Bombshell

On the way to work, he pulled off the main road and drove until he came to a bridge. The creek below it ran deep and fast. No one would see the gun if he could get it between the rocks. He tossed it in and watched it disappear. He regretted losing the Sig, but something told him he’d done something stupid the night before.

On his way to the sheriff’s office, he called Fletcher, and told him to meet him at the Well Service store. They arrived at the same time and Fletcher took point outside, keeping watch and deterring other customers from stopping by for a chat about their wells.

“Sheriff!” the owner’s wife looked alarmed as Harold strolled into the showroom. She got up from the reception desk and hurried into a back room. Sheriff Buck waited patiently.

The woman’s husband appeared a moment later. “Sheriff Buck,” he said nervously.

The sheriff walked over to the wall and ran his forefinger over the line of family photos on the wall – all of them showing the owner’s happy children at various stages of their development. As he brushed his finger against each picture, he made a point to put each one off balance.

“I’m disappointed in you, Pete,” Harold said, without looking at the small business owner. “It would be a shame if something bad happened to your source of livelihood, just because you couldn’t remember to pay for insurance. I thought you cared about your family more than that.”

“I’m sorry – it was just an oversight. Uh, I’ll write you a check right now,” the man stammered and hurried over towards a desk.

Before he could get to it, Harold advanced on the man and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He lifted him up by the throat with one powerful hand, then slammed him against the wall of pictures, causing two of them to crash to the floor. The worm wiggled and struggled in his grip, clutching desperately on the sheriff’s powerful arms, trying to save himself from strangulation.

“You know I don’t take checks, worm! Cash. I want cash. Have it for me by two o’clock this afternoon, or else.”

Harold released the worm, dropping him to the floor. The man gasped and grabbed his throat. Harold turned on his heels. Fletcher had come inside to watch the show. Fletcher poked his head out the door then gave Harold the thumbs up.

Harold could hear Pete’s wife shouting and calling out her husband’s name. Then he heard her crying. He liked it when women cried. These people were weak, useless idiots. They deserved what he was doing to them.

Fletcher headed off to do his duty in another section of the county and Harold drove to the office. In his mind he went through his to-do list for the day. Pick up the money at two – get Fletcher his cut, then visit his arms supplier for an unregistered Sig 9. He’d put a new note in his file and make sure the office records on his old weapon got lost. The new gun would be the one he’d always had. If Jana was dead somewhere, they’d never pin the murder on him. He was untouchable. No one in town had the balls to stop him.

Chapter Seven

After a disturbing and restless night’s sleep, Holly woke to the sound of someone moving around in her kitchen. “Jana,” she said as she got out of bed and stepped into her slippers. Jimmy was in the kitchen putting bread slices in the toaster.

“Any word from Jana?” Holly poured herself some coffee.

“No,” Jimmy said. He put the toast on a plate, then carried it to the living room and plopped down on the couch.

“Tell me everything you remember,” Holly said as she sat down on the chair on the other side of the coffee table. That’s where Jana usually sat. Her chest squeezed.

“Well, I went there like we agreed, and I got there just before the show started. I had the brought the spot, like you suggested. You were right – it really improved the atmosphere.”

“Who cares about the atmosphere? Tell me about Jana.”

“You want all the details or not?” Jimmy said huffily. “Because I can call a cab and go home right now if you aren’t happy with my delivery.”

“Calm down, prima donna –- fine, tell it your way.”

“Like I was saying, I walked inside with the spot and set it up near the light switches. The show started, and when I heard the emcee announce Bombshell, I knew it had to be Jana – ’cause that’s the nickname I gave her, remember?”

“Yeah, vaguely,” Holly said.

“When the emcee announced Bombshell, I flipped lights out and fired up the spot. The crowd totally responded to it, and then when Jana started her thing – God, Holly it was ten-times better than rehearsal. The audience loved her.”

“Can you cut to some part of your story that might help us find her? Please?”

“Yeah, she was doing her gig, when I got knocked over the head and me and the light went crashing to the floor.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I must have been out for a bit, because the next thing I remember was seeing this studly-looking guy in the front beating on the sheriff. The guy hit him over the head with a chair, then he made Jana leave with him.”

“And then what? Who was the guy? Did you recognize him?”

“It wasn’t exactly easy to see in there. But I don’t think I’d seen him before. I’m sure I would have remembered if I had.”