentiments when it took place - except that she had roared out her frustrations at the top of her lungs.

Woof-woof-woof-wooooooooof! -- Yap!  Yap!  Yap-yap-yap-yapper-yapper-yap!

"Yuh-yuh-yuh… Lawwwwwwr-die. Simmah down, dawggies!  Them saus-itches gonn' be reddy in a flash once I done press mah fingah on this he' li'l button, yuh?  But I needa get all-a this he' stuff inta that there livin' room first-"

Yap!  Yap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap…

"I know, Goldie, girl!  It be haaah time fer lunch, dontchaknow. An' it gonn' be he' soon, yuh?  Real soon… now, c'mon, lemme thru' so I can put this he' tray on that there coah-ffee tab-"

At that exact moment, the doorbell rang.

"Awwwww-shoot!  Wynne Donnah-hew… y'all gotta be cuhhhhhh-rsed, ya know that?  Yes, Ma'am, a curse is what this he' is!  I be tellin' all y'all, this he' crap gotta stop!  Aw, I bettah not say crap. Ain't no tellin' who be lissenin' an' gettin' good ideahs fer torturin' me, us an' ev'rybodda," she said out loud as she put the heavily-laden tray back onto the kitchen counter, stepped around a pair of confused dogs and shuffled over to the inner door.

When she opened it, it only took her half a second to realize nobody was there. She opened the screen door and peeked outside as far as she could lean without actually setting foot on the porch - all to no avail as nobody was present anywhere.

"Aw, dang-blasted… this ain't gonn' be one o' them days, izzit?" she mumbled as she closed the screen door and slammed the inner door shut. Picking up the tray once more, she moved her leg up to clear Goldie's golden back.

At that exact moment, the doorbell rang.

Standing there with one purple flip-flop up and one purple flip-flop down, she couldn't help but contemplate the unfairness and bizarre nature of the thing called Life. Twisting around, she put the tray on the kitchen counter before she climbed back over Goldie and shuffled over to the inner door.

Nobody waited outside, but at least she could see a shadow of someone just moving around the corner and out of sight.

"Sombitch… sombitch!  Sohhhhhhh'mbitch!" she growled as she stomped into the living area to look out onto the central lawn. She craned her neck to look to the left, to the right, to the left and then to the right all over again. Nothing.

Goldie and Blackie had run into the living area behind their owner. The two dogs soon made themselves comfortable on a thick doggy-blanket that had been spread out in front of the TV. The pair of dog-dishes on the blanket seemed to mock them with their emptiness. They shot each other knowing glances - it was obviously going to be one of Those Days.

Wynne stomped back into the kitchen to grab the tray. This time, she deliberately paused her actions to give the doorbell time to sound for a third time, but - obviously - nothing happened. Growling, she carried the tray into the living room and distributed all the items she'd need for her noon-time feast.

At that exact moment, the doorbell rang.

"Stand clear!  Spit-flyin' furi-uss Wynne Donnah-hew comin' thru!" she roared as she spun around and tore through the kitchenette at a speed that would have seen her qualify on the front row at Talladega Superspeedway. The inner door was yanked open with far too much force before she gave the screen door such a shove outward it nearly rattled off the hinges. "Haw!  Y'all be intah-ruptin' mah lunch so this bettah be goooooood, son!" she cried to the individual standing outside.

The person with whom Wynne had played an involuntary game of Hide & Seek turned out to be a young woman dressed in the familiar uniform of the Allied Parcel courier service. Startled into taking a long step back, she held up a large cardboard box that carried the familiar logos of G.Greco Cosmetics - one of the world's largest cosmetic companies.

"Haw!  That wus durn quick!  Awrighty!" Wynne said as she clapped eyes on the box. Looking up at the young courier, she screwed a smile on her face and stepped out onto the crooked porch. "Howdy. Wynne Donnah-hew he'. I sure am sorry 'bout that there yellin' there. I wus jus' 'bout ta nuke some… aw, that don't mattah none now, anyhows. Where I need-a doodle mah John Hancock?"

"Right here," the courier said, swapping the cardboard box for an electronic device and a stylus.

Taking the odd pen that was connected to the device through a thin cable, Wynne tried in vain to recreate her regular signature - as always, the doodle she produced could have read absolutely anything from Abraham Lincoln to Buster The Talking Moose. "Lawrdie, I ain't nevah gonn' be best pals with them things… but okeh, who done gives a stuffed turkey who I'mma-gonn' be best pals with, haw?  Much obliged fer this he' pack-itch."

The courier tipped her baseball cap before she said "You're welcome, Ma'am," and beat a hasty exit.

---

Once Wynne had closed the inner door with her rear end, she let out a "Yeeee-hawww!" and shuffled into the sleeping area to put the large box on the bed. In spite of Blackie and Goldie's pitiful whimpering in the living area, lunch had to take a back seat for the contents of the box to be verified.

It seemed that at least half a roll of packaging tape had been used to protect the box. The tape was far too thick to cut with a fingernail - and all her nails were trimmed down to the nubs, anyway - so she needed a box cutter or at the very least a razor knife to pierce it.

She needed to dig through no less than three kitchen drawers before she found a box cutter that was sharp enough for the strenuous work. Once the outer box had been opened, she let out a disappointed grunt at the sight of what had to be a thousand miniature-sized ProtectoFoam elements that had been poured into the large box to keep everything safe from knocks during transport.

Two further wrapped boxes had been buried in the ProtectoFoam elements, so she set off digging them out of the white mess. A large plastic bag containing something spring-green eventually came into view at the bottom of the box - all fine and good, but now she had a thousand miniature-sized ProtectoFoam elements all over the bedspread and even down onto the floor.

A long sigh escaped her, but the depressing matters had to wait as she cut open the smaller boxes to take out the brand new jars of the care products that had been ruined in the brown explosion. "Awright," she said as she read the label that said Fountain Of Youth Moisturizer. The first jar was soon put back in its box in exchange for the second that read Golden Hue Skin Cream. "An' even mo' awright!  Yessirree, this he' day gonn' be fihhhh-ne aftah all!  I hope…"

Picking up the final item that turned out to be a spring-green morning robe in a transparent, protective plastic bag, Wynne couldn't help but break out in a wide grin that soon reached from ear to ear. "Awwwww-sweet!  Yuh, this gonn' look fihhhhh-ne on mah darlin' Mandy when she be sittin' at that there breakfas' table, sure ain't no lie!"

When she noticed a tiny sticker on the front of the plastic bag, she held it up to her nose to read it in case it was important - the notion of reading the sticker soon turned into an attempt of reading it. "Good flip almighty, whah do them things hafta be so teeny-tiny… haw?!  Okeh… som'tin, som'tin, som'tin… okeh, tha size seems ta be tha right one… shoot, it done says it needs washin' befo' first use. Okeh."

Another round of pitiful whimpers from the living area made Wynne put down the morning robe and shuffle back into the kitchenette. "Yuh, I reckon it be haaah time fer lunch an' all… watch out, y'all, them hot dawgs gonn' be comin' up in a verrrry li'l while!"

Grinning, she pressed the Activate button on the microwave and watched in glee as the three frankfurters were nuked.

-*-*-*-

A quiet burp escaped Wynne as she put down the empty can of Double-Zero. The pro-wrestling bouts had been settled in time-honored fashion, the hot dogs were long gone, the final globs of ketchup, mustard and hot sauce had been soaked up, and the real dogs had left to play Catch Your Tail with Diego's Freddie.

"Yuh, that sure wussen bad," Wynne mumbled as she put her legs up on the coffee table to chill out even further. The need to inform her sweetheart of the delivery of the important shipment - and simply to hear her voice - became too strong to ignore, so she grabbed her telephone and soon selected the familiar number in the registry.

Leaning back on the old couch, she had already closed her eyes to think of Mandy's smiling face when she realized it certainly hadn't been Mandy's smiling voice speaking in her ear. "Haw?  Barry?  Aw-shoot, pardnah… sorry 'bout that… I musta selected tha wrong dang-blasted numbah!  Tawk ta ya latah, son," she said as she hung up at once so she wouldn't block the important main line into the sheriff's office.

She scratched her neck a couple of times before she made double-sure that she had found and selected the correct number on her second attempt. This time, there was no mistaking the identity of the person at the other end of the connection:

'Hi, hon. Deputy Simms told me that was you just now on the landline.'

"Howdy, darlin'!  Yuh, that wus me. I dunno whaddahell I done, but I sure done som'tin wrong. Eh. No wreck, no yella. Anyhows. I got good news fer a change. That there pack-itch there from Grekko Cosmetics done showed up today!  Me an' them dawggies wus jus' gettin' reddy ta nuke an' eat a-cuppel-a saus-itches when one o' them there… aw, that don't mattah now. An' all three items we done ordah'ed are present an' accounted fer. Ain't no cracks or dings or nuttin'. Not that I can see, anyhows."

'Well, that's good. I have to admit I was concerned there for a moment… I mean, that you were about to deliver even more bad news.'

"Yuh, I know… crap always done happens in threes, an' I still be waitin' fer that there third thing ta take a swing at me, dontchaknow."

'You don't think what happened yesterday up at Mr. Williams's store took care of that problem?'

"Naw. All I did in that mess wus ta bump mah noggin an' knock mah knee on that there windah there. Wussen enuff ta satisfy that there Evil Gawd Of Ave-ritches. Naw, som'tin else be comin' up."  As Wynne spoke, she reached down to rub her left knee-cap that still produced the occasional stab of pain.

'This conversation isn't going the way I hoped it would,' Mandy said and let out a tired laugh.

"It sure ain't… aw. Anyhows, I jus' wanted ta tawk a li'l an' tell y'all them things we done bought showed up. Wotcha doin' taday?"

In the background of the conversation, somebody broke out in a very familiar-sounding hacking, rattling, spluttering coughing fit.

'The usual. Filling out forms, drinking coffee, eating a ham-and-cheese and trying to evade the clouds of cigarette smoke that linger in here.'

"Yuh-huh?" Wynne said, sporting a cheesy grin as she shuffled around on the couch to find an even better spot than the one she had been in. "Haw, ol' Barry sure iz goin' at it, haw?"

'Yes, but he hasn't turned red or blue yet so it's only a small fit.'

"Haw, that sure be good ta hear an' all. Okeh. Anyhows. Aw, I'mma-gonn' be in town in an hou'ah or so. Them dawggies are playin' out back with ol' Freddie an' that be jus' fih-ne, ack-chew-ly 'cos they ain't gonn' come along taday."

'Oh?'

"Naw, 'cos me an' ol' Fat-Buhh-tt Swenson gonn' be tinkerin' with that there Caddy all aftahnoon," Wynne said, breaking out in a nod although Mandy wouldn't be able to see it. "Yuh. Them sparks from that there metal grindah ain't agreein' with them dawggies' fur or nuttin'. Hell, there be a-bunch-a things wrong fer 'em… like tha concrete flo'ah is too hard fer them paws o' theirs, an' not ta men-shun that there open grease pit there an' tha tooth-waterin' whine spewin' outta them metal tools gonn' hurt their ears."

'All right. Sounds sensible enough. But… please be careful, hon. You know… angle grinding, welding and all those things. Plenty of potential for disasters considering what we just talked about.'

"Yuh!  Yuh, I be careful, awright. Dontcha worry nuttin'. Cross mah heart, hope ta choke on a peanit. I practically ain't gonn' be takin' mah hands outtah mah pockets-"

'You don't have to for bad luck to find you!'

Grunting, Wynne reached up to scratch her neck. "Haw, I s'pose that ain't no lie… yuh. But anyhows, I promise I be careful. Real careful. Verrry real careful 'cos I wanna share da moment with y'all when ya unpack them there new skin creams an' stuff tanight. Yuh. Okeh, I don't wanna take mo' o' yer pre-shuss time or nuttin'. Luv ya like ca-razy, darlin'!  Mmmmua!"

'Love you too, hon. We'll probably run into each other here in town, so… bye for now.'

"Bah-bah, darlin'!  This he is da one an' only Wynne Donnah-hew signin' off, yes Ma'am!"

Grinning, Wynne swapped the telephone for a new can of H.E. Fenwyck Double-Zero. Her grin grew even wider as she cracked it open with a Psssshhht! and leaned her head back to take full advantage of the golden nectar within.

-*-*-*-

Mandy continued to chuckle at Wynne's traditional parting salute as she put down the smartphone on the desk's blotting pad. Leaning back on her swivel-chair, she cast a semi-interested glance at Barry Simms whose persistent coughing fit - not to mention his back - was pounded upon by Beatrice Reilly's Flying Fists of Fury.

The last of the coffee had more of a pull on Mandy than the physical health of her number-three deputy, so she took the mug and wrapped her hands around it to transfer some of the heat onto her chilly fingers. A plate with a half-eaten ham-and-cheese sandwich had been pushed aside to act as a strategic reserve later on in the day. The pile of paperwork on the desk loomed large, so she drank the last of the coffee to replenish her energy sufficiently to work on the case files.

---

The next fifty minutes went by in a hurry. Barry had just about recovered from the coughing fit and the supposed therapeutic pounding he had been exposed to. He celebrated that fact by lighting a constant stream of new cigarettes with the dying embers of the old ones - a non-stop parade of Clouds Of Doom rose toward the long-suffering felt tiles in the ceiling.

Not caring the least about the condition of the tiles in particular or even the ceiling in general, Barry opened his Sally Swackhamer pulp detective novel at the bookmark and was soon fully immersed in another of the tough dame's adventures in Mooresburg City. When he was sure the Sheriff wasn't looking, he snuck his hand into the desk drawer to nab a Dream-Cream cookie.

The office was fairly quiet as Beatrice had moved into the jail house next door to monitor the two prisoners occupying the holding cells. The moment of tranquility didn't last long as Rodolfo Gonzalez soon barged inside after having given the sticking glass door a fair-sized thump with his shoulder.

"Nothing to report anywhere, Sheriff," he said as he took off his Mountie hat and unzipped his winter jacket - the former was hung on a nail on the wall and the latter was suspended over the backrest of the chair at the smallest of their three desks. Eyeing the coffee machine, he made a beeline over there to get a mugful of the dark-brown liquid while there was something to be had.

"Good," Mandy said, leaning back on the swivel-chair.

"Oh, and my walkie-talkie seems to be on the fritz again," Rodolfo continued after he had poured himself a mugful of coffee. "It's not the batteries. I changed them the other day. Sometimes, there's nothing but static… then it's fine two minutes later. Then it's not. And so on."

Sighing, Mandy shook her head several times. "They're old and worn out. If we had a store here in town… or at least close by… that sold consumer electronics, I'd buy us four or five sets with my own money."

"Well, I haven't checked, but I'm pretty sure similar units are sold online-"

Mandy shook her head again. "Won't work. It needs to be local. We need to be able to go there in person and have them fix any problems right there and then. We can't wait for the mail or the parcel companies."

"Okay, I can see that… but why should brand new units fail?"

A few moments went by before Mandy let out a dark chuckle. "Senior Deputy, do I really need to remind you that this is Goldsboro?"

"Ah… yes. Point taken."

A.J. 'Slow' Lane had been by with their regular order of assorted wrapped sandwiches at lunch time, but Rodolfo couldn't find one he wanted even after going through the stack for a second time. He let out a grunt of disappointment and settled for nabbing a random one. Once the sandwich had been chosen, he took a plate so it would have a home.

"In any case, I had a look-see at Fredericksen's poultry farms," he continued as he carried the plate and the coffee mug down to the desk. "I introduced myself to a newly hired shift foreman at one of their breeding facilities. His name is Enrique Corrado. I gave him our number in case of trouble."

"Good. We can always use another contact up there."

"Yep. Going further north, I visited the Old Boys' Haven trailer park… man, are those guys weird or what?  Very, very weird. Tin-foil hats and everything. Uh, I drove up to Thunder Park Raceway to check their perimeter fences. Spoke to Donnie Cummins who reported no trespassers lately. Then I drove through the desert to test number four's four-wheel drive on my way back here. Everything worked."

"I see. Very well," Mandy continued, playing with the ball point pen she had used for the paperwork. "Thunder Park will host a large dog show on April twelfth through fourteenth, so-"

"A dog show?!" Rodolfo said and let out a long, resounding laugh that literally made a splash in his mug of coffee - he held it away from the paperwork in a hurry, but that only succeeded in sending one of the choppy waves onto the cracked linoleum below. "I'll bet the visitors will be a departure from the usual drunken rowdies…"

Mandy broke out in a lop-sided grin. "I certainly hope so. Miss Donohue and I will be there with Blackie and Goldie. It'll be the inaugural event here, but from what I've been able to gather, they've attracted large… or even huge… crowds elsewhere. We'll need to have someone on speed trap duty on the State Route."

"Yes, Sheriff," Rodolfo said before he took a long swig of the coffee to lessen the risk of further tidal waves before he could even get to his sandwich. "Perhaps a roaming patrol so nobody can alert any potential speeders?  Not that dog people strike me as someone who'd drag race on the State Route… I guess you can never tell, though."

"Mmmm. That's a good suggestion, Senior Deputy. Yes, the boundaries should be from Haddersfield Pass in the south to… oh, halfway up to Collinstown north of the track. We can discuss the particulars when we get closer to the event," Mandy said before she returned to the paperwork.

Rodolfo beamed at the praise - he held his coffee mug aloft to salute Barry over at the watch desk.

Though Barry's condition had improved from the low it had reached during the coughing fit, Beatrice's piledriver-like pounding on his back had taken quite a toll, and he continued to carry a pained and somewhat dazed look on his face.

The expression made Rodolfo chuckle and let out an "Awwww, poor Barry!" as he finally unwrapped the random sandwich he had taken from the tray. Just to be on the safe side, he peeked under the lid to see what kind it was before he introduced his teeth to it. "All right!  Chorizo and chopped horse-radish!  Yum!"

-*-*-*-

Time went by at such a snail-like pace that it seemed the hands on the wall-mounted clock hardly moved at all. Barry snoozed at the watch desk holding the Sally Swackhamer pulp paperback - issue #56, Sally Fights Alone - in one hand and a half-eaten rye bagel in the other. A mug of coffee on the desk had long since grown cold and stale. He smacked his lips now and then to show that he hadn't fallen asleep altogether, but it wasn't far off.

To get as much work done as possible in the unexpected lull, Mandy had called the sheriff's office in Jarrod City to ask for the assistance of their usual temp Don Woodward. The experienced Deputy Sheriff had taken up residence in the jail house monitoring the two out-of-towner prisoners so Goldsboro's own roster of deputies could concentrate on local matters.

Rodolfo continued to sit at the small desk preparing a stack of case reports for archiving. Each time he closed a file folder and wrapped an elastic band around it to keep the papers inside, he shot a weary glance at the wall-mounted clock.

In the crew room at the back of the office, Beatrice sat at the round table, conducting a world-class typing concert on their electronic typewriter. Her slender fingers moved in a blur as they pressed all the correct keys at all the correct spots on the form.

Her recent foot patrol around town had been the only one of the day that had resulted in any kind of fine being issued - one of Goldsboro's residents had been caught red-handed parking his Dodge truck halfway up onto the sidewalk in front of Derrike Iverson's notorious dive. When the driver had chosen to add a few barbs and derogatory remarks to his already questionable behavior, it had earned him an $80 fine rather than the stern warning Beatrice had originally settled for.

While the frantic typing went on at the round table, Mandy worked in the back of the crew room mucking out her locker. She had stuck the entire upper half of her body into the opening to reach something that had fallen off the upper shelf, but even so, she could barely reach the object with the tips of her outstretched fingers. When she finally grabbed hold of it, it turned out to be a hairbrush she couldn't even remember owning.

Shrugging, she put the brush away and went back to clearing the upper shelf. It held all sorts of strange items like a bone-dry chapstick, a petrified pack of spearmint chewing gum, a pocket-sized comb, a square piece of plastic that she had no idea what was or where came from, and even a combination-tool that had a nail file at one end and a clipper at the other. A further search uncovered one of the pale-brown Polyester neckties that had been used with their old - and horrible - brown uniforms.

"Ugh… not one of those things," she mumbled as she threw the necktie into a plastic bag labeled Trash. A moment later, she reached into the bag to retrieve the unwanted object - instead of throwing it out right away, she would present it to Keshawn Williams just to see how the owner of the second-hand store would react to such a 'precious gift.'

Beatrice finished typing the incident report and pulled the form from the typewriter with a flurry. She gave it a final check-over before she added her signature on the dotted line at the bottom of the page. Once she had slipped it into a folder, she turned around to look at Mandy who continued working inside her locker.

"Sheriff Jalinski, there's something I need to bring you up to speed on. I also have a question," Beatrice said in a voice that was so neutral the words had almost come out in a monotone.

"I see?  Go on," Mandy said, dusting off her hands. It became obvious it was something important when Beatrice seemed hesitant to proceed, so Mandy took another of the stackable chairs and sat down next to her Junior Deputy.

Beatrice reached into her rear pocket and pulled out a white envelope that clearly contained a letter. In a rare showing of nervous energy, she slapped it against the palm of her free hand while she spoke: "Well, I've received a job offer from Sheriff Fitzpatrick down in Lansingburg… subject to the success of my final exams."

Mandy furrowed her brow as she stared at the white envelope. Such a development was inevitable - she would have been astounded if it hadn't come up. "I see. I know Bernard Fitzpatrick well. He runs a strong team. Have you met with him?"

"No, we've only spoken over the phone. I wanted to talk to you before I drive down there to see what's what."

"May I see the letter?"

"Oh, of course," Beatrice said and handed the envelope to the sheriff.

Mandy unfolded it and gave the letter a quick once-over. She let out a few grunts when she looked at the various bullet points Sheriff Fitzpatrick had listed, including the pay grade Beatrice would start at in her potential new job. "Well, that's not too much more than you earn now, is it?"

"No, but that's only the starting point. Honestly, I can't imagine our Town Council matching even that."

Mandy fell silent for a moment as she read and analyzed the miscellaneous information listed in the letter. Nodding to herself, she refolded it, stuck it into the envelope and handed it back to her deputy sheriff. "Let's forget our ranks for a moment and talk person to person. What do you hope to achieve by moving to Pacumseh County?  Simply to get a higher figure on your pay slip?"

Silence spread among the two women again as Beatrice composed her answer. The familiar sound of Barry coughing filtered through the closed door at one point, but neither of them had a need to come to his assistance. "I won't pretend it doesn't play a factor. I need to leave Mrs. Peabody's boarding house before she drives me insane, but that requires additional financial security. Even that vacant trailer down at your place is more than I have at present. The bank will set me up with their credit partners to grant me a loan, but the monthly rates alone will almost strangle me on my current salary."

"That's a very good point. I spent far too long at Mrs. Peabody's when I moved to Goldsboro. I know exactly what you mean," Mandy said with a sly smile.

Beatrice mirrored the smile, but hers didn't last long. "Another thing that weighs on my mind is that I may be challenged more in Pacumseh County. Lansingburg isn't the world's biggest city, but it's ten-twelve times the size of Goldsboro. At least. There'll be other types of challenges than what I find here."

"That's also a very good point. However, speaking as someone who got her start in a large city, there's something you need to take into consideration. The daily grind, the attitudes you'll face on the street, the inevitable heartbreak, and even the working relationships you'll have with your fellow deputies will be night-and-day different compared to here. Not all your colleagues… and much less your superiors… will be as progressive as we are here. Some of them will seem archaic or even like cavemen. And that's a fact, even today. I know that's close to your heart. You're still working with the support group for female deputy sheriffs, aren't you?"

Beatrice acknowledged the sheriff's words by nodding - then she fell silent again. A good handful of seconds went by before she continued: "I need to let Sheriff Fitzpatrick know my decision by March tenth at the latest. I haven't made up my mind yet. Anyway, I just wanted you to know ahead of time, Sheriff."

"I appreciate it. Thank you," Mandy said and got up from the chair. She moved around it and put her hands on top of the backrest. "Just for clarity's sake. What could keep you here?"

"More responsibilities. The opportunity to initiate and conduct investigations on my own. Within reasonable limits, of course. The opportunity to… oh, it might not even work out here, but… to set up self-defense classes for women from around the county. Perhaps even perform outreach work on that subject. And yes, the benefits provided by the higher pay grade. I really would like to pursue buying that vacant trailer down south."

Mandy nodded several times as Beatrice spoke. Once the list of wishes had come to an end, she rubbed her chin a couple of times. "I support all of that. I'm not supposed to tell you this yet, but there's a chance Barry will switch from our active roster to a civilian position over the course of the next few weeks."

"What?  Our Barry?"

"Yes, our Barry," Mandy said with a smile.

"Okay… that leaves us a man short…"

"Yes, we'd need a new Junior Deputy," Mandy said before leaning down toward her current Junior. "Look, Beatrice, here's another thing I'm not supposed to tell you… you have in fact passed your exams even before taking the final test. It doesn't matter if you foul that up completely, you can't lose enough points to be in jeopardy. You didn't hear that from me. In fact, you didn't hear that at all."

Beatrice shook her head vehemently. "No, Ma'am. I mean, yes Ma'am. My ears are sealed… to twist a common phrase. Actually, it won't come into play at all. I want to maintain my grade average."

"Good. Returning to the offer from Sheriff Fitzpatrick. I can definitely see how that would be tempting for you, but I'd like you to consider what we've talked about here as well."

"I certainly will, Ma'am."

"That's all I can ask for," Mandy said and put a calm hand on Beatrice's shoulder. "All right. The day's not over yet. Let's get back to work."

Beatrice picked up the case folder she had just finished typing - she glanced at her wristwatch that read 1:25pm. "Yes, Sheriff. Unless something happens in the meantime that'll require my presence, I'll head out on further foot patrols at three and then six pm. After that, I'll eat supper and return to the office for the first part of the evening shift."

"Very well, Deputy. I have a few calls to make with regards to the latest developments," Mandy said as she dug into her pocket to find her telephone.

Once she was alone in the crew room, she sat down on the chair recently vacated by Beatrice Reilly. She glanced at the highly advanced electronic typewriter, shuddering at the thought that she might have to learn how to operate the frightening contraption if Beatrice really did leave Goldsboro.

"That's for later… much later," she mumbled as she scrolled down the registry to find Councilwoman Skinner. The number was soon selected.

'Good afternoon, Sheriff,' Mary-Lou said at the other end a moment later.

"Good afternoon, Councilwoman. It was bound to happen, and it just has. Junior Deputy Beatrice Reilly has been given a solid job offer from Sheriff Fitzpatrick of Pacumseh County. It's down south in Lansingburg."

'Oh?'

"I'm afraid I need to stress that we can't wait for the Town Council to convene in mid-March. The decision needs to be made this week. The middle of next week at the very latest. In fact, it needs to be signed, sealed and handed over by March first. I accept it may not be possible to keep Deputy Reilly on our roster, but I cannot accept that it'll happen without a serious effort to keep her here."

A long pause broke out before Mary-Lou Skinner said: 'That's not how County-level politics work, Sheriff Jalinski,' in a cool tone.

"This time, it needs to be. Don't forget we already have a fully seaworthy lifeboat ready to be used. If I get your preliminary approval now-"

'Now?!'

"Yes, now. If I get it, I'll speak to Deputy Simms and ask politely if he'd be willing to have his end of the deal, i.e. the written resignation, completed by February twenty-eighth at the latest. If his resignation and subsequent re-hiring as a civilian assistant can go through the system with as few snags as possible… and I'll lean on HQ to make sure it will… his wages will be paid by the MacLean County Sheriff's Department, not your Town Council."

'Well… all right, Sheriff, but you need to respect the democratic process. The members of the Town Council may not-'

Mandy was in no mood to let politics, or politicians, interfere with how the real world was put together, so she pressed on in spite of Mary-Lou's protestations: "Then persuade them to see it our way. Some of the amount you'll save on Deputy Simms's salary can be spent directly on Deputy Reilly's pay increase, and some can be spent on the recruitment process to obtain a new Junior Deputy."

Another pause broke out. It grew so long that Mandy needed to check the telephone to see if she had lost connection somehow. "Councilwoman?"

'I'm still here. First things first… I do not appreciate being put under a spotlight and then pressured into making such a wide-ranging decision!  This is not how politics work, Sheriff. You ought to know that by now. All that said, if I get everything in writing tomorrow, I may be able to arrange an emergency council meeting on the twenty-sixth or twenty-seventh of this month-'

"Very well-"

'I'm not finished, Sheriff!  At that meeting, you and I will jointly present the case to the esteemed members of the Town Council. If they do not agree, the deal's off.'

"I accept the terms, Councilwoman Skinner," Mandy said and got up from the chair. She strode over to the door to the office itself - she put her free hand on the knob but did not yet open it. "Please contact me when you have the exact time and date."

'All right. Goodbye, Sheriff,' Mary-Lou Skinner said with little of her usual warmth present in her voice - the call was terminated before Mandy could even return the greeting.

A dark grunt escaped Mandy as she put the telephone into her pocket and stepped out into the office. Nothing much had changed since she had been there last save for the fact that Beatrice had taken Rodolfo's place at the smallest of the three desks. The Senior Deputy was apparently using the restroom as the sound of the faucet running was unmistakable. Barry sat at the watch desk smoking, munching on a snack and reading a pulp paperback.

"Deputy Simms," Mandy said in a strong but not unfriendly voice - even so, the object of her inquiry jerked upright in his chair. His startled response caused him to not only drop the pulp book but lose his latest cigarette that had been stuck between his lips.

Yelping, Barry jumped up to brush the cigarette and the embers off his uniform shirt. Once everything had been patted down several times to make sure nothing was, or would be, on fire, he stared wide-eyed at the sheriff.

"We have some important matters to discuss, Deputy. In the crew room, if you please," Mandy said before she went back into the small room at the end of the office.

---

Ten minutes later, a quiet and reflective Barry left the crew room clutching a glowing letter of recommendation hand-written and signed by Sheriff Mandy Jalinski. He sat down at the watch desk and simply stared into thin air for the next two minutes - then he reached for his cigarettes to light up.

When Mandy came out of the crew room a brief while later, she made sure to make eye contact with Beatrice. The sheriff locked eyes with her junior deputy to send a silent message that conveyed that if everyone played their cards right, the troublesome starting point could grow into a positive conclusion.

-*-*-*-

The next few hours dragged on even worse than the last few had done - even Mandy had grown drowsy from the constant, brain-numbing state of inactivity. Don Woodward's shift had ended so he had driven back to Jarrod City which meant that Rodolfo was locked into the task of monitoring the prisoners next door. Beatrice had only just gone out on a foot patrol so she wouldn't be back for a fair while.

Mandy stifled a yawn as she took her telephone with the intent to call Wynne for to hear a friendly voice. Her finger already hovered over the number in the registry when she remembered Wynne mentioning that she would be up at the Bang 'n Beatin' Body Shop with Bengt 'Fat-Butt' Swenson for a good portion of the day working on the old Cadillac - that meant plenty of noisy machinery which in turn meant that Wynne would typically turn off her phone as she wouldn't be able to conduct any kind of conversation anyway.

Groaning, Mandy put away the smartphone and leaned back on the swivel-chair. Nothing in the old sheriff's office had improved since the last time she had glared at its decrepit state: the maps on the walls depicting Goldsboro and the surrounding territory were all from the 1960s, the cracked linoleum resembled a 2000-piece jigsaw puzzle that someone had thrown in the air in frustration, the inner door to the jail house remained rusted shut despite everyone's best efforts to get it to release, and the wooden door to the street continued to stick no matter what they did to the jamb and the hinges.

The situation was just as dire in the bathroom at the back of the office: the hot-water faucet of the main sink had been possessed by an evil spirit and only worked every other time, the cistern in one of their three toilets leaked like a sieve, and the light fixture in the ceiling couldn't make up its mind on whether or not to die in a final flash of glory.

A plumber had been called to look at the first two items on that particular work sheet, but not only did the entire region's plumbers have so much to do that it would be the following Wednesday before anyone had time to swing by to fix the faulty items, the invoice would undoubtedly exhaust the sheriff's office's first-quarter budget for acute repairs and long-term maintenance work - and with all the pressure the sheriff's office already put on the members of the Town Council with regards to the situation involving the deputies, there was zero chance they would add even $10 to the quarterly budget.

Sighing, Mandy rubbed her face to make the depressing realities go away - her hands did a good job of blocking the view of the world surrounding her, but they couldn't hold back the gray Cloud Of Doom that wafted across the office from the watch desk as Barry lit up once more.

Enough was enough, so Mandy got up, grabbed her winter jacket and her Mountie hat and moved over to the watch desk to get one of their portable radios. "I'll be out on patrol, Deputy Simms. Keep me posted on any calls."

"Will do, Sheriff," Barry said, knocking off the cigarette's tip of ash as he spoke.

A "Hmmm!" escaped Mandy as she tested the radio against the one on the watch desk. Everything seemed to work for a change, so she yanked the sticking door open and ventured out onto the sidewalk. The air was crisp but not too bad. Main Street was as deserted as always so that wouldn't provide any relief from her gloomy state of mind.

Instead of using her regular patrol pattern, she strode south on Main to start at the southern city limits sign. On her way there, she made a small wager with herself regarding the expensive sign and the probability that it had been vandalized again.

Before she could make it that far, her telephone rang deep inside its warm nest in one of the winter jacket's insulated pockets. She needed to manipulate two strips of Velcro plus a zipper to get to it, but it helped that the caller was persistent. Her brow grew furrowed when the caller-ID read Barton City HQ.

Accepting the call, she put the telephone to her ear. "This is Sheriff Mandy Jalinski. Go ahead."

'Sheriff, this is Watch Sergeant Orlando Bonnaccio. I'm calling to update you on the status of Gregory Jones, a.k.a. Gory Jones, i.e. the prisoner who was sent to central booking this past Monday. Mr. Jones has been rushed to hospital for urgent detox. He went into some kind of drug-induced shock-'

"Come again?" Mandy said and came to a full stop. "Don't tell me he was released on bail after assaulting two-"

'No, he wasn't. Unfortunately, he was able to obtain and ingest a pouch of unknown chemical substances from the lockup's infirmary.'

Mandy let out a very long, very annoyed sigh as she resumed walking south on Main Street. She was about to let her clear and precise feelings be known, but decided to let a stony silence speak for her instead.

'In any case,' the Watch Sergeant said after the brief pause, 'he's expected to live, but the doctors have informed us there may be some lasting effects on his nervous system and possibly even his cognitive capabilities.'

"He was probably so strung out by then he would have downed a quart of drain cleaner if he had found one," Mandy said, shaking her head at the insanity of it all. "We thought he was a simple DUI at first, but he freaked out the moment we got him into the jail house. He injured two of my deputies before we could pacify him enough to throw him into the holding cell. Even after that, he went on a violent rampage inside the cell."

'It was much the same here, Sheriff. That was in fact why he was at the infirmary at the time.'

"All right. Do you need additional paperwork from us with regards to the initial arrest-"

'No, Sheriff, that won't be necessary. I'll contact you again if or when there's a development in the case.'

"Very well. Thank you, Sergeant. All right. Goodbye."

After closing the connection and storing the telephone back in her liner pocket, Mandy needed to pinch the bridge of her nose at the fact that yet another bizarre event had happened in the Calamity Central of the world known as Goldsboro, Nevada.

It was difficult to connect the non-stop drama to the deserted Main Street and the quiet nature of the town in general, but it was undeniable - their particular unholy trinity was Death, Taxes & Bizarre Occurrences That Always Happened When Nobody Expected Them Or Indeed Had Time To Deal With Them.

Shaking her head once more, she continued south on Main Street in the hope of finding just one positive thing before the day would turn to night.

---

On her way back from inspecting the transformer substation and the new southern city limits sign - that, much to her astonishment, hadn't yet been used as a practice target or suffered other kinds of vandalism - she came to a halt at the shop windows of Grant Lafferty's Beer & Liquor Imports.

Not being a great connoisseur of alcoholic beverages, the countless bottles on display didn't really make any bells jingle for her save for recognizing the odd well-known brand here and there. She checked the time on her telephone and promptly let out a sigh as only five minutes had gone by since the last such peek.

The owner of the store had been busy re-arranging a few cardboard standees and displays used for brand promotions so he hadn't noticed her at first. He soon did and waved at her to come in.

Not having anything better to do, Mandy waved back before she climbed the short flight of stone stairs to enter the cornershop.

The smooth, shiny rosewood floor was so clean it could be used as a dinner plate. The filtered light illuminating the sales room - without actually shining onto any of the products - created a cozy atmosphere specifically designed to make the customers buy two bottles instead of one, or perhaps a more expensive product than their original plan had been.

To aid with the persuasion process, the air-conditioned environment held traces of cinnamon and orange peel designed to put even the most bilious grinch in the mood to fork out their hard-earned dollars and cents on a product that probably wouldn't last long once it had been opened.

The number of bottles sold at the Beer & Liquor Imports could be counted in the thousands. Every inch of every shelf - and there were many - was occupied by a can or bottle or with colorful labels and even more colorful names. The sales room was divided into sections that each represented different types of alcoholic beverages. Endless rows of dark liquor held the prime spot as the first thing a customer would see upon entering the store.

The beers took up an entire wall down the back of the store. The cans had been sorted by their alcohol volume which meant that all the non-alcoholic beers had been placed top-left while those on the bottom-right needed no further introduction beyond their names such as El Diablo, Grizzly, Polar Bear Brew, Brutalissimo, Orbit and OMG Super-Strong.

"Hello, Sheriff. Nice to see you," Grant Lafferty said as he put out his hand. As always, the mid-sixties-something expert on all things beer and liquor walked in a tender-footed gait due to his evil bunions - he needed to wear oversized, soft slippers to combat the pain, but that only impaired his walking even further.

He dressed much the same as ever by wearing gray, high-waisted pants, a tan shirt and a knitted cardigan. His square reading glasses had been on his nose while he had rearranged the promotional displays, but he soon pushed them up onto his forehead. It was too early in the afternoon for him to smoke his pipe, so a matchbook and a pouch of the tobacco he favored were still on top of the counter next to the daily newspaper.

"Hello, Mr. Lafferty. You look healthy today," Mandy said as she shook hands with the gentleman.

"I feel quite fine, actually. Well, except my damn bunions, but you already know about those. Ah… Senior Deputy Gonzalez was by last week to inspect my fire precautions-"

Mandy held up her hands before any confusion would arise. "This is just a social call, Mr. Lafferty. Wynne's birthday is coming up in the not-so-distant future, so I wondered if you perhaps had, well… something she'd like that she would never buy herself?"

Grant rubbed his chin and let out a "Hmmm…" before he fell silent. Several seconds went by filled by much rubbing-of-chin before he continued: "Well, let me see. Wynne's very, very choosy when it comes to beers. She hasn't really enjoyed any of the other brands I've tried to introduce her to over the years. She pretty much only drinks Fenwyck products… right?"

"True."

Another "Hmmm!" followed as Grant shuffled over to the wall containing all the cans. He let his critical eye roam over the shelves without arriving at any kind of answer. "From what I've been told, H.E. Fenwyck won't produce a special brew this year. The limited-edition Centennial didn't sell as well as they had hoped, so…"

"I know Wynne really enjoyed that one. She's all out, though," Mandy said, studying the many beers on display.

Grant nodded before he shuffled over to the shelf to wipe a few specs of dust off a can of imported lager. "Everyone is. It was only a single-run beer. No, I'm afraid I can't give you an answer off the top of my head, Sheriff. I need to give it some thought. That's what they made smoking tobacco for!"

Smiling, Mandy put out her hand once more for the traditional greeting. "All right. Thank you, Mr. Lafferty. I'll be in touch in person so Wynne won't pick up that something might be, ah… brewing. No pun intended."

---

Back on the street, Mandy strode north past Moira's Bar & Grill and the adjacent Bed & Breakfast. She went around to the back of the latter building to inspect the rear door in case someone had tried to tamper with it, but everything was fine.

Her foot patrol continued north until she arrived at 'Friendly' Sam McCabe's gun shop. There, she happened to run into the store manager J.D. Burdette who carried a sign advertising the new range of Richardson Arms assault rifles onto the sidewalk.

The bearded, camouflage-wearing fellow did his best - or worst - to give her a cold shoulder. As the door slammed shut behind him, Mandy snorted and let out a mumbled "Rest assured the feeling is mutual, pal," before she carried on.

Thirty paces on, her telephone rang again. Thinking it might be the Watch Sergeant from headquarters with a further update on Gregory Jones, she reached into the insulated pocket at once. A grunt escaped her when the caller-ID said FBI Field Off. Barton City.

"This is Sheriff Jalinski. To whom am I speaking, please?"

'Hello, I'm Special Agent Brooke Haimes with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I'm calling you with the requested information regarding the men you arrested for selling stolen property.'

"I see. I'm on patrol at the moment, but please go on," Mandy said, spinning around on her heel to head back to the office on the double. She dug into her pocket to find her notepad and a pen - using the latter on the former, she jotted down the Special Agent's name for future reference.

At the gun shop, J.D. Burdette made a big production number out of giving her another cold shoulder, but she cared even less than the first time and simply stormed past him.

While she walked, she tried to balance the telephone, the notepad and the ball point pen, but it was tough going and she could barely read the squiggly lines that were meant to be the Special Agent's name - in short, she needed to get back to her desk as soon as possible so she could jot down the info on something larger than her notepad.

'The first man, Juan Alfonso Parénte… street name Chunn Parénte… has a lengthy criminal record. Twelve arrests for everything ranging from bag-snatching to distraction burglary. Usually operates in California but has been seen in Nevada prior to this arrest. Two suspended jail sentences that he somehow avoided triggering.'

While the Special Agent spoke, Mandy reached the sheriff's office. The sticking door was given such a huge thump with her shoulder that it flew open and rattled poor Barry Simms all over again - this time, his latest cigarette did in fact fly out of his mouth and onto his uniform pants. He jumped up with a howl and tried to brush off the embers with his crossword puzzle magazine.

'Oh… what are all those weird noises in the background, Sheriff?' the FBI Agent said at the other end of the connection.

"Vintage Goldsborian chaos… don't worry about it," Mandy said on her way over to the biggest of the three desks. She whipped off her Mountie hat but kept her winter jacket on so she wouldn't waste any precious time that could be used for writing on the large pad she soon pulled up from a drawer.

'Okay… well, the second man is Francisco Almería. Street name Scorpio. Fewer arrests but two convictions. He's served a total of nine years for various small-scale activities. At present, he's out on parole from a Federal prison, but crossing the state line is illegal and will see him back inside once he's under our control. Was he the one who carried a concealed firearm?'

"That's correct, Agent Haimes," Mandy said, updating at full speed.

'All right. In any case, we can confirm that the jewelry Mr. Parénte and Mr. Almería tried to sell to Mr. Williams is in fact identical to the items reported stolen in Los Angeles in August. That and the firearm offence will seal their fates for the time being.'

Mandy scribbled down the last of the info before she put down the ball point pen - she used the break to take off her jacket. "Good. How do we proceed from here?"

'We'll send a team by who'll pick up Mr. Parénte and Mr. Almería.'

"Very well. When?"

'I can't say yet, Sheriff.'

Mandy took a deep breath and let it out slowly through her nostrils - then she rolled her eyes. The Special Agent's use of the stock phrase Can't Say Yet could only mean it was so low on their list of priorities that it might be Easter before the two criminals would be moved to the FBI Field Office in Barton City or wherever they were headed. "Very well. Keep us posted. We're just a small office here, so we need a day's advance warning if possible."

'Noted, Sheriff. Goodbye for now.'

"Goodbye, Agent Haimes," Mandy said and closed the connection. Getting to her feet, she put her hands on either side of the blotting pad while she re-read the information she had just written down.

A chuckle escaped her when she remembered Wynne's explanation for the odd street name 'Chunn.' The real first name was Juan so it wasn't beyond the realm of possibilities that she had been right about the man's speech impediment. There hadn't been time to conduct any kind of lengthy conversation, and much less a proper questioning, with either Parénte or 'Scorpio' Almería when they had been processed and locked up so nobody could know for sure.

Across the office, Barry let out a nervous, screeching laugh - a clear sign of relief from mostly getting away with the fiery drama with only a few burn marks here and there.

The glowing tip of the cigarette had in fact scorched the corner of the crossword puzzle magazine but had only burned a small hole in his uniform pants - all his vital bits had been missed, so he wasn't too upset with the state of the fabric. His thigh would develop yet another blister at the point of impact, but that was nothing new for the experienced smoker.

"That was the FBI with information regarding our prisoners," Mandy said as she moved over to the coffee machine with her favorite mug at the ready. "It seems that- what in the…"

She came to a halt verbally as well as physically when it dawned on her there wasn't any coffee to be had - somebody had failed to make a new potful when they had taken the final mug of the old one. "Who used this last, Deputy Simms?" she said in a low, dangerous voice.

"Not me, Sheriff!" Barry said, whipping out the next cigarette from his mouth so it wouldn't enter a ballistic flight path all over again. "I'm on a herbal tea diet right now because of my upset tummy!  I think it may have been the Senior Deputy…"

Mandy's face scrunched up into half its regular size at the prospects of not getting any coffee for at least the next ten minutes. The next step would be to have steam pouring out of her ears, but she acted before it could come to such high-strung drama. "Deputy Simms, call Mr. Lane over at the bar and grill. Tell him it's an emergency- no, scratch that. This can't wait!"

Striding back to the big desk, Mandy grabbed her winter jacket and her Mountie hat before she yanked the sticking door open and stormed across Main Street - Operation I Need Some Coffee This Very Minute! was underway.

-*-*-*-

Another hour went by with little activity. When Beatrice had returned from her latest - uneventful - foot patrol of Goldsboro, she had taken Rodolfo's place at the jail house's desk to monitor the prisoners Parénte and Almería. The Senior Deputy had temporarily relocated to the watch desk while Barry took another extended bathroom break prompted by his sensitive tummy.

Mandy had so little to do she had resorted to borrowing Barry's scorched crossword puzzle magazine while he was in the bathroom - although it was too simple for her, at least it made the minutes tick by. An empty mug and a plate featuring a small pile of pastry crumbs were all that remained of the delicious coffee break. Both items had been shoved off to the side of the desk to make room for work or indeed a crossword puzzle or two.

What she really wanted was to hear Wynne's dulcet tones in her ear, but The Last Original Cowpoke's telephone was still off. It meant that she and the expert mechanic Bengt 'Fat-Butt' Swenson remained hard at work getting the enormous Cadillac Eldorado into a roadworthy condition.

The major incident of the next handful of minutes was Barry forgetting to zip his fly after his extended break. Seven further minutes went by before the next major incident occurred: Rodolfo dropping his ball point pen on the floor. From that moment on, everything that was supposed to be zipped was, and everything that was supposed to stay on the desks never went anywhere else.

A long, tormented sigh escaped Mandy. Leaning forward, she rubbed her face several times in the hope it would speed up time or at the very least produce something for them all to do.

The first didn't happen, but a visitor attempting to enter the office did. When the sticking door proved to be an insurmountable obstacle for Keshawn Williams - whose hands were already occupied gripping a large cardboard box - Mandy got up in a hurry to come to his assistance. Even she needed to yank twice at the door's frame to get it to release, but it eventually gave up the unequal struggle and opened with nary a squeak.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Williams," Mandy said with a smile. "Come in… we could use a guest."

Though Keshawn winced from the hard thump his shoulder had received from coming into contact with the recalcitrant frame, he was soon crabbing sideways across the threshold to make sure the cardboard box would fit. "Aren't you ever going to get that door repaired, Sheriff?  Sooner or later, someone's going to get hurt shoving it open… or, God forbid, fall through the pane."

"We had hoped there was room in our budget for it. There wasn't."

A grunt escaped Keshawn as he pulled straight upon entering the sheriff's office. The box was soon put down on the cracked linoleum so he could shake hands with Barry, Rodolfo and Mandy. "Hey, Barry, I was able to get some of those pulp detective novels you read a lot of-"

Mandy and Rodolfo had never seen Barry react so quickly - as the good news managed to penetrate the clouds of cigarette smoke and reach his ears, he jumped to his feet and raced over to kneel next to the cardboard box. "Oooooh!  Look at this, guys… look at this!" he said as he held up an entire stack of vintage pulp paperbacks from the mid-1940s to the late-1970s. "Johnny Rock… Sally Swackhamer… Colton Byrnes… Gentleman Jack Shayne… Bill Bloodfist!  Wow, there's even a Jun Masamo, the Ninja Assassin!  This is the good stuff, Keshawn!  How much?"

"Two dollars each-"

"Sold!"

Mandy had to chuckle at her deputy's unbridled enthusiasm for the old books - the energy Barry put forth exploring the box was a mirror image of how Wynne had been when she had waxed endlessly about the most minuscule details of her new, old diecasts.

While Barry pulled out each of the paperbacks in turn to see if he already had that particular title, Mandy put her hand on Keshawn's elbow and led him over to the sheriff's desk. "Mr. Williams, I spoke to the FBI earlier today. It seems they already know the fences quite well. By the way, their names are Juan Alfonso 'Chunn' Parénte and Francisco 'Scorpio' Almería."

"I see…"

"Yes. Mr. Almería has violated his parole by participating in this scam and for the concealed firearm… also for crossing the state line, but that's the least of it. As soon as an FBI transport team arrives, he'll be going back behind bars."

Keshawn let out a dark grunt. "Okay… it couldn't happen to a nicer guy."

Mandy let out a quiet chuckle to show she agreed. "Mr. Parénte's rap sheet gives the impression he's more of a thinker than a man of action, so it's safe to say he sees himself as the brains behind it. Those people always try to protect themselves first and foremost, so I suspect he and his lawyer will try negotiating a plea bargain deal by selling some of his associates up the proverbial river."

"Well… it's fine they're put away for at least a couple of years, but the next criminal in line will always pick up the reins," Keshawn said with a shrug. "My two second-hand stores in L.A. are contacted by crooks each and every day. It never fails. And I know for a fact that the real pawn shops are hit much worse because the quality of their goods is that much higher. Some of them have a uniformed police officer on permanent duty in the actual store!  I mean, that's just nuts!"

A cry of "Oooooooh!  Secret Agent Alpha Six!  This one is way, way, way rare!  Awesome!" supplied a much-needed infusion of humor into the somber conversation, but the high soon fizzled out.

"Nuts is an apt description of the world, Mr. Williams," Mandy said in a glum tone of voice. "There'll always be criminals, there'll always be decent people who are preyed on, and there'll always be law enforcement agencies out to stop it from happening. It's a vicious game with no rules and no winners."

"Only losers," Keshawn added. He let out a sigh before he turned back to Barry. "Well, at least we put a smile on someone's face today. All right. Thank you for the update, Sheriff. I better head back to my store now. I'm waiting for a batch of clothes to show up… or rather, I'm waiting for the delivery truck to show up. It seems that most of the delivery drivers can't find Goldsboro. They always tell me it's not in their GPS's…"

"We're too small and insignificant," Mandy said, sporting a tired grin.

Yet another cry of "Ooooooh!  Here's a Codename Silver Fox!  They only published, like, twenty of those!" made everyone laugh and move over to Barry Simms to admire the tall piles of books he had stacked up next to him.

Part 3

Bard's Page

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