A Novel by Kawika A. Stafford

Chapter 22

Officer Bob sat at his desk tapping the eraser end of a pencil on his pudgy forehead. He was tired, but probably more agitated than anything else.

Between that smart ass harwaiian and that redneck who had fell asleep at the wheel of his tractor trailer rig coming into town yesterday.

The truck driver had fallen asleep and ended up killing a resident of Antelope Springs.

Her name was Toni Trusdell.

Officer Bob knew the old lady. She had lived about six trailers down from him. It had been a long week.

Somewhere along the way he had lost his silver bracelet.

The Chief of Police, Shane Edwards had given it to him as a gift.

They were supposed to meet later to discuss an upcoming fishing trip.

Officer Bob knew it was of considerable importance that he locate it; for the repercussions of it not being found, could stir up the pot a bit.

It was quitting time for officer Bob. His belly was growling. Bob had some fried chicken, corn on the cob, and some cold beer at the top of his list of culinary options.

Bob lived in a small travel trailer on the outskirts of town.

He didn’t like people, particularly blacks and indians. Come to think of it, he didn’t like anyone who wasn’t white.

While on the subject, Bob decided to add those Harwaiians to his list as well.

Officer Bob, though not having a penchant for any thoughts of far reaching consequence; splished splashed his way through his puddle of life, wondering now and again, in the disquieting recesses of his mind; if his people were coming the new Indians, the new minority, of this the newest millennium.

It might be his over active imagination,

but his world kept appearing to be getting smaller and smaller.

Karma baby karma, the windward warrior chanted;

as he pounded on the subliminal door leading to officer Bob’s mind.

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