A.G.E's Joint

  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...

One of the downsides of police work is waiting. Chasing crooks might be one percent of the job. The rest of it is split between paperwork,meetings and waiting. Like now. Ray and Angela sat shotgun in the black Crown Vic, staring at the monument basking in the autumn sun. Something dug against her back. A quick pull on the back band of her bra made it go away. The quiet became too much. "You sure the C.I. said the Chicken?" "Yeah." Ray was glancing at his phone, a ruse to keep anybody from realizing they were working. If nothing else, the statue was unique. A bronze chicken perched atop metamorphic limestone. The blue and black veins in the marble alternated, giving the stand a hypnotic look. Poultry Park was the official name, but ot the locals it was The Tomb of the Unknown Chicken. A fitting tribute to the industry keeping the place alive. She thought the thing was stupid. The money spent on the thing could have funded a reading class for immigrants or...

Clouds were beginning to gather as he pulled the Crown Vic into the complex entrance. The crime scene was immediately visible. Dodging an elderly lady walking with a large laundry basket, he made his way toward the yellow taped area. At first all he could see was the car, an older Buick sedan with a large amount of dust on the windshield. It had been there for days. He pulled in behind one of the patrol cars and got out into the humid air  A uniform guarded at the entrance point. He was a very obnoxious rookie he had dealt with before.   But this time, the idiot recognized him and passed him through.   Murray spent a moment taking it all in. He noticed Sgt Arturo Diaz by the car, making notes.  Afternoon, Diaz.” Murray offered his hand. “Hey, Lieutenant.” Shaking the hand vigorously. “Long time no see. Like maybe yesterday?”  They both had a laugh at that. Murder every day and it was like a play, with the two of them playing the same roles. ...

“Some things never change. “   I-85 might as well be a parking lot, the traffic was so heavy.   Filtered brown sunlight wormed through the gap between the visors. Using a gesture than looked liked a condemned man reaching for supplication, he mad a vain attempt to block it out.  The outline of the pickup truck ahead barely registered as it slipped forward. He dutifully followed the herd as the light slipped back behind a warehouse.  Generic heavy metal music boomed from the radio. Some group he never heard of, Texas Hippie something .  The lead singer kept screaming for the listener to “turn it up”.   No. he thought. Noise attracts attention, especially when the songs were about preacher girls turning into strippers.   The concept was amusing, though. Evil Galloway’s demon daughter dancing on the pole brought a smile.   He could imagine the look of fire, then ice across his bearded wrinkled countenance. The one set in perpetual rage ...