A.G.E's Joint

 The line under the picture of the current Sherriff said "To Serve Man" stood just inside the door. It a twist on the old "To protect and serve" most departments use. I look a little harder while I'm waiting in the security line. He is a clean cut, military looking guy. It makes me wonder what secrets he's keeping. Yeah, I've gotten cynical. I had texted McMillan of my arrival. "Come on in" was the immediate replay. I sigh. I was hoping for a minute in the parking lot to collect my thoughts. I put my gun in the lockbox under the dash and head on in. As I get out of the car, I notice the sign on a post next to my car: "Directions to the Travolta Farm here!", with a box of maps. You would think you were in L.A. or something. I guess this backwater place has to have way to fight the Holiday Blues. I empty the pockets at security. No issues. I didn't think there would be. A couple seconds I see McMillan. He was a dead rin

  Hey, Heidy, and Howdy! It’s your old pal Harry Handy here at internet wonder WOFT, The Old Fart, spinning tunes for you geritol guys and gals… Online radio is a wonder. Just music with only an occasional scream from the “talent”. Better than the on-air stations where its commercials 24/7. I always hated this part of I-75 when the fog would form in the fields on either side of the road. Lights flashed dimly in the distance, saying conditions were right for a complete whiteout. Singing along made for a good diversion as I drive the tree lined tunnel. “…next up is that novelty hit from Brooklyn-“The Lion Sleeps Tonight.”… A semi is ahead of me, trailer listing to the left. It doesn’t look like it would take much for it to go over. Bad spring or a bad load? I don’t want to find out. A glance in my sideview shows the lane is clear and I move on over. A State Trooper is doing a county fundraiser on the right shoulder. Some things never change on this road. The dealer in Cross Creek had giv

  Gray rain was coming down in sheets and coffee is doing nothing for my sour mood. The clock shows 9:30 and I’ve been up since 5 bouncing from site to site. I want to be where it’s ten thousand degrees in the shade. I need a break and turn on the TV and stare at the screen. A preacher in a gray silk suit is blasting the “word.” “Glory, glory Hallelujah! The sun is shining down.” The Suit’s message: “Sinners send tithes to multiply our mission.” You’d think they get off the platitudes and work with the Sinners themselves, like Donna, or Delores, or some guy in prison. Nah. That’s too hard. Pharisees are like that. They forget the why. It’s the other guy’s problem and his money should go to a better home, like me. Send the money in today. It’s been a long time since I darkened a church door. Got tired of the corporate line of “salvation” and Sevilles, playing church for all to see. Modern Pharisees was what Angie had called them. People going through the motions and putting on a show. Y

  The car is empty as I drive by. At least I think it is. But no excuse not to be careful. I head up to the top of the deck and park next to the Corvette. It should be safe for a couple of hours, the towing company hasn’t been by in weeks. I pop out toward the stairwell. The interior is lit with holiday light and it doesn’t bode well. The door to my floor is propped open. I quickly go to the other staircase. Illuminated by another set of light, couple was coming up the stairs, hanging off each other. I didn’t recognize them, but they seemed OK. I’ll act normal and no one will suspect a thing. A snow fox would be proud of me as make my way down. They get off at the third floor and don’t even notice I’m there. Good. Getting out on my floor, I see two sets of shoe prints on concrete floor going up to Delores’s place, a woman’s and a man’s. She’s none of my business, but I am compelled to at least check it out. I feel a twinge of anticipation as I get closer, like when I would wake up Chri

 The dull winter sun blinds me as I drive, the metallic sky outside turning milk-white. Another storm is coming. I had learned this fact from an old Indian scout I met up in the hills after I left home. The knowledge had served me well over the years. A talking head on the radio was trying to distill the latest disaster into sound bites, distracting the rubes from reality. It's all about the distraction. Mulling over the interview, I knew Williams was playing coy. Normal operating procedure at this stage in a murder investigation. It's all a big poker game where the Cops have most of the cards. And whatever they are missing is drawn from the deck of witnesses using a combination of fake personal connection and distraction. Williams tried it with his question about Angie and I just told the truth and it put an end to that line of thought. I admit I miss her from time to time. Our relationship was a magical mystery tour; two scarred souls touching, trying to find the