Arkansas Gothic: Part Two

    Betsy was beginning to nod off when the switch lit up. It felt like something in her head snapped as she bolted back alert, but it was only the office line. That'd be Carla, she figured, bringing bad news over the non-emergency line for a change. Sure enough, the first words over the line as she punched it up were, "I'm so sorry, Betsy."

    She only half-listened as Carla made up new and fascinating excuses as to why she wouldn't be able to make her shift at Dispatch tonight and would Betsy please stay on because she couldn't overcome her electro-hydro-whatever phobia and the weather was really nasty and if she would, she would totally repay her and- Betsy got bored and interrupted, "cut the crap, Carly. That trucker boy of yours just rolled into town and you want to keep him warm by the fire, right?"

    "Um, well, now that you mention it..."

    "Listen, bitch. I do this, you owe me double, y'hear?"

    "Oh my God, thank you so much! Give me a call sometime."

    The line dropped and she resumed her dozing. She didn't really feel like driving home in this weather anyway.

    In her head, she was skinny dipping with that Thompson boy when the angry red light of the emergency light started flashing. Before she even realized, she answered, "911, what is the nature of your emergency?"

    "This is Mrs. Watson of 1031 Larkspur Lane and I hear something pounding on my window."

    "Jesus, Esmeralda. You damn near gave me a heart attack," Betsy was beginning to regret taking on the extra shift.

    "How do you think I feel? Someone is trying to break into my house!"

    "Damnit, Esmeralda. Ain't no one trying to break in. It's just the wind shaking that old sycamore. Just like last time... Yes, I did get the scarf you sent me. It's very nice... No, I'm not sure if Deputy Reynolds can come by... Yes, I know the weather's terrible tonight, that's why I'm not sure if Deputy Reynolds can make it up there," Betsy wondered if Thompson liked to do it from behind.

    "Listen, Esmeralda. If you hold on one minute, I'll radio Deputy Reynolds to see if-" she stopped and listened.

    She wasn't sure if she heard it at first, but then the gunshot echoed off the hills, through the phone, and into Betsy's earpiece. She heard Esmeralda scream and drop the receiver. After a few frantic cries of "pick up the phone, Mrs. Watson," she flipped on the radio.

    "Squad 12, this is Dispatch. Shots fired at 1031 Larkspur. I repeat, shots fired."

-

    A blue pickup truck sped past the bushes where Deputy Michael Reynolds had concealed his patrol car. The radar clocked it at 83 mph, well over the posted limit, and started beeping until he set the sports section of the paper down long enough to flip it off. Before getting back to his reading, he paused long enough to notice the thunderhead rolling in eastward. "God damnit. Why's it always got to rain during my patrols?"

    Deputy Reynolds contemplated this cosmic injustice while driving over to Maud's Diner for a fresh cup of coffee before the storm hit. As Maud filled his thermos, Mike's eyes scanned the diner as they were trained to do, eventually finding the drifter in back munching on a large stack of pancakes. "What's his story?"

    "Strolled in about half an hour ago, sat down and ordered coffee and cakes. Smells like he's been drinking, but I ain't seen him before today."

    Mike was about to fill the cup on his thermos when Maud got him one from behind the bar. Technically, he was still on duty, but small towns are like that. Taking a cautious sip, he asked, "Drinking, eh? He sass you?"

    "Nah, barely said anything at all beyond his order. Can't say I blame him. If I looked half as beaten as him, I probably wouldn't have much to say either."

    "Well, better have a word with him just in case. Let him know what's what around here."

    The bell on the front door gave a muted ring just as Deputy Reynolds turned off the barstool. The table in back where the stranger was sitting stood empty save for a small wad of bills and a half-eaten platter. He thought about chasing the stranger down to find out what he was doing, but took one look at the rain beating against the windows and decided to sit back down instead. Maud raised an eyebrow as he went back to his coffee. "Eh, I'll let Tom know about it tomorrow."

    Mike sat back and nursed his coffee while Maud updated him on all the local gossip. He wasn't really listening to her, but then again, no one else did either. After politely reminding her that he was still on the clock when she tried to top him off, he thanked her and ran back outside to his patrol car. He set his drenched hat down in the passenger seat and revved up the engine. He wasn't too worried about the stranger; tramps came in through the depot all the time. They usually moved on after a day or two, dividing their time between Harry's and looking for work that wasn't there. Still, the department liked to keep an eye on them, just in case.

    The lights of his patrol car scanned past the tin shacks behind the depot that often served as shelter for drifters once Harry kicked them out. Deputy Reynolds didn't see anyone inside and, truth be told, probably wouldn't have seen anyone even if they'd been standing out in front waving their arms, what with the rain coming down in sheets and all. He could barely make out the road in front of him while the windshield wipers struggled to hold back the deluge from above.

    He had given up on finding the stranger when Betsy's voice crackled over the static on the radio, "God... patch... fire... larks... Pete."

    Deputy Reynolds smiled at the nonsense language of disrupted radio communication, "Didn't get that, Dispatch. Please repeat. Over."

    Mike's smile died when he finally made out the words "shots fired." The patrol car rocketed down the highway as Betsy's frantic voice cut through the EM band, allowing one more word to slip through the interference:

    "Esmeralda."

Continued