Dead Shot Jack Patterson (e reader manga .txt) 📖

block wall framed by three sets of iron walls in a 10-foot by 10-foot space formed the prison. Water dripped from the ceiling and formed a stain in the corner of the dark cell. There wasn’t even a bed. A stainless steel toilet provided the cell’s lone décor.

Drifters and drunks usually found themselves in these cramped quarters for little more than 24 hours. Real criminals were transferred to Boise. It had been three years since Statenville had a serious crime, when Bill Peterson went on a drunken rampage and stuck his wife with a pitchfork after he found out she had been cheating on him. Since then, no real threat to Statenville’s peaceful way of life had sat behind these lonely bars.

Until now.

The trumped up charges were possession of an open container and driving under the influence. Cal knew the charges would never stick in a real court of law. He didn’t drink very often and certainly wasn’t driving around the previous night with any alcohol in his car, opened or otherwise. But this was Statenville. He was in trouble and recognized his arrest as an over-the-top bullying tactic by someone. If there was a proper time to take a drink, now seemed appropriate.

Dawkins booked Cal and took a mug shot, hurling mocking insults at the reporter throughout the process. Cal had no idea who he could hire as a lawyer or where he would begin to look for one. Statenville’s limited attorneys were out of the question.

Cal thought he was doing Statenville a favor by finding out if some malicious-minded person was behind the three suspicious deaths of these young men. But as Sheriff Jones shoved him into the cell with one other occupant, Cal figured the secret he was close to unearthing was far more threatening to some powerful people than he realized.

Cal slumped against the cell wall and stared mouth agape in no particular direction. For Cal, Tuesday had started off worse than Monday.

Sheriff Jones and Dawkins left the station, presumably to begin patrolling Statenville’s streets for more benign criminal activity. The only person left was the lady running dispatch.

Cal’s thoughts consumed him so much that he hardly noticed the other man sitting across from him in the cell. The man appeared to be in his late 40s, though life had been unkind to him. His beard challenged his hair for the most suitable location for a bird’s nest on his body, while the combination of body odor and alcohol emanating from him ensured no bird—or person—would come near him. He wore a tattered jacket with a raggedy flannel shirt underneath. Both of his knees protruded through his jeans. Work boots donned his feet and looked like the most durable piece of clothing he owned. And for good reason. He looked the part of a drifter.

The man waited a few minutes before seizing the ear of his captive audience.

After a nervous glance around the office, the man crouched low and scrambled across the ground like some kind of wild animal and sat down next to Cal.

Cal recoiled. The man’s stench alone almost forced Cal to look away and beg him to go away. His toothy grin made him look crazy.

“Willie,” the man said as a way of introducing himself and put out his hand to Cal. “Willie Nelson.”

Cal obliged the man with a handshake but remained withdrawn. Willie appeared to be a few rain clouds short of a thunderstorm.

Cal said nothing and waited for the craziness to commence.

“I know what you’re thinkin’,” Willie said. “You’re thinkin’ I’m crazy. Well, I might be; I’m a ramblin’ man. But I know why you’re here.”

Cal agreed. He indeed thought Willie was crazy. But considering the fact that he was behind bars and had nothing else to do, he cautiously played along.

“Oh, you do? Well, Willie, why am I here?”

“You don’t play by the rules.”

Cal snickered, dismissing Willie’s statement.

“Of course, I don’t play by the rules, Willie. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here, right?”

“No, that’s not what I mean.”

“Well then, what do you mean?”

“I mean, you don’t play by their rules?”

“And whose rules would you be referring to?”

“The Golden Rules.”

Cal was beginning to get annoyed with Willie’s vague ramblings. “Ah, ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you’? I try to live that out each day.”

“Mr. Murphy, there are more powerful forces at work in this town than you can imagine. Everyone is really nice until you get close to their secret.”

“How do you know my name?”

Willie ignored Cal’s question.

“That’s what happened to me. I found out their big secret and now look at me.”

Cal didn’t need to look Willie over just to reaffirm his first impression of how unattractive and crazy he looked. But he did it any way.

“They did this to you?”

“Yep, and they’ll do it to you, too. I used to be a successful businessman in this community, but I lost it all once I found out.”

“Really? And what was this secret?”

“Are you listening to me, Mr. Murphy? Once you learn a secret, you can never unlearn it. And you don’t want to learn this one. If you found out, you’d try to print it in that newspaper you write for—and before it ever made it to the press, they’d know that you know their secret. That’s when they would turn you into someone like me. Or, if you’re lucky, they’d kill you.”

Cal forced a nervous laugh. Willie seemed crazier by the moment, but Cal grew uneasy with the direction of the conversation. What if this crazy old man was telling the truth?

* * *

Once Guy calmed down, he walked down the street to bail Cal out of jail. He met Sheriff Jones in the lobby and together they made their way to the holding cell where they entered unannounced.

“Willie, what are you telling Cal?” bellowed Sheriff Jones.

“I’m not tellin’ him anything you don’t already know, Sheriff,” Willie said defiantly.

Sheriff Jones laughed.

“Crazy Willie, you are one of a kind.”

The Sheriff dismissed Willie as the crazy man