2.1 The Deputy’s Big Day Part I

by Matt P.

With a last low purr from the engine, Walter glided his motorcycle into the last open employee parking spot at the Border Police Department building, in the Old Market district of downtown. Built of old brick, it claimed to still have pieces of it dating to the founding of the city in the 19th Century. Having ridden over them and kept his spleen in line only through sheer force of will, Walter believed it.

He pulled the key out of the Harley-Davidson Iron 883, the only personal purchase he had made out of years of bonuses and the money that his wife had left him, and set the kickstand. With a fond stroke to the whiskey colored body, he steeled his nerves and walked into the building.

The Border PD was headquartered in a large, old building that seemed to have been designed by someone from 1932 who wanted a medieval castle. On the cheap. It has turrets, for God’s sake… Walter thought as he walked in, although covered in climbing ivy they didn’t look particularly stable.

The front room was pleasantly modern, save for the gleaming wooden floor he had no doubt someone had to spend a lot of time polishing, and hoped it wouldn’t be him. He’d done his time cleaning things with toothbrushes, and had no desire to repeat them.

The rest though looked efficiently new. Laptops on desks, people working efficiently. He knew it was a surprisingly small force for a city the size of Border, which measured almost 110,000 and the sixth largest city in the state. So they had to work efficiently, doubly so because he’d never heard of the city until he’d met his wife.

Walter stepped up to the information desk, and gave a smile. “Hello.” He greeted the desk sergeant. “My name is Walter Richards, and I’m here to see Marshal…”

“Look out!” A voice behind him cried. He felt something impacting his shoulder, and instinctively turned to grab it, reaching into his jacket for his pistol.