Saturday morning, at six o'clock, Cole County Deputy Sheriff Bobby Nace entered his office. His heavy footsteps in his spit shined, black boots echoed through the room in the cavernous old courthouse. He went straight to the filing cabinet, and began frantically searching through the files.
By the time everyone else had arrived for work about an hour later, Bobby had finished off several cups of coffee and smoked several cigarettes.
"What on earth have you been doing?" asked Brenda Jones, one of the three office secretaries.
"I can tell this is going to be a hell of a day!" Bobby retorted.
Aware of Bobby's stress, Brenda sat at her desk.
The telephone rang.
"Hello," Brenda answered, "No, I can't talk now, Mary. I'm busy!" She hung up.
Bobby sat down in his desk chair, and swung around to face Brenda. A folder in his hand, he reclined back.
"Lordy, lordy," Bobby began, "I've collected some information that I wish hadn't come through!"
"For goodness sake, what?"
'Well," Bobby began, "I've got this memo from Sheriff Clayton, and I quote, 'Following some complaints from nearby residents of the Sampson Motel, I have learned that some kids have planned a party there on January 11. I don't know if any of their parents know about it. As usual, they're planning to rent a couple of rooms, and raise hell! There is likely to be drugs, liquor, and certain questionable actions among these young people. In know about this from reliable sources. I would appreciate it if you would investigate the situation. Signed, Sheriff Peter Clayton.'"
"Probably Cole gossip," Brenda sighed.
For the past several weeks, Sheriff Clayton had been incapacitated due to injuries suffered in a hunting accident. Thus, the young Bobby Nace had become acting sheriff.
One of Bobby's first arrests was both an amusing and sad story that had floated around town, so delightful to gossips that it had, actually, found it's way into "polite company."
Bobby and his wife, Angie, lived in a garage apartment behind Angie's parents' house. For some time, they had suspected a man by the name of Terry Hays, of being a peeing Tom. They had heard rumors of this from other residents, citing the glow from Terry's cigarette as he walked around town, from yard to yard.
Late one night, after hearing noise outside their apartment, Bobby looked outside to find Terry laying under a tree by the side of the apartment. In short, Terry had climbed the tree, peered inside the window of the apartment, then fallen. Handcuffs soon followed, and the case of the Cole peeping Tom was solved.
"I've got some names of some of the kids who've been drinking underage," Bobby said. "There's even been rumors of pot here and there. The only thing I can really nab them on is the booze, though, and I'm sure there will be plenty of that at the Sampson Motel!"
"Before this," Brenda said, "didn't everyone just laugh the matter off?"
"Yeah," Bobby answered, "but now that I'm the law, they're expecting me to be the heavy!"
"That's awful!" Brenda said. "I mean--the way they make you do the dirty work!"
"It's damn stinking!" Bobby said, "But I'm going to go ahead and show them what I can do! I'll round up a few beverage control men, we'll eat steaks somewhere, then go make our raid!"
Brenda arose, and walked up to Bobby. Running her hand down his back, in one of her countless attempts at flirtation.
"Can I go along?"
"No," Bobby answered. "Not tonight."
"What about my apartment, after the raid?"
"What about it?"
"We could crawl around in a hot bath together," Brenda continued.
"What if Angie found out?"
"Sorry," Brenda blushed. "I just can't stand being alone on a Saturday night!"
"Sure," Bobby said, as he continued his work. "No offense."
As they continued their work, Brenda almost cried from embarrassment and lust, but manged to hold her emotions inside.
Usually on Saturday, Bill and Danny helped in the store. However, this was one of those slow Saturdays. Thus, they both left early and, during the afternoon, Bill took a nap.
At three twenty, Bill was awaken by the doorbell. He arose, put his pants on, and went to the door. It was his buddy, Gary Brown.
"You woke me up, man," Bill, rubbing his eyes, said.
"Sorry," Gary said, "but I've got something in my car that will really wake you up!"
"Go get it," Bill said.
As he looked out the window, Bill could see Gary approaching the house, a brown paper bag under his left arm,
"You woke me to tell me you got a fifth for tonight?" Bill sighed.
"Shut up and listen!" Gary said. "You can't tell anybody about this!"
"I swear to God I won't!" Bill said.
From the sack, Bill pulled a large, capped bottle with no label.
"Moonshine!" Gary said.
"Cut out the shit!" Bill said. "What is it?"
"I said moonshine! I was riding around the other day. I happened to get lost, and I ended up on some out of the way, gravel road. There was this old farmer--he looked a hundred years old--and we got to talking. He'd just given me directions back to town, and I was about to leave. Then, he asked me if I was interested in getting drunk out of my mind. Of course, I told him, 'hell, yeah,' and he took me back to his still. I couldn't believe it! Then, before you knew it, he'd given me six bottles of this stuff! I made him drink from each bottle to prove it wasn't poisonous. He drank from each bottle. So, Kazan, we's gonna have a good time tonight!"
They both hollered with excitement, and shook hands.
"I'll leave this one here," Gary said. "I got another one out in my car."
"Tell you what," Bill suggested, " as you leave, just stick this under my front seat. Make sure my parents can't see it. Hell, they probably won't be back from the store until late, anyway!"
Bill showered, confirmed his date with Sharon Holmes, and looked forward, with tingling anticipation, to the evening ahead.
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