*
*
CHAPTER 8

The following morning - Friday, August 30th - 7:49am.

The old saying 'The Quiet Before The Storm' didn't really fit the situation Wynne and Mandy found themselves in. Not only was it closer to being 'The Quiet Between Storms,' they were far too busy living and loving between the sheets that the world could have fallen apart - again - right outside the trailer's windows without either of them noticing a thing.

Even the greatest moment had to come to an end eventually, but when the climax had been sky-high, the glowing return to Earth was just as rewarding. As their breaths and heart rates evened out, it created a vacuum that was completely taken over by the love bolts that flew between them.

"Darlin', I luv ya so very, very much…" Wynne said in a whisper. Moving her lips away from Mandy's where they had been in the latter part of their lovemaking, she ran her tongue across salty skin while nibbling a little here and a little there. Pausing, she said: "Ain't no doubt 'bout it. Y'all sure is tha best thing that evah done happened in mah lihhh-fe. Evah."

Smiling, Mandy inched over onto her right side so she could be face to face with Wynne. They let Aphrodite do the talking for a few moments through their lips before they separated once more and settled for gazing at each other. "I love you, too. Thank you. It was wonderful. I really needed it…"

"Sure ain't no lie. Y'all wus as coiled-up as a one-ton spring. Now, y'all be as mellah as a glob o' dough-"

"I'll give you dough!" Moving swiftly, Mandy sent her fingers on a mission of probing, caressing and squeezing under the covers. Wynne's gasped exclamation was quelled by a lengthy, tongue-y kiss that was the perfect way to end their beautiful morning encounter.

---

Ten minuter later, Wynne let out a hiss when she swung her legs over her side of the bed. She broke out in a grimace as multiple points of her body insisted on stinging, and not all of those troublespots had a glorious reason for doing so.

Her knee continued to give her grief in the mornings though she had finally been able to get rid of the nightly bandage. Worse, her lumbar chose the moment to act like a spoiled brat by sending a wave of pain up her back, across her pelvic region and even down into her thighs. She let out a croaked "Owch…" as she reached behind her to rub the offending section of her back.

"Your back?" Mandy said as she sat up on the opposite side of their queen-sized bed.

"Aw-haw…"

"Did you carry too many boxes yesterday?" Mandy continued as she got up, donned her discarded underwear and slipped into the oversized T-shirt she used for sleeping.

Wynne shrugged, but regretted it at once as it created another wave of pain to burst north, south, east and west from its base. "Owch… shoot, I didden reckon I did… only mebbe five-six boxes or so befo' I hadda quit 'cos I coudden really do it with mah cane an' all. Lawrdie, if it don't take no mo' than that ta get me all cramped up, I be 'bout reddy fer one o' them there rockin' chairs!"

Chuckling, Mandy walked around the bed to transfer another Good-Morning kiss from her own lips to Wynne's. Opening the drawer in the bedside table was the next item on her agenda, and she had soon retrieved the familiar blue-and-gray jar of camphor Pain-B-Gone ointment. "Lie down on your stomach, hon… I'll take care of your aches and pains."

"Whah, I sure do 'preciate it, darlin'. We got anothah jar out in the med'cine cabinet, so dontcha spare nuttin'," Wynne said as she moved around so Mandy would have full access to her bare back. "Haw. Lubrica-shun sure is an old gal's best friend… yes, Ma'am."

---

A little while later, a bathrobe-wearing Wynne stood by the window above the sink in the kitchenette observing Blackie and Goldie frolicking in the desert. The clarity of the sky suggested it would be a hot day. At least the strong winds that had created so much havoc up in Goldsboro the day before had died down. Only the typical somewhat chilly morning breeze rolled in from the surrounding desert, but that would soon turn scorching hot once the rays had baked the desert floor and the rocks for a while.

A Ding! from the toaster oven brought her back to what she had been doing before the dogs had stolen her attention. Four crunchy slices of toast had soon been transferred onto two plates, one of which was put on the kitchen counter. Wynne sported a wide grin as she put her hand next to her mouth so it could act like an amplifier: "Breakah one-nine, darlin'!  That there toast be reddy!  Whut kinda jam y'all want on 'em taday?"

The water splashing inside the small shower cabin in the corner bathroom came to a halt. A few seconds later, the door cracked open to reveal a dripping wet Mandy. "Didn't we agree that I'd make my own breakfast once I was done in here?"

The wide grin on Wynne's face turned into a frown as it dawned on her that she had skipped an important element of the memory process, namely remembering what she was actually supposed to do. "Yuh, I reckon we did… I jus' watched them dawggies playin' out yondah an'… an'… aw, I jus' ran on croooh-ze control. Shit."  Looking at the slices of toast, she scratched her neck and eventually broke out in a shrug.

"It's the thought that counts. If that's the worst thing that happens today, I'll be a very happy Sheriff," Mandy said with a wink before she went back into the shower cabin to finish up.

Wynne scratched her neck again before she smacked herself over the head. "Top job, dumbass," she said in a mumble as she brought her own plate over to the kitchen cabinet where they kept their jam. "Wynne Donnah-hew, I swear, sometimes y'all be dumbah than an upside-down sack o' monkey nuts. Lawrdie…"

---

Fifteen minutes later, Wynne and Mandy shared the couch in the living area. Wynne had been out to the mailbox to get the morning papers, but they didn't contain much beyond the lurid headlines.

A fully uniformed Mandy - a stain-preventing bib had been added to the uniform dress code while eating - dug into a bowl of strawberry yoghurt that she had covered in a fair-sized portion of muesli boosted by some chopped hazelnuts. The two slices of toast that Wynne had accidentally made too soon had turned soft again, but it didn't matter as she still munched on them with great delight.

Wynne slurped her last mug of coffee as she continued to page through the morning newspapers. "Haw… nuttin' excitin' he'… still nuttin'… still nuttin'… still nuttin' excitin'… aw… tha Powah Princess comic strip be kinda fun taday. An'… yup, that wus it. I dunno whaddahell we keep subscribin' ta them newspapahs fer. Ain't nevah nuttin' funny or im-pahr-tant in 'em, anyhows."

"I agree," Mandy said around a spoonful of yoghurt.

"Yuh. Y'all wanna watch tha mornin' show on Channel Seven'y-eight?"

Mandy quickly finished her yoghurt before she put the empty bowl on the old, scratched coffee table. "Actually, I was about to ask if you'd help me with someth-"

"Always, darlin'."

"Careful. You don't know what it is!"

"Mah answah won't change. Y'all know that," Wynne said with a wide grin. The moment was too good to pass up so she quickly leaned across the couch to steal a kiss from the sheriff's glistening lips.

Once the kissing was over, a glum mask fell over Mandy's face. "We're going back on the campaign trail today, so… well, I'd like you to ask me some… let's call them narrow-minded, or offensive, or even provocative questions so I can prepare myself for the real deal."

The glum mask turned out to be extremely contagious as it spread to Wynne's face within a few heartbeats. She started twisting around on the couch to be able to look Mandy in the eye, but her knee and her lower back joined forces to carry out a sneaky commando raid at the exact wrong moment.

Hissing in pain, she got up instead and hobbled around the table. Mandy followed the cue and rose to greet her partner. "Darlin', y'all can ask me anythin', yuh?  Anythin' but that!  Mah heart done gets torn in half whenevah there be tha slightest drah-mah between us… even if it be like role-playin' or whutevah. Please, darlin', coudden y'all purr-haps ask ol' Brenda or Diegoh or somebodda?  Anybodda?"

"It would help me a lot, hon," Mandy said, reaching up to caress Wynne's cheek.

"Aw… shoot. Okeh… I'mma-gonn' trah, but if it done kills me, I be pullin' tha plug. Okeh?"

Smiling, Mandy got up on tip-toes to place a quick peck on Wynne's lips. "All right. Thank you. Give it your best shot. Perhaps you could imagine that you were playing Artie Rains in his biopic?"

"Aw-Gaaaaaaaaaaaaawd… now y'all gone an' done it!" Wynne said, letting out a croaking laugh while slapping a hand over her eyes. "Okeh… okeh… I got tha first one. Are wimmenfolk really worth anythin' as cops?  Ev'rybodda knows that bravery comes from them there tess-tickles."

Mandy briefly scratched her eyebrow before she assumed an air of seriousness. "Women are in fact highly effective as law enforcement personnel. Instead of relying on a blinkered belief that we're indestructible supermen, we generally think before we act and even while we act. Women are just as brave, dedicated and smart as the male law enforcement officers. We all arrive at the same conclusion at the same time, but women often follow a different path."

Grinning at the surprising success, Wynne reached out to scratch Mandy's cheek. "Okie-dokie!  Aw, I got a real classic, yuh?  Lawrdie, all y'all li'l girlies think ya bein' so tuff, but ain't no way y'all can take down a real man if he wants ta kick yer buhhh-tt."

"That's a good one, hon. Yes I've heard that more than once," Mandy said with a grin before she turned serious again. "First of all, everyone should realize that all law enforcement officers head into the unknown each and every time we venture onto the streets for an assignment or simply a patrol. It's important to remember that everyone can be blindsided at all times. Our firearms work as long-range deterrents. Our nightsticks will pacify most of those aggressors who come closer. The last line of defense are the Martial Arts techniques we're taught during our student years at the Academy. It's true that female officers tend to be smaller than their male colleagues, but smaller does not equal weaker. In fact, it often means we're more agile and thus faster than the male officers."

Grinning, Wynne took a step back to admire the fully uniformed Sheriff Mandy Jalinski whose shiny boots, dark-gray pants, black shirt and gray necktie worked together to create an impressive spectacle. "Lemme tell y'all som'tin, there, Sheriff Mandy… y'all can toss me 'round anytime y'all feel like it!"

"I thought that's what we did this morning?" Mandy said with a saucy wink.

A knock on the front door robbed Wynne of a comeback save for an "Ooooooooh!"

Striding through the kitchenette, Mandy soon opened the inner and screen doors to greet the knockee who turned out to be Beatrice Reilly. "Oh, I almost lost track of time. Good morning, Deputy Reilly."

"Good morning, Sheriff. The Durango is warming up as I speak," Beatrice said, wearing a uniform that was just as impeccable as Mandy's.

"Very well. I'll be with you in a moment."

Beatrice saluted her superior and said: "Yes, Sheriff," before she spun around on her bootheel and strode off the crooked porch.

Mandy was about to shut the door when she happened to take a closer look at the porch at the rear of the trailer. Half a quarry's worth of red desert sand and dust had been blown onto the somewhat uneven planks that Wynne had shed plenty of blood, sweat and cussing on not long after moving to the scenic spot at the edge of the vast desert.

Grunting, Mandy shut the inner door before she strode back into the living area. Wynne had turned on the TV in the meantime, but the digital reception was so poor it was a waste of time.

"Dang-blasted," Wynne mumbled as she stared daggers at the remote. Sitting on the couch, she slammed an index finger onto the buttons as if it would help. "Now whaddahell's wrong with this he' sombitch?  That there Rasslin' Round-Up show is on in ten minnits, dag-nabbit!"

Mandy sat down on the armrest and mussed Wynne's neck. "Hon, there's an enormous amount of sand on the porch. I'll bet the dish on the roof got its fair share, too. Or maybe the wind has shifted the whole thing. You know it doesn't take much for the signal to be lost."

"Aw-shoot… okeh, then I know whut I be doin' fer tha next hou'ah or so…"

"Just be mindful of your knee, all right?" Mandy said, leaning down to put a kiss on Wynne's neck. "Please be careful. And don't forget your telephone so you can call for help if the ladder falls down. Again."

"Yuh… no shit. Lawrdie, them cuppel-a hou'ahs I done spent up there wus among theeee dullest o' mah life, sure ain't no lie."  Chuckling, Wynne turned off the TV and threw down the remote on the couch. To taste Mandy's sweet lips one more time before work called, she leaned back so nothing could get in the way of a little smooching.

Once they separated, she let out another chuckle though this one was darker. "Haw, it wus Goldie who done knocked inta that there laddah. I s'pose I coudda jumped down, but with mah rotten luck, mah beak would prolly ha' dug a three-feet-deep hole in da ground or som'tin. Now I coudden even jump off a soapbox without killin' mah knee stone dead… shoot, I ain't even sure I can climb that there laddah no mo', come ta think offit. Aw, that whut friends be fo'. Diegoh's mah man."

"I'll say it again… just be careful, okay?  Please," Mandy said, adding a final kiss before moving away from the armrest.

Wynne clambered to her feet to escort the sheriff into the kitchenette and over to the inner door. "Yuh. Y'all got mah wohhhh-rd, Sheriff Mandy. No stunts!  I ain't dumb. Jus' a li'l slow on the uptake is all. Bah-bah, darlin'!  See y'all in town in a-cuppel-a hou'ahs!"

-*-*-*-

Just over two hours later - up north in Goldsboro.

The gravel crunched under Mandy's boots and Blackie's paws as the patrol team followed the perimeter path at the transformer substation at the southern end of town. The sun beat down from a clear blue sky which made the assignment a hot one, but the foot patrols needed to be carried out - especially in an election period - so the residents could see they were protected by the representatives of the law.

Mandy checked the outer fence and the padlocks for signs of forced entry, but everything was untouched. The inner fence was live, so if anything or anyone ever came into contact with that, there would be plenty of crispy debris to sweep up. The metal doors to the substation's main building were safe and free of graffiti. The upper vents had been opened to allow hot air to escape, but the slits were so narrow they wouldn't pose any kind of security risk.

Woof… woof!

"I know, Blackie. It's too damned hot out here. I promise we'll be back at the office before long," Mandy said, taking off her Mountie hat to dab her brow and wipe her neck on a handkerchief.

Once the handkerchief had done its job, Mandy removed her portable radio from its holster on her utility belt. "Mobile Unit One to Base. Mobile Unit One to Base. Have you had any calls, Mr. Simms?"

Crackle-crackle-static-static-crrrrrrrackle-static.

Mandy drew a deep breath as she glared at the old, near-useless radios. The unit was given a strong shaking and a few knocks against the root of her hand before she tried again: "Mobile Unit One to-"

An electronic howl intense and loud enough to make anyone's teeth water burst from the radio - not only did it send Blackie into a barking frenzy at the unseen enemy, it made Mandy drop the unit onto the gravel.

Remarkably, the rough treatment didn't hurt it. She dove down at once to recover the radio and turn the volume down to hardly anything at all. "Goddammit!  Worthless piece of ancient crap," she growled, giving it another whack in the hope it would clear the knot.

Crackle-crackle-static-static-crrrrrrrackle-static.

The subsequent sigh came from the bottom of her soul. Shaking her head, she turned off the radio unit for good and stuffed it into its holster. "C'mon, Blackie… we might as well head back."

Blackie spun around another few times to see if they were under attack by any of the nasty monsters who had used Goldsboro as hunting grounds in the past - like the green goblins, the cannibal zombies, the flying vampyre ghoul or even the overgrown lizard creature - but the coast seemed to be clear in every direction. The black German Shepherd let out a few, puzzled woofs before she broke out in a doggy-shrug and fell in next to her owner.

Striding along the dirt road that led back to Main Street, Mandy tried the obstinate radio several more times before she turned it off for good and reached for her telephone.

Barry's voice was soon heard at the other end of the connection: 'You've reached the MacLean County-'

"Mr. Simms, it's the Sheriff. I'm experiencing radio trouble. I'm on my way back to get a new unit. Has anyone called during my patrol?"

'Yes. Mr. Rossmann reported seeing a fellow walking around in a pair of purple pajamas in the middle of Josiah Street-'

A long groan escaped Mandy as she strode along the dirt road. It made Blackie look up at her and let out a Woof?

'That's what we said, Sheriff. The Senior Deputy went over there to investigate at once… it turned out to be a delivery guy from Allied Parcel. You know, the guys in the purple uniforms?'

"Yes. Dammit, I thought we'd heard the last of Mr. Rossmann's false alarms. We need to get in touch with his family again. Please find the number, Mr. Simms."

The clicking sound typically produced by a lighter came through the connection. 'Will do, Sheriff,' Barry continued around the first puff of his latest cigarette. 'I feel bad for the old geezer… he really thinks he's seeing bad people everywhere. It can't be fun…'

"Mr. Rossmann doesn't understand that it isn't real, Mr. Simms. All right, ETA at the office is two minutes. I'll talk to you then. Sheriff Jalinski out."

Mandy had just put the telephone into her pocket when she and Blackie made the turn onto Main Street. The sight of an odd cluster of people coming toward her some distance up the street made her lose a step and let out an "Oh, for crying out loud… now what?"

A closer look at the group of people proved it was an all-female affair with the easily recognizable shape of Holly Lorenzen seemingly the figurehead: the hairdresser sashayed along on her high heels. Most of the others were residents of Goldsboro, but there were one or two women among them who lived in some of the other small desert hamlets of MacLean County. Several of them carried protest signs and even small banners.

The group of obvious protesters continued moving south. As they went past 'Friendly' Sam McCabe's gun shop, J.D. Burdette came out to greet them. Mandy hoped against hope that it was an anti-gun protest of some kind, but her wishes were dashed at once when the group didn't stop.

It didn't take a genius to work out where the protesters were headed, so Mandy let out a sigh and upped her own pace to get back to the office before the next wave of Goldsborian madness would strike.

---

After barging through the sticky glass door, she soon took in the scene at the sheriff's office: Barry Simms sat at the watch desk smoking one of his home-rolled cigarettes. The Cloud Of Stinky Doom that hovered above him en route to the long-suffering ceiling tiles had a peculiar grayish-black tone that couldn't be healthy. Senior Deputy Rodolfo Gonzalez exited the crew room at the back carrying one of the tripods used for the speed-trap cameras while Beatrice Reilly sat at the smallest of their three desks jotting down the last details of the day's busy patrol schedule.

A quick glance at the wall-mounted clock proved it was just past 11am, i.e. almost time to set up the daily speed control at the northern entrance to town to catch those who wanted to get the best parking spot at Moira's Bar & Grill.

While Blackie ran over to the blanket just inside the door to get some water and something to chew on, Mandy moved into the center of the office. "All right… listen up, everybody," she said in her unmistakable voice known as I'm The Sheriff And You Better Pay Attention. "We've got trouble brewing. A group of protesters is moving toward the office as I speak. I have a feeling we may be able to avoid another riot, but we never know who might join the fun. Senior Deputy, you'll have to push off the speed-trap assignment for later."

"Yes, Sheriff," Rodolfo said, spinning around on his heel to put the tripod back in its box in the crew room. Returning to the office a moment later, he and Beatrice shared a concerned look at the prospects of being forced into another physical altercation. To burn off some of his nervous energy, he smoothed down his slicked-back hair and pencil-thin mustache that worked together with his Hispanic good looks to create a suave, matinee-idol appearance.

Over by the watch desk, Barry stood up to see what kind of protest the sheriff meant. The sight caused him to let out a snicker that soon turned into a small coughing fit. Once he had recovered from it, he took a deep puff from his latest cigarette to have enough nicotine in his system to speak. "But that's Holly Lorenzen!  She's no threat to anyone," he said with a cloud of grayish-black smoke trickling out of his mouth.

Mandy strode over to the window to look at the protesters who were already lined up across the street. "But someone might be pulling her strings, Mr. Simms," she said in a stern voice.

"Huh!  Wouldn't that be fun," Barry said, letting out a saucy snicker. When he realized that everyone - even Blackie - stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief, he blushed, sat down and returned to one of his favorite Sally Swackhamer, P.I. pulp novels. "So I happen to think she's attractive… big deal…" he said in a mumble.

Rodolfo chuckled as he went over to stand next to the sheriff. "She's twice your age, Barry!"

"Maybe all she needs to blossom is a young, virile guy like me-"

Mandy decided to break in before the improv comedy hour would get out of hand. "Enough of this nonsense. We all know there's more here than meets the eye."

On the opposite side of Main Street, Holly Lorenzen - whose chaste-appearing pleated skirt and short jacket offered a stark contrast to her usual combo of skin-tight pants and a blouse with a plunging neckline - set her all-female protest squad in motion to open the next act of the drama.

Once they had lined up in front of the sheriff's office, they held their signs aloft and unfurled a homemade banner that appeared as if it had been made of someone's discarded bedlinen. Holes had been cut into the banner to make it manageable in case the high winds had persisted, but the weather continued to be calm, sunny and hot.

Mandy let out an extraordinarily puzzled grunt as she read the words painted onto the signs: 'YES to women'  'NO to unfeminine activities'  'SUPPORT femininity'  'PROMOTE family values.' The long banner read: 'MEN are PROVIDERS & WOMEN are NURTURERS' with a subtitle that said, 'DO NOT demonize men for their masculinity.'

The banner was held up by none other than Mrs. Peabody and Colleen Bolton - the latter being one of the members of the Goldsboro Town Council.

"Okay," Rodolfo said, scratching his chin, "I know I'm the only real man here-"

A loud snort could be heard from over by the watch desk.

"-so maybe I'm just not getting the finer details, but… uh… would anyone care to explain what they're actually trying to say?"

Mandy's only reply was a grunt in the negative, but Beatrice eventually nodded. "I can. Miss Lorenzen and the others are protesting against my self-defence classes. She told me some of the same phrases to my face when I handed her a flyer yesterday."

Barry opened his mouth to add his two cents' worth, but a rattling coughing fit rendered him unable to do anything but hack, cough, splutter and slam a fist onto his chest to release the latest clot of mucus. For once, he managed to put down his latest cigarette before it could burn a hole in his pants, the linoleum floor or the incident report sheets.

"What the hell?  Really?" Rodolfo said. When Beatrice nodded once more, he threw his arms in the air in defeat. "It's not even preposterous… it's ridiculous!"

Beatrice crossed her arms over her chest and let out a sigh. "I counted on meeting resistance from Rains, Burdette and those people, but not Holly Lorenzen and an entire group of women!  I wanted to help the women here… crap, Goldsboro really is a strange place sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" Mandy said with a dark chuckle. "Stay here. I'll go out and talk to them. Maybe we're reading the situation wrong."

"Watch out for their pitchforks, Sheriff," Beatrice said on her way back to her desk.

---

Moving outside, Mandy closed the sticking glass door behind her so Blackie wouldn't feel tempted to follow her into a potential confrontation. "Good afternoon, Miss Lorenzen. How may we help you?" she said in a tone that she kept as neutral as possible. Conscious of how her body language could be interpreted, she hooked her thumbs inside her utility belt to give herself a friendly, non-threatening stance.

With the hands of time slowly moving towards the hour of the day known as 'lunchtime,' the parking bays along the curb across Main Street were occupied by the vans and trucks driven by the early-birds. Unlike the usual mad rush to get inside in order to beat the competition vying for A.J. 'Slow' Lane's attentions, the manual laborers and self-employed contractors remained on the street to gawk at the strange and unusual demonstration in front of the sheriff's office.

Holly Lorenzen, who insisted on wearing too much makeup even for such an important occasion, licked her lips a couple of times almost as if she was trying to remember the things she had been instructed to say. Mrs. Peabody eventually nudged her in the back to get her to speak. "We have issues with how the sheriff's office seems to be pushing an anti-male agenda-"

"That's certainly a fascinating topic, Miss Lorenzen. Would you like to come in and discuss it over a cup of coffee?" Mandy said, stepping aside and holding out her arm in an open invitation.

"Ah… I d- I don't know… coffee?  Well… I suppose… Mrs. Peabody, what do you think?"

While Holly spoke, Mandy eyed the late-sixty-something - and staunchly traditionalist - Mrs. Peabody whose lemon-tart mask proved she was most displeased with how the wind had been snatched from the protest's sails by nothing but calm words.

"What I think?" the owner of Goldsboro's oldest boarding house said in a harsh voice that only grew harsher as she continued: "I think you should go back to your hair salon and treat yourself to another layer of strawberry-red nail polish!  That's the only thing you're good for!  Why you were chosen to front this protest I'll never know."

"Artie picked me because he loves me and he knows that I love him!" Holly said in a distinct whine. As she spoke, she started wringing her hands. "He's such a wonderful man… he gives me all I could ever need, and plenty of it-"

"Oh, spare me the grisly details!"

By now, Mandy didn't know whether to laugh, curse or weep. She slammed her hands onto the utility belt to appear far more intimidating. The gesture worked wonders as Mrs. Peabody and Holly both piped down in a hurry. "The offer still stands, Miss Lorenzen. Take it or leave it, that's up to you."

Mrs. Peabody let out a resounding "Pah!" before she spun around and stomped north on the sidewalk to get back to her boarding house. As she left, her end of the MEN are providers WOMEN are nurturers banner fluttered impotently to the ground. Several of the women followed Mrs. Peabody away from the sheriff's office, but quite a few others stayed on Holly's team and began waving their own protest signs.

It took Colleen Bolton a handful of seconds to realize she needed someone else's help with the banner or the entire thing would look rather silly indeed, so she waved another of the protesters over to pick up the proverbial pieces.

"Well…" Holly said, "coffee sounds fine, actually… if it isn't too much hassle?"

"Not at all, Miss Lorenzen," Mandy said, once again gesturing at the glass door. "I'm afraid we can't accommodate everyone, so perhaps the rest of you could wait over in the restaurant?  Thank you. Miss Lorenzen, shall we go inside?"

"Ah… yes… thank you, Sheriff," Holly said, sashaying over to the sticking door to the office.

---

Barry nearly swallowed his latest cigarette when Holly stepped into the office. He got up like shot from a cannon to wheel over one of the spare swivelchairs that their guests always used. "Here you go, Miss Lorenzen," he said in a voice greased with so much butter that it made Rodolfo break out in a snicker at his expense.

Mandy kept a smile on her face as she moved over to the coffee machine to sniff the contents of the glass pot. Though hot, the dark-brown liquid wasn't particularly fresh, so she strode into the restroom at the far end of the office to rinse the pot and start over. She was back almost at once to follow the regular coffee-making procedure. "It'll only be a few minutes, Miss Lorenzen," she said as she turned on the machine that soon responded with its familiar blubbering.

"Oh… that's… thank you."

"Sheriff," Barry said from his spot at the watch desk, "would you like me to pop over to the Bar and Grill to perhaps get some pastries or a small cake of some kind?"

Mandy turned around to look at the wall-mounted clock that read 11:30am. "I'm afraid Mr. Lane will be too busy at this time of the day. Perhaps you have some cookies in the watch desk drawer?"

Barry yanked out the bottom drawer at once to check out what he had in his stash. An excited "Oh!" escaped him when he retrieved an unopened roll of raspberry-flavored Cream-Dream cookies. It wasn't long before he had torn open the package and poured the pinkish-white cookies onto a clean saucer. "Cookie, Miss Lorenzen?" he said with a smile as he held out the saucer.

Holly stared at the small plate as if she had no idea why she had even accepted the invitation. While someone let out strange, mocking kissy-noises behind her, she took one of the cookies at the top of the pile and began to nibble on it.

Before long, the coffee machine had finished brewing its nectar. A moment later, Mandy put a cup on the corner of the desk and poured steaming-hot coffee into it. Holly just stared at the whole thing. "You wouldn't happen to have some cream, would you?" she said in a croak.

"I'm afraid not, Miss Lorenzen," Mandy said as she put a plastic jar and a spoon next to the cup, "but we do have some high-fat creamer. Here you go."

"Oh… uh… thank you." The swivelchair didn't lend itself well to her lanky frame, so she gathered her legs and moved them to the side like a proper lady before she reached across to the desk to pour some creamer into the cup. "Ah… Sheriff Jalinski, we came here to… to… not that it mat-… well, to protest the fact that the sheriff's office… uh… oh, it doesn't really matter now."

"No, it does matter," Mandy said as she sat down at the big desk. She used a spoon to stir her own mug; as she did so, her eyes seemed to drill into Holly Lorenzen's overly made face. As expected, Holly was unable to hold the stare for more than a few seconds before she had to look down.

"Deputy Reilly," Mandy continued, "you have the floor."

"Thank you, Sheriff," Beatrice said as she strode over to stand in front of a squirming Holly. Unlike the sheriff, Beatrice didn't waste a second thinking about her body language: she just slammed her hands onto her hips in a perfect display of confidence, power and pride. "Miss Lorenzen, I would really, really like to know what it is about my proposed self-defence classes that have you so riled up. That is what this is all about, isn't it?"

Holly squirmed a great deal more. To stall, she took a swig of the coffee and put the cup back on the corner of the sheriff's desk. "It… it's… well, all that physical activity is just… just… unfeminine. Women shouldn't fight. That's for the men. Men should fight, women… women… well, shouldn't." She squirmed a little more before she continued: "We're not built for physical struggles. We're not strong, nor should we be."

Beatrice nodded a couple of times at Holly's arguments, but eventually shook her head. "Carrying a child within us for nine months requires boundless strength, doesn't it?  Going into labor and the actual childbirth don't just require almost superhuman strength, they flat-out demand it. Fact is, we're far stronger than any man. And that's where self-defence techniques come into play because many men just can't accept that fact-"

"Not everyone!" Holly said, shaking her head vehemently.

"Not everyone, no. But enough. I'm sure you've read the headlines of sexual assaults in the night life. Or domestically. Or in the workplace, for that matter. Haven't you ever had a male customer who made you feel uncomfortable or even concerned about what he might do?"

"Well, maybe one or two over the years, but ninety-nine percent are only flirting… that's a lost art in the modern, vulgar world-"

"But it only takes one, Miss Lorenzen. Wouldn't it be worth it if you could save yourself from being sexually assaulted by knowing one or two simple techniques-"

Holly let her wide eyes wander from Mandy to Barry and finally over to Beatrice where they remained. "It's… it's a- it's a false sense of security!" she said, bolting to her feet at such speed the swivelchair was pushed backward. "Yes, it's a false sense of security. Men are superior by nature. If we challenge that, we force them to re-assert their superiority… and… and they'll do it through violence!"

"Miss Lorenzen-" Mandy tried, but she was cut off at once:

"And I don't believe those headlines for a second!  Have you looked at the young girls these days?  They look and dress and behave like hookers!  If they're attacked and raped, they only have themselves to blame!  But no, they blame the men!  Men only have to wink at women to be arrested these days!  Some of you pretend you can live without a man in your life, but I know for a fact that we can't!  Am I under arrest?"

Struck speechless by the rapid-fire monologue, Mandy only had time to say "No, of course not-" before Holly Lorenzen stormed out of the sheriff's office and slammed the glass door shut behind her with such force it nearly made the panes fly out.

Blackie spoke for everyone when she let out a series of highly puzzled Woooof-woof-woof-woofs?  Nobody had an answer to that, so she shook her head and returned to the comfortable blanket.

Mandy stood up, leaned forward and put her fists on the desk. She looked at Barry, Beatrice and Rodolfo in turn before she gave up trying to make sense of what had just happened. "I'm beginning to understand why Rains always had a bottle of bourbon in the desk drawer," she said in a mumble. Grunting, she picked up a ball point pen from the tray as burying herself in paperwork would be the best remedy for the nonsense that had just taken place.

"I better head up north. Some of the first guys over at Moira's will have finished their lunch by now," Rodolfo said and once again went into the crew room to get the tripod for the speed-trap camera.

Returning to the watch desk a moment later, he performed a comical eenie-meenie-minie-moe to let fate decide which of the portable radios he should pick. The unit he chose was soon tested by dabbing the transmit key twice in rapid succession. When the base station responded by squawking, he slid the portable radio into the holster on his utility belt and secured the small button. "I'll call in regularly, Barry. Okay?  Talk to you later."

Once the door had closed behind the Senior Deputy, Beatrice let out a long, disappointed sigh before she walked back to the third desk. She grabbed one of her own ball point pens, but soon put it back in the plastic cup where she kept her writing utensils. Nearly a minute went by where she did nothing but practice her thousand-mile stare. Then she sighed, got up and pushed the chair in under the desk. "Sheriff, I'll be in the crew room typing up some of last week's reports. I feel like punching a few keys."

"Very well, Deputy," Mandy said without taking her eyes off the paperwork.

This all left Barry wearing a very large frown. Not only had he been cheated out of a break involving coffee, cookies, more cigarettes and some rare feminine company, there was a risk that Holly would refuse to cut his hair after the ugly scene that had just taken place. Grumbling, he went over to the sheriff's desk to retrieve his roll of raspberry-flavored Cream-Dream cookies before he grabbed himself a mugful of fresh coffee from the pot.

---

Half an hour later, the shrill ringing of the ancient Bakelite landline telephone on the watch desk was a rude disturbance of everyone's preferred state of peace and quiet. Barry was so startled that he spilled some of his coffee onto the desk. Although the important incident report sheets managed to escape the brown tidal wave, several pages of his Sally Swackhamer, P.I. pulp novel drowned.

Barry let out such a passionate cry of 'Oh, Sally!' that Mandy simply had to look up to see what on Earth was going on. The odd sight of Barry Simms displaying far more energy than usual - and for the second time that day - made her chuckle. "Mr. Simms… please answer the telephone," she said before she returned to the paperwork.

Across the office, Barry used his right hand to mop up the spillage with a stack of napkins while his left reached for the receiver. "Ugh… oh… uh, you've reached the MacLean County Sheriff's Department. This is the Goldsboro office. How may we help you?"

The napkins were soon soaked through which rendered them useless in the grand scheme of things. With no further napkins or paper tissues within reach, Barry dove into the bottom drawer, grabbed his spare socks and threw them into the fight against the brown flooding.

"Yes, sir," he said into the receiver that he had pinned between his chin and his shoulder. His right hand was still too busy with the socks and the spillage, so he tried to update the incident report with his left hand. This didn't work at all, so he swapped the socks and the pencil to try again.

Unfortunately, the spillage was on his right and the incident report sheet on his left which meant he had to either cross his arms in the oddest of fashions or walk around the desk to do everything in reverse. Barry being Barry, he chose the second, more cumbersome solution.

Getting up, he inched around the desk so he could have the spillage on his left and the report sheet on his right. It also meant he nearly choked himself with the telephone cord as the heavy Bakelite apparatus was on the left-hand side of the desk. Since the left was now the right and vice versa, the cord needed to be stretched out almost to its full length. It was only after going through all that mess that Barry realized he had missed a step somewhere: his new vantage point meant that the incident report sheet was upside-down. "I have all the details, sir. If you'll just wait by your car, we'll… we'll… ugh… we'll send someone out to help you. Yes. You're welcome, sir. Goodbye."

By now, Mandy had needed to clamp her hands onto her head to stop it from spinning freely. When Barry inched back around the desk and sat down to finally update the incident sheet, she got up and put her fists on the desk. "Are you having problems, Mr. Simms?" she said in an angelic voice.

"Oh no, Sheriff. Everything's hunky-dory over here," Barry replied as he wrung his soaked socks into the trash can at the foot of the watch desk.

Several seconds went by before Mandy said: "Who was that on the telephone?"

"Well, the caller was a motorist who needs assistance. He and his car are stranded about six or seven miles south of town. He has a flat tire, but the lugnuts are so rusty that he can't get the wheel off," Barry said, reaching for his pack of home-rolled cigarettes that had mercifully avoided the brown surge. He lit up at once and took a deep puff. "I was planning to ask Deputy Reilly to-"

"The Durangos are only equipped with a can of WD-forty, Mr. Simms. Wouldn't it make a lot more sense if you got in touch with Mr. Garfield?  He has all the proper tools."

The sheriff's suggestion nearly made Barry swallow the cigarette, but he managed to whip it out of his mouth just in time. His eyes grew ever wider as he connected the dots in his mind. "You- you want me to call Tucker Garfield?  But… but he's always so mean and grouchy and… and… and… yes, Sheriff. I'll do it in five minutes… three?  Yes, Sheriff, I'll call him right away."

Sighing deeply, Barry took the receiver off the hook and dialed Tucker's home number. Several rings later, he broke out in a grin and put down the receiver at once. "Oh!  Mr. Garfield isn't home. I guess we'll have to send Deputy Reilly after all-"

"Mr. Simms," Mandy said in a voice that proved that the time for fun and games had been and gone. Sitting down, she picked up her ball point pen once more.

Barry gulped as he reached for the office smartphone that kept all the current numbers in its registry. Tucker Garfield's work number was soon found and selected. Five seconds later, he had to yank the telephone away from his ear as one of Tucker's notorious overly-angry outbursts came blasting through the connection. "Mr. Garf-  yes, it's Bar-  Mr. Garfield, we have an-  I know what time it is-  please calm down, Mr. Gar-  we've been contacted by a-  no, it's not a prank-"

Mandy bolted to her feet, strode over to the watch desk and grabbed the telephone from Barry's hands. "Mr. Garfield, this is Sheriff Jalinski. A driver is stranded approximately seven miles south of Goldsboro. He has a flat but can't get the wheel off. Get to it. Yes, the bill is to be sent to the Town Council as always. All right. Goodbye, Mr. Garfield."

Once the telephone was back on the desk, Mandy strode over to the coffee machine to pour herself a mugful. A few minutes went by in silence before they heard someone roaring past out on Main Street. It turned out to be Tucker Garfield who whisked past the sheriff's office in one of his two smaller roadside-assistance vehicles.

"And that's how you should deal with Mr. Garfield," Mandy said as she sat down at her desk. The next batch of paperwork was soon moved from the In-Box to the main blotting pad so she could get back to work.

Over at the watch desk, Barry just shook his head in awe. After updating the report sheet with the date, time, type of incident and responding officer, he began dabbing the wet pages of his Sally Swackhamer pulp novel so he could get back to Sally, her gal pal Vicky and all their hard-boiled shenanigans in the fictional Mooresburg City.

*
*
CHAPTER 9

To see the matte-black Chevrolet Silverado Trail Boss Midnight Edition driving north on the State Route as late as a quarter to one in the afternoon was a rare sight indeed. For Wynne, the lovely morning had segued into a lazy A.M. period where she had watched the full replay of a classic NASCAR race - though even she had to admit that the 2002 Budweiser Shootout at Daytona perhaps wasn't the most exciting event ever - before that gave way to an easy-going lunch that featured a wrestling show, a nuked pack of instant noodles and a couple of Double-Zeros.

The reason for the late start was twofold: First, the entirety of the day would be spent on the campaign trail where the team would pound the mean, merciless streets of Goldsboro to drum up support, and secondly, it would be a very late finish as the day would end with an open Q&A session at Moira's Bar & Grill where the Goldsborians would finally get to ask the questions that had been burning on their minds after the original Q&A had been abandoned due to the rioting.

As a result of the mounting ambient temperatures, Wynne wore sports loafers, denim shorts, a silver-and-black T-shirt sporting the likeness of Kevin Harvick in the #29 GM Goodwrench RCR Chevrolet Monte Carlo and the denim vest she had made herself. Up top, her beloved cowboy hat had been pulled forward so it sat low and sexy over her eyes.

Sitting next to Wynne, Brenda Travers wore a loose-fitting summer dress in cornflower-blue. She had put her wide-brimmed sunhat across her knees while they drove, but it would cover her corkscrew curls the moment they stepped into the sun. A shoulder bag containing all the electronic equipment - and snacks - they'd need while out on the campaign trail leaned against her bare legs.

Goldie had the back seat all to herself since Blackie was working up in Goldsboro, but the Golden Retriever had decided against looking out onto the desolate landscape that zipped past the tinted windows. Instead, she had curled herself into a golden ball down in the footwell behind Brenda's seat.

They had the radio on, but a lengthy commercial break had necessitated a quick reduction in the volume. As the Down-Home Ol' Country Shack's familiar jingle started playing, Wynne increased the volume so the truck could be filled by the crisp tones of traditional Country & Western. The first song that began playing was Show Me The Way, O Lord by The Shady Valley Quartet, one of the few faith-based bands or music groups that Wynne could listen to without reaching for the on/off-button.

"Oh!  What's that?" Brenda said, pointing out of the windshield at two vehicles parked by the side of the road several hundred yards ahead of the Silverado. The one at the back was bright-orange and featured an abundance of flashing LED lights all over the rear and the roof.

Down in the footwell behind the passenger, Goldie whimpered and curled herself up even harder even though the Human's voice had been positive or even joyful.

"Haw, it sure be lookin' like ol' Tuckah Garfield… yessirree, it sure iz ol' Tuckah Garfield," Wynne said as she pushed her cowboy hat back from her brow. "Lawrdie, it ain't too offen we see 'im not drivin' that there big-ass wreckah truck o' his. He prolly out fixin' a flat or workin' them jumpah-cables or mebbe fillin' a dry tank or som'tin."

When Show Me The Way, O Lord faded out and was replaced by the uptempo Ev'rybody Do-Si-Do! by the spirited gal Marcia Jean Willet, Wynne turned up the volume to warble along to the square dance stomper.

Realizing that it was probably a little too loud for Goldie's sensitive ears, she twisted the knob downward a notch or two which also made speaking possible again. "Haw, I done went ta one o' her concerts a whoooole buncha years ago back hoah-me in Texas. Yuh, that wus befo' I left Shallah Pond. Obvi'sly. Marcia Jean an' her band wus headlinin' a Country festval out yondah at them there Fairgrounds. I went with a girl I done hadda humongous crush on. Lawrdie, we stood at tha back in them shadows an' jus' made out like ca-razy, lemme tell ya."

"You go, girl!" Brenda said, leaning across the seats to slap Wynne's thigh. "When was that?  How old were you?"

"Aw, it wus them mid-eighties so I reckon I musta been fiddeen-sixteen. Som'tin like dat," Wynne said before she fell quiet to reminisce about those glorious days. "Yuh. In them years, Shallah Pond… an' Texas in general… sure wussen no safe place fer gals like us, but we wussen seen or nuttin' so nuttin' done happened."

When Ev'rybody Do-Si-Do! faded out, it was replaced by the weather report that promised plenty of hot-hot-hot and zero percent chance of precipitation. Comically, the weather report was sponsored by an umbrella company.

The next song was My Shattered Heart, a soul-searching ballad about a long-lost love, but Wynne wasn't in the mood for sad songs, so she kept the volume low while Stu Brodie sobbed his way through the tragic lyrics. "Say, Brendah," she continued after a short while, "we sure ain't in no mood ta tawk ta ol' Tuckah taday, are we?"

Brenda shook her head. "I'm never in the mood to talk to him. He was tough to deal with before he and Nancy broke up, but now he's just… just… well, acting like a two-year-old the entire time."

"Haw!  That sure be a big ten-fo'ah, good buddy!"

Instead of stopping to offer their help - or even slowing down to wave - Wynne mashed her foot onto the gas pedal which made the black lightning roar past Tucker Garfield's roadside-assistance vehicle. All too predictably, the grouch stepped out onto the State Route to shake his fist at the Silverado as it raced north toward Goldsboro.

---

Ten minutes later, Wynne reversed into the parking spot reserved for her in the alley adjacent to Moira's Bar & Grill. She let the last song play out before she turned off the infotainment system and climbed out. Her passenger had yet to follow as she was still fiddling with her telephone. "Wotcha doin' there, Brendah?"

"I loved that song… so I bought it," Brenda said, activating the media player which made the song start over on her telephone. "Don't you ever do that?"

Wynne scratched her neck a couple of times before she broke out in a shrug. "Naw. That kinda stuff goes way ovah mah slow head. I play a li'l Rubbin' Fendahs, use that there radio app an' da video playah… aw, an' tha sound recordah when I got a no-shun that I need-a save fer latah. That be 'bout it. Haw, I reckon I use that there telephoah-ne part, too, but anyhows."

Once Goldie had been liberated from the footwell, the trio strolled around the corner and onto Main Street. Wynne had brought Diego's hardwood cane for comfort and as moral support, but she needed it far less than she had feared after her knee had acted like a brat earlier in the day.

She scanned the skies for some cloudy relief from the mounting ambient temperatures, but everything up there was clear blue for miles and miles. "Haw, I reckon I'mma-gonn' need mah spe-shul coolah box taday… Lawrdie, wouldya bah-lieve I coudden use mah reg'lar coolah?  Yuh, I sure done trah'd an' all, but the durn thing adds weight ta tha wrong spot. If I carried it on mah left side, mah knee done ached… an' if I carried it on mah right side, mah back ached. An' tha cane woulda prolly get in da way, too, I reckon. Lawrdie, growin' ol' an' frail ain't fun, Brendah."

Chuckling, Brenda dove in to steal a kiss on the Cowpoke's cheek. "Perhaps not, but it certainly beats the alternative!"

"Yuh, I reckon… it prolly woudden stop me from roamin' these he' streets ferevah an' evah lookin' fer them beers or som'tin, tho'," Wynne said with a shrug. "Plentah o' weird, weird stuff been goin' on he' in town evah since Josiah Goldsboro an' family done broke down jus' ovah yondah."

"Let's change the subject… I need to use the restroom before we get underway, so there'll be plenty of time for you to stock up. Okay?"

"Okeh!  Well, les'go in an' raid them refri-gy-ratahs, then," Wynne said and held open the door to the Bar & Grill for her companions. "Ladies first… then dawggies… an' then Cowpoah-ks," she said as they entered the establishment.

Brenda went right while Wynne and Goldie went left.

The Golden Retriever peeked into the doggy-cave underneath the pool table in the hope that her water bowl had been filled, but it was bone dry. She let out a strong Yap-yap-yap! that meant 'Well, really!  What does a glamourous girl have to do to get some attention around here?' but her owner seemed to be tuned to a different doggy-frequency as the exclamation garnered no response.

Wynne's pallet was just as dry as Goldie's water bowl, but unlike her dog, she was spoiled for choice over at the refrigerators. A long "Hmmm…" escaped her as she took in the multitude of colorful cans on the shelves. "Aw, I bettah get that there spe-shul coolah box first… sure hope ol' Slow Lane ain't usin' it fer nuttin' else taday," she mumbled as she turned around and moved up to the counter.

Down below, Goldie used her muzzle to nudge her owner's bare legs to get her attention, but even that didn't work. She tried letting out another Yaaappp, but unlike her doggy companion Blackie's powerful pipes, her barking didn't carry enough thrust to get noticed above the general din. After a few moments, she shuffled over to the cave to pout and sulk.

---

Ten minutes went by before Wynne came back into the main part of the Bar & Grill. Her face was scrunched up into half its regular size as she tried to digest the news that A.J. 'Slow' Lane had thrown out her special cooler box because it had turned all sickly-green and mildewy on the inside.

Though she had searched both regular storage rooms, the cold storage, the freezer, Moira's personal office and even the big dumpsters out back for a replacement, she had been unable to find anything save for a cardboard box that was wholly unsuited for the job.

Brenda had come over to the pool table in the meantime. Wynne acknowledged the spirited lady's wave by briefly tipping her hat. Another quick glance behind and below the bar counter proved fruitless, so she let out a sigh and shuffled back to the refrigerators. Her denim shorts and the homemade vest did in fact feature pockets that could in theory carry up to six cans, but they would turn warm and nasty within minutes of stepping outside.

"Is something wrong, Wynne?" Brenda asked. She and Goldie had moved over to the table closest to the video poker machine so they could be close to the pool table and the refrigerators.

"Yuh. Ol' Slow Lane hadda throw out mah spe-shul coolah box 'cos it was all green an' gnarly inside. Dang'it. But okeh, I guess I'mma-gonn' hafta come back he' offen fer fill 'em-ups instead. So iz all y'all reddy?"

Yappp!

"We're ready, Wynne," Brenda said and got up from the chair. She checked the contents of her shoulder bag once more to make sure that she had everything they needed to film Mandy's afternoon on the lengthy and no doubt tiring campaign trail.

Nodding, Wynne opened the section of the refrigerators that held the cans of her beloved H.E. Fenwyck Double-Zeros. "Okeh. I be reddy too. Les'go," she said, stuffing a mere two cans into her pockets before cracking open a third with the familiar Pssshhhht!

---

Mandy and Blackie met them on the sidewalk in front of the sheriff's office. To look her best for the voters, Mandy had fine-tuned her uniform to the best of her abilities: plenty of elbow grease had been used to give her boots a hi-gloss shine, her spare set of pants had been ironed so the creases were extra-extra sharp, the ribbons on her black shirt had been buffed-up, the knot on her necktie was perfect, and a pair of tweezers had been used to pick the Mountie hat clean of lint.

"Hello, Mrs. Travers," she said as she extended her hand. "Thank you for joining the team. Wynne and I couldn't do it without you."

"Oh, you're welcome," Brenda said as they shook hands. "But why-oh-why won't you call me Brenda?  I feel like I'm stuck in The Little House On The Prairie whenever you call me Mrs. Travers!"

"I do call you Brenda when I'm off-duty. But this special patch here-" - Mandy pointed at the Star identifying her as a Sheriff of MacLean County - "requires me to keep a professional distance to people regardless of how well we know each other away from the job. Not including spouses, of course."

Nodding, Brenda took a step back before she dug into her shoulder bag for a small, but highly capable Super-Hi-Res still camera. "I understand. All right, let me get a good shot of you in front of the office. Just act natural, okay?  Yes, that's a good pose!  Gotcha."

Even though the dogs had already spent an hour and a half the same morning playing in the desert while their owners had played between the sheets, the two dogs went off into a yapping and woofing frenzy as if they hadn't seen each other for days.

It all turned rather loud, so it took three tries for Wynne to get Blackie and Goldie's attention by whistling and patting her thigh. When the dogs finally calmed down, she pointed up the street which made them take off at walking pace. "Haw, I reckon we be reddy ta go!  Yeeee-hawwww!  Where we gonn' stop first?"

"Well," Mandy said, "that'll be Mrs. Tyler's Yarn Spinners. My plan is to follow the eastern sidewalk all the way up to the movie theater. Then we're going to swing over to Mr. Browne's used-car dealership and make our way back on the west side of Main Street. Once we reach Second Street, we'll do all of Josiah Street. Basically, we're following my regular patrol pattern."

"Okeh…"

"And I'm filming everything!" Brenda said at the back. "Oh, just so you gals know… I'm not recording sound right now so we can talk freely. I'm going to use some royalty-free tunes as a backing score. Classy stuff, of course, not some random pling-plong music."

Wynne, Mandy, Brenda and the dogs walked north for a short while before Wynne pushed her hat back from her brow and looked over her shoulder. "Haw, Brendah… jus' fer da rekkerd, yuh?  Please keep mah wigglin' bee-hind outtah that there mooh-vie y'all be shootin', if it ain't too much hassle…"

"Sure thing, Wynne. It's a waist-up shot," Brenda said, giving Wynne a thumbs-up. A cheeky grin soon spread over her face. "Just let me know if you change your mind, okay?  I'm already filming in widescreen!"

Wynne nearly lost a step before she realized that even Mandy chuckled out loud at the cheeky joke. "We sure can't all be them li'l skinny kittens, yuh?  An' lemme tell y'all som'tin, Brendah, I be perdy dog-gone pleased with mah curves!  Evry'bodda can go in a straight line, yuh?  But it done takes plentah o' skill ta run 'round them curves!"

Still chuckling, Mandy quickly reached out to give Wynne's nearest hand a little squeeze.

---

Ten stops around town later, Wynne leaned her head back to gulp down the last of her three Double-Zeros. The tidal wave of golden nectar broke all speed records on its way from the can to her tummy, but she had earned it as the ambient temperatures had only gone one way since she and the other members of their team had started pounding the beat: up.

Once the can was empty, she stuffed it into her pocket and picked up the hardwood cane instead. She winced a little as her bad knee wasn't in the same cheery mood it had been in earlier.

Main Street wasn't too long when viewed on a map, but the pattern of walking, standing still, walking and standing still took its toll on the sore joint. It meant she had started hobbling a little more which in turn had made her lower back join the protest chorus.

Perhaps worse than that, she was now out of beer. It had happened at the exact wrong moment as the campaign trail had taken her as far away from Moira's Bar & Grill as humanly possible without actually leaving Goldsboro. To take her mind off the lack of beer, she put the cane on the ground and moved around a little to keep the blood flowing.

Brenda continued to film Mandy speaking to Cletus Browne up at the northern end of town. The well-dressed used-car salesman and the impeccably-uniformed sheriff matched each other well, and they stood in front of a luxury SUV that added a touch of quality to the scene.

Unlike earlier, Brenda filmed with sound through a pair of pinhead microphones that had been attached to the underside of Cletus and Mandy's neckties so they would be invisible on the recorded material.

Her peripheral vision suddenly picked up someone moving toward the camera's field of view. Though she kept the mounted camera steady on the two people in front of her, she waved furiously at the person who continued to walk toward the interview seemingly without a care in the world.

Wynne had to bite her cheeks to stop herself from uttering an impressive array of traditional Texas cussing when she caught wind of the identity of the fellow in question: it was Bobby Johnston, Mandy's rival candidate. Her urge to let rip only grew stronger when it became obvious that Johnston's intentions were to ruin the filming of the interview.

Before the hobbling Wynne or anyone else could intercept the slick individual, he had walked into frame with his hand extended ahead of him and a merry "Hello, sir!" on his lips.

Blackie and Goldie had a hard time walking on the loose gravel at the used-car lots, so they had spent the interview resting on a blanket that Cletus had spread out for them on a narrow stretch of scorched grass. When it became obvious there was trouble ahead, Blackie jumped to her feet and began to growl. Goldie obviously did the opposite and curled herself into a golden ball.

Wynne looked at Brenda who shrugged, indicating that it was safe to speak. "Hey, Bustah!" she said at such volume that Mandy and Cletus both stared at her. "I don't give a possum's peckah if y'all iz tha golden boy or ya ain't, but dontcha reckon y'all bein' mi'ty disrespectful t'ard tha Sheriff there?  Or ta say it like them folks back hoah-me in Shallah Pond woudda… get yer dang-blasted bee-hind outtah tha shot befo' we gonn' open a can o' whoop-ass on ya, son!"

"It's a free country!" Bobby Johnston said in a sterling display of mock indignation. "I came here to speak to Mr. Browne and I didn't see your camera. Well, it's not much of a camera, is it?  It's easy to miss."

"Aw, an' now he be insultin' ou'ah camera. Ain't dat som'tin?  Whut, y'all still be usin' one o' them there big-ass camcordahs that done ate up the entiah trunk when y'all wanted ta use it out in da wild?  Lawrdie, them wus the days, haw?  But lemme tell y'all som'tin, friend, them days changed, yuh?  An' a whoooooole buncha things done changed with 'em, yuh?  But ya know whut?  I reckon y'all didden notice a dog-gone thing."

Bobby Johnston fell silent for a moment before his entire tone and demeanor changed. Moving into Wynne's face, he said in a low, dangerous voice: "I have no frickin' idea what the hell you just said. Rains was right when he called you a brainless moron. You're nothing but a shit-for-brains carpet muncher. When I'm elected Sheriff, you better find somewhere else to live 'cos I'll be watching you. You and Manly. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Over on the doggy-blanket, Blackie let out such a thunderous bark at the individual threatening her owner that it nearly made burglar alarms go off in the buildings and vehicles closest to the interview spot. Goldie was in no mood for any kind of fighting, so she spun around and ran away as fast as she could.

Wynne clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white. Instead of clobbering Johnston into the following week - or month - she stuffed her hands into her rear pockets to keep them and her temper in check. "Izzat a fact?" she said in a voice that matched Johnston's on all parameters.

Before the situation could escalate into something uncontrollable, Mandy strode over to the combatants and inched herself between them to create a buffer zone. "Mr. Johnston, that kind of publicity stunt was uncalled for. I don't interfere with your campaign, so I'm asking you not to interfere with mine."

Bobby Johnston shook his head at once. "I'm not interfering with anything!  I didn't see your camera. That's all. I sense I'm not welcome here. I'll leave for now, but you won't get rid of me that easily, Sheriff."

Stomping back to the curb, Johnston hopped into his white Jeep and roared south on Main Street.

Once they were alone, Mandy put her hands on her hips and let out a long sigh. She glanced at Wynne whose face proved she was still at boiling point. "I covered most of the topics I wanted to talk about with Mr. Browne. I guess that's something. What did Johnston say to you that made you react so strongly, hon?"

Wynne's jaw continued to work overtime to begin with, but Mandy's presence soothed her enough to let her blood pressure come back down. "Aw, that hyena done spewed plentah o' puke. Most offit 'gainst me an' a li'l bit offit 'gainst y'all. I ain't gonn' tell ya whut he done said. That be fer mah ears only."

"Wynne-"

"Naw. 'Cos then y'all gonn' hunt 'im down an' shoot his co-hoah-nies clean off. Then we be makin' headlines fer all tha wrong reasons."

Mandy pondered that for a moment before she turned to Brenda who had been checking the footage she had filmed. "Mrs. Travers, were you filming with sound during the confrontation?"

"No, Sheriff," Brenda said, shaking her head. "I stopped recording when the S.O.B. walked into the picture. I'm sorry."

Everyone fell silent except for Blackie who continued to growl for a few moments longer. When the black German Shepherd realized she had lost her golden companion somewhere along the way, she let out a puzzled Woof? before she took off from her owners to commence Operation Where The Dawg Did Goldie Go?

"Well, all right," Mandy said. "We knew it wouldn't be fun and games all the way through. It wasn't. Let's put it aside and carry on. We still have a long way to go. Hon?"

"Yuh. I be bah yer sihhh-de, darlin'. I jus' need-a figgah out where them dawggies went, then I be reddy ta follow all y'all," Wynne said, putting her hands on her hips. "G'wan ahead, yuh?  I be right there… or mebbe a li'l distance behind'cha, dependin'."

"Your knee?"

"Yuh. Kinda. It be a li'l sore," Wynne said with a shrug.

Mandy put a hand on Wynne's elbow to show her support. "Hon, if it gets too bad, just let me know. Okay?  I'll ask Deputy Reilly to drive you back to Moira's."

"Much obliged, darlin'. It ain't that bad yet, but it might gonn' be. I dunno. Good thing I done brought ol' Diegoh's cane, tho'. Anyhows, I'mma-gonn' keep y'all posted."

"All right," Mandy said with a smile. "Mrs. Travers?"

"Ready when you are, Sheriff!" Brenda said, holding up the camera.

Nodding, Mandy briefly checked the time on her telephone. "Very well. Next stop, Miss Hayward and the Goldsboro Town Museum."

-*-*-*-

The next three hours and forty-five minutes went by in a blurry haze of walking from one stop to the next, speaking to the people there, making the same promises, pledges and predictions over and over, posing for a few photos and shaking hands with all and sundry.

By the time the campaign team returned to Moira's Bar & Grill at a quarter past six in the evening for the re-scheduled Q&A session, Mandy's brain had gone AWOL. Instead of leading the team like she was supposed to, she had bumped down onto a chair close to A.J. 'Slow' Lane's bar counter where she sat like an immobile wax doll that had been rejected because the eyes had come out too dull and the skin too ashen. The empty can of soda she had held for the past five minutes painted a telling picture of her mental state as she had forgotten all about it.

Diego Benitez and Vaughn Travers had shown up in good time to re-arrange the tables and chairs so as many people as possible could get a look at Mandy when the event started at eight. The fiery Moira MacKay would ordinarily have been opposed to any such large-scale upheaval in her restaurant, but the clever businesswoman had set up a condition - or ulterior motive - for agreeing to the whole thing: the campaign team would only be allowed to move the tables and chairs around if they gave the wall-to-wall carpet a thorough cleaning with a special wet-dry vacuum cleaner that she had rented for that exact purpose.

The original plan had been to move the pool table over to the side as well, but not only had Wynne protested because it would cut off the natural route to the refrigerators, Blackie had let it be known through more than one of her trademark thunderous barks that she and Goldie were going to stay in the doggy-cave to avoid all those human feet, so if anyone thought of moving the table and thus ruining the cave, they were going to find their backsides invaded by a pair of eye teeth.

The dogs had each been given a large bowl of water and several sticks of chicken and beef jerky. In addition to the grand serving, Blackie had a juicy gnawing bone all to herself while Goldie had a box of Lafayette's Dog Crackers & Treats that she was very protective of.

Wynne had restocked to her heart's content upon returning to the Bar & Grill, but chugging down a full six-pack of H.E. Fenwyck's Double-Zeros to get her fluids replenished had caused another, though related, problem: her gullet was no longer bone dry, but now she had to visit the restroom again and again and again… although she tried to take her mind off the pressing problems by performing a few trick shots at the pool table, the pressing problems won out each and every time.

Once Diego and Vaughn had set up the tables and chairs to create a spectator enclosure of sorts, they went to work building a small platform that Mandy was to stand on so everyone could see her.

While the expert home-improvement guy Diego wielded a hammer and a screwdriver with great aplomb and the expert IT consultant Vaughn pretended to know exactly what he was doing without actually knowing or doing anything whatsoever, Brenda sat down next to the dead-tired Mandy. "It's so nice to see Vaughn doing something with his hands. Pun very much intended. I wish they'd hurry up, though… I still need to check the cordless microphones and the speaker. Honestly, I've never used a karaoke machine in quite this way."

"It works, so there's that," Mandy said and sat up straight so she wouldn't look weak to those who didn't know her. "And I also know that Mrs. MacKay didn't want to pay extra when she already had a working amplifier here."

"Makes sense. Can I get you anything, Sheriff?  Something to eat?  Or drink?"

"Not food. Mr. Lane is just a few minutes away from serving a round of snacks and sandwiches, but…" Mandy suddenly noticed she was still holding onto an empty can. Grunting, she put it on the bar counter behind her. "I'd appreciate it if you'd get me a can of iced tea. Lemon-flavor only, Mrs. Travers. Please."

"You betcha!  Comin' right up," Brenda said and promptly left the table.

---

Ten minutes later, A.J. 'Slow' Lane pushed a fully-laden food cart around the maze of chairs and tables. The delightful things on offer were salads, hot dog buns, grilled sausages, bowls featuring sliced-and-diced fruit and finally a selection of homemade and prefabricated sandwiches. In addition to the food, the cart was laden with plates, cutlery, napkins, tumblers, ketchup, mustard, hot sauces and salt-and-pepper shakers.

Wynne nabbed herself a hot dog bun and a fried sausage. The classic dish was drowned in ketchup and chili sauce but not mustard as it tended to give her sour burps, and she definitely didn't need any of those as she was meant to walk among the audience with one of the cordless microphones so nobody had to shout to get their question heard. Opening her yap, she stuck half the hot dog into it to get it over and done with before she needed to use the restrooms again.

Speaking of the cordless microphones, Brenda tested one of them up on the small platform by saying "Testing, testing… Mary had a little lamb. Testing, testing. One-two. One-two. Mary had a little lamb. Tony and his Ten-Tiger Team traveled to… uh… somewhere-with-a-T-"

"Texas!" Wynne yelled from over by the pool table.

"But of course. Thanks, Wynne!" Brenda said, snickering out loud before she returned to her duties: "San Ysidro saw a sensational sea horse last summer. Okay, this one definitely works. Vaughn, where's the other one?"

While all that went on over by the small platform, Mandy hooked up with Wynne by the pool table. Standing up on tip-toes, she placed a quick kiss on the Cowpoke's lips. "I feel so funky… I really, really need to grab a cold shower. Do you know if the special apartment in the B-and-B is available tonight?"

"Whah, it certainly oughttah be… lemme go see, yuh?  Dontcha be goin' nowhe'ah, darlin'. I be right back an' all." Wynne soon made a hobbling beeline for Moira's office ably supported by the hardwood cane. She returned two minutes later with one of the keycards. "It sure is reddy fer y'all, darlin'. Jus' swipe this he' card… aw, ya done trah'd it offen enuff, yuh?  There alreddy be towels an' shampoo an' that there soap an' all kinds a-stuff there, so… yuh."

"Great. Thank you. If Mrs. Skinner shows up before I get back, just tell her I needed to freshen up. She'll understand."

"Sure thing, Sheriff Mandy. Say… might there be anothah kiss in it fer me- mmmmua!  Whah, much obliged, darlin'!  Catch ya latah, yuh?"

---

Senior Councilwoman Mary-Lou Skinner did in fact arrive before Mandy got back. She had barely made it through the door before she put down a briefcase that appeared quite heavy. Massaging her wrist after it had been liberated from the hefty load, she let her eyes wander across the activity in the Bar & Grill to get up to speed on what had been done and what still needed to be accomplished before the Q&A-session could get underway.

Unlike her usual colorful flowery dresses, she had chosen a subdued, Navy-blue skirt-suit featuring white highlights at the hems that gave her an air of being an admiral inspecting the bridge of the flagship somewhere. A brand-new pair of spectacles sat perched on her nose. Still not accustomed to the stronger lenses, she needed to squint which gave the rest of her face a twisted look. "Hello, will someone please give me a hand over here?  Thank you in advance," she said as she moved away from the briefcase that she had left at the main entrance.

"Howdy, Mary-Lou!" Wynne said with a grin. She and Vaughn were busy hauling one of the tables seating four over to the far side of the eatery, so she couldn't wave her hat at the new guest like she normally would. "Yuh, I be right ovah!  We jus' gotta… jus' gotta… put down this he' table he' an' then… okeh, Vaughn, this be tha place, yuh- OWCH!"

Down below, one of the table's legs had succeeded in carrying out a devious sneak-attack directly onto Wynne's left instep. The rude poking and the subsequent outburst surprised Vaughn into letting go of his side of the table which only worsened the pressure on the mashed foot. Grumbling hard, Wynne lifted that particular corner off the floor so she could get her sports loafer free. "Dang-blasted," she mumbled as she looked down at the offending item and her throbbing foot. "I sure ain't been havin' much luck with them body parts lately… Mercy Sakes."

"Sorry…" Vaughn said, scratching his beard.

"Yuh, okeh… no wreck, no yellah. But that sure gonn' broooh-ze. Haw, why dontcha be a good fella an' haul Mary-Lou's briefcase up ta that there table we done set up fer her?  Yuh?  Okeh, that be a deal, then."

Vaughn scratched his beard again before he shuffled over to the briefcase to carry out Wynne's wish.

In the meantime, Wynne bumped down onto a chair to take the weight off her mashed foot. The situation called for a beer of some kind, so she reached into her vest's left pocket to find a new can of Double-Zero. Before she could crack it open, she happened to glance at Vaughn. A low chuckle escaped her as it soon became obvious that Mr. Spaghetti Arms couldn't carry the briefcase anywhere without calling for a forklift or possibly one of Tucker Garfield's tow trucks.

The familiar combination of Psssshhhhht! and glug-glug-glug was soon heard from Wynne's spot at the table. After wiping off the suds-mustache with the back of her hand, she leaned back to watch the unfolding sketch comedy act known as Vaughn Travers versus The Briefcase.

---

The hands of time had finally reached the official starting time of the rescheduled Q&A-session at 6:45pm. The turn-out was decent though it didn't quite match the expectations: thirty-seven guests had shown up for the event. A quick analysis proved that most of the attendees lived in Goldsboro itself, but there were some who had made the journey from the neighboring hamlets and trailer parks.

Barry Simms showed up on the arm of his blue-haired aunt Mildred Herzberg whose regular dinner date Albert Rossmann had become too ill to attend such a function. Trent Lowe and Nelson McConnell, the franchise owners of the local branch of Chicky Kingz, shared a table. As always, the guys held hands and sat so close it appeared as if they were glued together. Matthew, Torsten and Carole Jensen all sat down on the back row because Matt didn't want to disturb everyone when he needed to leave for work only twenty minutes into the Q&A.

Keshawn Williams and his wife Laurelle showed up a short while later. Although they and their children had lived over on Josiah Street for some time, it was in fact Laurelle's first visit to Moira's Bar & Grill. While Keshawn went over to the refrigerators to get two small salads and two cans of soft drinks, the late-twenty-something African-American lady - who wore black Capris and a sleeveless mother-of-pearl top - took in the sights with wide, interested eyes. It seemed that everyone wanted to sit at the back as those chairs were already taken, so they moved closer to the platform and sat down not too far from where Tucker Garfield and Bengt 'Fat-Butt' Swenson shared a table and a six-pack of cherry colas.

The actual execution of the event was simple and manageable. Whenever someone among the audience had a question for the sheriff, the person would raise a hand which would alert Wynne to move over there with her cordless microphone. Mandy, who stood on the platform with the other cordless microphone, would then answer the question in her typical style, i.e. straight to the point.

If more than one member of the audience raised their hands at the same time, the moderator Mary-Lou, who sat at a table next to Mandy's spot on the platform, would make a note of the correct sequence so nobody could jump the line. Similarly, if someone decided to hog the floor by asking either too many questions or the same one in several different guises, she would step in and kindly - or perhaps not so kindly - inform the person in question that it was time to let someone else speak.

While all that was going on, Brenda and Vaughn captured everything on UHD video and in 48K-quality audio so every question and every answer could later be transcribed for the official minutes that, much to Brenda's disbelief, still had to be done on paper.

Mary-Lou glanced at her wristwatch before getting up. "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the second attempt at holding this Q and A session. As I'm sure most of you are already aware, the original session couldn't take place because of the rioting. I'm Mary-Louise Skinner and I'll be the moderator. All right, let's get started. Here's Sheriff Mandy Jalinski."

A round of applause rippled through the spectators as Mandy stepped up to the edge of the platform. Wynne wanted to go one step beyond that and stuck two fingers in her mouth to let out a piercing whistle. Unfortunately, she had forgotten the small, but rather significant, detail that she had already turned on her cordless microphone. In short, her whistle boomed from the karaoke-machine's integrated loudspeaker with the strength of a minor earthquake.

Jerking upright along with everyone else in the Bar & Grill, Wynne hurriedly shut off the microphone before she waved her cowboy hat in the air. "Mah bad!  I sure do apo-lah-gize, ev'rybodda!  I hope nobodda got no brown streaks in them undahshorts o' theirs…"

A few mumbles and grumbles were heard from around the eatery, but it soon settled down again. Not ten seconds later, the peace was once more disturbed when the front door swung open to reveal two figures who hurried inside. Gwen and Audrey Gilmore both came to screeching halts when they realized everyone in the restaurant was staring at them. "I told you we should have left five minutes sooner!" Audrey said in a semi-whisper as she and her wife moved over to the nearest available chairs.

"Yes, dear," Gwen said as she took off her windbreaker and sat down.

An awkward silence spread among the audience as it seemed nobody wanted to go first. Moments before the silence would have gone from merely awkward to downright embarrassing, Trent Lowe put his hand in the air. Wynne was there in an instant with the cordless microphone turned on and ready to go.

"Sheriff," Trent said, "it's no secret that hate and aggression has blossomed lately. Not just on a national level, but even here in supposedly peaceful Goldsboro."

The use of the word 'supposedly' made Mary-Lou stop taking notes and look up in a hurry. She adjusted her new spectacles before shooting Mandy a concerned look.

Trent continued: "The past two Saturday evenings, Mr. McConnell and I have experienced some harassment over at the takeout parlor. It's been committed by crude types whom we believe frequent Mr. Iverson's bar. We'd like to know what you're going to do about stopping it before it gets out of hand. Thank you."

The serious question caused uneasy murmurs to ripple through the audience. Mandy briefly locked eyes with an annoyed Wynne and a worried-looking Mary-Lou before she put her hands on her utility belt. "I can dish out meaningless platitudes or I can tell you the truth, Mr. Lowe. I choose the truth. This is the first I've heard of it. The Sheriff's Department needs to know before we can react. The office is open until long after midnight on every Friday and Saturday evening, and I guarantee, without the shadow of a doubt, that we would have responded in force had we been told. I can understand if you don't want to leave the other salesclerk alone, but we're only a phone call away. As a stop-gap measure, a deputy sheriff in plain clothes will be present at the parlor throughout next Friday and Saturday evening. Let's take it from there."

"Thank you, Sheriff. That's reassuring to hear," Trent Lowe said before he sat down and began speaking privately to Nelson McConnell.

The next spectator to raise a hand was none other than the ever-bitter tow truck driver Tucker Garfield. Wynne had barely come over to him before he grabbed the microphone from her hand and shot to his feet. "Sheriff, I wanna know what the hell you people are smoking!  You're gonna spend what has to be a Goddamned fortune on that completely worthless town beautification shit when there's a giant-ass pothole in the middle of Goddamned Main Street!  It's ass-deep to a small horse!  Why the hell don't you get someone to fix that instead of paying a shit-ton of money for a report that we can't even use to wipe our asses?  Thank you!"

Up on the platform, Mandy scratched her eyebrow a couple of times before she turned to look at Mary-Lou Skinner. The Councilwoman's ruddy face proved she didn't find the question particularly worthy of the Q&A. "Well, Mr. Garfield," Mandy said, "it just so happens that the MacLean County Sheriff's Department isn't involved in the town beautification project. In other words, your question is better asked at the next public Town Council meeting."

"Fine!  I will!  Don't you think for a second I'll forget about it!" Tucker said before he thrust the microphone into Wynne's hands, sat down, and slammed his arms across his chest.

"Thank you for your input, Mr. Garfield," Mandy continued. "All right. Who's next?"

Gwen Gilmore waved her hand in the air to catch Wynne's attention. Once the microphone had been delivered to her, she got up to say: "My wife and I are new here as you know, Sheriff. The real estate agent we used didn't have the information, so we'd like to ask about the general frequency of burglaries, vandalism and other offences against properties, and also something less severe, namely the leash law."

Over in the doggy-cave underneath the pool table, Blackie let out a brief whimper at the Human's mention of the dreaded L-word: 'leash.'  Goldie, who enjoyed wearing a leash, rubbed her side against her companion's black fur to offer her support.

events, we strongly recommend that dogs are kept on a leash for their own safety. I know it may be hard to imagine considering how little traffic there is on Main Street right now, but the town is packed for the parades on Veteran's Day, the Fourth of July, Labor Day, Christmas, et cetera. Also, whenever there's a major event out at Thunder Park Raceway, the cars are bumper to bumper all through town. With regards to your other questions, I'm happy to report that we've only had one completed plus two attempted home burglaries within the past twelve-month period. As an aside, all three were committed by the same individual on the same day. He was arrested by Deputy Reilly and I at the scene of the second attempted burglary. We've had none since."

Pausing, Mandy looked down to the row where the Jensen family sat. Matthew had already left for work, but Torsten and his stepmother Carole were still present. Tor wore earbuds and was busy fiddling with his smartphone so he hadn't heard the comments, but it was clear by the harried look on Carole Jensen's face that she realized the burglar Mandy was referring to was in fact Tor's older brother Lukas.

Mandy continued: "As for offences against property, well, we've had no instances of vehicle theft, pickpocketing or shop lifting for years. DUIs, or Driving Under The Influence if you will, remain our largest bugbear. The passing of time has changed people's acceptance of drinking and driving, but some are harder to enlighten than others. Within the past few years, the sheriff's office has increased the speed-trap assignments five-fold, and the deputy on duty always carries out sobriety tests whenever someone is pulled over out on the State Route. Spot-checks are also carried out at random so those most likely to break the law can't predict when they might run into a check."

"That's good to know, Sheriff. Thank you," Gwen said before she sat down once more.

Up on the platform, Mandy signalled Wynne for a can of something cool and sugary. The Last Original Cowpoke saved the day at once by delivering a can of Pineapple Perfection that was accompanied by a smile and a wink.

Once the top half of the can's contents had disappeared down Mandy's gullet, she picked up the microphone and held it ready. "All right. Next question, please…"

-*-*-*-

Half past ten the same evening, everyone had reconvened at the Jalinski-Donohue trailer down south. Wynne, Mandy, Brenda, Vaughn, Beatrice and Diego were huddled around the coffee table staring at one of Brenda's tablets that played a rough cut of their campaign video.

Diego had been charged with the important task of cooking a late-late supper to keep everyone's energy up, so he had prepared a potful of homemade, extra-spicy chili con carne. Wynne was so used to Ernie Bradberry's hot sauces that she could eat anything, but Mandy and Vaughn weren't, and couldn't, so Diego had also made a far easier version for those two fearless campaigners as well as a vegetarian bowl for Brenda who identified as such.

Plenty of slurping noises were added to the video's soundtrack as everyone dug into their bowls of chili - everyone save for Mandy whose ghostly-pale face and dull, red-rimmed eyes proved she was so exhausted she was on the brink of passing out.

Her bowl of chili remained largely untouched on the table, but she held a can of Coke that she took infrequent sips of. The first thing she had done after returning home from the Q&A session at Moira's was to swap her uniform for a loose-fitting sweatsuit that had been a five-year anniversary gift from Wynne.

"Okay, guys," Brenda said as she pointed at the tablet's screen, "remember this is just a rough cut with no score or anything… but how do you like it so far?"  While she waited for an answer, she dug into her bowl of chili sin carne. She broke out in a beaming smile when everyone at the table nodded or let out affirmative grunts.

The video showed Mandy and the team walking around Goldsboro kissing babies, posing for selfies, shaking hands with the storekeepers and speaking to random people on the street who had asked her a question. Brenda had managed to salvage the best bits of the interview with Cletus Brown, and for those among the team who didn't know how it ended - Diego, Beatrice and Vaughn - it all seemed like a regular one-on-one between two of Goldsboro's most upstanding citizens.

Later on in the video, they moved along Josiah Street where they spoke to all the local residents in the shape of Nancy Tranh Nguyen, the O'Sullivans, the Gilmores, the Jensens and finally Keshawn Williams who talked about how pleasant Goldsboro was compared to the big, bad city where his flagship store was located.

Wynne had raided her refrigerator for beverages of all types, so a battery of cans had been put on the old, scratched coffee table. Familiar sounds of Pssshtttt! were frequently heard during the video's playback. At present, she held a can of H.E. Fenwyck's 1910 Special Brew that she sipped rather than chugged down because the tasty beer deserved plenty of respect.

"Wynne," Brenda said, "you weren't there when Tabitha Hayward and Mrs. Peabody got into a shouting match… you wanna watch it?"

"Yuh, I reckon. I be in da mood fer a good, ol' disastah mooh-vie…"

When the rough cut of the campaign video came to an end, Brenda tapped, swiped and tapped a little more until she found the other clip. "Okay… this starts out nice and easy, but then… ohhh, boy."

The tablet was turned so Wynne had a better view. Like Brenda had said, it started out quiet enough with Mandy interviewing Tabitha Hayward in front of the Goldsboro Town Museum. The African-American custodian first talked about the town's earliest days and how the sheriffs were typically elected in the late-1800s. Later on, she mentioned how World War Two had caused the Chairman of the Town Council to take over the role of sheriff as well because all the eligible men had either volunteered for war service or had been drafted. It was during that anecdote that Mrs. Peabody literally entered the scene.

Not thirty seconds later, Tabitha and the owner of the boarding house went into a high-volume, high-intensity row over whether or not the so-called Good Old Days had really been that good for everyone, or just the privileged whites. Rock bottom was reached when Mrs. Peabody accused Tabitha of reverse racism and suffering from a bad case of Black vision. At that point, Mandy stepped in to separate the combatants and tell Brenda to turn off the camera.

"Wynne," Beatrice Reilly said, "you should have seen Mrs. Peabody earlier today at that pro-guy rally we talked about. I'm telling you right now, you wouldn't have believed your eyes. Gawd, I'm glad I was finally able to get out of that damn boarding house!  I swear she had installed hidden cameras or microphones in the rooms so she could listen in on her boarders…"

"Yuh, I reckon she might'ha, Bea. Lawrdie, them months I done stayed there befo' I bought mah trailah wus som'tin awful, sure ain't no lie," Wynne said before she drained the final drops out of the 1910 Special Brew. Once she had put down the can, she picked up her bowl of chili con carne to finish that off as well. "Say, darlin', y'all stayed at Missus Bizzy-Boddas too when y'all wus new in town, diddencha?"

Mandy just sat there staring at nothing in particular. A handful of seconds went by before she realized she had been spoken to. The "Huh?" she let out proved she was running on the proverbial fumes.

Wynne observed her partner for another few seconds before she put the bowl back onto the coffee table and rose from the low couch. "Mah friends, we gonn' hafta continue this he' post-race analysis in da morn'. It be bedtime fer sheriffs, dontchaknow. Yuh?  Thanks a bunch fer comin' ovah an' all, but it wus jus' a li'l too much offa good thing aftah that ca-razy day we all been thru'."

Everybody got up and either waved goodbye or put a hand on Mandy's shoulder to send positive thoughts in her direction. Soon, Wynne only shared the living area with Diego and a semi-comatose Mandy.

"Much obliged fer tha awesome chili, Diegoh. I'mma-gonn' keep the rest o' da potful in da fridge fer tamorrah," Wynne said as she put the various bowls on a tray that she carried into the kitchenette.

"Oh, no problem. I thought it turned out real fine today," Diego said with a grin.

"Yuh, sure did, friend!"

Diego turned around to peek into the living area where Mandy hadn't moved an inch. Returning to the kitchen, he said: "I think Mandy's fallen asleep. Do you need a hand getting her into bed?"

"Naw, I got plentah o' 'sperience doin' that, thankyaverymuch," Wynne said, sporting a cheesy, toothy grin that reached from ear to ear. "Anyhows. Off ya go, buddy. Tawk ta all y'all tamorrah. Yuh?  This sheriff's race sure ain't ovah yet an' we need all them troopahs fresh an' fightin' fit."

After waving goodbye, Diego Benitez closed the screen door behind him and slipped into the darkness that had already fallen over the trailer park.

Wynne stayed at the kitchen table for a moment longer to scrape the remains from the eating bowls into the bio-trash bin underneath the counter. Having done that, she tip-toed into the living area to hammer out a plan that would get the snoozing sheriff safely transported into bed.

Ultimately, she just did what came natural. Moving around the coffee table to be at a better angle for the project, she slid her hands under the sleeping woman's back and legs. Three deep breaths were taken before she lifted the other half of her heart and soul off the couch and held her close in her strong arms.

A pained grimace flashed across Wynne's face when vociferous protests were uttered by not only her knee but her lower back as well. "Well, tuff shit, pals. This he' be put up or shut up tihhh-me…" she mumbled as she cleared the couch and made her way into the narrow hallway that led to the sleeping area.

The biggest obstacle along the way was the doggy-basket where Blackie and Goldie were fast asleep. Not wanting to disturb any of the three slumbering princesses, Wynne tip-toed the long way around the basket and over to the sliding door to the sleeping area. Once she had made it next to the bed, she put Mandy down the gentlest she could.

As she stood up straight, her lower back gave her an almighty kick up the proverbial backside. "Ooooooff… aw-shittt," she mumbled as she rubbed her lumbar region. Moving away from Mandy's side of the bed required bending over to rub her knee as well. "Mercy Sakes, I'mma-gonn' need one o' Tuckah Garfield's dang-blasted wreckah trucks ta get outta bed tamorrah… bettah still, one o' them big-ass construc-shun site cranes. Ugh!  An' now I gotta pee!  Awwwww-dag'nabbit, this evenin' sure ain't treatin' me nice!"

Sighing, she hobbled out into the narrow hallway and made a beeline for the bathroom door so she could take care of her pressing needs.

When she returned to Mandy's side, the sleeping beauty had woken up. "Hey, darlin'," Wynne said in a whisper as she took Mandy's hand in her own. "I done carried y'all ta bed. Obvi'sly."

A very wide yawn prevented Mandy from speaking, but as soon as she had smacked her lips a couple of times, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. "Thank you… I'm afraid I need to use the bathroom."

"Haw!  I sure know tha feelin', yes Ma'am!"

"And I also need to brush my teeth. Was Diego's chili spicier than usual?  I only had a little of it, but it gave me a really bad taste in my mouth."

"Naw, it wussen- haw, 's right… ain't no tellin' 'cos he done made two dif'rent potfuls fer us. One fer us strong folks an' one fer all y'all weaklin's," Wynne said, breaking out in a series of winks.

Mandy let out a dead-tired chuckle at the silliness. "Well, that particular shoe definitely fits tonight… okay, I need to do my business, brush my teeth, change into my sleeping clothes and buy a ticket for the Dream Express. Will you help me?"

"All tha way an' then some," Wynne said as she helped her sleepy partner up from their bed. "Say… wouldya prefer me ta hold yer head or tha toothbrush when y'all be polishin' them pearly whites o' yers?"

"The toothbrush," Mandy said, letting out a rare snicker.

"Okie-dokie!  Les'get this he' show on da road, dontchaknow."

*
*
CHAPTER 10

The next day - Saturday, August 31st - a quarter to ten in the morning,

Goldsboro and the rest of the world presented itself as bright and crisp when Mandy Jalinski and Blackie returned to the sheriff's office after the day's first - but not last - foot patrol.

The cloudless sky and the huge ball of fire hovering up there should have been enough to put the tiniest smile on Mandy's face, but even the combined strength of those magnificent forces couldn't overpower the pounding headache that originated at her stiff neck muscles.

In spite of downing two regular headache pills and a glassful of Pain-B-Gone Anti-Ache powder, her entire neck area seemed to be a constant source of aches and pains. She reached up to massage her muscles when she made it back to the office. It was really no mystery where the aches came from as she had slept like an immobile rock in the same position all night. She had brushed her teeth, kissed Wynne good night and closed her eyes. Two minutes later, eight hours had gone by.

Her face told a tale of wishing that the cast-iron pot that someone had put on her head during the night would soon go away, but she had to push her discomfort aside when duty called, and it had: the sheriff's office in Goldsboro was on high alert due to the fact that it was Bobby Johnston's designated campaign day. The rival candidate's itinerary was almost identical to Mandy's in that he and his supporters would cover the entirety of Main, Second and Josiah Street before they would end up at Derrike Iverson's notorious dive for their version of the Q&A-session.

Barry had been forced to come in extra-early along with the sheriff and the other deputies, but he had nearly made everyone regret it when he showed up looking like a scarecrow and acting like a mummy at a Halloween House of Horrors - in other words, his hair was all over the place, the state of his clothes wasn't much better, and his skin was even more waxen and sickly-looking than usual.

When Mandy barged through the sticking glass door after the foot patrol, she found him fast asleep at the watch desk. For once, she couldn't fault Barry for being less than focused on the tasks at hand, so she let it slide and moved over to the coffee machine instead while Blackie made a beeline for the water bowl just inside the door.

The dark-brown nectar was still fresh that early in the day which meant that even the first, probing sip added a few percentage points to the gauge labeled Stamina. Smiling for the first time all day, she brought the mug back to the desk. The smile grew even larger when she opened a drawer to find a roll of Cream-Dream cookies that she kept for the extra-special occasions.

A moment later, Mandy's smile faded when Beatrice Reilly's voice could be heard from the portable radio at the base station:

'Mobile Unit Three to Base. Mobile Unit Three to Base. Barry, are you awake yet?  I can't get in touch with the sheriff. Over.'

A puzzled Woof?  Woof-woof-woof? could be heard from the doggy-blanket where Blackie looked up at her owner with a question mark hanging above her black head.

Groaning, Mandy stood up at once and pulled her own radio from the utility belt. A quick check proved it was turned on and tuned to the correct frequency - the lights were on but it seemed nobody was home after all. A test was in order, so she pressed the transmit button. The action should have produced a squawking from the unit on the watch desk, but it remained silent.

'Mobile Unit Three to Base. Mobile Unit Three to Base. Wakey-wakey, Barry. Don't make me come down there and kick your rear-end. Over.'

Mandy tried her own unit again, but nothing at all happened when she pressed the button though all the LEDs indicated that it was ready for action. "Oh, for Pete's sake… nothing but junk, junk, junk," she mumbled as she slammed down the dead radio and strode over to the watch desk. "Base to Mobile Unit Three. Base to Mobile Unit Three. The sheriff is present at the office, but my radio unit can be counted among the dearly departed, over."

'Ah, I see. No news there,' Beatrice's voice continued. 'Sheriff, I'm northbound on Main Street at the Spartan Wings sports goods equipment. Our rival has just exited Miss Lorenzen's hair salon. He's speaking to a pair of gentlemen whom I believe are out-of-towners. I'd call them hired muscle. Real strong-arm types in typical camouflage clothing. Over.'

"Very well. Stand by," Mandy said, moving away from the snoozing Barry and over to the glass door.

'Mobile Unit Three standing by.'

Down on the blanket inside the door, Blackie hurriedly moved her water bowl aside with a paw just in case. She let out a quiet but prolonged Wooooof… that meant 'This isn't funny anymore… I've got to find a better place for my blanket…'

The sticking door was soon yanked open again to allow Mandy access to the sidewalk. Looking north, she could barely make out the people Beatrice Reilly was referring to. A grunt escaped her as she took in the rest of Main Street that was as quiet as a mouse trap that had yet to see the day's first rodent.

"Base to Mobile Unit Three. Base to Mobile Unit Three. Deputy, I want you to take a photo of the two men if you can. I stress, do not take unnecessary risks while doing so. Once you've completed your regular patrol pattern, I want you to return to the office. Understood?  Over."

'Message received and understood loud and clear, Sheriff. Mobile Unit Three out.'

Mandy took another quick glance at the quiet Main Street before she went back inside to get the coffee while it was still hot.

---

An hour and fifteen minutes later, Beatrice Reilly returned to the office as planned. She couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of Barry's disheveled appearance. Although the radio dispatcher had woken up in the meantime and had taken to his beloved cigarettes and the retro Connect-The-Dots play book, he was still so far out of sorts that it barely seemed to register with him that someone had entered the office.

Taking off her Mountie hat and stuffing it under her arm, Beatrice strode over to the big desk where she stood to strict Attention. "All is quiet on Josiah Street and elsewhere in Goldsboro, Sheriff. I managed to get a photo of the two men I saw with Mr. Johnston."

"Good. May I see it?"

"Of course, Sheriff. I created a special gallery for it. You can't miss it," Beatrice said, handing over her telephone. "Walking back, I happened to notice Mr. Lowe washing the floor in the takeout parlor. I asked if he recognized the men in the photo, and he confirmed they were the same ones who had harassed them earlier."

"Excellent work, Deputy," Mandy said, briefly looking up at Beatrice before she returned to studying the photo of the two men.

A moment later, the old Bakelite telephone began ringing over on the watch desk. Barry stared at it for several seconds as if he had no idea what to do with it, but he eventually swapped his latest cigarette for the receiver and the pencil needed to fill out the incident report sheet. "Good morning, you've reached the MacLean County- oh… hello, Doctor Gibbs. Yes… yes, Sheriff Jalinski is here- all right. One moment, please. Sheriff, the Doc is really upset about something…"

Mandy had already made her way from one desk to the other. Taking the receiver, she dug into a breast pocket for her trusty notepad and a ball point pen. "This is Sheriff Jalinski, Doctor Gibbs. What's the emergency?" she said, pinning the receiver between her chin and her shoulder so she could take notes.

'No emergency, but a complaint. A severe complaint, Sheriff!  I've just been accosted by two men I can only describe as rowdies. I don't think they were waiting for me as such, but when I parked my car by the clinic, they came over and acted so aggressively that I feared for my safety. They spouted rah-rah nonsense about the fact I'm driving a Honda and not an American car. That sort of thing. One of them kicked my car, but he hit the wheel so it didn't make a dent. This will not do, Sheriff!'

"I agree, Doctor Gibbs," Mandy said, jotting down everything that had been said. "We'll take care of it at once. Thank you for calling." A loud harrumph was the only reply that came back through the connection before it was ended.

After putting the receiver onto the hook, Mandy began skimming what she had written. "All right. The trouble has started. Deputy Reilly, please call the Senior Deputy and get him back from the speed-trap duty on the double. This is an all hands on deck situation."

"Yes, Sheriff," Beatrice said, striding out onto the sidewalk to have the best chance of getting in touch with Rodolfo who had set up the speed camera a few miles south of town.

Down on the floor, Blackie jumped up, shook her back and bared her canines in a fierce sneer just to be ready in case she was called into action.

Mandy had just moved away from the watch desk when the old Bakelite telephone rang again. This time, she didn't wait for Barry's laborious process of taking a final puff of the cigarette before putting it down and picking up the receiver. Istead, she went straight for the telephone. "This is Sheriff Jalinski-"

'Sheriff, it's Grant Lafferty!  Not two minutes ago, vandals threw a rock through one of my storefront windows!  And then the nasty pieces of work had the guts to come in and threaten me… they wanted me to remove a few Mexican and Canadian beers from the window display, or else, they said!  I told them to pay for the window, and then the sons of you-know-what kicked down several of my standees. If I hadn't had my old twelve-gauge under the counter, they would have ruined my store!'

Mandy rubbed her brow repeatedly with her free hand while the other was busy jotting down the information. "All right, Mr. Lafferty. Are they still there?"

'No, the SOBs laughed and walked on like they had just finished a ride at an amusement park!  They went up toward you, actually…'

"Thank you, Mr. Lafferty. We'll deal with them."

'You better!'

"We will. Goodbye, Mr. Lafferty," Mandy said and signalled Barry that he should take the receiver so she had her hands free for more important tasks.

Once Barry had rescued the Bakelite receiver, Mandy strode over to their gun cabinet. Unlocking it without hesitation, she took two of their Mossberg pump-action shotguns and put them on the big desk before she strode into the crew room to get two boxes of ammunition.

Blackie let out a long sequence of enthusiastic woofing at the exciting prospects of finally getting to gnaw on some bad people; the woofing was peppered by the occasional louder bark to get her pipes cleared. To knock off some of the proverbial rust, she went into an aggressive stance guaranteed to make any Human quake in their boots: she lowered her head, bared her fierce canines in a bloodthirsty sneer, folded her ears down and made her tail stand out straight behind her. A moment later, she relaxed her stance and shook her shoulders. She was ready.

Mandy had barely made it back to the desk before two things happened at once: not only did Beatrice hurry back inside while pointing south, Mandy's private telephone began ringing down in her pants pocket. "I know, Deputy," she said, dumping the boxes of ammo on the desk next to the shotguns. "Mr. Lafferty just called us to say his store had been vandalized and that the responsible parties were coming our way. Please load these while I answer the next call."

"Very well, Sheriff," Beatrice said, already opening the first box of shells.

Mandy let out a grunt when the caller-ID said CnclWm Skinner. She spent a split second debating with herself whether or not to accept the call, but the risk of it being important was too great to ignore. "It's Sheriff Jalinski. I'm sorry, but it'll have to be very brief. We're about to go to war."

'Oh!  Well… something very, very important has come up with regards to Mr. Johnston. I need you to come to my house as soon as possible. I have a guest that you'll want to meet.'

Mandy's eyes made a quick tour of the ceiling at the rotten timing of it all. "Very well, Councilwoman Skinner. I'll be there, but I can't say when. I'll be in touch one way or the other. I need to run. Goodbye."

The telephone was soon back in her pocket. Just in time, too, as Beatrice thrust a fully loaded Mossberg into her hands. A grim mask fell over Mandy's face as she worked the action and stepped out onto the sidewalk to confront the two men.

Blackie almost made a full turn out of sheer excitement before she stormed out of the office and onto the sidewalk. Beatrice Reilly took it somewhat slower, but she yanked the glass door shut behind them with a little more force than necessary.

At the same time over by the watch desk, Barry drew a deep breath to let out an "Awesome!" Unfortunately, the gesture caused a small fragment of tobacco to fly down into his windpipe and get stuck there. The resulting coughing fit was one for the ages.

---

Out on Main Street, Mandy and Beatrice strode along in a One Ahead & One Slightly Behind formation. Blackie stayed in the center of the heavily-armed law enforcement officers so she could go either way depending on how the bad people would react to their presence.

The amount of traffic on Main Street could nearly be described as a jam worthy of rush hour in Barton City, Cavanaugh Creek or San Cristobal as not only was there a delivery van from Allied Parcel driving north and a tractor pulling a load of squealing pigs rumbling toward the south, Keshawn Williams came racing along on his sports bicycle at a speed that was clearly above the local speed limit. That wasn't unusual for the top-fit storekeeper, but when he spotted the shotgun-wielding law enforcement team striding along on the sidewalk, he was almost involved in a wreck before he could slow down to the limit.

Even a near-sighted mole wouldn't have been able to miss the two men walking north on the sidewalk. In their mid-thirties, they both had an abundance of facial hair, were six-feet-something and on the wrong side of 240 lbs. though one was muscular and the other merely fat.

Both wore the typical combination of army boots, olive-drab fatigues and ball caps painted in camouflage patterns. The muscular one had donned a hunting vest to flaunt his arms while the other wore a matte-green bomber jacket that did a very poor job of hiding his beer gut that hung beyond his belt buckle in a most un-charming fashion.

The men didn't seem armed at first glance, but Mandy still shifted her Mossberg from the regulatory Carry-grip over her left arm to her right hand so she could spring into action at a second's notice. The distance between the two groups dwindled rapidly, so she exchanged a quick glance with Beatrice to make her aware there was a risk they needed to move fast.

Down below, Blackie just growled to show that she had been ready all along.

"Gentlemen," Mandy said in a strong, authoritative voice once the distance to the men had been reduced to fifteen feet. "Keep your hands where we can see them. Do not attempt to run. State your names and the reason for your stay in Goldsboro."

Whatever response Mandy had expected from the men, she certainly didn't get it. Instead of reacting aggressively, attempting to flee or simply hooting and hollering just for the hell of it like the provocative rioters had done up by the meeting at Second Street, the men looked at each other and promptly broke out in wide smiles. Putting their hands in the air, they just stood there wearing smug grins and wicked gleams in their eyes.

"We're the Smith brothers," the muscular goon said. "He's Rob and I'm Bob. We're here to see the sights." The smug grins and wicked gleams grew so strong it became painfully obvious they were lying through their bushy facial hair.

Down on the ground, Blackie let out a disappointed Woooof… at the weird and completely unexpected anti-climax. The black German Shepherd looked up at her owner in the hope that she would be given an order to attack, but it didn't appear as if she would. Annoyed, she let out several stronger barks at the men before she stomped over to the side to find a shaded spot for a little rest.

"Sheriff, do you want me to cuff them?" Beatrice said, clearly as puzzled as Mandy as to the men's responses.

"We need solid proof we have the right individuals first, Deputy." As Mandy spoke, she spotted Rodolfo's white-and-gold Dodge Durango driving into town with its emergency lights flashing. "And here's how we get it. The first photo worked well, so I want you to take another of the gentlemen here. Once the Senior Deputy arrives, he'll show it to Doctor Gibbs and Mr. Lafferty."

"Very well, Sheriff," Beatrice said, swapping the highly lethal Mossberg for a gadget that was no less dangerous in the wrong hands, namely her telephone. After taking a string of images, she put the telephone back into her pocket.

The Senior Deputy soon came to a screeching halt at the curb. Jumping out, he drew his sidearm at once and ran over to his colleagues.

"Senior Deputy, we have taken a few photos of these gentlemen," Mandy said without taking her eyes off the supposed Smith Brothers. "I want you to drive down to Doctor Gibbs's clinic and show him the photos. Call in his reply at once. If Doctor Gibbs cannot make a positive identification, I want you to drive up to Mr. Lafferty's store and repeat the procedure. Understood?"

"Yes, Sheriff," Rodolfo said, taking the telephone that Beatrice handed him. The Durango was soon back underway, leaving a roar and a cloud of street dust in its wake.

Mandy continued: "And in the meantime… Mr. Rob and Bob Smith… we would like to show you our first-class holding cells. Let's go."

For the first time during the low-key confrontation, the Smith Brothers reacted with a little more reluctance to adhere to the request, but a strong bark or two from Blackie convinced 'Rob' and 'Bob' to play along, at least for the time being.

---

Since the odd confrontation had taken place close to the jail house, it only took a scant minute to get the men inside. Beatrice processed the first one while Mandy and Blackie kept the other under strict observation by way of the Mossberg and Blackie's impressive set of teeth.

The interior of the jail house was really nothing more than a chair, a desk, a lamp and a pair of doors that led to the actual holding cells. The chair was old, the lamp even older and the desk older still, but the cells had been upgraded to the latest standards: both were equipped with bunk beds bolted to the floor, and there were white tiles on every wall so they could easily be hosed down if the prisoners thought it a laugh to urinate - or worse - away from the aluminum toilet bowl. A 360-degree surveillance camera had been installed in the center of the ceiling so nothing would escape the watchful eye of the deputy on duty.

When instructed to empty his pockets, the muscular 'Bob Smith' produced the regular items like a pocket knife, car keys, cigarettes, a lighter and a pack of condoms, but also a card identifying him as A Proud Patriot and Member #1497 of the J6 Brigade. The last items were the most surprising: four fairly new $100 bills.

His so-called brother, the rather overweight 'Rob,' carried many of same items save for the fact that he had a pack of bubblegum rather than condoms. His J6 card said he was Member #1506, and he also had $400 in new bills in his wallet.

Mandy furrowed her brow when she realized neither man carried a proper ID-card. Keeping silent, she studied the men and their money. It didn't take a genius to figure out they had been paid to stir up trouble whenever and wherever they felt like it, but who in Goldsboro had access to $800 in cash earmarked for hiring goons?  "Gentlemen, such a large amount of money requires that you each sign a special form. Deputy, please find two A-four-sixty-fours."

It didn't take the efficient Beatrice long to find two copies of the A464 form, and it took even less time for the Smith Brothers to sign them.

"Very well, Gentlemen," Mandy said as she watched Beatrice slide the forms into the respective case files next to the sheets with their fingerprints. "The money will be kept in a safe until your release. Where did you get all those new bills?"

"The ATM up in-" the muscular 'Rob' said before the other fellow elbowed him in the side. They shared a brief glance before 'Bob' continued: "Ain't none of your damn business."

"It doesn't matter if you tell us or not. We'll find out if we have to," Mandy said as she unlocked the doors to both holding cells. "One in each, Gentlemen. You are under constant video surveillance during your stay in the cells-"

"Yeah, yeah, screw you," the man calling himself 'Bob Smith' said before Beatrice shoved him into Holding Cell #1. 'Rob' was soon escorted into Holding Cell #2. Once the men had settled down, the doors were closed and secured.

With the action coming to an end, Blackie lost interest as well and shuffled over to the far corner where Mandy had spread out one of their old doggy-baskets. It contained a fake gnawing bone, a colorful ball to play with and a water bowl that was as dry as the desert surrounding Goldsboro. The latter was quickly taken care of through a Woof-woof-wooooof? that made Mandy pour some water into it from the 1930s-vintage sink in the other far corner.

Two minutes later, Mandy checked the time on her telephone. "Deputy Reilly, I'll get Mr. Simms to come in with some food in half an hour or so."

"Thank you, Ma'am. I'll make myself some coffee in the meantime," Beatrice said, taking off her jacket and hanging it on the backrest of the swivelchair by the desk.

Leaning forward, she activated the monitors connected to the video surveillance. In the old days, the quality had been a fuzzy, grainy, black and white, but Brenda Travers's skills in the mysterious world of tech had turned it into a high-definition experience.

To keep everything for posterity - and to have solid, unrefutable evidence in case defence attorneys claimed that irregularities had taken place - everything the two cameras picked up was recorded onto solid state drives set up in a redundancy array.

Mandy checked the time on her telephone again. "I can't understand what's taking the Senior-"  At that exact moment, the ringtone started playing and the caller-ID flashed SnrDpt Gonzalez. Grunting, she accepted the call. "It's the sheriff. Go on."

'I'm sorry it took this long, Sheriff,' Rodolfo said at the other end of the connection. 'First of all, my radio went kaput. Then Doctor Gibbs had to carry out an emergency surgery and didn't have time to look at the photo. Instead, I raced up to Mr. Lafferty's at once. He confirmed the men you had stopped were those who had vandalized his store. It's a mess, that's a fact. There's glass all over, the window display is ruined and several cardboard standees have been kicked to pieces. Mr. Lafferty has already contacted a lawyer with the intent to sue for property damages.'

"Very well, Senior Deputy. Thank you. Please come back to the office right away. I need you to get in touch with HQ to dig into the true identities of the men we apprehended. Deputy Reilly is on jail house duty."

'Will do, Sheriff. Goodbye.'

Once the telephone was back in her pocket, Mandy let out a deep sigh before she rubbed her face and sore neck several times. "The timing of all this couldn't be worse. We were supposed to have an increased patrol presence today. Now I have one deputy tied up in here… another on the horn with HQ all stinkin' day to figure out what's what with the so-called Smith Brothers… and on top of that, I have to go over to Councilwoman Skinner for a quote-unquote important meeting that I'll bet will end up as anything but!"

"Yes, Ma'am…" Beatrice said as she waited by the coffee machine.

Mandy took several deep breaths to get her temper in check before she took the two Mossberg pump-action shotguns that were no longer needed, strode over to the reinforced door, opened it and stepped outside onto a Main Street that had once again turned quiet and peaceful. Quick glances up and down the street proved there was nothing she needed to concern herself with, so she strode back to the office to put the weaponry back in the gun cabinet.

Three minutes later, she set off for Mary-Lou Skinner's house down near the southern tip of Goldsboro.

---

It seemed like a bad case of deja vu all over again as Mandy once more found herself walking south on Main Street. Worse, she had to go somewhere she didn't want to be and do something she really didn't want to do. As she went past Grant Lafferty's Beer & Liquor Import, she had to shake her head at the mindless destruction perpetrated by the two hired goons.

A thought came to her just as she reached the garden path to Mary-Lou's house. Instead of proceeding at once, she retrieved her telephone and found Home in the registry.

Soon, Wynne could be heard speaking in her regular inch-thick accent: 'Y'all done reached the one an' only Wynne Donnah-hew… would this callah he' be tha one an' only Sheriff Mandy?'

"It would. Hello, hon-"

'Howdy, darlin'!  I done reckoned it might be!  How's that there headache o' yers?'

"Oh, it's still there," Mandy said while she massaged her stiff neck muscles. "You've missed a lot of stuff in town today-"

'Aw!'

"Yes, Deputy Reilly and I had to arrest two of Rains's J-Six goons who had gone on a rampage around town."

'Whah, them sombitches!'

"I may have a job for you up here. What are you doing right now?"

'Aw, I be dustin' off them diecasts an' re-ordahrin' 'em in alphabetical ordah based on their racin' numbah. Yuh. I alreddy done finished dustin' off tha one, tha three, tha fou'ah, tha fihh-ve an' tha eight. Yuh.'

"Wouldn't that be in numerical order instead?" Mandy said with a chuckle.

'Haw… now y'all men-shun it… yuh, I reckon it would. Yuh. Anyhows. This he' aftahnoon, I'mma-gonn' be watchin' them build-up shows fer tha runnin' o' tha legendary Southern Fihhhh-ve-hundred tamorrah. Haw, dat be one o' mah season haaahlights, yes Ma'am!'

"Oh… that's right. I had forgotten about that."

'Say, darlin', whut wus that there job there ya done tawked about, anyhows?'

"Well, One of the stores the goons vandalized was Grant Laff-"

Wynne let out such a loud 'They done whut?!' that Mandy had to pull the telephone away from her ear in a hurry.

'-them foo's done vandalized tha Grant-Mastah?!  Them sons-a-bitches shoudden ha' done that… haw, I hope y'all hawg-tied 'em an' threw 'em in da slammah for fiddy years!'

"Well, they're in the holding cells for the time being… but hon, I think Mr. Lafferty would appreciate some help. You know he can't walk too well, and I take it there's glass all over the floor-"

'I'mma-gonn' press them buttons on that there digital-video-recordah-thing there an' throw on some pants an' mah safety boots an' race up ta Goldsborah at tha speed o' light!  Yes, Ma'am!  I'mma-gonn' be there befo' we be done tawkin' ovah this he' telephoah-ne!  Thanks a bunch fer da heads-up, darlin'. If we don't help no friend in need, we ain't no friend 'tall. I be in touch. Luv ya, darlin'!'

The connection was lost before Mandy could offer any kind of reply. Instead, she chuckled and slid the telephone back into her pocket. Just hearing Wynne's voice had given her enough of a boost to deal with anything Mary-Lou could come up with, so she strode up the garden path to get to the nice, subdued house.

---

The last echoes of the doorbell had barely echoed through the entrance hall before the door was opened to reveal Mary-Lou Skinner. The Senior Councilwoman bore a look of annoyance that was reflected in the tone of her voice: "Well. How nice of you to drop by, Sheriff. I believe I did mention this meeting would be of great importance when we spoke over the telephone. Come in."

Moving aside to let Mandy into the hallway, Skinner - who wore a fetching combination of a dark-bronze pleated skirt and a dark-green shirtwaist - closed the front door with a little more force than necessary.

"It couldn't be helped, Councilwoman," Mandy said, taking off her Mountie hat. "We had to apprehend and process two men who were on a mission of destruction. They accosted Doctor Gibbs and vandalized Mr. Lafferty's store."

A dark grunt escaped Mary-Lou as she guided Mandy into her home office. "Terrible. Local drunks?"

"No, some of Artie Rains's J-Six Brigade goons. Hired muscle. Each man was in the possession of four-hundred dollars. Brand new bills, too, so I'm guessing that someone paid them to run interference. It was probably recently as men like that can't keep that kind of money in their pockets for too long."

Mandy soon walked into Mary-Lou's office that was dominated by a large desk and an entire row of tall bookcases filled with color-coded binders. She had already drawn a breath to continue when she spotted a young, well-dressed woman getting up from one of the chairs.

Mary-Lou Skinner soon joined the others in the office. "Sheriff Jalinski, allow me to introduce you to Merrill Jaeger from the District Attorney's Office in Wilmer County," she said as she moved over to the desk and sat down with a sigh that offered a hint it really could be an important meeting after all.

Mandy put out her hand at once while she studied the guest. In her early-to-mid thirties, the woman wore a gun metal-gray business pantsuit over a white blouse. Her dark-brown hair was held in a short cut that supported her no-nonsense, top-professional look well. The woman's steely core shone through her eyes that were the same shade of brown as her hair. "How do you do, Ma'am. I'm Sheriff Mandy Jalinski."

"Merrill Jaeger, Sheriff. Pleased to meet you."

"All right," Mary-Lou said, leaning forward, "now that everyone's been introduced, let's get down to business. Sheriff, late last evening, Miss Jaeger contacted the Goldsboro Town Council and presented us with written material that contains… well… high-explosives, frankly."

"Oh?" Mandy said as she pulled out one of the armchairs and sat down. She glanced at Merrill Jaeger who sat down as well.

"Yes. Here's a copy of an affidavit and also a report from the Cavanaugh Creek Police Department's Internal Affairs Bureau," Mary-Lou said, handing over two freshly printed documents. "I want you to read them both before we go on. Start with the one from the IAB."

Taking the pages, Mandy had already skimmed the letterhead of the IAB report when she said: "Very well." Her eyes stopped here and there at chilling words and phrases such as 'Suspected, though never proven guilty of accepting bribes,' 'Questioned in four departmental hearings about gangland shootings,' 'Involved in small-scale packing and selling of cocaine,' 'Involved in collecting protection money from male and female sex workers,' 'Twice suspected of aggravated assault of a female sex worker. Both cases dropped due to forgetful and/or untrustworthy victims,' and finally 'Charged with, and convicted of, threatening a fellow peace officer.'

The IAB report proved that an individual by the name of Clayton Mitchell was a highly unsavory character who had ultimately caused his own downfall by threatening a woman to silence without realizing there was a witness.

Grunting, Mandy couldn't help but think back to her time in San Cristobal where she had met fellow uniformed officers who behaved like that. The dark thoughts crowded her, so she flipped the page to look at the affidavit. She read every word, every line and every paragraph with great care, sometimes more than once, to understand as much as possible of the information presented to her.

In the seven minutes that went by while she read the documents thoroughly, she let out the odd grunt now and then to show her mounting discomfort. When she had finished it, she gave it another, much quicker read-through to make sure she hadn't missed anything of importance.

"It's certainly chilling, but I fail to see how this can be considered high-explosives regarding the situation we're in right now," Mandy said as she put the papers on the corner of the desk.

"I can answer that quite easily," Merrill said. "Clayton Mitchell and the man you know as Bobby Johnston are one and the same."

Mandy scrunched up her face, immediately reassessing the news as 'high-explosives' indeed. She took the paperwork and gave them another quick once-over. "I didn't see that one coming… interesting. That really does have the potential to change everything. If it's true."

Mary-Lou let out an insulted "I beg your pardon?  Are you seriously casting doubts-" but Mandy cut her off before she could get too far:

"Councilwoman, Miss Jaeger, I'm going to speak my mind now," she said, looking at Mary-Lou and their guest from the District Attorney's Office in turn. "You may disagree all you wish… and I'm sure you will… but my observations stem from decades in law enforcement. Not just here, but as a uniformed officer in San Cristobal. All right?"

"Well, all right," Mary-Lou said in a grumble. Merrill just nodded.

"Thank you," Mandy said, once again looking at the others present at the meeting. "One, the timing is a little too good to be true. Two, the affidavit is dated but not signed. The story told is harrowing, yes, but it might as well be a recipe for cookie dough. It would be dismissed in court. As long as the identity of the person speaking isn't known, Judge Etherington wouldn't even look at it. You know that as well as I do, Miss Jaeger."

"I'll concede that point, Sheriff," Merrill said, nodding again.

"Three, if we choose to skip the judicial path and simply confront Mr. Johnston with these serious accusations without any proof of their authenticity, we'll open a barn door for defamation lawsuits that we cannot win. And that leads me to my fourth and final point. It will leave Mr. Johnston looking a martyr. A clean-cut, wholesome, All-American martyr who overcame a dirty trick meant to sully his good name and reputation. Congratulations are in order, Sheriff Johnston. I rest my case."

The expression on Mary-Lou Skinner's face was at the crossroads of livid and outraged. Leaning forward on her chair, she tapped her fingers on the desk with alarming speed and ferocity.

Merrill Jaeger's reaction was markedly different. Sighing, she leaned back on her chair and crossed her legs. "The identity of the individual writing the affidavit is known and the contents cannot be held in doubt. Our initial plan was to withhold the identity as it would not be needed. We hoped the confrontation with Mr. Mitchell would be enough. Or Bobby Johnston, if you will. However, the points you make are all valid, Sheriff. We would like to avoid creating a martyrdom."

Mandy narrowed her eyes as she looked at Mary-Lou. "There's something unsaid here."

"There is," Jaeger continued. "I wrote that affidavit. I was the person Clayton Mitchell threatened."

Taking the piece of paper again, Mandy skimmed it through the filter of the new information. "It says that Mitchell a.k.a. Johnston was charged and convicted. What kind of jail time did he get?"

"He ended up serving four years and eight months. He was released early due to overcrowding. This was in January of last year."

Mandy rubbed her brow. "And then he changed his name, got involved with Artie Rains and was brought to Goldsboro to run for sheriff. Councilwoman, what does our legislature say about a convicted individual running for public office?"

"Nothing," Mary-Lou said, shaking her head. "It's not covered. Nobody had imagined such a situation could arise. I spent most of the morning going through the archives for similar cases… well, the only one I could find was from 'sixty-seven when a member of the Town Council was revealed to have served an undisclosed prison term for a DUI. Which, as you know, is prevalent here. Nothing was done back then and the person in question was allowed to sit on the Town Council for another decade."

"I see. And Miss Jaeger, I'm guessing that's why you wanted to confront Mitchell a.k.a. Johnston in person?  To pressure him into stepping down voluntarily. If he refused, you would have brought up the old cases and used them against him."

Merrill Jaeger held up her hands in a classic 'not quite' pose. "Well, that wasn't exactly my plan or motivation… but close enough, Sheriff."

Mandy fell quiet for a few moments while she re-read the documents. "How did you become aware that it was the same individual?"

"It was by complete accident. I do volunteer work for the SGAV, the Support Group for Assault Victims, in Cavanaugh Creek. One of the women in the group mistakenly thought I had family here in Goldsboro so she showed me a video clip of the public meeting and the subsequent rioting the other day. Much to my surprise, Clayton Mitchell was featured prominently as one of the speakers."

"Miss Jaeger, you know I need to ask this," Mandy said, scooting out to the edge of the chair. "Are you certain it's the same individual?"

Across the desk, Mary-Lou Skinner slammed a fist onto the blotting pad and let out an indignant "Sheriff Jalinski!"

"I'm one-hundred percent certain, Sheriff," Merrill said. "The IAB had kept him under surveillance for a few weeks and sent daily updates to the DA's office. Clayton Mitchell and Bobby Johnston are the same man. And beyond that and what I saw on the video… you tend to remember someone who literally got in your face and threatened you with a fate worse than death. Trust me."

Mandy let out a long sigh as she rubbed her brow once more. "I know. I experienced something similar back in San Cristobal. That was the main reason I chose to transfer out here in the middle of nowhere."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Sheriff," Merrill Jaeger said, sporting a wistful smile. "How do we proceed from here?  Do you believe my plan of confronting Clayton Mitchell away from the public eye will work?"

"I'm afraid it won't, Miss Jaeger. At least not as you've planned it. Clayton Mitchell isn't flying solo. We have an added, highly disruptive element in the shape of the Patriotic Coalition. I doubt you know who they are, but I'm sure the DA's Office will have heard of the J-Six Brigade?"

"We have. They're a nationwide militia-like organization."

"Yes, and the Patriotic Coalition is a front for the Brigade. They're supporting Mitchell through one of the regional commanders, Arthur Rains, who's acting as his mentor. Rains is a disgraced former sheriff here in town."

"Oh… is he the unpleasant-looking man Mitchell is speaking to in the video?"

"Undoubtedly," Mandy said with a grin that soon faded. "He was thrown out of the Sheriff's Department after being filmed delivering a racist diatribe aimed at a gentleman of Asian ethnicity."

Merrill Jaeger shook her head. "It sounds like the company Mitchell would keep. So who became sheriff after Arthur Rains?"

"I did," Mandy said, tapping the Star on her uniform shirt. "Which is another potential bump in the road for your plan. I worked under Sheriff Pershing and subsequently Arthur Rains for many years. I was aware of… well, let's call them underhand methods… when it came to various aspects of our day-to-day operations. And yet I never reported any of them to Headquarters or even the Town Council. I kept quiet, ducked my head and just concentrated on being the best deputy I could be. I can't say how Mitchell will react to the confrontation, but I wouldn't put it past Arthur Rains to open the proverbial closet door to let some of the old skeletons out."

Merrill leaned back on her chair and assumed a glum look. Across the desk, Mary-Lou mirrored the expression perfectly.

The silence suddenly grew oppressive, so Mandy got up and donned her Mountie hat. "To sum up, I agree that we cannot allow Clayton Mitchell to continue running for sheriff. It would make a mockery of the post if he's elected. I also know for a fact that we cannot openly prevent him from running. He has served his jail term in full and is seen as any other citizen in the eyes of the law regardless of his unsavory character. However, we cannot pressure him into leaving because of his allies. In short, we need a Hail Mary pass. I'll return to the office and think it through. Good day, Mrs. Skinner. Miss Jaeger. I'll find my own way out."

-*-*-*-

The quiet, empty Main Street didn't provide Mandy with any divine insight as to how to deal with the problem. To her far left, up near the northern city limits sign, the Wilburr family's familiar John Deere tractor drove toward their home farm pulling an empty wagon. To her far right, some distance into the desert south of town, a flash of red and silver proved to be an eighteen-wheeler hauling a grain tanker.

A smile spread over her face when she looked across the street to see Wynne's matte-black Chevrolet Silverado parked in front of Grant Lafferty's Beer & Liquor Imports. It seemed that Wynne had been in an almighty hurry upon her arrival as the truck was parked in a crooked angle with the right front up on the sidewalk and the left rear sticking way out into the inner lane.

Chuckling, Mandy dug into the left breast pocket for her book of fines and a ball point pen on her way over there. Once she had reached the truck, she filled out the appropriate fields with inappropriate comments, tore the fine out of the book and stuck it under one of the windshield wipers so Wynne couldn't miss it.

All sense of fun and games left her when she walked up the two stone steps to enter Grant Lafferty's store. The gaping hole in the storefront window had been covered by a large sheet of cardboard that had been fastened to the remaining glass by what appeared to be gaffer tape.

A wide section of Grant's meticulous display had been cleared to make room for the repairs. A bucket filled with shards was a grim intruder on the scarlet velvet that Grant used to create an exclusive atmosphere. The sample bottles and cans that had been on display had all been smashed or at the very least dented by the rock the goons had thrown through the pane.

The parquet floor beyond the windows bore damp stains and deep, ungainly scratches created when the men had kicked down several cardboard displays and standees. The strong scent of cherry brandy as well as a deep-red stain that had already seeped into the cracks between the flooring rafters didn't require an explanation.

Wynne and Grant soon came out of the back office with a bucketful of soapsuds and a mop, respectively. Both were hobbling along, though for different reasons.

Grant wore felt slippers as always as they were the only type of footwear that didn't add painful pressure to his bunions. He wore light gray, high-waisted pants and a white, short-sleeved Polyester shirt that sported damp patches under his arms from the strenuous work. Unusually, he didn't wear his toupee which meant his last natural strains of hair were in plain sight. The glistening layer of perspiration on his forehead and elsewhere offered a hint as to why he had shed his warm hairpiece.

Wynne wore her heavy-duty safety boots as she had said she would. She had also jumped into a pair of full-length blue-jeans to keep her legs safe from any rogue shards that were just dying to jump out and nick The Last Original Cowpoke's shins.

Up top, she wore an old, washed-out T-shirt that had faded so badly it was almost impossible to recognize the retro logo that the H.E. Fenwyck Brewery Co. had used for their first thirty years in business. Sturdy work gloves protected her hands, but she had foregone her cowboy hat for the first time in ages and she didn't use the hardwood cane she had borrowed from Diego although it was leaning against Grant's counter in case she suddenly had need for it.

"Howdy, darlin'!" she cried the moment she clapped eyes on the compact, athletic form. "Whah, can y'all bah-lieve this he' shittt?!  Lawwwwwr-die, please tell me all y'all's de-per-ties got them sombitches who done this ta tha Grant-Mastah's sto'ah!"

"We did. They're in the holding cells as we speak," Mandy said before she zoomed in on the tell-tale lump that made Wynne's jeans puff out at her left knee. A grunt escaped her as she stored the information for later. "Hello, Mr. Lafferty. I'm truly sorry we didn't manage to catch them in time. The Senior Deputy told me you're going to take legal action?"

"Hello, Sheriff. Yes, and I've already called my lawyer. I will not let those gorillas get away with it. I'm going to sue the shirts off their backs," Grant said, putting down the mop so he could wipe his glistening forehead and neck on a handkerchief.

Mandy put her hands on her utility belt. "Very well, Mr. Lafferty, but I'm afraid the case isn't quite as open-and-shut as it appears. I'm going to call Judge Etherington's office first thing Monday morning. There are some context details that we need to shed light on."

Picking up the mop once more, Grant Lafferty let out a dark grunt. "Frankly, Sheriff, I don't give a flying fig about your details. I'm going to sue those rock apes for what they did to my store."

"That is your right, sir," Mandy said before she turned to Wynne. She eyed the puffed-out jeans once more before locking eyes with her partner. "Hon, is your knee swollen or are you wearing a bandage?"

Wynne put down the bucket of suds and reached for the mop that Grant held out. "I be wearin' a band-itch, darlin'. Mah knee be lookin' jus' fine an' it ain't red or nuttin'. Naw… but I be back on that there crap pain medica-shun."

"Dammit…"

"Yuh, sure ain't no lie," Wynne said, leaning on the mop. "I hadda pop a pill this he' mornin' aftah y'all left 'cos mah dang-blasted joint ached like a sombitch. I reckon I kinda ovahstressed it yestuhr'dy when we done walked all ovah town. An' prolly las'night as well when I hadda carry y'all ta bed… wussen nevah not gonn' do that, tho'. Ain't no way I wus gonn' let y'all sleep on that there ol' couch there with them springs pokin' up an' ev'rythin'. No, Ma'am."

"Well, thank you," Mandy said and let out a tired chuckle. "I still got a crimp in my neck, but that was from sleeping so heavily."

The sheriff needed to take a step back as Wynne dunked the mop in the bucket and began to wash the parquet floor to remove the brandy stains before it would be too late.

Mandy let out a sigh as she watched her partner work. "Something's come up that's going to turn the entire election upside down. Well, it already has, the results just aren't visible yet."

"Haw?  Sounds serious…"

"It is," Mandy said, taking another step back so she wouldn't get in the way of the mop. "Hon, it's something we need to talk about. Please come to the office as soon as you're done here."

"Aw… okeh," Wynne said, taking a break from her mopping. "Y'all ain't sick or som'tin, are ya?"

"No, it's nothing like that-"

"Haw, thank tha bearded gaaah in th skaaah fer them li'l favahrs…"

Chuckling, Mandy reached out to claw Wynne's arm. "Let's say that Goldsboro is sitting on a powder keg… and someone has just lit the fuse."

"Lawwwwr-die… okeh. Mercy Sakes, that sure don't sound nice or nuttin'. Tell ya whut, darlin', I be bah in a short while. Yuh?  Then we can tawk… 'cos this I gotta he'ah!"

---

Back at the office, Mandy barged open the sticking glass door and strode inside. Her Mountie hat had barely been deposited on the big desk before she strode over to the coffee machine to pour herself some caffeine-laced lifeblood.

Barry hurriedly brushed cookie crumbs off the desk and onto the cracked linoleum, threw the crossword puzzle magazine back into the bottom drawer, blew ash off the incident report sheet and finally grabbed a pencil to pretend to be working hard. "There have been no emergency calls since you left, Sheriff," he said with a smile.

"Excellent. Thank you. Where's the Senior Deputy?"

"In the crew room typing out the reports from this morning."

Taking a sip of the coffee that wasn't as fresh as hoped, Mandy strode over to the door to the crew room at the back of the office. She was about to enter when she heard the characteristic clickety-click-click sounds of the advanced electronic typewriter frequently punctuated by Spanish words of the juiciest kind. The only member of the staff who had enough skills to tame the beast was Beatrice Reilly, but she remained busy monitoring the holding cells in the jail house.

Chuckling, Mandy turned away from the crew room to let nature take its course.

---

Ten minutes and a fruitless call to Judge Etherington's office later - the answering service confirming, as expected, that their opening hours were eight AM to four PM Monday through Friday - Mandy leaned back on her swivelchair and did nothing but stare at the opposite wall.

Instead of remaining passive in a moment of crisis, she took her telephone and went online. It took her another ten minutes, but she eventually came across a news report that mentioned the circuit judge spending the entire weekend at a fundraising golf tournament up north in Barton City. Not getting expert legal advice ahead of time upset some of Mandy's plans, but she still had a few other avenues to explore.

The next sip of the coffee proved it had grown lukewarm and stale. Grimacing, she swiveled around to look at the wall-mounted clock. It only read a quarter to one which meant it was too early to call A.J. 'Slow' Lane and get him to come over with their regular afternoon delivery. Chances were, he was still wrapping up the last of the lunch servings, and after that, he would be busy cleaning the tables, loading and operating the automatic dishwashers and preparing for the next rush hour which would be at 3pm or so when a good portion of town would show up for coffee and cake or pastries.

Mandy's thoughts were interrupted by Rodolfo Gonzalez returning from the crew room with the four pages he had typed. "For your perusal, Sheriff. And hopefully your approval."

"Thank you, Senior Deputy," Mandy said, putting away her telephone before leaning forward so she could study the documents. She had barely made it onto the second line when her eyes stumbled over the first little hiccup. "There's a typo. And another one. And I'm afraid you've misspelled Mr. Lafferty's name. It has two F's."

Barry broke out in a snicker over by the watch desk. A sour glare that shot from Rodolfo's dark-brown eyes made the radio dispatcher whistle a little ditty instead, but the moment Rodolfo turned away, the ditty was replaced by a quick thumbing of Barry's nose.

Mandy soon read the rest of the typed reports. In spite of a few typos and odd phrases, she doodled her signature at the foot of the pages and stuck the reports into folders so they could be archived. "They're approved, Senior Deputy. My own reports aren't any better. It's that damned typewriter," she said as she put the folders into the out-tray for later.

"Yes, Sheriff. It's a piece of work, all right."

"Yes… and speaking of which," Mandy said as she got up from the swivelchair and put her fists on the blotting pad. "Were you able to get anywhere with regards to the identities of the so-called Smith Brothers?"

"I'm afraid not, Sheriff. HQ basically told me to call first thing Monday morning. They're only running a skeleton crew on Saturdays and Sundays."

Sighing, Mandy shook her head at the ever-increasing difficulties in getting anything done. "Very well. Something major has just happened that outweighs even the arrests of the two vandals. We can-"

The sticking glass door needed no less than three thumps-by-shoulder to swing open, but when it did, it revealed a flushed Wynne Donohue who stuck her cane under her arm. "Howdy, all y'all nice folks!  Y'all got tha one an' only Wynne Donnah-hew he' ta help ya make it through tha day," she said as she closed the door behind her. Turning around once more, she crinkled her nose at the Cloud of Stinky Doom that seemed to hover above the watch desk.

Barry was too busy puffing on his latest cigarette to have time to do anything but wave, but Rodolfo said: "Hiya, Wynne. What's that you got there?"

Wynne held up the fine that Mandy had stuck under the wipers. "It be a fihh-ne, son. An un-fihh-ne fihh-ne!  An' Lawrdie, Sheriff, this he' Cowpoah-k got a big, ol' bohh-ne ta pick witcha!  Lookie at this!"

Grinning, Mandy put her hands on her hips and thrust out her jaw. "Yeah?  What of it?"

"Y'all be tawkin' ta an upset Cowpoah-k, lemme tell ya… it done says, y'all be busted!  Yuh, that ack-chew-ly be whut it done says!  Y'all be busted. Whah, that ain't right, Sheriff Mandy!  I durn-near hadda a heart attack when I done clapped eyes on this he' fihh-ne 'cos I done thunk that Quick Draw had been bah. But she hadden… it be signed da Sheriff!  Yuh, no shittin', it ack-chew-ly says Da Sheriff!  An tha fihh-ne be a kiss!"

"So have you come to pay it?"

"Whah, yuh… yuh, I reckon," Wynne said with a grin that spread ever wider. "But tha trubbel be that I only got a five-kissah, yuh?"

"Very well," Mandy said as she moved away from the desk. "So I'll take one now and keep the rest for later."

"Whah, cert'inly, Sheriff. Y'all reddy?"

Nodding, Mandy put her hands on Wynne's sides. "As I'll ever be. Oh, will you get down here?  I can't go up on tip-toes wearing boots… and my neck's too stiff, anyway."

"Always happy ta oblige-" Wynne said, but her lips were soon too occupied with their sweet business to be used for talking.

Once they separated, Mandy's inner pressure valve had finally released enough negative energy to allow her to grin and let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks," she said for Wynne's ears only. "I needed a little fun in my life. You won't believe what just happened."

"Well, it sure gotta be som'tin majah ta beat tha nasty bizzness up at tha Grant-Mastah's…"

"It is," Mandy said, moving back to the swivelchair behind the sheriff's desk.

Nodding, Wynne planted a buttock on the corner of the desk. "Lawrdie, washin' that there flo'ah there sure wus hard work… an' I can't even get mahself no Dubbel-Zeras or nuttin' 'cos o' that there dang-blasted pill I done took this he' mornin'." - Sniff, sniff - "Dag-nabbit, an' I sure ain't as fresh as I wus aftah I done showah'd, neithah…"

"No, and your T-shirt has turned sheer, hon…" Mandy said with a grin.

"Aw… okeh, that kinda 'splains whah ol' Barry an' Rodolfoh ain't lookin' me in tha eye," Wynne said, glancing down at her damp shirt before she pushed a few things around on the desk to have better room for her jeans-clad rear end. "Guys, I be wearin' one o' them there sports braaaahs, yuh?  An' I kinda thunk all y'all knew I wus a girl, too. Haw?"

Neither Barry nor Rodolfo had anything to add to that undeniable statement, so the former went back to his crossword puzzle while the latter turned around on his heel and walked back to the smallest of the three desks.

"Isn't Goldie with you?" Mandy asked.

"Naw. I didden wanna take her along if there be glass an' smashed bottles an' plenty o' shit on da flo'ah that might cut her paws. An' there wus a ton o' that, so it wus a good choice. She be playin' with ol' Freddie. Say, wotcha done with Blackie?"

"She's next door in the jail house keeping Deputy Reilly company."

"Aw, that be ou'ah Blackie, awright. Always wantin' ta help. An' it also got her away from ol' Barry's stinkarooneys, haw?"

Just to prove a point, Barry ignited yet another cigarette using the dying embers of the old one. Another of the dreaded Clouds Of Stinky Doom soon rose toward the ceiling tiles.

The fun over, a glum mask fell over Mandy's face. She let out a deep sigh as she found her telephone, made a few taps and swipes, turned up the volume and put it face-up on the desk. "All right. Now we're all here, we need to get down to business. Please listen up, everybody. This is very, very important and I'm going to need your input. First of all, I'll call Deputy Reilly so I don't have to repeat anything."

The correct number was soon found and selected. Within seconds, Beatrice's voice could be heard saying: 'Hello, Sheriff. Do you require a status update?'

"Not right now, Deputy. This is a conference call of sorts. I have Mr. Simms, the Senior Deputy and Miss Donohue here. Something major has come up with regards to the upcoming election," Mandy said in an authoritative tone that proved they were about to head into a conversation of quite some importance.

'I see. I better take notes.'

Surprised by Mandy's serious tone, Wynne got off the corner of the big desk and went for the spare swivelchair instead. Once it had been wheeled over to the desk, she sat down and stretched out her legs to take the strain off her aching knee.

Mandy cleared her throat and began to speak: "It has come to my attention that my rival candidate for the position of Sheriff of Goldsboro, the man we know as Bobby Johnston, is in fact Clayton Mitchell, formerly assigned to Cavanaugh Creek PD's drug-enforcement task force."

Wynne drew a breath to add a comment, but Mandy held up a hand to signal there was a great deal more to be said - Wynne nodded and kept quiet.

"Mr. Mitchell changed his name after completing a five-year jail term for intimidating and subsequently actively threatening an intern at the District Attorney's Office in Wilmer County. Prior to that, the IAB suspected him of actively participating in racketeering, collecting protection money from sex workers-"

"Lawwwwwwwwwr-die!"

"-handling and selling cocaine as well as several other things. One of which was multiple counts of aggravated assault on sex workers and intimidation of same to keep them from taking the stand. None of those suspicions could ever be proven."

'Dammit, I knew there was something wrong with that creep!' Beatrice said in a loud and clear voice over the telephone.

Wynne put her hand in the air at once. "I didden get all o' them fancy words, but I sure got mah gut feelin' confirmed. Lawrdie, did I evah. Johnston or whutevah-tha-hell tha name is o' that there sombitch is mebbe tha worst a-hole we evah hadda deal with… an' that sure be sayin' som'tin. Yuh. So whaddahell we' gonn' do 'bout him?  Dunk 'im in tar an' roll 'im in feathahs an' throw 'im tha hell outtah ou'ah town?"

"We can't do that, Wynne," Rodolfo said. "If he's served his term, he's seen as having paid his debt to society. He's free to start a new life."

"Y'all gotta be shittin' me, son!  Even aftah beatin' up hookahs?  An' sellin' cocaine?"

Mandy nodded. "Yes, because none of that was ever proven in a court of law, Wynne. They were merely suspicions. If there had been solid evidence and he had been found guilty of any of those charges, he would have been given a life sentence."

"Okeh… okeh. Fine. Whutevah. So howdahell do we tell that sombitch ta get tha flyin' frick outtah ou'ah town?"

The way Mandy rubbed her eyes several times was answer enough.

Huffing out loud, Wynne leaned back on the swivelchair and slammed her arms over her chest.

"No civilian can, Wynne," Mandy said, throwing her arms out wide in a despondent shrug. "Forcing or threatening an individual to leave against his will is seen as harassment and an act of discrimination. Imagine if any of the J-Six people threatened the Williams family or Miss Nguyen with severe consequences if they didn't get out of Goldsboro?  That's akin to what brought Rains down."

"Fine. But whut 'bout Skinnah an' them politi-shuns o' hers, then?"

"Mrs. Skinner confirmed there's nothing in the Town Council's set of rules and regulations that prevents anyone with a criminal record to run for public office here in Goldsboro. It was never an issue before-"

"It sure wussen 'cos nobodda evah done thunk o' askin' no dang-blasted crook ta run fer Sheriff!  I don't bah-lieve this he' shit… lissen, darlin', imagine whut that there sombitch gonn' do if him an' Artie Rains get to slap their asscheeks on that there chair there!  They don't hafta force Keshawn or Nancy or Gwen an' Audrey… or us!  Yuh?  Or Rodolfoh or anybodda ta leave 'cos they be truckin' outtah he' tha first time Johnston or Mitchell or whutevah-tha-hell he be called shows his ugly mug on Main Street wearin' that there uniform y'all be wearin' now!"

"I'm aware of that, Wynne!  But, dammit, our hands are tied!" Mandy said, slamming her fist onto the desktop. The violence of the impact was enough to scatter a dozen paper clips and send the tape dispenser flying over the edge and onto the floor. Staring at the mess she was responsible for made the flash fire leave her as fast as it had come. Sighing, she began putting all the paper clips back into the mason jar. "Senior Deputy, Deputy Reilly… do you have any ideas?" she said in a far more subdued tone.

Rodolfo shook his head while Beatrice said: 'I'm afraid not, Sheriff.'

Wynne just let out a dark grunt. "Snakes Alive, I wish Brendah wus he'. She got them latest pollin' figgahs on her computah. I ain't sure where y'all stand or nuttin'. Darlin', if y'all win the elec-shun, there ain't gonn' be no trubbel. Yuh, okeh, awright, them a-holes still gonn' cause trubbel, but it be a dif'rent kinda trubbel. Yuh?"

"Yeah," Mandy said, letting out another sigh. "That would be the easiest way, but I don't know where we stand, either. Right now, it's pie in the sky. I thought Mrs. Travers would be home today?"

"Well, they wus, but she an' Vaughn hadda rush ta San Cristobal 'cos one o' their customahs done got hisself hacked or some such. I didden get much o' whut she done tole me. Y'all know how Brendah is when she gets all excited 'bout som'tin."

Over at the watch desk, Barry chimed in with a chuckle and a wholly inappropriate: "Brenda's so hot it tickles."

Wynne swiveled around to look at the chain-smoking dispatcher. "I sure be gladda hear yer bodily func-shuns ain't been harmed bah that there stinky tabaccah y'all be smokin', but ol' Brendah happens ta be married, son."

"Oh, sure, sure… a guy can look, can't he?" Barry said, waving a hand in dismissal. Several seconds went by before he added: "And drool."

Wynne had already swiveled back to look at Mandy, but she spun the chair in the other direction at once. "Okeh, now y'all be scarin' me…"

"Back on topic, everyone. Thank you," Mandy said in a voice that didn't leave any room for misinterpretation. She looked everyone present in the eye to make sure they knew what she meant. Then she let out a long sigh. "I do have one possible scenario in mind, but Miss Donohue and I need to discuss it in private first. All right?"

Wynne and Rodolfo both nodded while Beatrice said: 'Yes, Ma'am,' at the other end of the connection.

"Deputy Reilly, I'm hanging up now. Thank you for participating," Mandy said with an index finger hovering over the Close Connection bar.

'I wrote everything down, Sheriff… well, not Barry's idiotic comment. Once I'm relieved from my present assignment, I'll transcribe it.'

"Very well, Deputy. Goodbye," Mandy said before she tapped the red bar.

Wynne put the hardwood cane on the cracked linoleum to give her a boost in getting up. The grimace that spread over her face proved that not only her knee but her lower back didn't exactly agree with the decision to move after sitting still for a few minutes. Rubbing her back, she hobbled over to the glass door. "I reckon y'all wanna go fer a li'l walk, darlin'?"

"Yes… if you're able to?" Mandy said, taking her Mountie hat from the nail on the wall.

"Aw, sure. No problemoh. As long as we ain't gonn' trah breakin' no land speed rekkerd, I be fine."

For the first time in a long while, Mandy broke out in a smile at her partner's comments - unfortunately, it didn't last long. "Senior Deputy, you have the office. Mr. Simms, keep me up to date on all incoming calls. Especially if they're directly related to our present situation. I'm not going to bother with the damned radios so you need to call my personal number."

Rodolfo nodded and sat up straight so he could get started on some of the paperwork on the smallest of their three desks.

"Will do, Sheriff," Barry said, igniting a new cigarette with the dying embers of the old one. Once that had been accomplished, he opened the top drawer to find his latest Sally Swackhamer, P.I. pulp novel: volume 61, 'See You In The Crosshairs, Sally!'

Continued in Part 4

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