Safe in the Lion’s Den, Pt. 28

"Never a dull moment with Jack around!" Reba quipped dryly.

We had an enjoyable afternoon in town, and stopped by the aforementioned steakhouse for dinner, to catch up on our appetites before we headed toward Bryson City. Along the way, I spied a rock shop and "gem mine" on the side of the road and pointed.

"Hey, let's pull in there." I suggested. "Sophia, where is your paperweight?"

"In the console." she replied. "I'll grab it."

I parked in front of the place, and we all got out; stretching a bit, before heading inside. It was your typical gem mine tourist attraction, with an outdoor area to sift through a pail full of gravel that was usually worthless, but salted with just enough semi precious stones to make it interesting. There are a few genuine spots, but they are usually a bit pricey, and usually set up onsite. Inside, was the catch-all of a "local" gift shop. It featured globs of colored glass, minerals and gems, fossils, handicrafts, and much to my amusement, more rock-growing kits.

I nudged Sophia and pointed to them.

"Totally forgot about those." I remarked, as my gaze fell on a large, wooden contraption by a display full of honey jars. "We still have that crystal radio set to put together too."

"Well, now that things are slowing down a bit, when we get home, maybe we can start working on it." Portia offered.

"Would you folks care to buy some buckets of gravel and try your luck out back?" an older fellow in coveralls inquired, as he walked around a central potbellied stove and approached us.

"I have a creek with a ninety degree bend, and a gravel bar backed up behind it, about six feet deep, ten feet wide and sixty feet long." I replied. "I really need a reputable gemologist to have a look at it at some point. I know there's garnets in there. Those, I can identify, but I don't know what rubies, sapphires, emeralds or other good gems look like."

"I see." he responded. "Is that what brought you here today?"

"Not really." I answered. "That was just an afterthought, and something I do need to look into at some point in the near future, though. What I really wanted your opinion on, was this. Sophia?"

She laid the chunk of quartz on the counter, and the man's eyes suddenly bugged out of his head, like Kelly Clarkson spying an endless buffet at the Golden Corral.

"Where did you get that?!" he marveled, more out of astonishment than actually expecting an answer.

"Obviously, I'm not going to tell you that," I replied, "but I see it's gotten your attention."

"Yeah!" he exclaimed. "Mind if I pick it up and take a closer look?"

"Have at it." I said with a nod.

"Wow, it's heavy!" he remarked, as he hoisted it in his hand. "This thing is rich!"

He turned on a swingarm-style lamp from what looked like the 1970s, and pulled a jeweler's loupe from his shirt pocket. After careful inspection, he looked up and blinked his eyes to readjust his vision, before turning his gaze to me.

"If this is local - and I'm not asking if it is or not, but if it is - I've never seen ore this bright anywhere outside of Alaska." he informed me. "Except for one other place."

"Reed Gold Mine?" I guessed.

"Yep." he agreed. "It ain't no seventeen pound doorstop like the big one Mr. John Reed found there, but it's a pretty valuable for a paperweight."

"That's exactly what my daughter and I thought it was." I observed. "What do you think something like this would be worth?"

"Shoot, from the size of it, an' knowing what quartz should weigh, I'd say you got dang near an ounce of gold in there!" he stated confidently.

"That's pretty rich, right?" I asked rhetorically.

"Son," he drawled, as if explaining the meaning of life to me, "an ounce per ton is considered a strike. You've got an ounce in a rock that don't weigh no more than a pound. Yeah, I'd say that's pretty rich. I'm guessing on the weight, but I'd give you twenny-fi' hunnerd in cash for it."

"It's not mine to sell." I responded.

"I understand." he said with a nod. "Just a dealer's sample. "It isn't actually yours; I get it. You're just the middle man."

"It's hers." I explained, pointing to Sophia. "It's her decision to make, not mine."

The man gave me a stunned look, but quickly regained his composure. He was beginning to think this was a way for a cute little girl to haggle a higher offer from him.

"Would you like to pocket two and a half grand, Princess?" I asked calmly.

"I sure would!" she said enthusiastically. "But not by selling THIS rock. You gave it to me, and the value of how you found it means more to me than a couple thousand dollars. Besides, you could whack another piece off tomorrow, that's just as big."

"He could?" the man inquired incredulously, before turning to me in astonishment. "You could?!"

"I probably shouldn't have said that, Dad." Sophia lamented. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." I reassured her. "It's not like I have to try and find that place again. It was snowing SO hard-"

"I won't say anything!" the man said quickly, "but I sure would be interested in getting some of that ore. Like I said, it would be a guess on the actual weight, because unless the quartz is removed, it's a gamble."

"I understand that." I acknowledged. "I know there's some acid that you can put ore in, that dissolves the rock and leaves the gold. I've seen where guys do that with wire gold ore, and make these really expensive 'sculptures.'"

"It's normally way too expensive for what you get out of it, but for ore like that, you're right." he agreed. "Especially in your case. It's strong stuff though. Burn your lungs."

"I have a military gas mask, and a full NBC suit if needed." I said casually. "Now seriously, you said there's about an ounce of gold in there, and you offered twenty five hundred bucks, which is only a little more than half of melt value. On top of that, I'm fairly certain that in this untouched state, it's worth more than melt to a collector."

"It is." he acknowledged. "What else do you know?"

"Oh, I know just enough to be dangerous." I said with a smile. "I haven't had time to research it yet, which is why I'm talking to you. I have someone else, who is taking another piece to have someone at Wake Forest give an opinion. I just figured I'd ask a few people myself."

"I see." he replied. "I wasn't trying to rip you off, but I need a little meat on the bone, ya know?"

"I understand that," I responded, "but a little meat would be like five hundred bucks, not a few grand. That's not a little meat; that's more like a side of beef."

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Sophia stepped in to save the moment.

"What would you say this would sell for at a show?" she inquired. "Hypothetically?"

"Probably close to ten thousand." he admitted. "It's so unusual, and it's pristine. You didn't try to clean it up."

"So an offer of seventy five hundred, would leave around twenty five in potential profit." I pointed out. "That's plenty of meat. Hell, that's a whole prime rib at today's prices."

"Is that what you're asking then?" he queried.

"No," I said, shaking my head, "it's still HER decision to make; not mine."

"I see." he mumbled. "You guys sure have a good pitch!"

"It's not a pitch." I assured him. "It's just that it's her rock, and her decision to make."

"That's a pretty big decision for someone her age to make." he observed. "Okay Sweetie. Would you be interested in selling your piece of ore to me?"

"I'm not sure." she replied, much to my surprise. "Would you give me seventy five hundred dollars for it? I mean, you're looking at around a twenty five percent markup. I think my daddy's right. I think it's a fair proposal."

"Are you sure, Princess?" I inquired. "I know what it means to you. We could always come back in a week or two with another one."

"No." she said quietly, and shaking her head. "You're right; it DOES mean a lot to me, but you have been taking care of us since we got here, and now, I want use this as a way to say thank you. I want to pay for the rest of this trip, and then put whatever is left, into a bank account. The meaning of the gift is being returned. That means even more to me."

"Sophia, that is the sweetest thing that anyone has ever said to me, other than when you told me you wished that I was your real dad." I responded. "Okay, if you want to sell it, then I accept your gift."

She smiled broadly.

"I love you Daddy!" she burst out, hugging me tightly. "Okay, so what do you say then Sir, seventy five hundred bucks?"

He chewed his lip for a moment; weighing the decision.

"You're never going to see another one again..." she prodded.

"Okay," he replied, "but I don't have that much cash on hand. I can give you forty fi' hunnerd in cash, and a check for the rest, if you want. I have it in the bank. I just don't have it here."

"What do you think, Daddy?" Sophia inquired. "It's a big decision, and I could use some advice."

I pondered the situation for a few seconds, before speaking.

"I believe him." I stated. "Small mountain town like this... if he cheated someone, his name would be ruined. I think you can trust him, Princess."

"Okay then, you've got a deal!" she exclaimed, sticking her hand out. "Junior Deputy Sophia Fawkes, by the way."

"Um, Jimmy Davis." he responded, shaking her hand.

"Not Jeff?" I inquired with a smile.

"Nope." he replied with a grin. "My older brother's named Jeff though. Good call."

"How did you guess that?" Portia asked in surprise.

"Oh, it's safe bet that anywhere here in the South -- especially here in the mountains -- EVERY Davis family has a son named after Jefferson Davis." I explained.

"Ah." she responded. "Who is that?"

"A very historic figure in these parts." I replied vaguely, turning to Sophia. "I'll let you two work out the transaction, and I want to look at the local honey."

"It's all from hives within ten miles." Jimmy said, as Reba, Portia and I made our way over to the display. "I raise bees too, so some of it's from my farm."

"Awesome!" I exclaimed.

I examined the Mason jars that were filled with local, liquid amber, and one of them caught my attention. It was marked "Cherry Blossom."

"Oh wow!" I remarked, louder than I intended. "I want to try some of this!"

"Get it, Daddy!" Sophia called out; apparently overhearing my comment. "It's my treat! Oh, and pick out a piece of that blue glass for me, would you? It will replace this piece of quartz for sentimental value."

"Okies." I responded, as I glanced at a paper sign on the wooden contraption.

It read, "If you know what this is get a 10% discount." A few minutes later, I rejoined my daughter as she was counting the bills of various denominations.

"Get ready to give some of it back." I said with a smile, as I placed the honey and a fist-sized chunk of cobalt glass on the counter. "I saw your sign about the discount. I know what it is, but I'd like to give my daughter a chance to figure it out. What do you think that wooden box over there is, Princess?"

"Well, since it's old and it's near the honey, I'd venture a guess that's an old beehive." she offered.

"Very good!" I said. "But there's another name for it. It's like a birdcage for bees."

"Oh!" she burst out. "I've heard it before. Shit, I can't think! It's a... fuck!"

"Your mouth!" I chided her.

"Sorry." she apologized. "It's like an aviary, but that's for birds. Wait a sec... an APIARY! That's it! It's an apiary, Mr. Davis."

He stared at her with his mouth open.

"Dang sure is." he agreed. "Where do you go to school? Nowhere in these parts, I reckon. Anyway, who do I make the check out to?"

"You can make it out to me." I said. "Jack Fawkes."

Jimmy looked at me, then at Sophia and Portia.

"Mr. Fawkes, it's nice to meet you." he said, with a tinge of nervousness to his voice. "And I assure you, this check is good!"

"I'm sure it is, Jimmy." I replied. "You have a blessed day, and here's my card in the event you find some high end customers who want more of this. I haven't had a chance to check the source yet, but there may be even higher concentrations in there."

"I'll put the word out." he said with a nod. "Maybe I can sell them on consignment. We'll work something out. By the way, if you take that check to the branch in Bryson City, they should cash it for you without a cut."

"It's my bank too." I replied. "Not that branch, but it shouldn't be a problem. Take care, Jimmy."

We piled into the car and headed toward Bryson City, stopping along the way at an ice cream shop per Sophia's request. Finally, we were back on the road, and headed deeper into the Smokies. The sun had already dropped behind the mountains, as I found a motel on the edge of town with a vacancy sign, and pulled in.

"Smoky Mountain Inn, here we are!" I exclaimed. "Let's see if they can accommodate us."

Inside, we were greeted by an older woman with a wide smile.

"Hey there, y'all!" she drawled pleasantly. "Welcome to the Smoky Mountain Inn. NOT to be confused with the Smoky Mountain Motel over on Academy."

"Bad news, are they?" I inquired.

"They take a lot of calls meant for us." she fumed. "They know they're wrong numbers, but they take them anyway. We were here first, too. That's what makes it so infuriating. It's also a little seedy, if you know what I mean. Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to vent. It's just that I just found out that a reservation we thought we had, got taken by them. I just turned the sign back on. Two double beds. Will that work?"

"It will." I replied.

"Then I will turn the sign back off." she said with a chuckle. "Glad you folks dropped in. We really count on those reservations. Money's tight these days. It's really upsetting when they steal them from us."

"A local wouldn't do that." I observed. "Do they speak English?"

She guffawed loudly.

"Yeah." she answered. "Couple of Halfbacks."

"Ah." I replied.

"What is a Halfback?" Portia inquired.

"Floridiots." I explained. "Usually from New York or New Jersey. They retire, and instead of going all the way back, they stop in the mountains of Appalachia and start fu- I mean, messing everything up. They only made it halfway back, hence the moniker."

"Oh, I see." she responded. "And what is a 'Floridiot?'"

"That's self explanatory." Reba interjected flatly. "Just look for a license tag with an orange on it."

"If they're infringing on your business, they may be breaking the law." I said thoughtfully. "It may be some sort of false advertising, or copyright infringement or something. Can't hurt to check it out. Have you consulted an attorney?"

"Never thought about it." she admitted. "I will now, though. Thank you. That will be a hundred and eighty dollars. Cash or card?"

"Cash." I replied. "A hundred eighty bucks?! That's kinda steep, isn't it"

"It's the honeymoon suite." she explained. "It's all I have left."

"With two beds?" I inquired dubiously.

"There's mirrors on the ceiling." she said with a smile. "We get swinger couples from time to time."

"Well, nothing surprises me anymore." I sighed. "We'll take it. This is actually our honeymoon, by the way."

"Oh really?" she said in surprise; looking at Sophia. "And what is your name, Sweetie?"

"Sophia." she replied.

"Does Sophia have two mommies and a daddy?" the woman inquired politely.

I looked at Reba and did my best to hold it back, but a burst of laughter escaped my lips anyway.

"No," I finally managed to say, "but I'm sure my niece is as amused about being mistaken for her cousin's stepmother as I am.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she said, clamping her hand over her mouth. "When you said you were on your honeymoon, I just assumed you meant all of you were on a shared honeymoon. Oh my gosh! I am SO embarrassed!"

"Don't be." I said reassuringly. "It's a long story, but we've all been through a quite a bit together lately, and it just seemed fitting that we all take this trip together. My wife and I will take a second honeymoon at some point, but for now, there is nothing more important than family. We cherish every day that we have together."

"Y'all are blessed." she stated. "Tell you what, since you technically saved the reservation, I'll drop twenty dollars off for having to stare at the mirrors."

"Sounds good to me." I said with a smile.

"What are the mirrors for anyway, Dad?" Sophia inquired innocently.

"Um, I'll tell you some other time." I said quickly.

"Ahh... never mind." she chuckled. "I think I get it."

She turned to Portia and engaged in a rapid exchange in Italian for a few moments, and nodded.

"Yep!" she said with a grin. "I've got it!"

I turned to Portia myself.

"I really could have had the talk with her," I said with a smile, "but thank you for letting me off the hook."

"Oh, it was my pleasure." she responded slyly. "I'll let you explain the whole two mommies thing to her instead!"

Fifteen minutes later, we had all of our gear in the room, and Portia had tied into her social media page and handed the phone off to Reba to film the podcast.

"Hello everyone!" she said cheerfully. "Well, I'm sure that many of you know that we had a bit of excitement happen to us after we signed out this morning. Everyone is fine; except for the bad guys. We will be heading to an interesting destination in the morning, and will do a live stream from there."

We were suddenly surprised to hear a rapid succession of heavy knocks on the door, which actually rattled the window slightly, in its frame.

"Who could that be?" Portia mused. "It's after dark. Hold tight everybody, we could have some more excitement coming our way."

"I dunno." I replied. "Manager maybe? Drunk guy at the wrong door, or someone looking for something. When I was living with her dad (pointing to Reba) in San Diego, someone rang the doorbell one morning. I opened the door to see a local, dingleberry-looking guy that Rob had nicknamed 'Doofus' standing there, and he asked me for a light. No 'hello' or 'how are you?' Just, 'Got a light?' You never know what anyone wants these days. At least we're already streaming if something out of the ordinary happens."

Reba nodded, and another round of hard knocks battered the door. They weren't sharp, knuckle raps either; they sounded like a closed fist pounding against the door. It actually sounded like the police, or someone drunk off their ass, pounding on the wrong door. Reba gave me a thumbs up to indicate everything was still being recorded.

"What the hell do you want?!" I demanded gruffly through the door, as I reached for my Anaconda, which was already sitting on the nightstand.

"Sheriff's Office!" came a terse reply. "Open the door!"

"Did you get that?" I asked Reba.

She nodded, and I responded.

"What's the problem?" I called back, without complying with his demand.

"Got a report of loud music." he replied. "Now open the door and talk to me!"

I looked at my family and shook my head.

"Can you believe this shit?" I sighed. "I haven't heard any loud music. He must have the wrong lroom."

I placed the Anaconda into my belt - in the small of my back - to free both hands, and cracked the door a few inches. A uniformed deputy was indeed standing outside, so I opened the door as far as the safety chain would allow.

"Yes?" I inquired.

"Would you mind stepping outside please?" he inquired back.

"Yes actually; I would." I responded. "Now, would you care to explain to me what this is all about? My family and I have had a rather trying day so far, and we're fixing to try and get some rest. Last thing we need right now, is another incident."

"There was a report of loud music called in." he stated. "Number 118; Smoky Mountain Motel. What do you mean by 'another incident?'"

"This is the Smoky Mountain INN." I pointed out. "Not the Smoky Mountain Motel. You have the wrong location. Smoky Mountain Motel is on Academy. This is Highway 19. Have a good night, and be safe out there."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded. "'Be safe out there?!' Is that a veiled threat?! Open the door and step outside! Do you have any drugs in there? Show me some ID!"

"LOOK..." I said, slowly and deliberately, as I took a deep breath, "I'm a federal agent, and unless I have committed a crime or am suspected of having committed a crime or am about to commit one, I am not required to show you any identification. Had you handled this differently, I wouldn't have had any objection to IDing myself, but now you've pissed me off, and I'm going to bed. Good night, Deputy!"

"Impersonating a federal agent is a felony, Jack!" he said authoritatively.

I guffawed loudly, at his unintentional use of my name.

"You find that funny?!" he demanded.

"Yeah." I said with a smile. "My name happens to be Jack, and I do find that funny. And now you know who I am."

The deputy touched the side of his mic.

"Dispatch, I'm at the Smoky Mountain Motel." he said. "I've got-"

"No you're NOT!" I hollered; interrupting him so that my voice could be heard over the channel. "I told you, this is the Smoky Mountain INN, you dumb asshole! Now get out of here and leave us alone! This is all being recorded and live-streamed on the Internet."

"He's being uncooperative." the deputy continued, completely ignoring my remarks. "He says he's a federal agent too, but he won't show me any ID."

"I don't have to!" I roared. "You're at the wrong location, you stupid motherfucker! The Smoky Mountain Motel is over on Academy. This is Highway 19! Do you not understand the difference?! God damn it, you're pissing me off. You know what? I've had it with your shit. Send a supervisor out here, now!"

"Dispatch," he said nervously, "I've got a bad feeling in my gut about this guy. He's hiding something; I can feel it. I can see a little girl in there too. Maybe he's kidnapped her! I'm going in!"

Without waiting for a response, let alone approval, he took a step back and withdrew his sidearm, and I knew he was about to kick the door in. I stepped to the side to avoid being hit with the commercial-grade steel door as the chain broke, and withdrew the Anaconda as he burst through the door. He was slightly off balance from the shift in weight and position, and that was all I needed. Before he could draw down on me, the muzzle was pressed into the side of his left temple.

"Do you believe in Jesus, Deputy?" I inquired tersely.

He swallowed hard, and after several seconds, replied faintly.

"Yes." he finally managed to croak.

"Well, unless you want to meet him tonight, you'd better do exactly what the fuck I tell you to do. Got it?"

"Uh-huh."

"This is a 44 magnum." I informed him. "I don't think I need to explain to you, what it would do to that thick melon of a head of yours if I were to squeeze this trigger, so don't move a fucking muscle; except to hand that Glock over to me VERY slowly. I told you, I'm a federal agent, and you are now under arrest for assaulting a federal agent with a deadly weapon, and for breaking and entering. You have also grossly and most egregiously, violated my Fourth Amendment rights. I'm going to sue the living shit out of you, and with all of this on cam, I can guarantee you that a judge is going to deny you qualified immunity. You completely ignored my Fourth Amendment rights by barging in here like that. And with your gun drawn?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"But I still don't know who you are!" he said in a flustered tone. "You won't tell me! I don't know you're an agent. I don't know who you are, because you won't tell me. Anyone could say that."

"After you see my badge, you will!" I snarled. "I told you, I don't have to identify myself to you in this situation, and I've had it with your blatant ignorance of the law! You want to see my creds so fucking bad? Here you go!"

I thrust my ID into his face.

"Presidential Detail?" he read in a confused tone. "I've never heard of it. What is that?"

"That doesn't matter!" I snapped. "I told you I was a federal agent, and as you can see right here, it says 'Presidential Detail.'"

"But I don't know what that is!" he protested.

"Ignorance of the law is no excuse, and it's not my problem." I replied stonily. "It's yours. And it's a really fucking big one, too. Take a good look, you stupid son of a bitch! That says the 'Great Seal of the President of the United States of America' in the center of that badge, Deputy! You have no idea just how badly you've fucked up! If you thought you had a bad feeling before you kicked that door in, you're not going to believe how bad it's about to feel over the next few hours!"

I took the Glock from his hand and turned toward Sophia.

"Take this weapon, Deputy." I stated.

"You just took it from me." the idiot said in a confused tone. "Why are you telling me to take it back?"

"I wasn't talking to you!" I snapped. "I was talking to this junior deputy."

He looked bewildered, as Sophia took the weapon from me.

"Put the safety on," I instructed, "and set it on the table."

She nodded and did as she was told. She then approached us and badged the deputy, who was still on all fours.

"You made a big mistake!" she said angrily. "You have no idea who we are!"

She smirked and followed up: "But you're gonna find out!"

"Perkins!" a female voice said across the radio. "What is your situation? Do you need assistance?"

I leaned over and pressed the mic.

"He's going to need more than assistance!" I growled. "He's gonna need an attorney! This is Special Agent Jack Fawkes; Presidential Detail to John McDonald. Your deputy is under arrest for assaulting a federal agent with a deadly weapon, and let me advise you; this is all being recorded and streamed live. Get a good shot of his face for the world to see."

"Oh, good lord!" the woman exclaimed, as Reba zoomed in on the deputy's face. "Perkins, you fool! Special Agent Fawkes, I overheard your remarks earlier. Can you please confirm your location?"

I winked at Sophia and nodded, as I pressed the side of the mic again.

"Dispatch, this is Junior Deputy Sophia Fawkes." she responded. "Our location is 118 Smoky Mountain Inn. Do you copy that?"

"Affirmative." came a surprised reply. "Junior Deputy, what county do you represent?"

"Poker." she replied. "I'm the first to be sworn into the program."

"Acknowledged." the woman sighed. "What happened?"

"He came to the wrong location." I explained. "When I refused to identify myself, he broke the door in - with his weapon drawn, I might add - and I placed him under arrest. I need your highest ranking supervisor here, along with the sheriff, if he is present. Oh, and you might want to assign someone else, to check out that noise complaint at the Smoky Mountain MOTEL."

"The sheriff has left for the day, but I will contact him immediately." the dispatcher replied. "Yates, you've heard all of this, I assume?"

"Roger that." came a reply. "Already on the way. I heard what was happening. I'll be there in two minutes. McElroy, respond to the CORRECT location of the noise complaint."

"10-4. En route."

I could hear the wail of an approaching siren, and then the warbling hyper-yelp and power air horn, as he cleared an intersection nearby.

"We've got it from here." I stated crisply. "Out."

I then turned my attention back to the deputy.

"Stand up," I said roughly, "and put your hands behind your back."

I thrust the cuffs in his face before restraining him.

"Read what that says out loud!" I demanded.

"'Property of United States Secret Service.'" he read slowly.

"Think those are fake too?" I demanded. "I'm going to see to it that the US Attorney General prosecutes you himself!"

"Sheriff's Office!" a voice called out from the doorway. "I'm Lieutenant Yates."

"Jack Fawkes," I said, extending my hand. "I guess I won't be needing these now. You can cuff him yourself."

"Is there any way we can work something out?" Yates inquired.

"No can do." I replied, shaking my head. "We were in the middle of a live stream when this went down. That account has several million followers, and I'll bet at least a couple million people watched it go down live, on the Internet. Your boy's in big trouble, Lieutenant. I'm not some salesman on his way through town. I report directly to the President of the United States. I will also remind you again, this is being live streamed. On the Internet. To millions of eyes."

"Roger that." he responded. "I wasn't trying to make it go away. I was just hoping to maybe get you to bend a little; as his supervisor. It never hurts to ask."

"No it doesn't." I agreed. "But this guy has no business whatsoever; being a cop! He had his gun drawn, and forcibly kicked the door in without a warrant. It gives everyone with a badge a bad name. People are tired of law enFORCEment officers, Lieutenant. They just want good, old-fashioned cops back.

"Now, you have everyone decked out in full tactical gear, with scumbag beards and shit, looking like they just got back from a detail in the Mideast, intimidating the fuck out of everyone, and people are fed up with it!

"Remember when your garage man, the ice cream man and police officers all dressed in the same uniforms and caps? What the fuck ever happened to Officer Friendly?! When, did we - as cops - suddenly stop being everyone's clean-shaven friend and start looking and acting like mercenaries?"

"We need the tactical gear for responses." he replied, rubbing his own beard in response to my comment. "Would you go up against a group of armed terrorists without it?"

Sophia guffawed loudly, eliciting a stern look from Yates.

"You find that humorous, Young Lady?" he demanded.

"I do." she replied. "First of all, my name isn't 'Young Lady.' It's Sophia. Junior Deputy Sophia Fawkes, and while you do outrank me, I also have the right to snicker if I find something funny."

"What could you possibly find humorous about someone going up against a group of armed aggressors without a vest or belt?!" he demanded. "They would almost certainly be killed. That's not funny!"

"Because he did that other night." she explained, pointing at me. "And he killed every single one of them. Well, I take that back. He left two alive to be interrogated, although he did shoot one of their arms off. That piece of shit, Senator Scheinstein. They were in a truck though. All the ones in the woods are dead."

Yates stared first at her; then at me. It was beginning to dawn on him, who we were. A siren could be heard in the distance, and it was unlike anything I'd heard in a long time. It wasn't a modern electronic unit. It was an old fashioned, ear-piercing piece of equipment from the 60s or 70s, that probably belonged in a museum.

"That's the sheriff." Yates explained. "He likes for everyone to know it's him on the way. It still sends shudders down some of the old timers' spines up there in the back hollers, to hear him coming."

The car came to a stop a few doors down, and the entire area was suddenly bathed in revolving blue spotlights. Not only did he have an antique siren mounted on the front bumper, there was a vintage Whelan blue beacon light on the roof! This guy wasn't kidding. It was an image designed to make a point in these misty hills and hollows, more than anything. He was the High Sheriff, and he wanted everyone to know it.

He exited his car and adjusted his duty belt, before ambling in our direction. He gazed at Perkins' car and shook his head, while muttering something.

"Evening Sheriff!" Yates said brightly.

"Yates." he acknowledged him.

He faced me and stuck his hand out.

"I'm Sheriff Daniel Cody, and I do apologize for my deputy's most egregious actions." he stated, in a thick drawl. "Poikins, what in God's name have you done, Son?"

"Jack Fawkes." I replied, shaking his hand. "I mean no disrespect, but what the hell is he doing with a badge?"

"Nothing anymore!" he said tersely. "He's been reprimanded a few times for being a bit... uh... gregarious, but nothing like this. Poikins, you are no longer employed by this department. And don't say a woid. I'll have you appointed counsel, once you're in the system."

He turned back to me.

"I am deeply embarrassed by my deputy's actions." he apologized again. "We've been having trouble getting young local folks to join, these days. We had to outsource, and I reckon we made a huge mistake."

"Yeah, I reckon so!" I exclaimed. "I met a nice Tribal officer this morning; a sergeant named Pete Cody. Any relation?"

"He's my nephew." Daniel explained. "Tried to recruit him myself, but his wants to stick with his Cherokee side. Can't say as I blame him. Let's take a little walk, shall we?"

I followed him out the door and down the sidewalk.

"Just do me the coitesy of letting me know if you plan on suing the county, if you would." he said cordially. "Just to give me a head's up, since I think I'm going to need all the help I can get."

"I'm not going to sue the county." I said flatly. "That wouldn't hurt the department, but it would sure hurt the taxpayers, who would be the ones on the hook for it. But I am going to sue him personally. Given his actions being broadcast around the world and all, there isn't a judge alive who would grant him qualified immunity."

"He doesn't have anything." Daniel advised. "He lives in a rented trailer on Mountaintop Terrace."

"I don't WANT anything!" I said in frustration. "I just want to make a point. That's why I'm not going to sue your department. As soon as you realized what he had done, you fired him on the spot. That's the kind of message to send. I want him convicted, and to lose whatever he has, to me. And I want that message out there; stop with all of this law enFORCEment shit and go back to being regular cops again.

"The reason you can't get local kids to join anymore, is because they're all scared of you, and it's not out of respect, like with the good ol' boys running 'shine days. It's because you intimidate them. Your deputies look like renegade mercs that saw combat in Afghanistan. Beards, spitting tobacco-"

As if on cue, my "red phone" decided to ring at that moment, and it wasn't the typical ring. It was the 'Hail to the Chief' ring that John had used the other week, when he was testing the system out. He had to be watching this, or at least been briefed that it was playing out to millions of people on the Internet. The fact that he had decided to wait until we left the sight of the camera, was a good indication that he wanted to speak with the sheriff directly.

"That's the President." I stated emphatically. "I believe he has been made aware of this situation. Please excuse me for a moment while I take this call."

I retrieved the phone and answered.

"I take it you've been watching the scene unfold?" I inquired.

"Just the past few minutes, although I have been fully briefed on what went down." he replied. "Jesus, Jack! What was that crazy son of a bitch doing?! Thank God he didn't go off on some old people or something. Or worse yet, pull the trigger."

"Letting it get to his head, I suppose." I sighed. "They're letting too many unqualified people into positions of power. Maybe there's something you can do about it."

"Perhaps. In the meantime, would you be so kind as to put the sheriff on, please?"

"Sure." I responded, holding the phone out. "Tuck in that shirt, adjust that belt buckle and tie those shoes! The President of the United States would like to converse with you."