Darby County Sheriff Sam Danza awoke to the incessant ringing of his telephone.  Fumbling in the dark, he found the phone and placed it to his ear.  After a mumbled hello he was greeted by silence, and then a dial tone.
 

     “Damn fool.  Probably a wrong number.”
 

     After tossing around for awhile, he finally dozed off.  Suddenly, the phone began ringing again.  Holding the phone to his ear, he was again greeted by a period of silence and a dial tone.

     “Who in hell is that?” he scowled.  

     The phone rang a couple more times with the same result.  It was now 3 o’clock in the morning.  With sleep all but impossible now, Danza got out of bed and shuffled down the hall to the kitchen.  Switching on the light over the sink, he poured a cup of stale coffee and heated it in the microwave.  He sat at the small table and slowly sipped at the nasty tasting brew.  The coffee soon had the desired effect and he went back to the bedroom to get dressed.

The drive to the Sheriff’s office was uneventful.  The streets were totally devoid of people and traffic.  “This town is a spooky place at this hour,” Danza mumbled to himself.  

     Parking behind the office building, he entered the rear door.  Deputy Tommy Sorbo was busy at his desk, not noticing the Sheriff coming up behind him.  Seeing that Tommy was in the middle of a video game on his computer Danza thought briefly about head slapping him into next week but then, decided to have a little fun.  He quietly picked up a nearby metal waste basket and at an appropriate time in the game action, slammed it to the floor behind Tommy.  Tommy jumped, his knees banging against the bottom of the desk drawer and his coffee spilling into his lap.

     Tommy’s eyes had a look of real fear and his mouth hung open as he turned and saw Danza, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.  “Sh-sh-sheriff Danza!  I didn’t hear you come in!”

     “Obviously!” he exclaimed.  “Some wild-eyed sex perv could have walked in and took your sweet young virgin butt.”  Danza couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of the stammering young Deputy, a big wet spot on the front of his pants.  

     “Go clean yourself up, Tommy.  I’d hate to have a citizen walk in and think you just sit here peeing yourself at tax payer’s expense all night.”

     Danza took some paper towels and wiped up the puddle of coffee from Tommy’s desk and the floor under his chair.  He then went to his office and began looking at old FAX’s that had come in from neighboring counties during the previous day.

     After a short while, a sheepish looking Tommy emerged from the bathroom. 

     “I’m sorry about the video game, Sheriff. There was just nothing going on tonight.  What brings you in at this hour?”

Of Gods and Thunder

By Chuck Semenuk

            Agent Trent Barrows looked up at the brilliant blue sky and took a deep breath.  After a lengthy, miserable Great Lakes winter that just didn’t want to quit, the warm sun and gentle breeze did wonders for his morale. 

Trent worked out of the Buffalo, New York field office of Homeland Security.  The Buffalo and Niagara borders with Canada were his primary work assignments.  The incidence of illegal entry through the Canadian border, and weapons smuggling was growing at an alarming rate.  Canadian border agents were detaining many but a large number still managed to find their way across.  Once they reached the general population on the American side, they easily blended in making it difficult to identify them.  Sometimes, Trent’s enthusiasm for his job began to wane.  With all of the corruption and political shenanigans going on inside the various government agencies, it was often hard to tell the difference between the “good guys” and “bad guys.”  The President and his crooked cronies had succeeded in drastically dragging the country down financially and morally in his first term.  Despite tales of obvious voter fraud, he was well into his second term.   The major media sources were in his pocket and the public knew very little of the wheeling and dealing that went on behind closed doors in the big white house on Pennsylvania Avenue.  Even Congress was often left in the dark as he signed executive orders, more than the total of all previous presidents combined to further his own policies, public be damned.  Trent knew that we needed to be continuously vigilant for possible terrorist attacks on our own soil but he had lost faith in the Washington leadership.  They were more interested in promoting their own agenda, making their point with sometimes totally outrageous lies while lining their pockets in the process.  Trent considered leaving the agency but a belief that he could still possibly make a positive difference kept him going.

Having parked his car outside of the Buffalo field office, Trent entered and went to the office of the Director of Buffalo Field Operations.  The Director’s secretary Sarah looked up from her work and smiled.

“Good morning, Agent Barrows.  It’s so nice of you to visit us poor folks today,” she smiled.

Trent laughed, “I thought I’d drop in and brighten your day a bit.  I wouldn’t want you to feel neglected,” he quipped.    “I received your message that the boss wanted to see me.  What’s going on?”

Sarah put her finger up to her lips.  “Sh-sh-sh!  Secret stuff.  They don’t share with me,” she grinned.

She picked up her phone and announced him to the Director.  “You can go in now.  I think he hustled the party girls out the back door,” she laughed.

Since the formation of Homeland Security after 9/11, Jack Muller began to climb the ladder.  He was a master of schmooze and made his way from a rookie agent to Director quickly.  He seemed to be a straight up guy but Trent had gotten to where he found it difficult to trust those in high positions.  Was Jack faithful to America or was he a pawn of the destructors in Washington?

Evil Always Waits

By Chuck Semenuk

      Mike Bond adjusted the radio, looking for some upbeat music. At twenty years old, he was on his first road trip by himself. He finally finished rebuilding his 1986 Monte Carlo, flame red with chromed rims.  It was a really sweet ride.  As he came around a bend in the road, he got a strange feeling that he had been on that road before.  As he approached the outskirts of the small town of Weller, the feeling of familiarity was uncanny.  Glancing at his gas gage, he noticed that he was down to a quarter of a tank.  “I’ll stop at the gas station a couple of blocks over,” he thought.  He made a right hand turn and drove two blocks down.  Reaching the gas station, he pulled up to the pump closest to the building. “How did I know this station was here?”

      He turned off the ignition and got out of the car.  On a chair next to the door of the garage sat an old man, grey haired and wrinkled.  The man looked at him, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.  It was as if he knew Mike but, that was impossible.  Mike had never been in this town in his life.  The look on the old man’s face seemed almost fearful. Mike was feeling a little creeped-out by the old man.  He removed the nozzle from the gas pump and began to fill his tank.  His gas tank filled, Mike replaced the nozzle on the pump, fastened his gas cap and walked toward the old man to pay for the gas. He had a wad of bills in his pocket and as he reached for them, tears began to form in the old man’s eyes and he began to tremble.

      “No! Please!” the old man pleaded.

      “What’s wrong?” asked Mike.  A sheriff’s car rolled up behind Mike and the driver quickly got out.

      “Ben! Are you alright?  You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!”

Ben’s eyes remained fixed on Mike as his mouth began to move but no sound came out.  The sheriff glanced at Mike and did a double take.

      “My Lord,” he exclaimed.  His hand automatically reached for his weapon.  “Who are you?  Where did you come from?”

      “Whoa, Sheriff, “said Mike as he raised his hands.  I just stopped for gas.  I just want to pay-up and I’ll be on my way.” 

      “Son, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.  I’m sure that Ben won’t mind if you park your car alongside the building while you come with me to my office.  I’ll bring you back to your car when we’re through.”

      Mike pulled enough money from his pocket to pay for the gas and handed it to Ben.  Ben’s hand trembled as he took the money.

      “I – I don’t have change for this,” he uttered.

      “Keep it,” said Mike.  “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

      Mike parked his car and walked back to the sheriff.  “What in hell is going on here,” he mumbled to himself.