c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(1-26)
After visiting the grave of his father in Kentucky, Parker Redman wandered along the Ohio River for several days. He rode as if possessed by a demonic entity. Without any clear sense of direction, or purpose. But eventually, the futility of this episode made him spiritually and emotionally tired. He was running hard, but on a journey to nowhere. Even in a state of detachment and loss, this seemed a useless exercise. He needed some sort of grounding. Some personal reassessment of his reason for still being alive.
With no other point on the map calling him forward, he decided to revisit what had gone before. Central New York had been his home for many years. A place where he truly attained his manhood, learned how to wrench on iron steeds of the custom variety, and developed a taste for hard liquor. In addition to defensive physical combat, and loose women. With persistence, and frequent stops for gasoline, he could be back in several hours. The fumes from that high-octane nectar made him swoon in the saddle. It inspired daydream fantasies as he wandered back to the origin point of his southern tour. In that cloud of ether, he imagined getting a merciful reboot of his life. A second chance at finishing what he had begun as a teenage runaway. But upon reaching the county line, and then, his former apartment in a brick building by the railroad tracks, a new wrinkle of fate took hold of him as a prisoner.
Sheriff Contrell Pugh emerged from a vacant lot, across the alleyway. He was a beefy, burly fellow, always perspiring regardless of the ambient temperature. The enforcement professional had been waiting for an opportunity such as this, supported only by intuition. Long years of public service provided the sort of insight that a classroom setting, at the academy, could not offer. Now, the gamble he had taken paid off handsomely. There were no accomplices present, no club members to provide aid and comfort. And no witnesses. The moment was his to seize, and control. He felt empowered by this stroke of good fortune.
“FISHTAIL? YOU ACTUALLY CAME BACK HERE AFTER LEAVING IN A GAWDAMN HUFF? AFTER TEARING THINGS UP LIKE THE TASMANIAN DEVIL? BOY, I HAVE TO SAY YOU’VE WON THE PRIZE FOR ARROGANCE, OR MAYBE, PLUM STUPIDITY. WHICH IS IT, SIR? TELL ME BEFORE I CUFF YOU RIGHT HERE AND NOW!”
Parker had been strangely oblivious to his surroundings. He had barely taken time to dismount the chrome horse, and get his bearings once again. He felt exposed in a way that was not customary. Normally, his wits, or fists, would make escaping such an unfriendly situation guaranteed. But in this instance, he had tripped up, and fallen flat.
“Howdy Contrell. I’m honored to think you hung around here just to give me a welcome home greeting. That touches my heart...”
The lawman was not entertained by his cavalier attitude.
“DAMMIT FISH, YOU ARE ONE DUMB SON-OF-A-BITCH! DIDN’T YOU KNOW SANDRA WOULD PRESS CHARGES, AFTER THE WAY YOU LEFT HER PLACE? SHE FIGURED YOU’D NEVER COME BACK HERE THOUGH, BECAUSE THAT WOULD MEAN LANDING ON YOUR BUTT, IN THE HOOSEGOW! BUT I HAD A FEELING. CALL IT A TREMOR IN MY BONES. I KNEW THAT YOU’D RUN AROUND LIKE A SCARED CHICKEN, AND EVENTUALLY, END UP RIGHT WHERE YOU STARTED! TURN AND FACE THE WALL! YOU’RE HEADED TO JAIL, BOY! AT LEAST UNTIL WE SORT OUT ALL THE DETAILS!”
The contrarian biker realized that he had walked into a trap set on the first day of his willful absence. It hurt his pride to admit being so foolish. Yet he understood that the judgment was fully deserved.
“Okay, I get your groove, constable. It’s time to throw your weight around, right? Got to impress those voters at election time...”
A shove from the back sent him face-first, into the rough exterior of his abandoned living space. He felt the cold, metal hoops clamp over his wrists. Then, the barrel of a pistol pressed between his shoulder blades.
“THAT GIRL OF YOURS HAS THOSE BALLS IN A VISE, FISHTAIL! IF SHE WANTS TO MAKE SOMETHING OF THIS, BY GOD, JUDGE HENRY WILL SEND YOUR ASS RIGHT TO THE LOCKUP! YOUR REPUTATION AROUND THESE PARTS IS WELL KNOWN. CONGRATULATIONS, OFFENDER! YOU’RE ABOUT TO WIN THE DAMN SHIT LOTTERY! GOOD JOB! GOOOOOOD JOB!”
Parker was in a holding cell with three other men. They were camp laborers from a local KOA. All part of a scheme to rob tourists who were traversing the continent in oversized travel-trailers. None of them seemed particularly muscular, or scary. But a stench of cheap cigarettes and beer oozed from their pores. None of the trio had an interest in making conversation. So, he kept to himself in a corner of the confined cubicle. He dozed lightly throughout the evening, and overnight. In the morning, a breakfast of black coffee, toast, and fried bologna roused him from slumber. One by one, each captive was escorted to a courthouse annex, across the main boulevard in town. Their cases were officially recorded, adjudicated, and a sentence was passed. But when the motorcycle bum had his turn before the bench, there was a change in tone. Loone Beale, the magistrate on duty, narrowed her eyes and scowled. Her feline spectacles hung on a silver chain, draped over an official robe made from dark, purple silk.
“Judge Henry is out sick today. Therefore, it is my responsibility to handle some of the workload here. Mr. Redman, I am aware that you recently lived in this county. But have been absent for approximately three weeks. The manner of your exit was written about in our local newspaper. Additionally, there was some question regarding an act of wanton violence committed against Sandra Frye, who is a native of the city. How do you plead, sir?”
Parker shook his head in protest.
“I tore up the room where we stayed, yes. But never put a hand on that woman. I was raised to know better, your honor. So help me, God...”
Beale sighed and shuffled papers on her blotter.
“I don’t have any complaints filed here. Not even by the landlord, which is a surprise. You ought to owe him something for property destruction. But let’s get to the bottom line. If Ms. Frye has no interest in pursuing a case against over this incident, then I want you gone. Out of this municipality, county, and preferably, out of the state. Pay the impound fee on your bike, and go! I hope to never see you again. That is my judgment! This court is adjourned!”
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