The Beautiful People

49. Jimbo

     While my sleep was a little restless that night, I was pretty confident that the cot I was laying in was far more comfortable than the ground that Mr. Parsons had expected everyone else to sleep in while he and the wife slept in that comfy looking camper. The food was pretty good last night, but I wasn't looking forward to breakfast that morning, as it was coming from that diner where I had eaten with Rachel only a few days ago, and my words were likely going to come back and bite me in the arse. I didn't think I was that rude, but I might as well have horns and a tail right if we're going to base the Sheriff's opinion about me based on how thick his wife probably told him the story to him later that day. The Sheriff was uncharacteristically quiet after his wife had left, and rather than try to explain myself I chose to stick with my right to remain silent for the rest of the night. I also knew Mr. Parsons was likely going to send a lawyer down here to quickly get me the hell out of here, so no point saying anything that could be used against me in a court of law. I just stayed in my cot and kept my damn mouth shut. The only Intel this soldier was prepared to share was just my name, rank, and serial number.

     The Sheriff, or Bill as he preferred to be called, was sitting at his desk and doing a lot of paper work and making phone calls. He was a very busy man for a guy who worked in what looked like a very small town. Bill was a hard worker and he seemed like the kind of guy who would be more frustrated if he had free time on his hands. The kind of fellow to do other people's work just to avoid having idle hands. It wasn't until breakfast arrived that Bill actually said something to me as he came over to personally deliver it.

     "Here you go, soldier." Bill said, handing the meal through a gap in the bars. "I apologize in advance if the toast looks like any African actors."

     "Thank you, Sheriff." I said, taking the food and opening it up. To my surprise, the toast wasn't burnt at all. It looks like someone was more interested in making good food rather than trying to make a point. Chalk one up for someone trying to be more professional than petty.

     Things were quiet for about another hour. I finished my breakfast rather quickly and they laid back down on my cot and just waited for the cavalry to eventually make an appearance. When it did happen, it was hard not to notice. The dude strolled into the station, dressed rather casually. He was wearing a dress shirt and dress pants, but the sleeves on his dress shirt were rolled up. A part of me was under the impression this lawyer was working at the office on a big case and had to drop what he was doing a drive out to butt fuck nowhere to deal with this garbage. The man was screaming or anything, but I could tell by the waving of is hands that threats were being made and a decent amount of comment sense was being applied to what was an unnecessary arrest of one of his client's guests. After several minutes talking to this person, Bill strolled over to my cell and opened the door.  

     "Come on out, young man." Bill said, gesturing I come out and join them.

     I grabbed my stuff and even picked up the garbage from breakfast and tossed it into the trashcan on my way into the room where the lawyer was waiting for me. Once I was out there I could tell the attorney didn't want to be there anymore than I did, but I was happy to see him none the less. He reached out and shook my hand.

     "Colby Jones," the man said, "I'm here on behalf of Mr. David Parsons who notified me of the situation rather quickly."

     "Thanks," I replied, "So, what's going on now?"

     "I spoke to the county D.A. earlier this morning," Jones answered, "And he assured me that there would be no pursuit of the charges if the shooting was done in self defense. Mr. Parsons insisted that it was, but I we need to hear it from you since you were the shooter."

     "Yeah, totally in self defense," I insisted, "I wasn't looking for trouble. I just wanted to take a piss when that thing started walking up to me."

     "Was that when you shot it?" the lawyer asked.

     "No," I answered, "My first discharge was actually a warning shot. I was hoping the sound might be enough to scare it off. Turns out it was more hungry than scared because that's when the bastard charged at me. Since I really didn't want to be dinner, I fired several times and added some iron to that kitty's diet."

     "Alright, that sounds good to me," The lawyer said turning back to the Sheriff, "Are you satisfied with that explanation, sheriff?"

     "Yeah, I am." Bill said, "He doesn't seem like the kind that would run around and shoot things for sport. The man is also former military so I reckon he's got more respect for his sidearm and wouldn't use it unless it was absolutely necessary."

     The lawyer then handed over a letter to the Sheriff and waited for him to read the contents.

     "Alright, this is good enough for me," Bill said, as he turned to face me. "You're free to go, toast boy. Have a nice day."

     "Toast boy?" the lawyer repeated, looking rather confused.

     "It's an inside joke," I replied, even grinning at him. "It's alright."

     "Okay," the lawyer said, "Sorry for your trouble Sheriff, but we'll be going now."

     "No offense, Sheriff," I said as I shook Bill's hand, "But I hope I never see you again."

     "Ditto," Bill said, with a soft chuckle of his own. "Take care."

     The lawyer held the door open for me as I walked out of the station, back into the world a free man. Not that there was ever any doubt to begin with, which was the entire reason I never panicked at all during my brief stay. There was a sweet Jaguar in the parking space when we got out, which was rather ironic since I was here for shooting a similar cat in the first place.

     "Get in," Jones barked, "I'm going to drive you back to David's place."

     "Will do," I said, walking over to the passenger side. "Sorry about dragging you out here in the middle of the weekend."

     "I appreciate that," Jones said, standing outside his door, "But shit happens, and I'm still billing his ass for a few extra hours for it anyway."

     "I'll be sure to tell him you fought valiantly and for a long time," I added.

     "No need, but appreciated," Jones said opening the door, "Let's get going."