A Novel by Kawika A. Stafford

Chapter 47

It was just a few ticks past midnight. Bob had spent the afternoon drinking, and had put a real dent in this newest bottle of whiskey. Empty beer cans, and a shot glass were his only companions.
Bob had thrown his army footlocker, and a few medium sized boxes into the trunk of his car earlier in the day. Bob now sat at the little dinette table engaged in a full on pity party. He had placed his service revolver on the table next to his badge. He had put his big hog in its holster and placed it on the front seat.

Bob sat lamenting the one constant in this equation, and that was the fact that he should have listened.
Shane had warned him many times about wearing the bracelet on duty. More importantly Shane had pleaded with him to leave the indigenous community alone. Right now though, Bob could give a shit about that. He flipped his cigarette butt out the wide open door of the travel trailer. He drank another shot. The whiskey burned as it went down, causing what little reasonableness he possessed, to flee the scene.
The local police had dialed down the search. To a man they all knew where he was. They had no intention of arresting him, but they played the role to pacify their community constituents, and to remain committed to the continuous nationwide facade of transparency. Bob would only be apprehended if he stayed in town much longer. He knew he had to make a move. He had to sober up and get his mind right. This was war.

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