“The cussing, the drinking, the smoking and the fact that I still haven’t seen you crack a smile makes it a little bit hard to believe as well,” Hugh says with a smile.
“Have you ever been around a Catholic?” Flanigan asks.
“I didn’t know that you were Catholic,” Hugh says.
“I’m not,” Flanigan says with a grin, “but I don’t think a pack of Marlboros and a couple of beers are going to send me to hell if a priest can do it as well.”
“So what denomination are you?” Hugh asks.
“Baptist by upbringing,” Flanigan says.
“Me too,” Hugh says as he takes another swig, “so where did you go to church?”
“I went to Pinewood Baptist,” Flanigan says, “and if you thought I was a bit wild for a Christian you should’ve met my old boss.”
“What was he like?” Hugh asks.
“Well, he was a fiery old man by the name of Paul Horgandy,” Flanigan says, “He was my old man’s best friend and my godfather. He’s the one that got me on with the department; back in those days it was a lot different. Anyways, my dad passed away when I was a teenager…”
Hugh interrupts, “was he a cop too?”
“Yes he was,” Flanigan says, “he was a deputy as well. One night he was in a high speed chase with a felon by the name of William Watson and his cruiser ended up being wrapped around a tree.”
“Sorry to hear about that,” Hugh says.
“Thanks, but you know that it comes with the territory,” Flanigan says as he takes another draw off of his cigarette. “But anyways, Paul got me on as a deputy and I think that he took a special interest in working with me because of my friendship with him. It did piss some people off, but I worked my ass off to get where I am. I just got to go along on more high profile cases earlier in my career.”
“So what made this Horgandy guy so wild?” Hugh asks.
“Oh, I forgot,” Flanigan says with a laugh, “I guess I kind of got lost for a minute there. Well, Paul was a rather large man, kind of looked like a clean-shaven Santa Claus. He had three loves: God, his wife and whiskey. I swear if he wasn’t working, he was drinking… and not a beer or two a night like me, he would drink whiskey like it was going out of style. When he was at work, he would sing hymns at the oddest times. He was the lead on the Butcher case before I took over, and when we found the very first victim he began singing “Softly and Tenderly” over the body when the criminalists were doing their thing. I never knew if he was a little bit off, or if he did it on purpose to mess with people. The man had a VERY healthy respect for God, so I don’t imagine it was the latter. Sometimes he’d start singing during interrogations; he would absolutely terrify people with his soft and heavenly voice. Some would confess on the spot in immediate guilt, and I’ve heard of others waking up correction officers in the middle of the night because they couldn’t get his hymn out of their head and needed to get the truth out just to quite the voices. He was something else; I imagine that you’d think that he was pretty odd if you didn’t know him, but he was one in a billion and he was the greatest Sheriff I have ever known.”
“How’d he die?” Hugh asks as he takes the final swig of his beer.
“He died of a heart-attack three months before retirement,” Flanigan says with a reminiscent sadness.
“That happens a lot doesn’t it?” Hugh asks.
“What?” Flanigan asks.
“I read somewhere in school that cops die right before or after their first couple of years of retirement at a higher percentage than other people in different professions,” Hugh says.
“Huh,” Flanigan says as he finishes his beer, “I’ve never heard that.”
“Don’t hold me to it,” Hugh says, “I just think that I remember hearing something like that.”
“Do you want another beer?” Flanigan asks.
“Sure,” Hugh says. Flanigan gets up and goes to the kitchen to get some more beers. Ryan gets up and moves over to the couch and begins looking through some of the case files. Jim returns and sits down next to him. Hugh looks at all of the pictures in the living room and notices that there aren’t any children in them.
“You don’t have any kids do you?” he asks.
“No,” Jim responds with melancholy in his tone, “we tried, but never were able to have one.”
“Oh,” Hugh says, noticing the awkwardness of the subject he tries to shift the conversation. “So, I can see by the décor that you’re a Wildcats fan.”
“Since the days of Rupp,” Flanigan says with a smile.
Hugh laughs, “You must still be pissed about the beat-down our football team has laid on you the past few years.”
“Yeah, we’ll see how things look when Stoops gets it going,” Flanigan says.
“You ought to jump ship,” Hugh says, “Pitino and Petrino are going to be giving us championships for years to come.”
“Give me Cal and Stoops any day… we’ll see how things pan out,” Flanigan says.
“Whatever keeps your hillbilly fanbase happy,” Hugh says jokingly.
“You’d better shut the hell up with that shit boy,” Flanigan says, “and I’d keep that UofL fanship in the closet if you ever want to run for election in this county.”
“Alright,” Hugh says as he picks up the original case file and walks back over to the recliner, “touchy aren’t we?” Jim ignores him as he grabs a case file for himself and begins reading. Jim looks turns off the television and grunts, immediately returning to his reading. Ryan looks at the crime scene photos from the first case and is amazed by the similarities. He flips through the meaningless police interviews, the suspect list of individuals whose names were all eliminated. As time passes, his eyes move across the page more slowly and his eyelids become heavy. He slowly wanders into a deep sleep.
Jim’s focus is broken by the light snoring of his partner. He puts down the file, turns off the lights and the television and makes his way to the bedroom. His wife is fast asleep and laying in a way that makes it impossible for him to get into bed with her without waking her up. He sighs, makes his way back into the living room and lies down on the couch. He closes his eyes, but the restlessness within him will not allow him to go to sleep. The fact that Hugh is now snoring like a freight train isn’t helping either. He grabs his pack of cigarettes from off of the table and heads to the sliding glass door, quietly opening it and going into the backyard. He lights his cigarette and sits down in a lawn chair, staring up at the night’s sky. The symphony of crickets, the solitude of the night, and the taste of a good Marlboro finally give him the overwhelming feeling of relaxation he has been yearning for. His cigarette falls to the ground as he slowly falls asleep.
Chapter 12
The sunlight creeps through the clouds as morning has arrived at the campsite. Drake wakes up and unexpectedly finds Hiram passed out next to him. He rolls over to wake up Kris, who rubs his eyes and sits up.
“When did he come back?” Kris whispers as he looks over at Hiram.
“I don’t know,” Drake says, “I just woke up man.”
“I’m kind of surprised that he came back, to be honest I kind of thought that he was going to ditch us,” Kris says as he puts on his glasses.
“Me too,” Drake says as he sits up. The boys notice the Camaro parked on the trail and walk over to it.
“Looks like he picked up a new car, it beats the hell out of that Bronco,” Drake says.
“It’s okay,” Kris says while looking it over, “I wonder how he got it?”
“Let’s find out,” Drake says as the boys walk over to the snoring Hiram. They stand over him, trying to think of a funny way to wake him up.
“What should we do here?” Drake asks.
“I say we find something to wake him up,” Kris responds, “what do you think would do it?”
“We could pour a bucket of water on him,” Drake says.
“No, funny but way to overdone,” Kris says, “and not to mention we don’
t have a bucket or any water.”
“I have a perfect idea,” Drake says as he grabs a handful of mud and gently puts it in Hiram’s hand, making sure not to awaken him.
“I know what you are going to do,” Kris says, “let me help.” Drake nods and Kris begins tickling Hiram’s face with a piece of grass. Hiram’s nose begins twitching. Drake is trying to hold his laughter in. Kris begins tickling Hiram’s face again; Hiram brings his hand up to scratch the itch and smacks himself in the face with a handful of mud. Kris and Drake begin laughing hysterically. Hiram jumps up in anger.
“What the fuck?” Hiram yells.
“You just wiped your face with horse shit,” Kris says.
“You little fucker,” Hiram yells as he tackles Kris, who is still laughing.
“Dude it was just mud,” Kris says, “I’m sorry, it was just too good.” Hiram lifts his fist as if he is about to punch him.
“If you weren’t so skinny Kris, I would kick your ass,” Hiram says, “it’s like hitting a fucking girl.”
“I’m sorry,” Kris says with a smile as Hiram lets him get up. Hiram tries to wipe the mud off his face, but it isn’t working very well.
“Is there any water around here?” Hiram asks, “I need to wash this shit off of my face.” Drake tries to help Hiram by picking up a leaf off of the ground and attempting to help wipe some of the mud away.
“I don’t know if there is any water around here, we haven’t really gone exploring yet,” Drake says.
“What have you all been doing since we left?” Hiram asks.
“We’ve just been hanging out, talking and stuff. By the way, where is Tyrone?” Drake asks.
“We found this place in Pinewood where there were a bunch of people around. He met some girls, decided to leave with them and do his own thing,” Hiram responds.
“He met some girls? Why didn’t you go with them, or at least get them to come back here?” Drake asks.
“Because we did a bunch of illegal shit last night and I didn’t want to push my luck by going to a party,” Hiram says.
“A party,” Drake says with a raised tone, “were the girls hot?”
“Yep, they were good looking alright, but if you had the night I had last night, you’d probably want to come back too,” Hiram says as he begins to walk towards the woods in search of water. Kris and Drake run to catch up and begin walking with him. Drake points east, to an obviously rarely walked trail, almost hidden by tall grass.
“This way, check out the trail,” Drake says.
Kris pats Hiram on the back, “So Tyrone just left and you didn’t? Thanks man, that’s solid.” Hiram tries to play it off and act as if it were no big deal that he chose his friends instead of a good time; he continues to wipe the mud off of his face.
“I’ve got a really big surprise for the both of you” Hiram says.
“What are Tyrone and those girls in the back of that car?” Kris asks.
“No” Hiram stoically responds.
“It must be porn then,” Kris says.
“It’s better than porn,” Hiram says.
“Now I know he is lying,” Drake says as he picks up a rock and tosses it into the trees. Kris laughs as they continue walking, the morning temperature is steadily rising and the boys take their shirts off to cope with the heat. Hiram begins laughing at Kris.
“What’s so funny?” Kris asks.
“Give me your arm,” Hiram says, “I need to floss.”
“Screw you,” Kris says as they trek onwards, “I wonder if Jeff is okay.”
“I wish Tyrone would have hit Ed instead,” Drake says.
“So what’s it with you and Ed?” Kris asks.
“I can’t stand it when people push me man, every day there it’s the same god damn thing,” Drake says with an agitated tone, "How do you feel Drake? It’s like, dude my mom overdosed on fucking meth and I came home and found her dead and couldn’t do anything about it… it’s like how am I supposed to feel you fucking dumbass? I don’t know, he just gets on my nerves with that shit.”
“Yeah, I guess I get it now,” Kris says, “That’s a pretty fucked up situation dude.”
“Yeah, it is,” Drake says, “But what can you do about it man?”
“How did your dad die?” Hiram asks.
“He didn’t,” Drake says, “I never really met my dad. My parents weren’t married, and they broke up when she was pregnant with me. He gave her all of the custody rights and we moved. I know his name though, and I think that he lives around here somewhere. I asked my mom what he was like, but she never really told me much, she just said that he was a drunk that didn’t care about anybody but himself. She was an awesome mom until she met this redneck country fucker named Ted. He tried to act like my old man or something, would try to put a beating on me for doing next to nothing, fuck him. Anyways, that piece of trash is the one that introduced her to meth and bled her dry on money. He was in and out after they broke up. When she died, she weighed like 80 pounds, I don’t even really think about it being her, just the shell of what she used to be.”
“Are you ever gonna go after him if you ever get the chance?” Kris asks.
“Already did,” Drake says, “that’s part of why I went to juvie. Anyways, fuck this shit, it’s depressing. So what’s this surprise you have in store for us Hiram?”
“A good surprise,” Hiram says with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, we’ve heard that about five times now, but what is it?” Drake asks.
“He’s probably just pulling our chain,” Kris says, “I’ll bet the surprise is that there is no surprise.”
“You are just going to have to wait and find out,” Hiram says as the boys approach the lake.
“Look, the lake!” Kris says in excitement as he sprints to the edge and jumps in. Hiram and Drake stop at the edge.
“Kris,” Hiram yells, “you left your shoes on you idiot.”
“Fuck you,” Kris says snottily, “I meant to do it!”
“Whatever,” Hiram says as he and Drake take their shirts and shoes off and jump into the water.
C
hapter 13
Joan Flanigan is awakened by the buzzing of her alarm clock; she looks at the clock and sees that it is 6 a.m. She puts on her robe and makes her way to the living room to wake up her husband. She finds Hugh asleep on the living room recliner and finds no sign of Jim other than a coffee table completely covered with case notes and crime scene photos. She taps Hugh on the shoulder.
“Just give me a minute honey, I’ll get up in a second,” he says. Joan quietly laughs and taps him on the shoulder again. “Damn it woman, I said I would get up in a second.” He opens his eyes to find that he is not at home in bed and gives Joan a child-like apologetic smile. “Oh… I’m sorry,” he says.
“You must be the infamous Deputy Hugh,” she says.
“Yes ma’am”, he says, “and I apologize… I thought you were my wife trying to get me up out of bed.”
“Well, you shouldn’t talk to her that way young man,” Joan says as she straightens up the living room, “but I do accept your apology.”
“Thank you,” he says as he gets up out of the recliner and begins buttoning his dress shirt, “where is Jim?”
“I don’t know,” she says as she looks out the window and finds that his vehicle is still in the driveway, “I’m sure I’ll find him around here somewhere though. He falls asleep in odd places at times. I figure that if I ever find him dead it will be because he fell asleep in the freezer in the garage. Do you want some coffee or some breakfast honey?”
“No thank you ma’am,” he replies, “I actually need to get home and get ready for work, but thanks for your offer.”
“Anytime dear, you just drive careful,” she says.
“I will,” he says as he opens the front door, “tell Jim that I will see him at the office.” He leaves the house and Joan immediately makes her way to the back porch, where she finds Jim fast asleep. She taps him on the sh
oulder.
“Wake up Jim,” she says, “or you’re going to be late for work.” Jim rubs his eyes and looks up at his wife.
“Good morning honey,” he says smiling, as he pulls his Marlboro’s out of his pocket.
“Good morning,” she says, “your new deputy just left.”
“Yeah,” he says as he lights his cigarette, “he’s been going through a lot lately and hasn’t been able to sleep. Told me last night at work that his kid has cancer and they don’t think he’ll make it. He came over last night to get some work done and fell asleep on the recliner. I didn’t have the heart to wake him up.”
“That’s horrible,” she says, “I’m going to call the prayer chain. How is his wife handling everything?”
“I’m not sure; I would imagine that she is a mess. He told me that she hasn’t left the hospital in days,” he says.
“Should I go visit her?” she asks.
“I wouldn’t,” Jim says, “you don’t really know her and things aren’t looking so good right now.”
“Well, at least tell Ryan that they are in our prayers,” she says.
“I promise that I will,” Jim says as he coughs.
“Mister, you’d better get into the shower or you are going to be late,” she says as she takes the cigarette out of his mouth and tosses it on the concrete.
“Why did you do that?” Jim asks.
“Shower… now!” she orders.
“But I didn’t get to finish my morning cigarette,” Jim pleads like a child.
“James Edward Flanigan!” Joan says with a stern voice.
Jim slowly gets up out of the lawn chair and makes his way to the bathroom. He stares at himself in the mirror as he disrobes. Self-doubt manifests as he stares into his reflection. “What if I never get him?” he wonders as he begins to shave. “What if I really am what the press has pegged me as… an incompetent failure?” He gets into the shower and presses his hands just below the shower head and begins crying, the tears being washed away from his eyes before they can even physiologically manifest. He is overwhelmed with all of it, the past, the present and the future. The promises that he had made, yet not fulfilled; the unconfirmed knowledge that Hugh was brought in on the case to push him out; the feeling that so many more would be alive if he had worked just a little bit harder. All of this, of course is irrational, as he has worked to the point of becoming physically ill several times before. Jim Flanigan is just a man and can only do so much, but to someone like him… those standards simply do not apply.
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