vapros
Verified Member
Obviously I decided to get it all up today.
“I'm glad you come wit' us, Deputy. That was some good shrimp stew, you think?”
“Oh yeah, Luke. I'm glad y'all brought me out there. That was some good shrimp stew.”
A brief association was ended, dismissed with only a small motion of Luke's head. Or maybe it was his shoulder. Hard to tell, from behind.
Deputy Weldon Braud hesitated for three seconds and shrugged and turned to his own pickup truck with the Sheriff's Department decals on the doors. Instead of turning in the yard, be backed out the driveway to the hard road and went left toward his little office on the edge of Foster Canal. It occurred to him that he had never been to the end of the Little Bayou Go To Hell road. Make a note, he told himself, it couldn't be far. He decided he could wait until noon to go to his trailer for a fresh uniform. Or maybe the one he had slept in would be okay for today. Even money he would see no one before quitting time.
He stretched and climbed the two steps, made of cinder blocks, and unlocked the door and turned on the light. He made coffee on the counter and then powered up the department radio and the computer on his desk. Nothing from the Sheriff this morning, and only a couple of personal emails on the PC. Searching through the program, he found the form he was looking for and brought it up. On the proper line, in all caps, he typed 'Missing Person'. After a moment he rose from the desk and went to a window, staring out across the salt marsh. He stood motionless there, pondering the words he should use.
The end
“I'm glad you come wit' us, Deputy. That was some good shrimp stew, you think?”
“Oh yeah, Luke. I'm glad y'all brought me out there. That was some good shrimp stew.”
A brief association was ended, dismissed with only a small motion of Luke's head. Or maybe it was his shoulder. Hard to tell, from behind.
Deputy Weldon Braud hesitated for three seconds and shrugged and turned to his own pickup truck with the Sheriff's Department decals on the doors. Instead of turning in the yard, be backed out the driveway to the hard road and went left toward his little office on the edge of Foster Canal. It occurred to him that he had never been to the end of the Little Bayou Go To Hell road. Make a note, he told himself, it couldn't be far. He decided he could wait until noon to go to his trailer for a fresh uniform. Or maybe the one he had slept in would be okay for today. Even money he would see no one before quitting time.
He stretched and climbed the two steps, made of cinder blocks, and unlocked the door and turned on the light. He made coffee on the counter and then powered up the department radio and the computer on his desk. Nothing from the Sheriff this morning, and only a couple of personal emails on the PC. Searching through the program, he found the form he was looking for and brought it up. On the proper line, in all caps, he typed 'Missing Person'. After a moment he rose from the desk and went to a window, staring out across the salt marsh. He stood motionless there, pondering the words he should use.
The end