Runny eggs and cold coffee was the love coming from Aaron Wessel’s wife this morning.
Hell of a way to start a long day. Heh… weekend. As the chief of police on a Friday before Memorial day, the weekend was going to prove to be a nasty one. He finished up, gave the kid a rub on the head and his wife the peck on the cheek.
Check and check.
The squad car was parked in the drive. He had brought it home after topping it up at the yard. Holiday weekends were never quiet for the force. He liked to be able to be a presence at whatever was going to happen this weekend. That meant making his on-call office as mobile as possible.
Prior to making it into the office, he had to run back-up at a high school party ‘morning after’ bust. Then it was off to the church for a heads up to some of the kid’s parents. Politics and more politics.
After checking in downtown, he got back into the cruiser. One block over, he got back out.
There was a bus parked around back of the town hall. One of the smaller ones. He noted that a basement window had been opened a few inches. Soothing rhythms of piano jazz whispered from it. The speakers must have been set up right underneath the window, because the murmurs and sudden outbursts of laughter wasn’t drowning it out. He heard a voice say “Looks like the Chief is here…”
The voice might have been Jimmy’s. Could be his brother Jack. A year apart, but those two could be twins. Wessel smiled as he took the steps two at a time. Jimmy’s voice sounded happy.
For almost an hour, Wessel had a second breakfast with his other family. Five kids; all orphans, victims of tragedy and personal horrors that had taken their families away from them. He played a few hands of poker with the older ones, always making sure to never let anything other than a pair end up in his hand. He left that table with handshakes all around and a wallet that was twenty-three bucks lighter. He sat with Sandra for a bit and watched her draw in the small sketchbook that he had brought along. She was into portraits these days. She talked about shading verses hard lines, off-set eyes to add realism, and (quietly) whispered her concern that she felt kind of weird drawing ethnic groups outside of her own. It wasn’t a racist thing; more of a sense of invaded space, she felt she was invading a personal space because of her need to study different ethnic details. Wessel suggested that she pick up some National Geographic’s and copy out a few of the folks from that. He couldn’t help but smile as a light of inspiration sparked behind those soft hazel eyes. The phone beeped and vibrated.
He blinked at the sound. The smile never left, but the warmth sure did. Aaron was pulled back into the real world. It was a text from the matriarch of Blocgarten, Gaam Onondaga.
Before leaving, he collected the billing invoice from Mrs. Sommers (looking at the total, he figured that he would be eating runny eggs for the next week).There were hugs and handshakes all around. A second text from Gaam pulled Aaron out of the building, making him put on his Chief face. Some hippy had been slaughtered by a beast out on her property.
The chief was glad he packed extra bags in the back of the cruiser. Yes sir, it was going to be a busy weekend.
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