CHAPTER 4
Thirty seconds after roaring away from the far end of Second Street, Mandy brought the Durango to a dust-flying halt at the mouth of the alley next to Grant Lafferty's Beer & Liquor Imports. She turned the emergency lights off but activated the LED-searchlights on the roof instead to have enough light to work by. After a minute adjustment through the joystick on the dashboard, she made them illuminate the crime scene without dazzling anyone.
Beatrice Reilly knelt next to a sparsely-haired, somewhat chubby middle-aged man who sat on the sidewalk leaning against the brick wall. He wore boots, a pair of denim bib overalls and a pale-gray shirt. A red, white and blue Team USA cap was next to him on the sidewalk.
The man held a blood-stained handkerchief to his forehead with his right hand while the deputy cleaned an abrasion on the outside of his left hand - further blood seeped from the long scrape to paint the man's gray shirtsleeve crimson.
Still sitting in the Durango, Mandy's first impressions were that the man's clothes were well-kept save for a couple of dusty patches on the knees of his pants, but that and the abrasion on his hand would be consistent with falling onto the sidewalk.
"Deputy Reilly, give me the details, please," she said as she got out of the vehicle and slammed the door shut behind her. An overwhelming smell of potent liquor originating from a dark spot on the sidewalk made her crinkle her nose.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Grant Lafferty watching the events unfold through one of his store's windows on the opposite side of the alley. The owner of the Beer & Liquor Imports held up a telephone; Mandy waved at him to signal she would come to him in a moment.
"Yes, Ma'am," Beatrice said as she moved back a little to give the man some breathing space. "This is Mr. Eamonn O'Sullivan, resident of Goldsboro. He's a disability pensioner after an industrial accident at his work place. Age fifty-nine-"
"You guys want my shoe size too?" Eamonn said in a croaking voice.
Mandy smiled at the injured fellow - she had seen him around town on occasion, but he was not someone they had ever come into contact with on official business. "No, I think we'll get by without it, Sir. Deputy?"
"According to Mr. O'Sullivan, he had just frequented Mr. Lafferty's store when someone jumped him from the shadows of the alley. The bottle he had only just bought was broken in the attack, hence the pool and the strong smell."
Mandy nodded. "Sir, were you able to get a clear view of your attacker?"
Eamonn had already begun to shake his head when he realized he should abstain from such activities for a while - a hiss of pain escaped him and he bared his teeth while the throbbing subsided.
A couple of deep breaths enabled him to go on: "I didn't see anything, Sheriff… I was alone one second… the next, I got bushwhacked. He was right there in my face. It was like the night had come alive and attacked me… it was just a flash of darkness. Anyway, the sonovabitch grabbed me and threw me onto the ground like I weighed next to nothing. Hurt my knees and thumped my damn head… I don't know what the hell he was trying to do 'cos he never went for my wallet or anything."
Mandy took several steps back to glance up and down Main Street that appeared as quiet and deserted as ever. A faint echo of noises came from the film set at the far end of Second Street; a truck drove north on Main Street toward the incident site, but it had only just entered town and was still too far away to even be heard. Shaking her head, she returned to the victim of the attack: "Was he armed, Mr. O'Sullivan?"
Eamonn scrunched up his face and clenched his lips as he went over the attack in his mind. "Not that I saw, Sheriff. He didn't need to be… that sonovabitch was strong!" he said before he looked up at Beatrice. "Deputy, there's something you didn't get right… you told your sheriff I was jumped in the shadows, but that ain't so. I was jumped by a shadow. There's a pretty big difference! I was in the cone of light from that street lamp there the whole time," he said and pointed his bleeding hand at the nearest lamp post.
Beatrice and Mandy shared a brief look before Mandy reached into the pouch on her utility belt that held the breathalyzer and the disposable reeds. Unwrapping one of the latter, she crouched down to be at eye level with Eamonn O'Sullivan. "Sir, I would like you to blow into this reed so we can establish your level of intoxication."
Eamonn let out a dark chuckle. "I got news for you, Sheriff. I intended to get loaded tonight, that's right, but you're almost standing in it. O'Connor's Finest Irish Whiskey… Goddammit, it cost me forty bucks! I haven't had a drop of liquor since last Sunday morning at the breakfast table. And that was a Hunter's Dream bitter."
"We better get a definite answer, Sir," Mandy said as she attached the disposable reed to the breathalyzer.
"Are you gonna fine me for jaywalking if something shows up on that thing?" Eamonn said and let out a croaking laugh. Taking the electronic device, he blew into it for what seemed like ages.
When the row of small LEDs on the side all lit up indicating it had received enough information for analysis, Mandy said: "Thank you, Sir. Let me see," before she studied the numbers printed on the display. "Hmmm. Very well. All green."
"Like I said, Sheriff, I haven't had a drop since last Sunday morning. Look, I'm not making this up… that thing was like a shadow. It wasn't there… and then it was. Boom. Just like that. Like snapping your fingers."
Mandy and Beatrice shared another look; this was darker and more concerned. "All right. Deputy Reilly, please help Mr. O'Sullivan on his feet. Sir, you've received a bump on the head. Perhaps you should consider spending the night in our custody so we can keep an eye on you?"
"No, thanks. My wife's waiting for me. I hope. We kinda had a little… you know… argument. Nothing major, just what old married couples do. That's why I was over here buying some liquid courage in the first place," Eamonn said and looked at the pool of Irish whiskey on the sidewalk. "Maybe she's going to swing a rolling pin at me for getting in trouble… or throw a frying pan."
A brief smile graced Mandy's lips as she moved back up from the crouch. "Does she have the legendary Irish temper, Mr. O'Sullivan?"
"She does! We met at work. We've been married for nearly twenty years now," Eamonn said before he looked at Beatrice. "Reilly? I'll bet you have Irish blood in you as well."
Beatrice nodded. "I do, Sir. One-half Irish, as a matter of fact. The entire branch of the family tree on my father's side hail from the Emerald Isle."
"Law enforcement has always seen their fair share of Irishmen… uh, and women," Eamonn said and broke out in a slow nod. "Sheriff, with your hair and eyes, I'll bet you're an Irishman- uh, person?"
"My last name's Jalinski," Mandy said with a grin.
"Well, that ain't Irish," Eamonn said and let out a loud laugh that soon turned into a hiss when it made the bleeding wound on his forehead throb.
Sobering, Mandy assumed her natural role of being the person in charge. "All right, Mr. O'Sullivan. Please call us at once if you begin to feel nauseous. Can you walk home or will you require transport?"
Eamonn let out a croaking laugh that was nevertheless stronger than the earlier ones; the laugh segued into a groan when he was helped upright by Beatrice Reilly. He groaned again when he massaged his tender knees. "I can walk… it's gonna be slow as hell, but I can walk. I just hope that sonovabitch won't come back for a second bite of the cherry…"
"Good point, Sir. Deputy Reilly, please drive Mr. O'Sullivan home."
Beatrice nodded and took a gentle hold of the man's arm to keep him steady. "Will do, Sheriff. C'mon, Eamonn… let's get you home. The alley off Second Street, right?"
"Yes. The third bungalow on the right. I'll probably be the talk of the town among my neighbors tomorrow… they won't believe their eyes when they see me get driven home in a police vehicle," Eamonn said before he hobbled along - he needed to put a hand on the brick wall to get to the waiting Durango despite Beatrice's aid.
Mandy opened the passenger-side door and helped the aching man up onto the front seat. Once he was sitting comfortably, she pulled out the seat belt and helped him click it in place. "While you drive home, I'll talk to Mr. Lafferty. Perhaps he can fill in some of the blanks. Deputy, once you're done, head back to the office and get started on the paperwork. I'll be on the radio if you need me."
"Yes, Sheriff," Beatrice said before she turned off the LED searchlights and twisted the ignition key.
---
Grant Lafferty moved away from his regular spot at the counter to intercept Mandy the moment she set foot in the liquor store. He wore his usual subdued combo of square spectacles, dark-gray slacks, a pale-gray shirt, a brownish, knitted cardigan and an oversized pair of slippers to provide relief for his bunions, but he had left his pipe on the counter for a change.
The man, whom Wynne called 'The Grant-Master' because of his encyclopedic knowledge of beer, held up his cordless telephone in an excited fashion. "I witnessed it all, Sheriff!" he said before Mandy had even had time to dig her notepad out of her pocket.
"That's good news, Mr. Lafferty," she said and accomplished the task. Flipping it open to the first available page, she took a ball point pen from her breast pocket and made it ready. "Go on, Sir. What exactly happened to Mr. O'Sullivan?"
"Well," Grant said and rubbed his chin like he was trying to recall the proper sequence of events. "Eamonn had just left. He was the only customer I'd had for a while so I went over to the window simply to see… well, I suppose to see him get home safely. He has a replacement hip after the industrial accident, you see. Well, he walked down the short flight of stairs and moved past the entrance to the alley. That's when it happened!"
When Grant didn't go on, Mandy had time to finish her scribbling. She looked at him in the hope he would move ahead in the narrative on his own, but he didn't. "And what did in fact happen next, Mr. Lafferty?"
"At that exact moment, a man in black pants and a black hoodie came out of nowhere and grabbed hold of Eamonn! He had just bought a bottle of O'Connor's Finest when it happened."
Mandy grunted and wrote down the new information. "Sir, you are certain the person wore a black hoodie?"
"I am, yes…" Grant said and adjusted his glasses. He paused while looking at the sheriff like he didn't grasp the finer points of her question. Shrugging, he continued: "It had a hood that covered the back and top parts of his head, so… well… it must have been one of those hoodies, right? Like what the inner-city kids always wear in all those crime shows…"
"Did it feature some kind of brand name or perhaps fluorescent stripes, or…?"
"No. It was all black. And he definitely wore black pants and shoes. Well, I suppose they could have been ankle boots. In any case, the attacker grabbed hold of Eamonn and threw him onto the ground like there was nothing to it. And Eamonn isn't a little guy!"
"Sir, you persistently say 'he.' Are you certain it was a man?"
"Yes. A hundred percent, Sheriff," Grant said and broke out in a nod. "If it was a woman, it had to be a wrestler or bodybuilder or something. The attacker had broad shoulders and male body language. It was a man."
"Noted. How tall was the attacker compared to Mr. O'Sullivan?"
Grant took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose while he pondered the question. "Oh… well… I didn't really get an impression of his size beyond the width of his shoulders. About the same height? Perhaps a little taller?" he said as he pushed the frame back onto his nose. "Not as heavy-set as Eamonn… but… well, he was definitely faster and far more agile."
"Mmmm," Mandy said as she updated the page in her notepad. "Very well. Once the assault had taken place, were you able to see which way the person left-"
"No, I'm afraid not, Sheriff. He simply disappeared into thin air. I suspect he ran up the alley toward the impound yard, but… I obviously can't know for sure."
Mandy scrunched up her face as she jotted down the information. "I see. Thank you very much, Sir."
"You're welcome… tell me, is Eamonn all right? He took a big tumble when that other guy grabbed him."
Closing the notepad, Mandy put that and the ball point pen back into the breast pocket of her uniform shirt. "He scraped his knees and palm as well as getting a bump on the head. He's not too bad all things considered."
"That's good to hear. I've known him for a number of years now. He used to live north of town, but he and his wife moved into the new residential area over by Second Street, oh… in late November, I think it was. He's always been a good, regular customer."
"Which reminds me," Mandy said and turned to face the owner of the store, "the bottle he bought wasn't as fortunate. There's quite a lot of glass on the sidewalk. May I borrow a broom and a dustpan? We can't-"
"Don't worry about that, Sheriff. I'll clean it up," Grant said as he moved - on tender feet - over to the door to open it for Mandy.
"Very well. Thank you. Have a good evening, Mr. Lafferty."
"You too, Sheriff. Oh! When you see Miss Donohue, please tell her the special shipment of H.E. Fenwyck Centennial Brew has arrived."
Mandy cast a brief glance at the hundreds and hundreds of bottled and canned beers that filled countless shelves all around the Beer & Liquor Imports - the design of the labels made the store a colorful place. Cardboard displays that promoted limited editions or other types of special products had been put on the floor in places where the customers couldn't miss them if they tried.
"I will," she said with a smile. "She'll probably let out such a loud whoop that it'll travel all the way up here."
---
Moving out onto on the quiet sidewalk, Mandy put her hands on her hips and looked up and down the deserted Main Street. Though she applied all the observational skills she had gathered in her years in uniform, nothing seemed untoward in either direction. Everything looked the same, sounded the same and even smelled the same as always.
The stores had closed for the night apart from one or two; golden light shone from those still open for business while the rest had dimmed their interior lights to save a few dollars on the electricity bill. A bluish-white flickering from some of the houses and apartments suggested the residents watched television.
The air continued to hold a whiff of the residue left behind by the leaking slurry tanker, but that wasn't out of the ordinary - when the wind came from a certain direction, the large cattle ranches and pig breeders north of town made their presence felt.
Another truck drove south on Main Street until it made a U-turn and parked in front of Derrike Iverson's bar. The driver soon got out and entered the notorious establishment. The truck only had one working headlight, so Mandy made a note of giving it a closer look later.
Everything remained quiet where she was, so she crossed over the two lanes and walked to Moira's Bar & Grill in her customary striding gait. As she walked past Wynne's mat-black Silverado that continued to be parked in the alley next to Moira's, she made a detour to inspect the dark pathway behind the large truck.
The last rays of natural light had faded as dusk had given way to evening, so the brief reconnaissance mission yielded little. With no flashlight at hand - the nearest one was in the rear of the Durango used by Beatrice to drive Eamonn O'Sullivan home - she tried to turn her smartphone's display light up to maximum, but even that wasn't enough to penetrate the darkness. Her instincts told her the alley was empty save perhaps for the cat that had caused the foul smell of urine that permeated the air.
Moving back to Wynne's Silverado, she waited there for a short minute before she turned around and resumed her trek to Moira's. Along the way, she tipped her Mountie hat at Grant Lafferty who was across the street, busy sweeping up what was left of the bottle of whiskey.
---
Goldsboro's number one eatery had fewer customers than Mandy had expected to see at that time of the day, but at least the low number meant there wouldn't be any crowding - it also meant that A.J. 'Slow' Lane was able to keep up with the orders which in turn meant he could slow down and complete the various tasks at his own pace.
Mandy took a good, long, close look at the various eating customers and the patrons who sat at the bar counter. The men at the bar were the usual shift workers who came in for a cold brew at the end of a long working day; the people eating late dinners were regular citizens like Wyatt Elliott, the owner of the hardware store, who shared a table with Mary-Lou Skinner like he often did.
The pool table was vacant but the new video Keno and the surviving electronic poker games were in use. The people inserting coin after coin into the machines in the hope of hitting the mother lode were all known to Mandy and could be ruled out as possible suspects due to their body types, ages or general demeanor.
To get the information she needed straight from the source, Mandy moved up to the counter where she greeted 'Slow' Lane and the shift workers before she went beyond the kitchen and into Moira's private office. After a quick knock on the doorjamb, she opened the door and stepped inside.
Cramped and more chaotic than could be expected of an office of such a popular hang-out spot, it was in fact far too small after Wynne and Moira had bought the next-door building and converted it into a Bed-and-Breakfast - the piles of ring binders that littered the two desks and the countless wall-mounted shelves proved that without a doubt.
The office used to have a window that offered a view of the back garden, but the urgent need for more shelf space had overruled the need to look outside, so the window frame had been covered by more ring binders, shoeboxes and wrapped manila folders that all contained huge stacks of paperwork.
The fiery, mid-fifty-something Moira MacKay sat at her desktop computer updating the inventory lists and other types of indexes connected to the goods she had in stock. She took off a pair of reading glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose before she swiveled around to face her guest. A blazer jacket hung across the backrest of her chair which left her in a white, V-neck blouse and dark slacks.
"Good evening, Sheriff. Can I help you with anything?" she said in a voice that still held traces of her Scottish origins.
"I'm hopeful you can, yes. There was an attempted mugging over at Grant Lafferty's a short while ago-"
"Damn! In Goldsboro… just across the street from here?!"
"I'm afraid so. A gentleman was attacked by an unknown assailant," Mandy said and moved further into the cramped and over-filled office. She knew from previous visits there weren't any vacant chairs left so she didn't bother to look for one. "The description of the perpetrator is vague, but I need to ask if you've seen anyone today wearing black pants and a black hoodie? Possibly a sports jacket with an integrated hood. Skin color, age and gender are unknown, but Grant Lafferty is convinced it was a man. He witnessed it and raised the alarm."
Moira leaned back on the chair, picked up a pen and began to toy with it; she tapped it against the inventory sheets several times. "Black pants and a black hoodie… no, I haven't seen anyone like that. Not even among those obnoxious film people."
"I see. Very well."
A brief silence fell over the two people in the office before Moira cocked her head and began to rummage through the stacks of papers on her desk - she found what she was looking for a moment later. "Sheriff, perhaps you ought to know that a couple of strange-looking teens rented a room in the b-and-b earlier tonight. I'm guessing they're horror nerds who have come to be close to the filming."
"Oh?" Mandy said and reached for her notepad and ball point pen at once. "And what do you base that on?"
"When I last saw them, they were about to go over to the set. They wore black cloaks, white makeup. Fright wigs and plastic Dracula teeth. You know, that sort of nerdy nonsense. I almost turned them away when they wanted to rent a room because I didn't think they'd be able to pay. One of them had the required amount in cash, so…"
"They didn't pay by credit card?"
"No. I'm guessing they're too young to get one. Why?"
"No paper trail," Mandy said and made a note of the latest news.
"Hmmm," Moira said and cocked her head. "I didn't think of that. Good point, Sheriff. They filled out the… the, ah… dammit, they were here a moment ago!" she continued as she rummaged through the mess on the desk. "Anyway, they filled out the required forms. I read their names, but I can't remember them off the top of my head. Corey… something."
"I see. Don't waste your time looking for the papers. I'll find out through other means," Mandy said and scribbled hard to get all the new information committed to paper. "Do you know where their vehicle is parked?"
"They don't have one. They told me they hitch-hiked across most of the state to get here. They were asking around for someone to drive them down to the Silver Creek location tomorrow, but I don't think they had any luck."
Mandy nodded a couple of times as she crossed the T's and dotted the I's of her hasty update. "Do you know if they've come back to the hotel?"
"I'm afraid I don't, Sheriff. I've been in here doing these damn inventory indexes for what feels like five hours straight," Moira said and thumped a clenched fist onto the nearest stack of papers. "I suspect you want to see for yourself, though. They rented room three-oh-seven."
"Three-oh-seven. Noted," Mandy said and added the numbers to the active page in her notepad. "Thank you. I won't take more of your time, Miss MacKay."
Moira pinched the bridge of her nose again. "Oh, that's all right. I needed a break. A damned mugging! Drunken fights break out all the time up at Derrike's dump, but in plain view on Main Street?! I hope the Town Council won't come to regret giving Distant Horizons permission to film here. Goldsboro needs publicity, but not of this kind!"
"I agree," Mandy said and stored the notepad and the pen in her breast pocket. "In any case, have a good evening," she continued as she tipped her Mountie hat.
---
A short quarter of an hour later, Mandy moved back onto Main Street's sidewalk after having spent the past ten minutes waiting in the hallway outside room 307 - she had even put her ear to the door to listen for whispers or other types of pointers that someone was in there, but none ever came.
'Mobile Unit One, this is Mobile Unit Two, over,' Beatrice's voice was heard saying from the radio.
Mandy took the portable radio off her belt at once and soon pressed the transmit key. "This is Mobile Unit One. Go ahead, Two, over."
'Mr. O'Sullivan was driven to his home with no further dramas. His wife waited for him on the doorstep with a rolling pin! When she saw the state he was in and heard the details, the rolling pin was substituted for a lot of pampering. Following the successful conclusion to the assignment, I conducted a foot patrol of the new residential area off Second Street but found nothing to report. Over.'
"Very well, Deputy Reilly. Over."
'I'll return to the office and get started on the paperwork. Out.'
Mandy furrowed her brow. She scratched her chin as she once more looked up and down the deserted Main Street. There was something nagging at the back of her mind, but she was unable to connect enough dots to draw any kind of picture. Depressing the transmit key, she said "Mobile Unit Two. Stand by," as she began walking north on Main Street at a lower tempo than usual.
'Mobile Unit Two standing by.'
Eamonn O'Sullivan's claim of having been bushwhacked by a shadow would have been preposterous anywhere else but in Goldsboro, Nevada. Although it seemed a dime-a-dozen sleepy desert town at first glance, it might as well have carried the title of Calamity Capital Of The World with all the supernatural, otherworldly or just plain freaky occurrences that had taken place there since 1881 when the town had been established.
Typical of the type of events that would later haunt the residents on a regular basis, the Goldsboro family had been on their way to California when their covered wagon had broken down in the spot that would later be Main Street - that had been the first calamity, but by no means the last.
Four-hundred yards further north on Main Street from Mandy's position, the front of the white Durango from the MacLean County Sheriff's Department came into view at the intersection of Main and Second Street. The official vehicle would go no further before Beatrice was told to carry on.
The persistent nagging at the back of Mandy's mind refused to go away. To force it to either leave or explain itself, she came to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk, took off her Mountie hat and gave her scalp a thorough scratching.
Natural shadows formed between the lamp posts all along the sidewalks on either side of the street - the lamps would be turned off at half past midnight to spend fewer of the taxpayers' hard-earned dollars. If darkness itself was to be classified as a threat, the only option available to the sheriff's department would be to issue a strict curfew from dusk to dawn. A good solution in theory, but such a curfew would be unmanageable with only four law enforcement officers at hand.
"Dammit, we just can't catch a break," Mandy said and let out a sigh. She was unable to achieve a breakthrough whatever she tried, so she put her Mountie hat back on and reached for the radio instead: "Mobile Unit Two, Mobile Unit Two, this is Mobile Unit One, over."
'Two receiving. Go ahead, Sheriff,' Beatrice said from her spot up at the corner of Main and Second Street.
"I need to know the status of Deputy Simms, over."
'After his little… uh… accident at the film set, he took a sick leave for the rest of the day, over.'
"Very well. In that case, I want you to return to the office, get Blackie and go on an extended foot patrol. There's something in the air tonight I can't explain. It may be nothing, but I prefer to have as many officers on the street as possible. Take one of the strong flashlights with you. Over."
'Ten-four, Sheriff. Will do. Mobile Unit Two Out.'
Mandy nodded to herself as she attached the radio to her belt. Up ahead, the white Durango turned right onto Main Street and trickled down the deserted two-lane road. Once Beatrice reached the sheriff's office, she made a U-turn and drove over to the curb - the rookie deputy soon exited the vehicle and went inside.
As silence fell over Main Street once more, Mandy turned around in a slow, deliberate fashion. She let her experienced eyes take in all the details of the semi-dark street from the flashing marquee lights of the movie theater at the northern end of Main Street to the pitch-black, wide open desert beyond the southern city limits sign.
In the distance, a pair of truck headlights cut through the late-evening darkness and moved north toward Goldsboro at what seemed to be regular speed. It wasn't long before a bright-orange GMC van from NorPower came into sight and rumbled along Main Street. The van came to a sudden stop before it reversed half a dozen yards and turned left onto the dirt road that would lead it to the southern transformer substation.
Mandy continued her thorough visual scan of the street but found nothing untoward anywhere. Sighing, she set off once more - her immediate destination: the film set.
-*-*-*-
The tall scaffolds that each carried hundreds of LED lights had been turned on by the time Mandy walked up to the film compound's outer perimeter. Large screens filtered and dimmed the lights to create the illusion that it was still earlier in the evening so the color tones of the scenes that had already been filmed at the firepit would match.
The two stuntmen Brad Hutchins and Rob 'The Undead Vampyre Ghoul' Steele were engaged in a physical confrontation that was a rather one-sided affair. While they grappled with each other, a camera operator moved the GyroCam around in a wide, lazy circle to keep the fighting men within the frame at all times.
The far taller and beefier Rob grabbed hold of the shorter and skinnier Brad and threw him around like a slab of beef. Each time Brad landed, he made sure to groan, moan and stir up plenty of sand, dust and pebbles to add touches of action and reality to the fight.
As the choreography drew to a close, Brad tried to crawl away on his hands and knees while an excessive amount of stage blood poured from his mouth, but Rob grabbed him again, turned him over and dove down for the killing blow.
"Cut! We need one more for coverage!" the director yelled; Alison soon roared 'Reset! Wardrobe! Makeup!' into her electronic bullhorn.
Mandy watched with interest as Rob helped Brad back on his feet and had a laugh with him about a special move they had rehearsed that had turned out to be spectacular.
Brittney, the makeup artist, handed Brad a towel and a bottle of water that he used to rinse his mouth of the red, blood-like substance. His fake beard had been soaked through by the blood, so Brittney was soon hard at work stirring the bowl with the glue to attach a replacement beard.
A tall shadow slid up behind the compact sheriff. It hovered there for a while before long arms were wrapped around the buff shoulders in a grip that was far more tender than the difference in mass suggested it would have been; a kiss soon followed on the sheriff's exposed skin at her neck. "Howdy there, darlin'! Whah, I nevah reckoned y'all would be back he' tanite with that there muggin', but I'm sure glad ya is!"
Mandy turned around and offered her partner a smile - the stage makeup had been removed from Wynne's face, and she had changed back into her regular Last Original Cowpoke outfit. "Hi, hon. Something's come up. I need to talk to someone in charge. I have a few questions I need answered."
"Lawrdie, sure sounds seri-uss an' all! What done happened at that there muggin' an' all?"
"Do you know Eamonn O'Sullivan? Late-fifties, a little heavy-set. Walks with a limp. He and his wife moved into the new residential area off Second Street late last year."
Wynne let out a "Hmmm," while she rubbed her chin. A few seconds went by before she broke out in a shrug. "Name don't ring no bells. I prolleh done seen 'im 'round town at some point, tho', but… naw. He one o' Moira's reg'lars?"
"I don't believe he is, no."
"Yuh… okeh. He the one gettin' mugged?"
"Yes, and…" - Mandy glanced at the film crew who were close enough to eavesdrop on the conversation if they so desired. To prevent starting rumors that would spread like wildfire and become distorted within moments, she put a hand on Wynne's elbow and led her over to a quieter corner of the set. "He said he was jumped by a shadow. Not in the shadows, but by a shadow. A shadow strong enough to throw a heavy-set man around like he was a sack of feathers."
"Lawwwwwwwwr-die," Wynne said and pushed her cowboy hat back from her brow. "Aw-hell, he' we go ag'in. I mean, whaddindawohhhhhhhhhh-rld did we poah folks evah do ta de-suhr-ve this he' kinda bull dung?"
"If I had a dime each time I've asked myself that question, we could retire to the Bahamas and live a life in luxury," Mandy said and let out a sigh. "Hon, you need to take care. Especially in the darkness. There may be evil forces at work… again."
"Dang… awright," Wynne said and rubbed her brow.
While she and Mandy had spoken, the director had called 'Action!' and Rob Steele and Brad Hutchins were once more engaged in their stunt fight. The grunts and groans uttered by the two men as they fought with great vigor caused the birth of a thought that made a slow trek through the many fuzzy nooks and crannies of Wynne's mind.
Squinting, she began moving her lips in silence like she was willing the thought to trickle down the rest of the way to her mouth so it could escape. It had almost made it when it was swept away by Mandy speaking:
"That large stuntman who's fighting right now… what's your impression of him?"
"Huh? Uh… whazzat?" Wynne said and blinked several times.
"The stuntman in the vampire suit. What's your impression of him?"
"Aw! No way Mista Rob be involved in aneh kind o' muggin' or nuttin'. No, Ma'am!" Wynne said and shook her head hard. "He be a well-spoken fella who done reads papahbacks when he be waitin' fer that there makeup an' all."
"Mmmm…"
Wynne let out a chuckle as she thought back to the incident when she had first seen him. "Yuh, okeh, he did kinda scare me stiff when he came inta the makeup trailah fer the first tih-me 'cos he wus bein' way ghoulish an' freakeh an' all, but that wus a big, ol' joak. Them mooh-vie folks, ya know… an' besides, he ain't left the set fer houahs an' houahs. I know that fer a fact 'cos I been lookin' at him fer most o' that tih-me."
"All right. That would have been too easy-"
"D'oh!" Wynne said and smacked her forehead. "I jus' done thunk-a som'tin! I betcha ten bucks these he' horrah mooh-vies attract plentah o' weird folks an' fans an' whutnots… ain't it possible that some o' them there fans be takin' it a li'l too far an' wanna… uh… feel da rush or som'tin?"
Mandy nodded and hooked her arm inside Wynne's. "Yes, it's certainly possible. I've just spoken to Miss MacKay, and she told me that two such fans had rented a room in the bed and breakfast earlier today."
"Lawrdie! Didya talk to 'em?"
"No. They weren't there when I knocked. Room three-oh-seven."
"Haw! Them folks be stayin' on mah floah!"
"Your floor? I thought the entire building-"
Wynne let out an embarrassed grin and did a little shimmy. "Yuh, but I be in charge o' that there third floah 'cos… shoot, 'cos of them numbahs, yuh? The three-car in them stock cars an' all that, yuh? Ev'ry room on that floah got one o' the racin' numbahs o' mah ol' favorites. Yuh… all them rooms got a spe-shul numbah. Three-oh-one, three-oh-two, three-oh-three… that be the dubbel-wide suite, yuh? Three-oh-seven, three-oh-eight, three-seven'een, three-twentah-one, three-thirteh-three… three-eighteh-eight. Now, see, the eighteh-eight wus fer sev'ral dif'rent folks an' all, but mostly fer- aw, that don't mattah none now."
"I'll have to take your word for it," Mandy said as she gave Wynne's arm a little squeeze.
A round of applause broke out among the film crew. The LED-lights on the tall scaffolds grew brighter to provide more light for the clean-up after the call to wrap the day had been given by the director and Alison Gardner.
Mandy assumed a thoughtful expression as she watched Rob Steele wrap a long arm around the shorter Brad's shoulders to give him a sideways hug. The wardrobe people soon removed the tall stuntman's black cloak that appeared to need a little stitching after the physical action it had been through. Since no further filming was to take place, Rob and Brad strolled back to the makeup trailer to return to their normal looks. James Ferguson, who had already changed after having been mauled earlier in the sequence, greeted them with a high-five.
Plenty of hubbub and hectic activity soon broke out as the construction crew went to work disassembling the scaffolds and the various tents and awnings they had put up earlier in the day - they moved in a quick but efficient way that proved they had done it countless times before. Once everything had been stored in the trucks, they would drive south to the Silver Creek location and rebuild everything for the following day's shoot.
In one of the tents, the camera operator plugged in the expensive equipment to get all the recordings transferred onto the waiting computers. Domenico Rossini, the second-unit director, came over to watch the proceedings and to speak to the camera crew.
"Sheriff Mandeh, that fella there is the directah. Didden ya say y'all wanted ta speak ta-"
"I've changed my mind. I think I'll head back to the bed-and-breakfast and wait for the rabid fans to return. Are you done here?"
"Aw-yuh. I been given the script fer tamorrah an' ev'rythin'. Lawrdie, them folks got me sayin' two or mebbe even three lih-nes down yondah in Silvah Creek, too! I guess I musta done som'tin right…"
A warm smile spread over Mandy's features as she got up on tip-toes to place a kiss on her partner's lips. "Congratulations. You deserve it."
"Whah, much obliged, darlin'! I gotta be on the set at seven thirteh in the dang morn' fer mah costume fittin' an' makeup an' all them things. Way too dang earleh, but… ya know. Ain't nuttin' I can do 'bout that."
Chuckling, Mandy - who still had her arm inside Wynne's - turned them both around so they could stroll toward the exit of the compound. On their way there, her instincts told her to take a final, thorough look at the film set in general and the edges of the dark desert in particular. She paused when she caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure moving through the darkness, but it turned out to be one of the production assistants carrying an errant cable drum.
"Som'tin wrong, there, Sheriff Mandeh?"
Mandy took a final look at the set before she and Wynne moved on once more. "No. It was just my imagination."
"Yuh," Wynne said as she glanced over her shoulder. "Ah know jus' wotcha mean, darlin'… this he' evil bizz onleh jus' gettin' started, ain't it? Dang, Ah need-a beah."
-*-*-*-
Wynne had grown giddy with expectation as she entered Moira's Bar & Grill. Rubbing her hands in glee, she made a beeline for the refrigerators that offered a wide selection of the type of beverage she needed.
A few minutes after leaving the dry film set, she came to a halt in front of the Nirvana-like fridges with a grin on her lips so wide that it reached the state borders to California and Utah.
The shelves were all so full of cans she found herself unable to decide which type of beer to enjoy first. To help the process along, she put an index finger against the glass door and dipped into her old nursery rhymes. "Eenie-meenie-mineh-mo… beenie-weenie-he'-we-go…" she said while she wagged her finger back and forth.
"Yessir, an H.E. Fenwyck Nineteen-ten Spe-shul Brew comin' up!" she continued as he opened the refrigerator door and reached for one of the cans with the classic logo and dark-golden design.
The can was soon cracked open with a pssshhhht! and held up in reverence. "Y'all gonn' get the honah o' goin' down da gullet first, mah friend! Whazzat? Aw, don't men-shun it!" Additional words would just delay the experience, so Wynne adhered to tradition by performing the age-old custom of can-up-head-back.
Seven large gulps later, the contents of the dark-golden can had been transferred to the inner workings of the denim-clad Last Original Cowpoke - a grin, a whoop and a belch followed in quick succession. "Haw, that there Spe-shul Brew sure be a fih-ne, ol' beah, awright. An' so is the Dubbel-Zerah," she said and opened another of the glass doors to get one of the silver-and-blue cans of non-alcoholic beer. The studied the can for a moment before cracking it open. "Haw! Ta think I wus dead ag'inst 'em when deah, ol' Ernie done suggested 'em all them yeahs ago… Lawrdie, whaddindahell wus I thinkin'?"
Wynne turned around to offer Mandy - who had remained at the door to Main Street scouting for the supposedly rabid fans - a beer can salute. After the sheriff had waved back, the video poker machine next to Wynne told her it would like to get acquainted with some of the coins she had in her pocket. Grinning, she sat down on the tall bar stool in front of the machine and inserted a fifty-cent piece into the slot.
---
Four cans of beer, three wasted dollars, two trips to the restroom and an empty bag of crispy pork rinds later, the case involving the mysterious shadow picked up the pace once more when a pair of oddly-dressed people walked along Main Street toward the bed-and-breakfast.
"Wynne? Wynne!" Mandy said from her spot at the door.
"Yuh! Yuh, ah be he'… ah be he', Sheriff Mandeh," Wynne said and hurried over to her partner while holding onto a can of Double-Zero - her years of experience juggling beer cans meant that nothing sloshed out of it.
Because of the difference in height between them, she was able to slip in behind Mandy to take a long look at the two people on the street. "Holeh shittt! Now that there be som'tin we don't see offen 'round he'… uh… an' that done says a lot considerin' whut we kinda been thru', yuh? Them young folks there sure ain't nevah heard o' bein' subdoo-ed, that's a dog-gone fact!"
"No. I don't want to confront them on the street. We don't have enough manpower to rein them in if they run. I'll give them a couple of minutes to settle in. Then I'll knock on-"
"Beg' pardon there, Sheriff, but aintcha fergettin' li'l, ol me?" Wynne said and pointed at her chest - this time, her many years of experience juggling cans came up short as she tilted the Double-Zero to such a degree that some of the suds sloshed out of the small hole and ran down the side. "That there floah they be stayin' on be mah respons-a-biliteh an' all, so I need-a be there if an' when y'all slap 'em cuffs on 'em. Ya know, fer in-shoo-rance purposes an' things."
"All right. But stay well back once we get there."
"Aw, ya betcha! I sure ain't no hero, no Ma'am!" Wynne said and turned her head to place a kiss on Mandy's neck.
---
Three minutes went by - according to the stopwatch app in Mandy's telephone - before she opened the door and left Moira's Bar & Grill with Wynne in tow. The short distance to the main entrance of the Bed & Breakfast was soon covered as was the staircase up to the third floor.
The door to room three-oh-seven was reached before long. Located halfway down the hallway, the door itself was a non-descript affair to adhere to the countless rules listed in the hefty tome known as the State Regulations, Fire Prevention For Motels, Hotels And Similar Businesses, but the doorjamb and a small sign next to it were held in vibrant colors that were reminiscent of the classic white-and-orange paint scheme of the #7 Thunderbird that had lent the room its number.
Mandy put a finger across her lips to tell Wynne she needed to pipe down for a moment; once that had been accomplished, she took off her Mountie hat and pressed her ear to the door. Unlike the first time she had done so, she was able to hear music and young, excited voices that talked about what they had just returned from.
Moving back, Mandy guided Wynne over to stand a short distance away before she undid the small button that held her firearm in place. A couple of deep breaths preceded a series of knocks and a stern: "This is Sheriff Jalinski from the MacLean County Sheriff's Department. Open the door!"
The excited voices ceased at once but the music continued. A moment later, the door was opened by a slender young man in his late teens or early twenties. He wore a black cloak, a fright wig and a set of plastic fangs that looked as if they had come from a cereal box. While the fangs were soon removed from his mouth, there was little he could do about the white makeup his face was covered in.
His eyes grew wide at the sight of the uniformed woman on the other side of the door. As he stepped aside to allow Mandy and Wynne into the hotel room, he clenched his jaw and bared his teeth in a worried grimace.
Mandy took it all in at once: the second of the two young men - who seemed to be of the same age and had a similar build as the other one - had already shed his entire costume save for the facial makeup. The fact he only wore boxers and held a towel in his hand suggested he had been ready to hit the showers. The lights were on in the bathroom behind him, but the water had yet to be turned on.
Number 307 was a single-room apartment with a tiny kitchenette along the far wall and a small bathroom off to the side. The main area was well-equipped with two separate bunks - that could be joined into a single unit if required - as well as a low sideboard with a TV on it, a double-width closet, a small dinner table and several chairs in various spots around the room. A large fan had been installed in the ceiling, but it had been turned off. The table saw several road maps and miscellaneous items like earphones and key chains spread out over it.
Framed photographs from the late-1980s and early-1990s of the #7 stock car and its legendary driver that had inspired the room's orange-and-white color scheme graced the walls. Other frames held different types of mementos that all came from the same era, like one-sheet promotional posters, signed race magazines and even ticket stumps.
Noisy indie rock continued to play from a smartphone that had been placed on the orange bedspread of one of the two bunks, but the youngling who only wore boxers soon turned it off which left a deafening silence.
Wynne pushed her hat back from her brow and assumed a neutral expression and stance. She kept a close eye on the two young men to have time to react if they tried to make a run for it - if they did, she would jump aside and let the far more athletic Mandy deal with it.
"Gentlemen, I'm Sheriff Mandy Jalinski. This is Wynne Donohue, one of the two owners of the Bed and Breakfast. What are your names and where are you from?"
The young men looked at each other; both gulped hard at the surprising development. The one wearing the full costume stepped forward like he was back in school and had been summoned to the principal's office. When he noticed Mandy's hand moving down toward her sidearm as a result of his action, he took a half-step back again and folded his hands in front of him. "I'm William Maderow…" he said in a squeaky voice.
The other one looked for something to wrap around himself so he wouldn't have to suffer the embarrassment of only wearing boxers in the company of women. The towel he had intended to use for his shower wasn't large enough for the task, but it was all he had - the nearest larger one was in the bathroom and he didn't dare move that far. "And I'm Corey Preston. We're both from Barton City," he said in a voice that was no less squeaky than that of his pal.
"William and Corey from Barton City," Mandy said as she jotted down the information on her trusty notepad. "I see. And how old are you?"
William furrowed his brow like he couldn't understand why that would be important. "I'm nineteen… I turn twenty next month."
"And I'm already twenty… I mean, I'm twenty," Corey added.
Mandy eyed them both before she updated the note. "It's obvious you're in Goldsboro because of the film shoot. How did you get here?"
"A friend drove us," William said in a mumble.
"In that case, why did you say to Miss MacKay that you hitch-hiked across the state to get here?"
The friends looked at each other; they both shrugged in a most embarrassed fashion. Corey spoke up first: "Oh, that… that… was to make us a little more… uh… seem a little more-"
Wynne broke out in a wide, knowing grin that was accompanied by a nod. "All growed up, yuh. Been dere, done dat."
Mandy allowed herself a brief smile before she went on: "Gentlemen, I have a few questions regarding your whereabouts over the past few hours."
"We've been out at the film set the entire evening… but… but we weren't trespassing! Honest!" -- "No, there weren't any gates or fences or anything! And we didn't disturb at all!" blurted out of William and Corey in a staccato.
Corey pointed at the smartphone on the bed. "We just moved around in the desert filming as much as we could of the crew and the actors and all those things… we saw you by the firepit, Miss, uh…"
"Wynne Donnah-hew. Howdy," Wynne said and tipped her cowboy hat.
"Uh… uh… hello," William added. "We were there to get a glimpse of Rob Steele. And we did! He's so frickin' awesome… we saw on his social media that he was going to film a movie here, so… so… it was so close to Barton City that we, uh… just couldn't stay away."
Mandy kept jotting down all the new information in her indispensable notepad. "Very well," she said to give herself a chance to catch up with all that had been said so far. "All right. Isn't Mr. Steele just a stunt performer? I would have thought you'd be here to perhaps see the director or the stars?"
"Oh, Simon DeLane is such a wimp! Rob Steele is a real horror movie legend!" Corey said with a grin that soon faded when he realized it was inappropriate given the circumstances. "He's been in so many awesomely cool movies… Virgin Massacre… I'll Dig Your Grave-"
"The Soul Reaper! That was his big breakthrough!" William said, nodding hard.
Mandy let out a dark chuckle at the lurid titles. She sucked on her teeth for a moment before deciding against adding the titles to her updates. She had come to the hotel room expecting to interrogate and perhaps arrest a pair of freakish thugs who got their kicks out of attacking peaceful citizens out for an evening walk, but a single look at the slender bodies and spaghetti-arms of the two young men was proof enough they didn't have anything to do with the attempted assault and battery of Eamonn O'Sullivan.
"Very well," she said and put the notepad and her ball point pen away. "Since you've been so kind as to provide physical evidence, I need to see your recordings before Miss Donohue and I leave."
"Sure! Sure… just a sec," Corey said and reached for the smartphone at once. After a few seconds' worth of tapping and swiping, he handed the telephone to Mandy. "That's all we recorded… the timestamps show-"
"I know. Thank you," Mandy said and took the offered telephone. All videos had in fact been recorded over the course of the late afternoon and evening, and one in particular had been made at the exact same time as the attack on O'Sullivan had taken place. She knew it didn't mean that both young men had been present for the filming, so she tapped on the video to get it to play.
'There's big Rob!' William whispered on the video's soundtrack. The image was shaken about until he had held the telephone steady to catch the unmistakable figure of Rob Steele speaking to someone from the film crew. 'He's talking to the chief stunt guy,' William continued to which Corey said 'Uh-huh!'
'Try to pan left,' Corey said off-camera; the image became shaky once more as William did what he had been told. The firepit set came into view. Wynne was being tended to by Brittney; she faced the two hiding fans while the bandits sitting across from her had their backs to the desert and thus could not be seen clearly. 'Okay… back to Rob! He's getting ready,' Corey continued. The image on the telephone whooshed back to focus on the tall, powerfully built fellow in the ghoul-costume. Alison Gardner's voice could be heard barking orders into her beloved electronic bullhorn. The video came to an end at that point.
The next video's timestamp and running time showed it had been recorded within moments of the other one ending. Mandy decided it was pointless to watch it so she handed the telephone back to Corey. The young fans had both been present while filming the video which confirmed their statements - and she was back to square one.
"Say, fellas," Wynne said with a grin, "y'all want mah aw-tograph or som'tin? Since y'all caught me on that there video an' all, mebbe y'all want som'tin fer that there scrapbook o' yers if all y'all young folks still make 'em?"
William and Corey looked at each other. Corey shrugged while William said: "No thank you, but if you could get Rob Steele to maybe sign a promo photo or something, it'd be awesome."
"Haw… yuh. Okeh, wus jus' an offah," Wynne said and scratched her neck. "But anyhows, I dunno if I can promise y'all anehthin' lack Mista Rob's aw-tograph. I be seein' him tamorrah down dere at Silver Creek an' all, but… yuh. Tell ya whut, fellas… I'mma-gonn' give it a shot an' ask 'im, yuh? If it ain't gonn' work, it ain't gonn' work."
"That'd be cool," William said as he reached up to unhook the metal chain that kept his cloak in place.
Before Wynne had time to answer, the radio on Mandy's utility belt crackled to life: 'Base to Mobile Unit One! Base to Mobile Unit One! Sheriff, this is urgent! Do you copy?' Rodolfo said at the other end of the connection.
Mandy let out a barked "Dammit!" before she depressed the transmit key. When she realized she had an audience of people who did not need to be privy to the details of the conversation, she spun around on her heel, left room 307 and stomped along the hallway to get back down on the street. "I read you loud and clear, Deputy. Another assault and battery, over?"
'Yes! A NorPower service technician has just called for help… he says his attacker is still there! Down at the southern-'
"I know, Deputy. I watched him drive into town. Goddammit, I was right there!" Mandy barked without thinking for a moment about the code of conduct on proper radio procedure - not only did it call for a absolute ban of all profanity, it had her own name on the dotted line.
Heavy footsteps behind her turned out to be Wynne who hurried along the hallway with a hand clamped down on her beloved cowboy hat. "Y'all gonn' need some o' that there backup, Sheriff Mandeh! I been studyin' ol' Brendah doin' all them there fanceh fightin' moves so I done learned some o' that there John Jetson!"
"Good. Come on!" Mandy said and hurried down the stairs. Once they reached the sidewalk, she keyed the radio again: "Mobile Unit One to Base. Deputy Gonzalez, where's Deputy Reilly and Blackie, over?"
'Way up at the movie theater, Sheriff! Beatr- I mean, Deputy Reilly has called in to say she's running toward you the fastest she can. Over!'
"Lawwwwwwwwr-die… Blackie gonn' be he' lack one o' them there greased lightnin's! Quick Draw Bea gonn' be a li'l slowah greased lightnin', tho'… lissen, Sheriff, I wus wonderin' if there wus purr-haps tih-me fer me ta pop inta Moira's an' grab a beah or som'tin… or mebbe a cuppel… or som'tin?"
Mandy came to a complete standstill and offered her partner a pointed look; it only lasted for a few seconds, but it was long enough - after that, she raced across Main Street to get to the Durango that was parked outside the sheriff's office.
"Yuh, I didden reckon there wus or nuttin'… but askin' ain't nevah hurt nobodda," Wynne said and took off after Mandy. Two steps into her journey, she could hear Blackie's characteristic thunderous barking approaching at no less than Warp K-nine. "Haw! Blackie be comin'! Wait a minnit… there be plentah o' tih-me fer a beah 'cos I be goin' with Blackie an-"
Across the street, the Durango left the curb in a wild roar and a cloud of red dust left over from the previous days' storm. "Aw… mah sweet, li'l Mandeh be gone alreddeh! Shoot!" Wynne said and threw her arms out wide. When that didn't help any, she scratched her neck instead. "Lawrdie, then I hafta wahhh-k mah way down there lack one o' them there wotchamacall'ems… wadin' birds or somebodda. Aw, there Blackie be now! Howdy, girl!"
Blackie only had time to offer her owner a brief look and a single Woof! before she went on her merry way in her flat-out doggy-emergency run - all she lacked to be a proper K9 officer was a siren and flashing red lights attached to her leather collar.
Wynne stared in wide-eyed disbelief as the black German Shepherd raced past her and continued to tear through the shadows between the lamp posts. "Huh… she sure gotta-lotta giddyup an' go! Ev'rybodda done leave me fer dead taday… storeh o' mah lih-fe right there. Aw, don't mattah none 'cos now I'mma-gonn' ha' plentah o' tih-me ta grab a brew or two. Hey, dat rhymes! An' then I bettah head down there ta see whaddindahell's goin' on this tih-me…"
Nodding to herself, she turned around and made a beeline for Moira's and the refrigerators with all their liquid gold. Halfway back to the curb, she stopped and furrowed her brow as she noticed a familiar, dark-bronze luxury SUV parked outside the Bar & Grill. "Whaddahell… ain't that Brendah's Foh-rd? Haw… what she be doin' he' in Goldsborah? Lawrdie, mebbe there been trubbel back home, too! I bettah be doin' some o' that there investiga-shun o' mah own."
She whipped off her cowboy hat and waved it high in the air. "Stand back ev'rybodda 'cos deee-tec-tive Wynne Donnah-hew be on da crih-me scene, yessir! Whooo-hoooo!"
*
*