Post by Ed Hood on Mar 18, 2015 23:29:25 GMT -5
The office was particularly quiet, but then again, it was always quiet. He liked the quiet; the quiet meant he was doing his job right, and it was a satisfying feeling for a man in his shoes, being the Sheriff of Holston. He had a few minor calls, sometimes, never anything major—just teenagers having a bush party up behind the old abandoned farm. He'd pull up slowly, with lights off, and when he was close enough, he'd flick the red and blue lights on, and they'd all scatter. It always brought a smile to his face. It was an easy night, a perfect night.
He grabbed hold of the picture on his desk of his late wife, Martha. A day didn't gone by without him missing her. It had been ten years since her passing, but to him, it still seemed like yesterday when they would walk through the Holston park holding hands. How he missed her. He took a sip of his black coffee, one sugar, and placed the picture down as the chimes above the door clanged together.
He opened a black case, pulled out a pair of glasses, and placed them over his eyes. He shook his head when he noticed who the person was. It was one of his deputies, TJ Andrews, and he looked like he had seen better days. Ed shook his head.
Ed Hood: "Rough night?"
TJ Andrews: "Not today, Gramps, not today."
Ed rolled his eyes, and his cheeks went red. He hated being called that, and TJ knew it but chose to do it anyways.
Ed Hood: "I'm still waiting on your paperwork from that fender bender last week. I'd like to have it filed before 10 a.m. today."
TJ Andrews: "There was no paperwork, Ed."
Ed Hood: "What do you mean?"
TJ Andrews: "A kid crashed a bike into a side of a car. No damage, no injuries, no paperwork. Case closed."
Ed stared across the room at TJ, who had made himself comfy in one of the jail cell's bunks. Ed just wanted to walk over, close the door and lock it, and flush the key down the toilet.
Ed Hood: "I guess, like everything else, I'll do the paperwork."
TJ Andrews: "Fill your boots, Gramps."
TJ mumbled from beneath his coat, which he had draped over his face as he waved Ed off with his hand. One day, Ed hoped, he'd get the oppurtitunity to fire TJ, but help was hard to find. Even if the one person he had was bad help, he was help nonetheless.
Ed stood up from his desk while grabbing his 9mm pistol and placing it in the holster on the side of his hip. He turned and grabbed his jacket, sliding both his arms into the sleeves and zipping the jacket up before grabbing his hat and placing it on his head.
Ed Hood: "I'm going on patrol."
He glanced over towards TJ in the jail cell. TJ replied with a snore.
Ed Hood: "Useless."
Ed left the sheriff station, mumbling beneath his breath. His station. He took a deep breath, taking in the morning air. There was a slight chill in the air this morning.
"Good morning, Sheriff!"
Ed Hood: "Good morning, Debbie!"
Ed tilted his hat towards her as the Surgeon of Holston walked by. She waved, but never stopped to chat, as she headed in the general direction of the Holston General Hospital. Ed scanned the streets. They were deserted this morning, besides a few townies heading for work and a piece of paper flapping around in the middle of the street. He ran out and stomped his foot on it, pinning it to the ground. He picked the paper up and mumbled the word highlighted at the top of the paper.
Ed Hood: "Wrestletown."
He'd be the first to admit it: Ed Hood loved wrestling. He'd never miss a match, but this was different. Dean Willard wanted to bring professional wrestling to Holston—no, he was bringing professional wrestling to Holston. The thought of it left an uneasy feeling in the back of his throat. Outsiders and tourists would fill the quiet town of Holston soon. It gave him a bad feeling, a really bad, gut-wrenching feeling. His radio clicked.
Voice: "Good morning, Ed."
Ed Hood: "Good morning, Sarah!"
Sarah Kane: "Miss Stevens called. She says a coyote killed two of her sheep."
Ed Hood: "Tell Miss Stevens I'm on my way."
He pulled his hand away from the microphone. This was his town, and he'd bend over backwards to keep it the way it was, quiet and peaceful. It didn't matter what the cost was. He was the sheriff.
He grabbed hold of the picture on his desk of his late wife, Martha. A day didn't gone by without him missing her. It had been ten years since her passing, but to him, it still seemed like yesterday when they would walk through the Holston park holding hands. How he missed her. He took a sip of his black coffee, one sugar, and placed the picture down as the chimes above the door clanged together.
He opened a black case, pulled out a pair of glasses, and placed them over his eyes. He shook his head when he noticed who the person was. It was one of his deputies, TJ Andrews, and he looked like he had seen better days. Ed shook his head.
Ed Hood: "Rough night?"
TJ Andrews: "Not today, Gramps, not today."
Ed rolled his eyes, and his cheeks went red. He hated being called that, and TJ knew it but chose to do it anyways.
Ed Hood: "I'm still waiting on your paperwork from that fender bender last week. I'd like to have it filed before 10 a.m. today."
TJ Andrews: "There was no paperwork, Ed."
Ed Hood: "What do you mean?"
TJ Andrews: "A kid crashed a bike into a side of a car. No damage, no injuries, no paperwork. Case closed."
Ed stared across the room at TJ, who had made himself comfy in one of the jail cell's bunks. Ed just wanted to walk over, close the door and lock it, and flush the key down the toilet.
Ed Hood: "I guess, like everything else, I'll do the paperwork."
TJ Andrews: "Fill your boots, Gramps."
TJ mumbled from beneath his coat, which he had draped over his face as he waved Ed off with his hand. One day, Ed hoped, he'd get the oppurtitunity to fire TJ, but help was hard to find. Even if the one person he had was bad help, he was help nonetheless.
Ed stood up from his desk while grabbing his 9mm pistol and placing it in the holster on the side of his hip. He turned and grabbed his jacket, sliding both his arms into the sleeves and zipping the jacket up before grabbing his hat and placing it on his head.
Ed Hood: "I'm going on patrol."
He glanced over towards TJ in the jail cell. TJ replied with a snore.
Ed Hood: "Useless."
Ed left the sheriff station, mumbling beneath his breath. His station. He took a deep breath, taking in the morning air. There was a slight chill in the air this morning.
"Good morning, Sheriff!"
Ed Hood: "Good morning, Debbie!"
Ed tilted his hat towards her as the Surgeon of Holston walked by. She waved, but never stopped to chat, as she headed in the general direction of the Holston General Hospital. Ed scanned the streets. They were deserted this morning, besides a few townies heading for work and a piece of paper flapping around in the middle of the street. He ran out and stomped his foot on it, pinning it to the ground. He picked the paper up and mumbled the word highlighted at the top of the paper.
Ed Hood: "Wrestletown."
He'd be the first to admit it: Ed Hood loved wrestling. He'd never miss a match, but this was different. Dean Willard wanted to bring professional wrestling to Holston—no, he was bringing professional wrestling to Holston. The thought of it left an uneasy feeling in the back of his throat. Outsiders and tourists would fill the quiet town of Holston soon. It gave him a bad feeling, a really bad, gut-wrenching feeling. His radio clicked.
Voice: "Good morning, Ed."
Ed Hood: "Good morning, Sarah!"
Sarah Kane: "Miss Stevens called. She says a coyote killed two of her sheep."
Ed Hood: "Tell Miss Stevens I'm on my way."
He pulled his hand away from the microphone. This was his town, and he'd bend over backwards to keep it the way it was, quiet and peaceful. It didn't matter what the cost was. He was the sheriff.
