July 20, 1987
Sheriff Jacob MacAndy was at the police office reading over papers when he received a call. Without looking up from his work, he reached over to the black dial phone and placed the receiver to his ear. "Hello?"
There was slight static before a feminine voice cut through. "Patsy has been accepted into the club. Have you met with Mr. D?"
MacAndy removed his gaze from the papers and stared distantly at his desk. "I'm afraid not."
There was a silence that followed which weighed deeply in MacAndy's stomach. His heart was twisting into knots and it began to travel up his throat. He picked at the desktop while the silence continued to grow in agonizing waves.
The voice broke the silence and said, "You were supposed to by the end of yesterday."
"I got busy. Work is-"
"I don't want to hear your lousy excuses, Jacob since you clearly can't finish one simple thing," the voice scolded. "I'll just send Chad to do it."
MacAndy frowned, digging his fingernail into the desk. "No, no. I'll do it. By the end of today. I promise."
Another wave of silence and MacAndy had created a small indent in the wood. He decided to stop picking at the desk and focus on more important things, such as the paperwork before him. He tucked the earpiece between his shoulder and ear and picked up a piece of paper, reading the wide paragraphs of nonsense.
"Fine," the voice spoke again. "End of today and that's it. If you don't do it-"
"I know, I know. Goodbye."
The other end clicked off, leaving a dial tone to draw out. MacAndy replaced the receiver on the stand and leaned back in his chair. A weight snaked its way around his shoulders and settled deep within his stomach. He didn't want to disappoint, but there was a slight hesitation about what was going to happen. This singular thought started forming into different emotions that could only be described as a pineapple stuck in his throat.
He ignored this feeling by reaching into a nearby drawer and pulling out a pack of cigars. He lit one and leaned back in his chair, following the smoke with his eyes. MacAndy began to think about how the meeting with Mr. D would go down and there were two possibilities. One was that the plan would be a total bust and by the end of it, MacAndy would fail. His head would be hung on a pike in front of his supervisor's office. The other option is that the plan will go according to what his supervisor laid out and it will be a bittersweet ending to the problem. As he continued to think, the room grew foggier and the smell of tobacco started to stain the walls with no hope of ever coming out.
----
Night comes quicker than MacAndy expects. He is outside in his police curser, drumming his fingers along the window. Night holds many secrets, he thinks, it is the perfect cover for impending doom. He is waiting outside by a white estate with several pillars in front. A singular light hangs in front of the door and the sheriff can see some of the lights are on inside. There is a slight summer breeze that mingles with the rich smell of gas. He likes that smell -- brings back faint childhood memories with his father.
His thoughts continued to grow into moving pictures of better times where he and his father would play Cops and Robbers in the backyard. These images are interrupted by a slender male figure, coughing lightly. MacAndy shakes his head a bit and looks out the open left window. He is greeted with shimmering blue eyes and a charming white smile, a sight that has been imprinted in his head since the Marcos case opened.
"Are you Sheriff MacAndy?" the man asks, gesturing to the car.
"The one and only," MacAndy jokes. The man then starts chuckling for a moment, opening the door and sitting in the seat. "And you must be Fredrick Damon."
"The one and only," Fredrick replies, winking. MacAndy nods his head and puts the car into drive, slowly making their way down the street. A silence now filled the car as the two men, stared absently outside. Passing suburban houses and blooming trees created a sort of rich escape for Damon while MacAndy was trying his best not to run over any plastic trashcans.
The police curser finally made it out of the suburban area and into the more clogged part of Shanesburg.
"So, did you hear about Marcos' death?" MacAndy asked casually.
Damon's breath audibly hitched in his throat but played it off as a cough. "In such a small town, it'd be hard not to hear about Marcos' death."
"That and it happened at your party, Mr. Damon." MacAndy let that simple line hang in the air for a few moments before continuing. "Why did you leave the party?"
"I had something urgent that came up. A friend ended up in the hospital after eating some bad chicken," Damon responded. He catches the sights of several familiar places such as the deli and Mrs. Maizey's Dance Club, which judging from the several colorful lights that danced behind, was still open and filled with eager teenagers.
"That makes sense," MacAndy responded coolly. He stopped at a red light and looked at Damon from the corner of his eye. He was resting his chin in his hand and staring at a rather large building with a faint red and yellow logo on the side. His charm is how he got around, MacAndy thought, revving the cruiser when the light turned green. It can only take him so far.
MacAndy drove out of Shanesburg to a small cliff that kind of looked over the Barney Garana's Outlook, named after the founder of Shanesburg. Instead of buildings, the scenery changed to jumbled oak trees and broken, mossy logs. The cruiser drove up the steep dirt incline until the flickering nightlife of the town became the stars. He parked the car at the overlook and took a deep breath, leaning back in his seat. Damon now stares ahead, his eyes glazed over.
"Do you know what happened to Benjamin?" Damon suddenly asks without looking away from the town.
MacAndy peeks over at Damon. This is the first time he is referring to Mr. Macos as Benjamin. "I have some ideas about how he could have died but they are not set in stone," he responses.
Damon sighed shakingly, running a hand through his hair, which causes it to spike over the place like dead grass. "I just feel bad for leaving. I wished I had stayed behind." There was a slight choke in his voice. MacAndy didn't have time for crying -- the night was coming to an end soon enough.
"You can't keep wishing for things because it won't solve anything," MacAndy muttered. "You have to burn all of your problems into a metaphorical fire until it turns into a nice ashy grey." He then takes another deep breath and sits up, resting his hands on the stirring wheel. "We should probably be heading back," MacAndy says, adding a small laugh. "There's been a fair amount of strange activity reported up here."
Damon laughs distantly, cradling his hands in his lap. MacAndy turns the car key but the car whines. He looks awkwardly at Damon and turns the key again. Regret starts forming in the sheriff's stomach as he tries to start the car up again.
"Car's outta gas," MacAndy muttered.
Damon looked up from his sullen state and over at the sheriff. "Do you have gas?"
"Yeah, in the trunk. I'll fill the tank up," MacAndy answered. He then pushed the car door open and stepped out, greeted by the sweet summer air and an endless starry sky. A slight smile crossed his face as he closed the door. Before he could forget, MacAndy bent down and leaned to the window and said, "There are cigarettes in the glove compartment if you want to smoke."
MacAndy then went around the car to the trunk, popping it open. He grabbed the red gas jug that was laying on its side and shook it around, hoping that there'd be some gas left inside. MacAndy then closed the trunk and went around the side to the gas compartment. He could smell the faint waves of smoke coming from inside the car and smile. The last cigarette of the night, MacAndy told himself as he uncapped the red gas jug and the car's gas lid.
After he was done filling the tank, the sheriff stood back and took out a cigar from his breast coat pocket. MacAndy looked up at the stars again and wondered silently how he got to this point in his life. With the remaining light still left in his cigar, the sheriff flicked it down the tank tube and started walking away. It would only be a matter of minutes before the car exploded.
A matter of minutes before a life would go down the drain.
MacAndy believed there would be life after death and as he watched from afar the total carnage that came from the single explosion, he knew Fredrick Damon would be at rest for killing his best friend, Benjamin Marcos.
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