Jack turned off the radio and sighed. It was morning, and he'd barely slept a darn wink. He wiped the engine oil from his calloused hands with an old rag that might have once been part of a bed sheet and took another sip of his lukewarm coffee. Something had woken him up a little before 3 am and he had gone outside to check it out, took his gun with him too, what with all the queer things that been happening around here last couple'a months. Not that kept stock in any of that, but it doesn't hurt to be careful. It had been nothing, but still, Jack hadn't been able to get back to sleep after that.

At first he had gone back inside, turned the T.V. on low and tried to doze on the sofa, but that hadn't done any good. In the end he had found himself back outside in his workshop, working under the Buick's rear axle. After 5am he had admitted that he had been defeated in the sleep department and stuck a pot of coffee on. While he had been heading back into the barn he thought he had heard... no more... felt... something then again. But when he stopped and tried to pinpoint it, it was gone, so he had shrugged it off and gone back to work.

And now it really was morning. The radio had just switched from that pre-dawn monotonous blur of insomniac friendly tired ballads and smooth tones to the bright and perky yapping of the breakfast programming. The good folks of Boca Diablo would be waking up to beautiful day, a little bit of low hanging mist but that would burn off as it heated up. Right about now they'd be putting on their percolators and pouring milk onto their cornflakes. He snorted in derision at the image.

He stepped out of his oil-stained overalls and pulled a dark grey T-shirt over his head, it snagged slightly on his well muscled arms. He would leave the Buick sit for the rest of the day, he had promised Don Hathaway that he'd go out and take a look at those fences he been talking about mending this morning. Wasn't the sort of the work that Jack liked, but it would pay something. However, before that he needed to eat something.

Jack lit a cigarette and stalked out of the barn. The scrubby lot of dirt and rusted metal cast long shadows in the dawn light and he found his eyes involuntarily wandering over to the empty kennel that sat at the foot of his porch. It had been about a month he guessed since he had seen Al. The dog had wandered off for a night or two before, but never anything like this. At first he had thought he might come back, but as the days went on that possibility looked slimmer and slimmer. He would have seen something driving around if Al had been hit by a truck or a car, but there were still gators out the swamps, big ones too if you believed the stories. They said one had got a ten year old a few years back a couple of townships over, so it was possible. Still, he couldn't bring himself to think about getting a new one yet.

The house was in a sorry state. It had never been much, but at one point it had been a tidy little cabin. Jack had never been any good with house keeping. The step up to the porch were sagging and the whole place needed a new coat of white wash. The garden was all weeds and junk, roof could do with few new shingles to top it off. Maybe in the summer he thought as he exhales another puff of smoke. Inside was much the same story, half the living room was taken up by a motor bike engine he had been tinkering with last winter and the kitchen was a swirl of old pans and empty bottles. He opened the fridge.

"Damn." He sighed as he looked inside.

He had forgotten to pick up any worthwhile groceries. There was half a pint of off milk and a few take-away containers that weren't particularly fresh either. Looks like he was stopping off at one of the diners in town before he went to see Donald. Oh well, he could do with a slice of pie.

The sun crested over the horizon as Special Agent Morgan Daniels peeled out of the motel parking lot and back on the open road.
Next stop: Boca Diablo. The bureau had sent him down to investigate a spate of disturbing disappearances that coincided far too neatly with the foundation of a brand new power plant.
Despite the sinister case, he had a smile on his face. His window was rolled down, allowing early morning breeze to flow through the car and fill his being with the scent of dew and green leaves. The familiar, trusty weight of his service piece at his side also served to keep him contented. He had not managed to get himself any breakfast at the motel, but was assured that Boca Diablo was less than one hour away and their diner was outstanding.

Not even forty-five minutes after leaving the motel did he arrive in the centre of Boca Diablo. He parked outside of a promising looking diner.
He got out of the car and took a deep, satisfied breath as his stomach rumbled another of it's countless concertos. This was the kind of atmosphere he hadn't felt since back in the suburbs of Flint. Ever since joining the Bureau, he'd become a real city boy. This was perhaps reflected most strongly in his black suit and tie. He'd have to buy a few articles of more appropriate clothing while he was here. He was aware of standing out, other agents had already been assigned to Boca Diablo, but as far as Morgan was concerned they were around on different business. His orders had been to steer clear of them and not interfere if he could help it. They were peculiar orders, but Morgan knew better than to question his superiors.
What was important was that he had a case, and a 100% clear rate.

What was even more important was that he had a tremendous hunger. He crossed the road and headed towards the diner, offering polite nods to the passing locals, even if all they had to offer him were suspicious frowns. It was a normality in his line of work that he had already gotten used to.
Stepping inside the air conditioned eatery he had to take a moment to absorb the room. Every exposed surface shined, and the smell of freshly ground coffee and maple syrup were like two ballerinas spinning and twirling through the air.
He sat down at the counter, and caught the attention of one of the waitresses. She beamed a smile at him that was almost blinding. He thought that if she smiled at the counter top she would create some sort of infinite mirror effect.

"Good morning, Sir. What can I get you?" she asked in the sweetest, most porcelain doll tone he had ever heard. It was all he could do not to beam a smile back at her.
"A mug of coffee, a short stack of pancakes with strawberries on top and a side of the crispiest bacon you have."
"Sure thing, hun. I'll have that out for as soon as possible."
"Much obliged to you, ma'am," he responded with the manners his Mother had taught him. The manners his father had lacked.
It was barely ten minutes (passed reading the local newspaper) before his plate and mug were set before him. Lines of steam drifted off his breakfast and made his pulse quicken.
"There you go, hun. Enjoy."
He offered her an amiable nod as he tucked into his breakfast.
How on earth could something be so amiss in a town this fair and quaint?