Post by yfwe on Jul 5, 2006 12:54:06 GMT -5
I wrote this last year... it won a city-wide story contest, so it's apparently not that bad. XD Enjoy!
The Parking Lot
St. John, California had never been known as a dangerous town. In fact, the crime rate within the town was so low that numerous times, no policemen would be spotted patrolling the area; they were all back at the station eating, drinking, and playing cards.
Why crime was so low was a bit mystifying to most of St. John’s residents. Surely EVERY town had it right? Perhaps, they thought, some just had it more than others.
It’s hard to say that wrongdoings in the town were obsolete. Sure, there was the occasional DUI charge. And the Tiptons, who lived near the power plant on the outskirts of town, often had their own little ‘run-ins’ with the law, involving anything from strange noises coming from the house to setting off fireworks at one in the morning.
The town sat about fifty miles east of Sacramento. In fact, a good amount of the workers in St. John drove to the state capital every day, as it was where they worked.
All and all, such a quiet town.
But innocence can never last, as Jim Walker soon found out.
Jim was a local entrepreneur- he owned Walker and Sons, a well-known hardware company. (The name of the establishment was a bit strange- a typo cause ‘son’ to become ‘sons’, even though he had only one son. And then the son graduated and moved to Oakland. In conclusion, Jim Walker is too lazy to change his sign.) He was 51 years old, his wife was distantly related to Jack Nicholson, and he had attempted to run countless times for city council. (Each time failing.)
The hardware store sat in an abandoned field by the fire station. A four-way intersection sat nearby. This brought folks from all over the area to the store, making it one of the more profitable businesses of St. John.
No one ever would’ve guessed- knowing St. John and Jim Walker- that a death, maybe even a murder, would be committed in the parking lot of the Walker and Sons hardware store.
Jim had been in the back office of the building, catching up on a few bills and deciding whether the store should exhibit Coke machines instead of Pepsi, when the police arrived. It was a little past eleven at night, and the store had been closed for an hour.
A knock at the front door of the store.
Jim sighed, “Who could THAT be at this time of night?”, he whispered softly, walking toward the door, “We’re closed! Come back tomorrow morning!”
“Mr. Walker, this is the police”, a call came from outside.
“What the- what are you doing here?”, he asked, shaking.
“Mr. Walker, are you aware that there is a dead man lying in your parking lot?”
“Wh-what?”, stuttered Jim. He tried to open the door, remembered it was locked, and began to go through the lengthy process of finding the right key, “Um... this one goes to the car, this one to my wife’s car, this one gets in my house, this one I kept from our locker at Six Flags...”, he paused and looked up, “Probably shouldn’t have done that”, he looked back down and continued, “This one gets into my old house, this one... I’ve never seen this one before in my life... ah, here it is!” He held up a sparkling gold key, and unlocked the door. He realized at this point that the officer at the door had become bored with him, and had joined the crime scene.
Jim walked swiftly over there as well. The spot was on the left side of the lot, by a red 2000 Chevy Cavalier.
“Ah... finally found our key, did we?’, the officer retorted at the sight of him.
“Er... yeah”, Jim looked at the silent, unmoving figure on the ground. He instantly recognized him, “I know that man! He was in the store when I closed! He bought a long piece of plywood- kind of strange, really, that this was all he bought. Then he left and I went back to my office! I swear!”
“Mr. Walker- we’re not saying you committed the murder! We’re not even saying a murder even took place!”
“Oh.”
“If I might ask...”, one of the officers asked another, “Where is this plywood he bought?”
“Hm... good question. I see none in the vicinity.”
“Oh no! Maybe the person who killed him hit him with some plywood and drove off with it, destroying the evidence! Aah!”, a rather jumpy male officer cried.
“Alex... shut up. It would take a blow to the head- and do you see anything wrong with his head? Actually, do you see any cuts or bruises at all on him?”, an officer said.
“I say we check the car”, a female officer suggested.
“Hey... not a bad idea, Laura!”, a new officer joined them. Jim recognized him immediately as Troy Mattes, the town sheriff.
“Check the trunk”, Sheriff Mattes said.
Laura went over, and clicked open the trunk. Surprisingly, it was already unlocked. And there sat the plywood in the trunk.
“Plywood mystery solved”, Mattes said, “Now if we could only find out what killed the guy...”
“I’m thinkin’ natural causes”, someone said.
They looked down at the lifeless man. He looked about fifty, gray hair, with a red plaid shirt and jeans. Natural causes could be possible. But Jim- as he looked the man over, he noticed something a bit strange.
“His left hand... it’s curled. As if he was holding something!”, Jim observed.
“Ah, yes”, said Mattes, “We had wondered about that too. Nearby, we found a Pepsi can. Most likely from your Pepsi machine outside the store, I’d wager?”
“Probably. So... he died with the Pepsi in his hand?”, asked Jim.
“It’s quite likely. We sent the can back to the station for testing about a half-hour ago. They should be back with it anytime now.”
And it hadn’t been a few seconds after the sheriff spoke these words that a new police car pulled into the parking lot. Out of it stepped a man in a labcoat.
“Hey, Troy. Evenin’, Jim”, the man, named Chris Allman, said, “Troy, got your test results back.”
“And?”
“The prints on the can DID match the fingerprints of the man.”
“Anything else?”
“Well...”, Chris said, “As you might’ve guessed, I did some research as to the identity of the man. And I found something- his name is T.J. Inglebright, and he’s from San Fransisco. Seems as if he was just... passing through.”
“Okay”, Jim spoke up, “We know his identity, and that he had a soda in his hand when he died. But I don’t think this really helps us in finding out what killed him.”
“Not so!”, Chris raised his voice, “There’s one other thing.”
“Now... I know I wasn’t ordered to do this, but I thought- hey, what could it hurt?”
“What? What did you do?”, Mattes asked.
“Simple, really- I tested the contents of the can- you know, what was inside it.”
“Ah, very good! And?”
Chris seemed to act as if these next words would change the entire picture altogether, “The pop had traces of a poison in it.”
“Poison!?! What the... how could this be possible?”, Jim’s eyes widened, “Why would there be poison in the cans of Pepsi?”
“Just what I was about to ask you”, Chris said accusingly.
“What? You think I put the poison in it? Now how would I do that? Come to think of it, why would I do that?”, Jim was alarmed.
“Jim’s right”, Mattes said, “He hadn’t any grudge against this guy. In fact, he didn’t even know him. I think that, if anything, we should pay a visit to the local Pepsi distribution center.”
There was one of these in St. John. All it did was take the Pepsi in, and sell it to the local businesses. This particular center serviced St. John, and St. John only.
“So we’ll go check that place out... Jim, I think you should stay here with the paramedics, okay?”
But Jim wasn’t listening. He was staring at a white van heading toward them down the road a ways. It said ‘Pepsi’ on the side.
Sheriff Mattes looked in its direction and saw it too. “Hm... well, this throws something new into perspective. How ‘bout we stop that van?”
But it turned out that they didn’t need to stop it. The van turned into the parking lot on its own terms. Which, the driver realized, was a bad idea as soon as he saw all the policemen in the lot.
Mattes walked slowly over to the van, the driver fumbling around with something inside it.
“Hello, sir”, Mattes said, “You’re out late.”
The driver, a man, smirked. It seemed as if it was a forced smile, “Boss wanted me to deliver these tonight, because no one would be around to deliver tomorrow morning.”
“Really? Well, then you won’t mind if we take a look around in your van?”
“Um...”, the man seemed to think about this, before saying, “No. Go ahead.”
“Thanks.” Mattes motioned Chris to come with him, and together they opened the back door of the van and stepped inside.
“Take one of the cans and test it”, the sheriff told him, “You do have some of your testing supplies for liquids, right?”
“Yeah.”
Chris took the can, and took out his testing equipment. Mattes, meanwhile, went back to the driver.
“You know what’s happened here tonight?”, he asked him.
“No, nothing.”
“There’s been a murder, possibly. We’re not sure yet. But there have been a few things we’ve found that have made us think that murder was a possibility.”
“Okay. Well, sorry you had to come out here”, the driver said.
“Ah... which reminds me. How are all of you at the center taking it- I mean, with the place closing in a few weeks and all.”
A few weeks prior, during election day, a levy passed that would close the distribution center. From then on, trucks from Sacramento would deliver instead.
But before the driver could answer, Chris reported back with his findings. He brought Mattes aside, “Troy... the poison’s in the can again. And I’ll bet you it’s in all of them.”
“Thanks”, the sheriff said, and turned back to the driver, “Sir... when was the last time you were here?”
“This morning.”
“Okay. And what do you know about the contents of the cans you’re delivering?”
“Um... what do you mean?”, the man stuttered.
“The contents... maybe some extra contents? A poison?”
The driver sat there motionless for a moment, before finally speaking, “Look, man- it wasn’t my idea! Our boss, Mr. Williams- he came up with it!”
“Came up with what?”
“Putting the poison in the cans- he wanted to get back at all the residents for closing the place! We sent a test can this morning, and as you can see, this guy had a drink of it. He wanted us to send out more tonight, and...”
“I’ve heard enough. Whoever you are, you’re under arrest”, Mattes pulled out some handcuffs on him.
“Yeah... you have the right to remain silent!”, Alex piped up, grinning.
“Alex! He’s already told us everything; why would he tell us anything else?”
“Oh, duh.”
“You’ve lost your talking privileges, rookie”, Sheriff Mattes said, “I’ll take this guy back to the station. Everyone else- head on over to the Pepsi center. Let’s end this before anyone else gets hurt...”
They all got in their cars and drove off, leaving only the paramedics still tending to the dead man.
As Jim Walker watched them drive off, he sighed, turned around, and went to his car. It was late; time to go home and get the few hours of sleep he could get before he had to come in the next morning.
And as he got in, he looked back at the departing police once more, before whispering quietly, “I KNEW I should’ve changed our machines to Coke.”
The Parking Lot
St. John, California had never been known as a dangerous town. In fact, the crime rate within the town was so low that numerous times, no policemen would be spotted patrolling the area; they were all back at the station eating, drinking, and playing cards.
Why crime was so low was a bit mystifying to most of St. John’s residents. Surely EVERY town had it right? Perhaps, they thought, some just had it more than others.
It’s hard to say that wrongdoings in the town were obsolete. Sure, there was the occasional DUI charge. And the Tiptons, who lived near the power plant on the outskirts of town, often had their own little ‘run-ins’ with the law, involving anything from strange noises coming from the house to setting off fireworks at one in the morning.
The town sat about fifty miles east of Sacramento. In fact, a good amount of the workers in St. John drove to the state capital every day, as it was where they worked.
All and all, such a quiet town.
But innocence can never last, as Jim Walker soon found out.
Jim was a local entrepreneur- he owned Walker and Sons, a well-known hardware company. (The name of the establishment was a bit strange- a typo cause ‘son’ to become ‘sons’, even though he had only one son. And then the son graduated and moved to Oakland. In conclusion, Jim Walker is too lazy to change his sign.) He was 51 years old, his wife was distantly related to Jack Nicholson, and he had attempted to run countless times for city council. (Each time failing.)
The hardware store sat in an abandoned field by the fire station. A four-way intersection sat nearby. This brought folks from all over the area to the store, making it one of the more profitable businesses of St. John.
No one ever would’ve guessed- knowing St. John and Jim Walker- that a death, maybe even a murder, would be committed in the parking lot of the Walker and Sons hardware store.
Jim had been in the back office of the building, catching up on a few bills and deciding whether the store should exhibit Coke machines instead of Pepsi, when the police arrived. It was a little past eleven at night, and the store had been closed for an hour.
A knock at the front door of the store.
Jim sighed, “Who could THAT be at this time of night?”, he whispered softly, walking toward the door, “We’re closed! Come back tomorrow morning!”
“Mr. Walker, this is the police”, a call came from outside.
“What the- what are you doing here?”, he asked, shaking.
“Mr. Walker, are you aware that there is a dead man lying in your parking lot?”
“Wh-what?”, stuttered Jim. He tried to open the door, remembered it was locked, and began to go through the lengthy process of finding the right key, “Um... this one goes to the car, this one to my wife’s car, this one gets in my house, this one I kept from our locker at Six Flags...”, he paused and looked up, “Probably shouldn’t have done that”, he looked back down and continued, “This one gets into my old house, this one... I’ve never seen this one before in my life... ah, here it is!” He held up a sparkling gold key, and unlocked the door. He realized at this point that the officer at the door had become bored with him, and had joined the crime scene.
Jim walked swiftly over there as well. The spot was on the left side of the lot, by a red 2000 Chevy Cavalier.
“Ah... finally found our key, did we?’, the officer retorted at the sight of him.
“Er... yeah”, Jim looked at the silent, unmoving figure on the ground. He instantly recognized him, “I know that man! He was in the store when I closed! He bought a long piece of plywood- kind of strange, really, that this was all he bought. Then he left and I went back to my office! I swear!”
“Mr. Walker- we’re not saying you committed the murder! We’re not even saying a murder even took place!”
“Oh.”
“If I might ask...”, one of the officers asked another, “Where is this plywood he bought?”
“Hm... good question. I see none in the vicinity.”
“Oh no! Maybe the person who killed him hit him with some plywood and drove off with it, destroying the evidence! Aah!”, a rather jumpy male officer cried.
“Alex... shut up. It would take a blow to the head- and do you see anything wrong with his head? Actually, do you see any cuts or bruises at all on him?”, an officer said.
“I say we check the car”, a female officer suggested.
“Hey... not a bad idea, Laura!”, a new officer joined them. Jim recognized him immediately as Troy Mattes, the town sheriff.
“Check the trunk”, Sheriff Mattes said.
Laura went over, and clicked open the trunk. Surprisingly, it was already unlocked. And there sat the plywood in the trunk.
“Plywood mystery solved”, Mattes said, “Now if we could only find out what killed the guy...”
“I’m thinkin’ natural causes”, someone said.
They looked down at the lifeless man. He looked about fifty, gray hair, with a red plaid shirt and jeans. Natural causes could be possible. But Jim- as he looked the man over, he noticed something a bit strange.
“His left hand... it’s curled. As if he was holding something!”, Jim observed.
“Ah, yes”, said Mattes, “We had wondered about that too. Nearby, we found a Pepsi can. Most likely from your Pepsi machine outside the store, I’d wager?”
“Probably. So... he died with the Pepsi in his hand?”, asked Jim.
“It’s quite likely. We sent the can back to the station for testing about a half-hour ago. They should be back with it anytime now.”
And it hadn’t been a few seconds after the sheriff spoke these words that a new police car pulled into the parking lot. Out of it stepped a man in a labcoat.
“Hey, Troy. Evenin’, Jim”, the man, named Chris Allman, said, “Troy, got your test results back.”
“And?”
“The prints on the can DID match the fingerprints of the man.”
“Anything else?”
“Well...”, Chris said, “As you might’ve guessed, I did some research as to the identity of the man. And I found something- his name is T.J. Inglebright, and he’s from San Fransisco. Seems as if he was just... passing through.”
“Okay”, Jim spoke up, “We know his identity, and that he had a soda in his hand when he died. But I don’t think this really helps us in finding out what killed him.”
“Not so!”, Chris raised his voice, “There’s one other thing.”
“Now... I know I wasn’t ordered to do this, but I thought- hey, what could it hurt?”
“What? What did you do?”, Mattes asked.
“Simple, really- I tested the contents of the can- you know, what was inside it.”
“Ah, very good! And?”
Chris seemed to act as if these next words would change the entire picture altogether, “The pop had traces of a poison in it.”
“Poison!?! What the... how could this be possible?”, Jim’s eyes widened, “Why would there be poison in the cans of Pepsi?”
“Just what I was about to ask you”, Chris said accusingly.
“What? You think I put the poison in it? Now how would I do that? Come to think of it, why would I do that?”, Jim was alarmed.
“Jim’s right”, Mattes said, “He hadn’t any grudge against this guy. In fact, he didn’t even know him. I think that, if anything, we should pay a visit to the local Pepsi distribution center.”
There was one of these in St. John. All it did was take the Pepsi in, and sell it to the local businesses. This particular center serviced St. John, and St. John only.
“So we’ll go check that place out... Jim, I think you should stay here with the paramedics, okay?”
But Jim wasn’t listening. He was staring at a white van heading toward them down the road a ways. It said ‘Pepsi’ on the side.
Sheriff Mattes looked in its direction and saw it too. “Hm... well, this throws something new into perspective. How ‘bout we stop that van?”
But it turned out that they didn’t need to stop it. The van turned into the parking lot on its own terms. Which, the driver realized, was a bad idea as soon as he saw all the policemen in the lot.
Mattes walked slowly over to the van, the driver fumbling around with something inside it.
“Hello, sir”, Mattes said, “You’re out late.”
The driver, a man, smirked. It seemed as if it was a forced smile, “Boss wanted me to deliver these tonight, because no one would be around to deliver tomorrow morning.”
“Really? Well, then you won’t mind if we take a look around in your van?”
“Um...”, the man seemed to think about this, before saying, “No. Go ahead.”
“Thanks.” Mattes motioned Chris to come with him, and together they opened the back door of the van and stepped inside.
“Take one of the cans and test it”, the sheriff told him, “You do have some of your testing supplies for liquids, right?”
“Yeah.”
Chris took the can, and took out his testing equipment. Mattes, meanwhile, went back to the driver.
“You know what’s happened here tonight?”, he asked him.
“No, nothing.”
“There’s been a murder, possibly. We’re not sure yet. But there have been a few things we’ve found that have made us think that murder was a possibility.”
“Okay. Well, sorry you had to come out here”, the driver said.
“Ah... which reminds me. How are all of you at the center taking it- I mean, with the place closing in a few weeks and all.”
A few weeks prior, during election day, a levy passed that would close the distribution center. From then on, trucks from Sacramento would deliver instead.
But before the driver could answer, Chris reported back with his findings. He brought Mattes aside, “Troy... the poison’s in the can again. And I’ll bet you it’s in all of them.”
“Thanks”, the sheriff said, and turned back to the driver, “Sir... when was the last time you were here?”
“This morning.”
“Okay. And what do you know about the contents of the cans you’re delivering?”
“Um... what do you mean?”, the man stuttered.
“The contents... maybe some extra contents? A poison?”
The driver sat there motionless for a moment, before finally speaking, “Look, man- it wasn’t my idea! Our boss, Mr. Williams- he came up with it!”
“Came up with what?”
“Putting the poison in the cans- he wanted to get back at all the residents for closing the place! We sent a test can this morning, and as you can see, this guy had a drink of it. He wanted us to send out more tonight, and...”
“I’ve heard enough. Whoever you are, you’re under arrest”, Mattes pulled out some handcuffs on him.
“Yeah... you have the right to remain silent!”, Alex piped up, grinning.
“Alex! He’s already told us everything; why would he tell us anything else?”
“Oh, duh.”
“You’ve lost your talking privileges, rookie”, Sheriff Mattes said, “I’ll take this guy back to the station. Everyone else- head on over to the Pepsi center. Let’s end this before anyone else gets hurt...”
They all got in their cars and drove off, leaving only the paramedics still tending to the dead man.
As Jim Walker watched them drive off, he sighed, turned around, and went to his car. It was late; time to go home and get the few hours of sleep he could get before he had to come in the next morning.
And as he got in, he looked back at the departing police once more, before whispering quietly, “I KNEW I should’ve changed our machines to Coke.”