Goldfish on the Mountain Chapter 44

Chapter 44

It wasn’t looking good. Sheriff Hobbs shook his head in disgust. The paramedics were zipping poor Frank’s remains up in the body bag. He knew most folks around town would be please old Hank got what he had coming to him. Still, it is his job to find out what took place.

He walked over to the rugged, middle-aged man sitting quietly on a log, clutching his shotgun still smoking from the blast.

“Howdy friend. Mind if I get that from you, police evidence you know.” Hobbs said.

He reached for the gun and the man pulled it back, hugging it even tighter.

“Hey now, listen you’re going to get it back, so long as your story checks out. I just need to catalog it for police evidence. Hand it over Mr. Thompson,” the Sheriff said firmly.

The man looked down at the ground. Without saying a word he slowly handed the shotgun over to Sheriff Hobbs. Hobbs looked the gun over before handing it to a deputy for processing.

He sat down on the tree stump across from the man. He looked him over carefully before he spoke.

“Mr. Thompson. I know you’ve just been through a shock. It’s not easy taking a human life. But, as a lawman It’s my job to ensure justice is served and for me to do that I need to ask you a few questions. If you don’t mind I’d like for you to take a ride with me to the office. Would you please join me?” Hobbs said.

The man didn’t budge. He didn’t speak. He reached over to place his hand on the man’s shoulder, who quickly slapped it away.

“Don’t touch me,” the man asserted.

“Take it easy, Mr. Thompson. You shot, and killed a man. I need to ask you a few questions. In order to do that, we need to go for a ride,” Hobbs said.

“We can talk right here. No need to go anywhere. He walked onto my property carrying a load of weapons, I warned him get off my land or else, he made a move towards his weapon, I shot him. Bang. Dead. End of story. Self-defense,” Drake said.

“Listen, I am sure you think that and that very may well be the case.” Hobbs said “However I wouldn’t be doing my job if I wasn’t thorough you know. I mean I was just up here a few weeks ago remember. I think it would be best if we went into town. If your story checks out and I have no reason to hold you, you get released end of story. But I’d sure feel a whole lot more comfortable I was getting to the truth if we did this at the county jail.

To that end I am only going to politely ask you one last time to stand up and accompany me before I have to place you in the handcuffs.”

Suddenly Drake stood up and shoved a finger right in Hobbs’s face.

“Don’t you threaten me, sheriff. A man came onto my property, clad in camouflage, armed to the damn teethe. I have signs all over the place warning people to stay the hell out or else.

Last time I checked this is America and I have a God-given right to shoot any damn fool too stupid to heed that warning. I felt threatened. I live up here, alone, because people out there make me feel unsafe. I live here, alone with my dog and my goldfish. I don’t have to be afraid of people walking onto my property. They don’t heed the warning they eat buckshot. End of story.

Now kindly catalog my shotgun, and write up your report so I can get my gun back. Now, kindly, get the fuck off my land!,” Drake shouted in the officer’s face.

Hobbs didn’t want to make a scene. He felt bad for poor Hank but at the end of the day, the law was on Thompson’s side in this case. Not wanting to risk making things worse Hobbs decided he’d get back to town.

“Hey sheriff, when the hell can I get my gun back?” Drake asked.

“I’ll mail it to you,” Hobbs said.

Drake Thompson sat on the fallen log as he watched the vehicles leave his land, one by one. He waited a good twenty minutes before heading back inside. He wasn’t going to be able to get his gun back but he had other, more pressing matters.

He walked inside and set his hat down on the table. He walked over and fed Goldie.

“Pretty soon, it’ll be back to just the three of us, Goldie,” Drake said.

He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a beer. There were only seven bottles laying at the bottom of the fridge. He was going to have to make another trip into town pretty soon. He cracked open the bottle, sat down at the kitchen table and began sipping the stress of the night away.

He looked at the calendar. Circle in red marker was June 15th. It was the date Drake Thompson impregnated Ashley Taylor, the stupid girl his brother had dumped earlier in the day for Molly. Drake sat there at the kitchen table thinking back on the night he took Stephanie under the bleachers by the side of the rodeo pit. It wasn’t his first time by a long shot. Drake had been getting around town.

He never even had eyes for little Ashley, to be honest. She was kind of cute but more so in that girl-next-door way. He was more into the girls with long legs, full chests and attitude to match.

Someone more like his own wife. He took another sip. He knew seven beers wasn’t going to be enough to push her memory out of his mind. He was going to have to settle for the next best thing. His uncle once told him the only way to get over a woman was to get under another one as fast as you could.

He didn’t make a habit of forcing himself upon Molly. He put her through enough with the torture. Plus, he was a murderer, not a rapist. Still, he wasn’t going to let memories of the woman that he lost enter his mind tonight. If the booze wasn’t going to keep her out of his head, he was going to have to settle for reminding her she used to be a woman.

Drake finished his beer and stumbled over to the fridge. He grabbed two more beers and walked into the bedroom where he had Molly tied up. It was going to be one of those night’s she was going to remember. It’s not like she had too many nights left, Molly’s life was going to end the same day his daughter’s life began. He opened the door, walked over to the bed and tugged on Molly’s foot. She opened her eyes wide as he began getting undressed.

“Hey babe, we got some memories to bury, you and me,” he said as he closed the door.

Published by

Stephanie Bri

A transgender writer who also does podcasts and videos. If you like my writing please consider helping me survive. You can support me directly by giving money to my paypal: thetransformerscollector@yahoo.com. If you prefer CashApp my handle is @Stephaniebri22. Also feel free to donate to my Patreon. I know it's largely podcast-centric but every little bit helps. Find it by going to www.patreon.com/stephaniebri, Thank you.