Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Chapter 12
Fletch
“Fletcher, there’s been a call for a welfare check. Are you able to check it out on your way out?” Susan asks when I’m about to say my goodbyes for the day. The past two days, I’ve been stuck to my desk. I’ve wrapped up case after case, signing my name, following up, and I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.
“Sure can. Paper or on the computer?” I ask.
“Computer. Chief Taylor said it’s time to get with this century.” For the most part, she’ll write up a report and hand it to me, but on the rare occurrences, she’ll put it in the system. Susan looks around and over her shoulder. “Truth be told, I think the big guy came down on him. Computers are so much easier, and then there’s no need for all these files sitting around.” The man has been set in his ways for years now, used to doing things his own way. But when the mayor and town officials tell you to get with the program, you don’t have much of a choice.
“That’ll put him in one hell of a mood.” The paper trail is a pain in the dick and a fuck of a lot easier to lose. Especially when your desk is full of them. “Maybe digital signatures will be next.” I wink at Susan. She’s been grumbling about how it’d make things a hell of a lot easier if she didn’t have to print out documents for us all to sign.
“We can only hope. I’m not holding my breath, though.” The phone on her desk rings, but she ignores it for a second, minus her hand being on the receiver, and says, “Keep me posted, alright? The caller seemed upset.”
“You got it.” I tap my knuckles on her desk before heading out the door. It’s time for me to get this show on the road.
“Thank you, Fletcher.” I don’t get to respond. She answers her phone and is back to business. My feet carry me to the door. With Susan being at the station alone, I’ll make sure to lock the door when I leave. Peach Springs is nothing like where I used to work, a big city where crime was sky high, and I worked undercover on drug cases. I had my fill, tired of being gone for weeks on end, unable to talk to my family and friends. Of course, I’d get the itch to head out, jump from a plane, zip line in the clouds, or rock climb in the desert.
“Shit,” I whisper under my breath as I open and close the door, locking it after me. Ever since Delilah has been in my life, I’ve felt more settled than I ever have. There’s been no need to go seek the next adrenaline rush. Even when I tucked tail and ran back to Wyoming to get away from the temptation that is Delilah Taylor, I wasn’t out riding a bull or bucking bronc like I once would have. My woman has me settling down and changing my ways. The kicker of it all is, there would be a time in my life when the thought alone would have me running for the hills. Now I’m the one ready to run toward Delilah. Damn, I’m going to be eating my words to my brothers and definitely to my buddy Lawson. I shake my head. It’s time get this show on the road. The sooner I take care of this call, the faster I can get home to my woman.
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After a fifteen-minute drive, I turn onto the street Susan put in the system. The neighborhood is quiet. There’s an older couple sitting in folding chairs underneath the tree in their front yard. I give them a two-finger wave, keeping my eyes peeled for where I’m going. Another neighbor is at the mailbox and waves me down. I’m going to go out on a limb and say this might be the person who made the call, and things must not be too bad if he’s out here without a care and flagging me down. I slow to a stop, roll my window down, and say, “Hello, sir.”
“Hey, there, are you coming here because of all the traffic coming and going lately?” My interest is piqued. I wouldn’t have suspected a neighborhood with a one-way street having traffic.
“Not particularly, but I’ll see what I can do. When you say traffic, what time of day and night?”
“At night. They like to use it like a runway, flying down the block, the noisier, the better. Enough to wake a man up from his sleep,” the gentleman states. I stay quiet. Usually, the best way to get the information you want is by waiting and letting the other person get everything out of their system. “I’m not sure if drugs are involved, if they’re night owls or what. I do know the house is a rental, there are more men than women, and there’s also a little girl. She must be about three or four. We all watch out for one another around here and, well, the little girl ran into the street one evening when I was coming in from dinner. A truck was heading right for her. Faster than I thought these old bones could take me, I got her out of the way.” He shakes his head. While this isn’t a crime, accidents happen, but if it’s continuously happening, well, it could be a case of neglect.