Bob stood staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. He had not shaved in several days. His eyes were beyond bloodshot. Bob had perhaps four hours of sleep in the last day and a half. A cigarette hung from his mouth. He had to close one eye as smoke was stinging it unmercifully shut. He grabbed it from his mouth, and tossed it in the toilet. As a human being,
Bob felt like he could not breathe.
He returned to sit at his dinette table. He poured another shot of whiskey but did not drink it. His whole world had collapsed, taken down and away, just like that.
He reached for the shot of whisky and threw it back nonchalantly. However, as he sat in his tiny travel trailer his anger had continued to toss and roll. Like a man atop an over turned raft riding giant waves in a dark storm, Bob remained captive to his foamy seething; to his unrelenting animosity. He had no intention of attending the press conference. Moreover, Bob had told Shane he would not. He had promised
Shane he would leave town, but
this feeling; this desperate feeling of being powerless, overwhelmed him. Between Dwayne Notah, and that Sonny Ray what’s his name, he simply could not accept the fact that he had been done in by a couple of minorities. It was a feeling he was neither familiar
with, nor comfortable to have
It briefly crossed his mind
as to how it must have felt;
to be one of them.
He instinctively, and with little to no effort, dismissed that impossibility from his mind.
After all, he was an American, this was his country, there was an order of things; a predetermined course that had been plotted out centuries ago by his forefathers. This was a way of life designed for men like him. To thrive, to succeed. By god, this was as far as it was going to go. He had been pushed around long enough. Bob was going to that damn press conference. He was going to shoot that big harwaiian, and that damn Notah too. And if he could kill that Apache trouble maker Nadia, and her smart ass Puerto Rican friend, he’d get them too.
As he slammed the door of his trailer palace for the last time,
Bob vowed never
as long as he lived.
The Mayor sat at his desk reading over his speech for the impending press conference. However, like any good politician worth his salt, he would have to get some mirror time. He had a luxurious private bathroom to practice for the next fifteen minutes or so. The media had set up finally. More of the local citizenry began to work their way into the growing crowd. In a half hour the Mayor would deliver perhaps one of the most crucial speeches of his political career.
The Mayor, wanted this controversy to go away as quickly, and expeditiously as possible. They were already dealing with two new incidents of senseless gunplay;
one at a place of higher learning,
and another in a once quiet neighborhood. So this mess, had to be resolved pronto.
Mayor Meekham was peeved when he got wind that local enforcement had loosed the net on their former colleague. ‘What in the hell are they thinking?’ The Mayor wondered. He knew many of his cops liked Bob, but Bob was now officially a fugitive. The Mayor, gave Captain Darren Wilcox, the interim Chief of Police position until further notice. The Mayor was understanding about the whole thin blue line thing, but he wanted extra uniforms at the press conference in the event Bob was ignorant enough to show his face. Truthfully the Mayor didn’t believe Bob would show, but he wanted a show of force for all the media to see.
He expected many of the familiar members of the various indigenous nations of this region to be present. He knew various bands of the Apache, would be right up front. The Dine’, would be represented, the Hopi people, as well as those from the Zuni nation, and the Paiute people would also be there. All them had members who had been brutalized by former officer, Bob Fritz. Mayor Meekham was concerned that things could get ugly. He thought it prudent to ask the various nations to send members of the tribal police to assist with crowd control. It was almost time for the press conference. The Mayor looked down at his cell phone. He tossed his phone on his desk. A buzz came from his secretary. “Yes?”
“Captain Edwards is here
Mr. Mayor,” his secretary replied. “Send him in Rachel,” Mayor Meekham replied. It was the last time he would be called captain in the small town of Antelope Springs.