When Mason Coburn had his first day on the job, the Sheriff imparted some words of wisdom for the young deputy. A sheriff’s work is rarely done. Now at the time Mason found those words somewhat inspiring but now, a couple years on and generally being the face of law enforcement where it counts, a better term for those ‘wise words’ would be idealistic. Insipid if he was feeling particularly nasty. Sure, the Sheriff might well still believe it but experience proved otherwise; most days a sheriff’s work was sitting around with a busted A/C unit and a fan blowing in your face until a call came in over something petty and minor often involving petty minors. Hardly the exciting life the movies and television made it out to be, but then that was probably why the movies all took place in big urban cities where the sight of a horse or a cow was exotic and strange. A sheriff’s work might rarely be done, but one sheriff, deputy or otherwise, finished his work by seven most nights.
Of course he knew the job wasn’t quite as glamorous as outside media made it seem, but even still he expected his life would be a bit more like COPS and not like...Waiting to Exhale. On a good day he might answer a noise complaint or some tourist unaware of Texas gun laws as it related to concealed and open carry - those were always fun particularly when he was called a redneck hick for reciting law. On a bad day the highlight was being able to watch Jeopardy in the office and knowing two questions correctly.
Today, though, today was a day Mason knew would be unlike any other; he just wasn’t sure if it was in a good way or bad. There was a sort of pall hanging over the town and had been since the news first broke. It hit some harder than others but everyone who lived in Gatling was affected in some way even if they only knew Roxanne in passing. Small town life does that to a person. Mason remembered when he got the call, the concerned voice, the clear sound of someone who had been trying to hold back a dam of tears, and he remembered seeing the body and the deluge of questions from concerned citizens that followed. He wasn’t a coroner. Hell he wasn’t even technically a detective, he had no comment to make but that didn’t stop people from asking if he was going to get to the bottom of it.
Sure, he told them, right between Jeopardy and Wheel. They didn’t find it nearly as funny as he had.
By the time Friday rolled around the only thing Mason had to offer was condolences. Somehow he doubted that would be good enough but his jurisdiction didn’t often extend to sudden, unexpected deaths. It was a conscious decision on his part to not attend the wake; he was undecided on the funeral. It wasn’t as if he truly
knew the dearly departed; sure he went to school with her but he could count the number of conversations they had on one hand and still have enough to slap somebody. So attending the wake would have been a polite gesture, sure, but he couldn’t help but think there would be a small handful of people still asking him what happened and that was something he could do without. Officers of the law don’t really have all the answers and if they do they don’t like to share them unless cameras are present.
Regardless that was why today, of all days, where the streets were as morbid as his former obesity, Mason Coburn was alone in the Gatling Sheriff’s Office, feet propped up, and watching Jeopardy while a rickety box fan blew a mild breeze.
“Who is Bill Hickock.” Mason was on a roll today. The first category was about historical sheriffs which made up for the fact that the other categories were well out of his wheelhouse.
“Y’hear that, Chuck? Got four of ‘em. Swear I must be a damn genius.” Mason looked over his shoulder towards the empty desk and office where the Gatling Sheriff would’ve been seated had he not been like so many other residents and taken a personal day. Mason offered to ‘hold down the fort’ with the belief that if crime was ever gonna take a day off, it’d be today of all days.
Outside he could hear the rain picking up again and scoffed. Typical. Whole damn town gets to be sad so of course the clouds do too. WIth any luck it’d clear up before kickoff but even so that wouldn’t stop people. Mason couldn’t rightly blame them, people needed a bit of distraction on a day like today and hell itself couldn’t stop the folk of Gatling from getting their football fix. Mason might join them, or he might head home, microwave some popcorn and watch The Waterboy for the hundredth time. It was a good night either way. Quiet, boring, just like most days. He’d pay his respects at the funeral, today he just wanted things to feel...boringly normal.
BRRRRINGGGGMason blinked when the ring rang out through the station; it definitely weren’t no Jeopardy sound effect. It rang again and with an unbelieving sigh he snapped his eyes towards the hotline. Why now? Why today? What could be so damn important as to disturb the peace? If this was Old Man Wilcox going on about dog crap on the sidewalk Mason was going to look into how he could legally detain someone for annoying an officer.
“Sheriff’s department.” Mason couldn’t hide his annoyance as he answered the call.
“Sorry to bother you, Sheriff.” The voice belonged to Bill Ford down at the gas station near the edge of town. Mason could tell because of the way he pronounced words that start with ‘B’. Bill had had a bit of a stutter in his youth with B and V words to where the only fix was for him to say those words a bit slower than normal. Must;ve been why he liked to go by William or Willie rather than Bill. Though Mason didn’t respond verbally, he let out a sigh when Bill called him ‘Sheriff’. He wasn’t the Sheriff, he was the Deputy Sheriff and he said that every time someone made that mistake. Eventually they’d learn.
“I’ve got a robbery to report...if you could...send someone...that’d be...well that’d be swell.” “I’ll be right there, Bill. Try not to get shot.” Mason hung up the phone and sighed just as Jeopardy came back from commercial ready for Double Jeopardy. Shame he’d have to miss it. Who the hell robbed a gas station? Who the hell robbed a gas station today? Mason was out the door and into his vehicle cursing under his breath while asking himself the very same questions.
How does it feel...to treat me like you do…
“I don’t think you understood me, Roger but it’s probably hard to hear when your head is so far up your own ass, but what I said was: Thirty. Percent. If you’re going to try and fuck me out of this deal, which I have in writing I might add, then you’d best bring me the mother of all steak dinners.” A
blue convertible raced down an empty stretch of highway while the heavy synths of New Order served as a backdrop for the driver, a woman whose hair was flowing in the breeze from the open top. A bluetooth device was in her ear as she weaved her way into a lane to overtake a car that promptly honked at her as she sped past. Naturally she extended her middle finger as she sped up even more.
“Yes, you are trying to fuck me, Roger. We had a deal. My client would represent your brand with exclusivity rights I might add and you would give him thirty percent. Now I thought this was a fair arrangement, I saw your numbers last quarter and believe me you need him more than he needs you. How? Fresh from college, third round draft pick, nothing but a bright future ahead of him compared to a company who can barely muster up the costs to sell product in a fucking Foot Locker. Give us thirty percent or prepare your legal team and we’ll take all of it. Have a good weekend, Roger.” Harper hung up the call and tossed the bluetooth from her ear to the passenger seat with a disgusted grunt. What was it about companies and ad execs that made them so unbearable to work with? If there was one thing she had learned since becoming something of a name in the sports agent world it was that she often had to bring out the bitch claws in order to get people to take her seriously. It was a man’s world but she had no problem keeping afloat. Her car and clientele were proof enough of that.
When she first got the message about Roxanne and the subsequent wake and funeral, Harper wasn’t sure she could even make it. Of course she could take a couple of days off and have any emergencies sent her way, but Harper not being able to make it was more code for ‘didn’t really want to show up’. When she put Gatling in her rearview it was supposed to be for the last time; a town like that was murder on the ambitions. She hadn’t even come back for the holidays. It was always a matter of ‘too busy’ or ‘going overseas’ or whatever fancy excuse she could muster, even if all she did on Thanksgiving or Christmas was eat Chinese and watch television. She had left Gatling. She was
better than Gatling. The death of Roxanne wouldn’t change the fact.
But then her assistant mentioned how funny it would be to show up in a fancy car smelling of success. How could Harper argue with such logic?
That was precisely why Harper had decided to make the long drive through the desolate waste that was the southwest United States on something akin to a homecoming journey. When she crossed the state line into Texas the first thing that hit her was the smell. She forgot how much Texas just...smelled. It wasn’t enough to get her to put the top up but it did contribute to why she was driving like a bat out of hell along stretches of road. It would all be worth it when she rolled up in her car, sunglasses dipped down to the bridge of her nose, and the looks of jealousy came her way. It would especially be good coming from the unfortunate souls who didn’t make it out. The real losers of the hour. Maybe, she thought, that was why Roxanne died. To finally get the fuck out of Texas.
She wouldn’t say that aloud, of course.
When Harper crossed into Gatling lines, the weather had been shifting dramatically thus facilitating the need to put the top back up. It was raining. And more than that, she needed gas. That final stretch of highway was murder; that she was going about an average of ninety probably didn’t help matters. Harper pulled into the first gas station she came across; the place was damn near empty and from what she could see of the town in the distance so too was it. Did a virus get loose and kill everyone? Couldn’t have happened to a nicer town.
Alas her theory was squashed when she entered the gas station proper and saw a portly old gentleman behind the counter. How depressing; if she was working at a gas station at that age she would’ve offed herself in the bathroom. Still, she did her civic duty and gave the clerk a wave and the fakest of smiles.
“Pump four.” She called to him before heading down the various aisles. She needed to stretch her legs and more than that she needed something to eat, not a meal, just something to tide her over like cracker sandwiches or whatever else counted as a delicacy in this part of the world. Her selection stared at her like pillars to heaven: Slim Jims. The spiced meat stick that was a favorite of inmates and sycophants. Harper grabbed three of them and stuck two in her pockets on the sly.
“I don’t suppose you sell lobster here?” Harper joked as she came up to the counter, placing one Slim Jim on the counter.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be paying for the things in your pocket?” The clerk asked in kind, eliciting a bit of a chuckle from Harper.
“The only thing in my pocket is straw wrappers, what’s the going price on those? Hundred bucks?” The first rule of any small theft or really any crime at all was to deny. Harper was good at denying, more than that she was exceptional at passing the blame; unfortunately there was no one else in the store to shift the blame onto so she had little option but to fly by the seat of her pants.
“Miss, I saw you put those beef sticks in your pocket, now are you gonna pay for them or do I have to call the authorities?” “Isn’t it a bit dramatic to get the ‘authorities’ involved over nothing?” Had Harper not put the mocking inflection on ‘authorities’ she might have gotten away with it. As it stood, she just had to raise an eyebrow when the clerk picked up a phone and dialed a number. He didn’t make the mistake of turning his back to Harper which she honestly had to commend him for, but she did raise her eye at the whole thing. It was a bit dramatic to say the least.
“Well, in a few minutes one of us is going to look like a complete ass.” It only took five before the sounds of a car pulling up, a door shutting, and the little ‘ding dong’ of the door opening to overtake the muzak in the speakers. Harper got a good glance at the man in uniform and wondered to herself when the law got an upgrade; in her youth the cops had been balding and chunky and this guy was neither of those things. Maybe she would let him frisk her.
And then he just had to go and open his stupid mouth.
“Harper? Harper Ownbey?” Mason couldn’t believe his eyes. There was no mistaking that the woman who was the ‘robber’ was Harper Ownbey, a notorious sort from his school days. Sure she had gotten older but as someone whose greatest exchange with girls in those days happened from afar, he could tell it was her right away. She still had that same...confidence to her eyes, like a sexual smoulder that made you think larceny was cool. Of everyone he thought Harper would be the one he’d never see in Gatling again and yet, here she was. Funny how tragedy had a way of fucking with the world.
“What’s going on, Bill? I thought this was a robbery, like with guns and stuff. What, did she take from the leave a penny jar?” On the way over, Mason was psyching himself up for some cool armed robbery thing, he’d get to be the hero and talk a thief down before slapping the cuffs on him. But of course that wasn’t the case. Why would it be. This was the town where excitement took a permanent holiday.
“‘Fraid not, Sheriff. She’s got two Slim Jims in her pocket and she’s gotta pay for them.” Mason could not hide his disbelief. All this...for a buck ninety nine?
“Has she left the store?” Mason received his answer in the form of a head shake no.
“Then she ain’t stolen nothin’ yet. God dammit, Bill, it’s just a stick of meat. You call me out here for that?” “Am I still getting my gas or…” Mason tossed two dollars on the counter and promptly left the store in a bit of a huff, running his hand through his hair as he stood under the store awning, listening to the rain drop. When a stick of meat entered his periphery he turned to see Harper offering him one with a devilish grin about her.
“Technically it’s yours anyway, you paid for it.” “Yeah, which means you owe me two bucks. I’ll take it cash or check.” “Sorry, I only have plastic on me. Tell you what, I’ll pay you back by giving you my hotel number.” There was absolutely no shame in Harper’s voice. If she was going to be stuck here for a day or two then she should at least find some way to enjoy herself rather than be upset over someone being deceased.
“You don’t know who I am, do you?” Mason would’ve given anything to have Harper proposition him like that back when they were in school, back when Harper and Roxanne and all the others were in that out of reach area, but times had changed and Harper...hadn’t, really.
“Someone who saved me two dollars.” “Mason Coburn. Deputy Mason Coburn.” When he practiced saying that in front of a mirror he always pictured it being like a James Bond scenario. Yet another in a long line of disappointments.
“Wait...Mason Coburn? Megaton Mason? Well, fuck me, you did alright for yourself.” Harper couldn’t believe it. In her mind Mason was still the kid that she once said ‘waddled to class’ just out of earshot. Whatever he did it obviously worked for him, but somehow she figured her offer of a casual fling with a man in uniform would be put on the rocks. It was for the best, it might have been a bit too weird otherwise with the image of him in school still fresh in her mind.
“I take it you’re here for Roxanne, too?” If he could control the conversation he wouldn’t have to field questions about his transformation.
“Once you’re all gassed up I’ll take you to the wake. I’m sure some people there are dying to catch up with you.” “Well, Roxanne is for sure.” Mason didn’t laugh. He didn’t so much as flinch.
“Yeesh, you would’ve laughed at that in school. I think I liked you better when you were fat.” “...So did I.” True to his word, Mason drove ahead of Harper, pulling to a stop in front of the Border Tavern. He wasn’t going to go inside. A room full of people who would treat him the same as Harper just had? He didn’t need that. What he needed was not to be called for bunk calls but this was the job as a small town law enforcement.
Harper, meanwhile, pulled into a parking spot and promptly dabbed some eye drops into her eyes. If she looked like she was actually upset and had a cry that would reflect well on her, at least until she got ready to gloat to everyone. It was all about appearances.
As Mason sat in his squad car, he gave a single nod to Haper who threw open the doors and entered the tavern to her surely adoring friends in this, the most trying of times.
