Ford Night Comes

1. Auflage 2015
ISBN: 978-1-4835-5770-0
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 175 Seiten

Confronted by an ancient evil, unlikely hero, Sheriff Clay Benson investigates the deaths of several people in his County. Overweight and overmatched Sheriff Benson tracks his quarry across the Country.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Ford, Nathan

Leseproben

Chapter 2 The funeral was the largest in memory; they had to use the school gymnasium. Two thousand people had come to the service. Sheriff Benson stretched his authority past its limits and forced the news van and camera crew two blocks away. When the reporters complained to the Nebraska State Police they just replied “It’s not our show.” The service was officiated by the Presbyterian Minister, even though Jon had not been a regular attendee. The ceremony for Cal and Heather had been made private but the entire town demanded this service to be made public. They had both been found the morning after the night of the twister, the worst storm in the history of the town. The weather service said it was an F4, entire farms were wiped away. Thousands of trees were down. The material damage was astronomical; the County was declared a Federal disaster area. -Clay- Ben entered Ranger Bar, his eyes adjusted to the dim light; he almost didn’t recognize Sheriff Benson out of his uniform. Clay was seated at a table in the corner drinking a Coke; Bill Kelso was there with him. Ben walked up to the table and announced, “I don’t have nothing to say, not sure why I came.” Clay motioned to a chair, “Have seat Ben.” Ben sat down but looked as if he was about to spring out the door. “Bill here might not know, but you and I know the storm didn’t kill those kids.” Clay had practiced several versions of this meeting and none had started with him saying what he just had. The statement just seemed to have blurted out by its own. “Fuck you Sheriff; I don’t want to hear it!” Ben might have yelled; but elected to stay seated and remained quiet. “Aint about me, State Police declared it case closed. I know that news station is complaining and I’m gonna be out of a job. But the job aint done, and I mean to see it is.” County Commissioner had put him on paid leave, pending a review. The County Commissioner actually thanked him for keeping those, “Nosey sons a bitches,” from the High School. The County attorney would find out what the news station would be satisfied with, Clay would probably have to resign then be quietly rehired as a Deputy for the same pay. Next year he could run for Sheriff again when the smoke cleared. Bill was more confused than ever but didn’t say a word. He had the impression that before this conversation was over something big was going to be said. When he’d sat down and been asked to wait for Ben, Bill had become more intrigued. “Ya going off te get the boogeyman?” Ben’s voice was thick with sarcasm. “You scared Ben? Just going to make jokes all night. I’ll give ya some proof.” Clay threw a file on the table, since nineteen o two, eighteen people have gone missing. Eighteen.” Clay let the number sink in. “Some were found, but of those, only five health records could be found and they all died from un-known causes. Bodies were all found right round Miller’s corn field.” A full minute passed, “Martha seen it. The night Todd Messer disappeared.” Ben began to regress, “I never half believed her. If’n I did, Jon might…” Ben didn’t weep just closed his eyes and leaned his head against the arm that lay across the table. Bill didn’t have any idea what was going to take place at this meeting, had even considered not coming. Assumed that the Sheriff was going to ping him about the beer he’d given to Jon. The kids were found near the lake, no sign of foul play or struggle. Blood test showed they had each only consumed two beers, confirmed by the four empty cans and the remaining beers in the carton. Their friends said they had left the party at the lake about nine, same as everyone else when the rain had started. Storm came through around ten. Bodies were found outside the vehicle, lying apart by about thirty feet. The driver’s side door was ajar. State Surgeon ruled cause of death to be from shock, somehow due to the storm. The official medical report was thirty pages long and really didn’t say anything other than all their organs had just quit working at the same time. Clay had a different take on it. The most violent part of the storm was nowhere near the lake. The kids had parked there to do what kids do when alone, rain slowed down so girl decides to answer the call of nature, attacked outside the vehicle about eleven o’clock. Few minutes pass Jon goes to see what’s keeping her. Bodies were found at nine twenty five in the AM by people driving around looking at the storm damage. Waitress came near the table to take order but retreated quickly after being given a look by Sheriff Benson. Bill still had not spoken and fiddled with the paper napkin in front of him that advertised Budweiser. Bryan Adams crooned from the Juke box; finally Bill stood and said, “You guys want anything?” Getting no response, he went to the bar and ordered scotch on the rocks, and then returned to his chair. Clay broke the silence, “I gotta couple days off, gonna go ta Nance County there’s a guy who trains dogs. Gonna see if’n he’ll come n’ check things out.” He thought briefly about telling them about the Skidi but decide that was a bit much. “I don’t have any idea what we’re looking for but this all smells wrong. I’m gonna do this on my own whether ya’l help er not, you both knew Jon.” Benson didn’t need to elaborate further. “I got couple weeks left then my project at the school is done, won’t be available fer much till then.” Bill felt non-committal, figured if Clay called him he could just come up with an excuse to get out of it. He continued to stay with Barb, but had no idea where it was going to lead now. She hadn’t left the house since the funeral; in a couple weeks he was going to ask if she would come with him to the city and figured she would jump at the chance to leave this town behind. Bill had hoped to stay having become comfortable with the idea of relocating here. Deep down there was part of him that hoped there was a boogey man responsible; because he would tear him apart for hurting the boy. “ I’ll come wit ya.” This was as far Ben could be pushed into committing. He needed an excuse to get away from the farm for a few hours. This morning he’d come across one of Jon’s old ball caps and cried until the bill was soaked. Ben had not wept at the funeral, Martha was a complete mess. He was sick of listening to her bitch, while he tried to keep things from falling apart. -Charlie- Clay had called ahead and the “Dog guy” was going to “be around.” This trip to Nance was full of tension. The bed of Ben’s pickup was covered in empty PBR cans and salted with plastic travelers of Black Velvet. A half full traveler rested on the bench seat between them. Ben was chain smoking Pal Malls and drinking from a thermos that Benson hoped was coffee. Ben looked like hell, eyes blood shot and a three day growth of beard. Remington 870 and a Winchester model 70 rested in the gun rack behind his head. Wind blew through the triangular side windows; occasionally a gust would pick up a stray bit of paper with a part number scribbled on it. The refuse would float around the cab catching drafts that would push it toward an open window then pull it back prior to being jettisoned into their wake. Clay sat deeply into the worn spring of the vinyl bench seat; his new Levis were beginning to chaff and give him a case of swamp ass. The Pickup made a hard left, if not for being embedded into the seat Clay might have succumbed to the centripetal force and been propelled against Ben. Luckily the coefficient of friction created between his Levis and the vinyl seat was great enough only his head canted as the turn was completed. Two miles down a gravel track they stopped in front of an old double wide. There were all varieties of cars and vehicle parts strewn about the yard. The excited sound of a least ten dogs emitted from an old barn that lay just south of the trailer. The noise from the barn paled compared to the deep baritone of the mongrel attempting to climb through Clay’s open window. Now half deaf and covered in dog spittle, Benson now classified this idea one of worst he’d ever had. Ben shouted above the din, “I think he likes you!” The screen door of the trailer opened. Charlie Kuruk, straight black hair fell to his shoulder, dark complexion, tall forehead, and high cheek bones. He was wearing old boots, faded wranglers and a plaid short-sleeve snap shirt. “Heel.” The dog obeyed only stopping to mark Ben’s truck tire and then went to the man’s side and sat placidly with his tongue lolling out. “Blackie don like cops.” The doors creaked as Ben and Clay exited. They walked up to Charlie who declined to shake hands. Clay began with politeness, “I’m Clay Benson and this is Ben Johnson. Can I assume you are Mr. Charlie Kuruk? We spoke on the phone.” Clay added the last comment out of nervousness. “Come on in. Blackie stay.” Charlie’s command was obeyed but did not prohibit the large dog leaning out and sticking his nose into Clay’s groin as he passed. The interior of the trailer was clean and well kept. Guns and animal mounts hung on the wall. The kitchen table was covered in papers and magazines. An old green refrigerator hummed, the room was cooled by an oscillating fan. Clay recognized the pungent smell of burnt sweet grass...