A Talk With the Rain by Brooks Kohler (2013)

A war veteran returns home and is given a mundane job in the town he grew up in. Things change when a stranger comes to town bringing mystery and violence.

 

 

Chapter 1_____Introduction_____

From the outside, the Saytion Police Department looked like a meat packing plant, an all metal building painted chalk gray with only one window. The words, "Saytion Police Department," were pasted to a cheap plastic sign affixed to the building, and near the window were a few shrubs, a notice for disabled parking, and a flagpole with a shiny, sheen flag hanging limp because there was no breeze to break the stifling heat of the bright, sunny day.

Inside, deep in thought, Paul, a sandy haired, farm boy type, was sitting in front of the window, waiting for something to change, but after several months of doing the same thing, day after day, he had slowly arrived at the conclusion that the remainder of his life would be spent sitting in front of the window and waiting for an end to the mundane.

"You learn anything yet?"

Paul looked to his left. It was Clancy, the dispatcher. He was older, close to retirement, and for as long as Paul could remember, Clancy had a been a cop, but since Paul had started working at the police station, Clancy had been doing dispatch, which consisted mainly of sipping coffee, walking around, and checking up on people. This time was no different. Clancy was standing there, bathed in fluorescent light, sipping a cup of coffee, and looking oddly at Paul waiting for an answer.

"It’s still out there," replied Paul. "Same thing, just a different day."

"Yeah," said Clancy. "It’s always like that."

Paul nodded and shook it off, but in truth he had a hard time with Clancy. He never knew what angle he was coming from. Clancy had a habit of saying short sentences that left a person hanging on for more. Years of being a skeptical cop had no doubt produced his linguistic style that seemed to Paul to resemble more of a sleep deprived trucker than, an actual beat cop. So, anything Clancy said sounded more serious than it really was.

"So when you headin’ to the academy?" asked Clancy.

"I can’t," said Paul, sticking his left leg out and patting it. "I got a bullet in here."

"In there?" questioned Clancy, pointing to Paul’s leg. "You got a bullet in there?" he continued, pointing with two fingers opposed to one.

Clancy raised his chin slowly and displayed the special eye he had learned to give when he doubted what he was hearing. This special eye consisted of a raised eyebrow and wide gaze.

"So how’d it happen? Tell me how it happened," demanded Clancy.

"We were patrolling the streets. I was coming around a building," said Paul. "I walked out into the open like a dumbass, and I got popped."

Upon hearing this, Clancy took a sip of coffee and puckered his lips to savor the flavor. Most people who learned about Paul’s injury either made a precious face or blurted out some profane comment that included a few words of sympathy, but not Clancy. He said nothing. He just stood still and went into a thought until he was ready to speak.

"Well, that’s tough, real tough," said Clancy.

"Yeah, but my buddy got it worse," chuckled Paul. "He took one in the a*s. He couldn’t take a dump for two months without screaming."

Paul started to crescendo into a good laugh, but Clancy, unamused, just stood sipping more coffee.

"Well, you should consider something here," he said coldly. "Law enforcement is a good profession. You should consider doing something more than what you are. That bullet shouldn’t get you down. Lots of guys got bullets in them, and their doing fine. You’re not the only person who has been shot in the line of duty. There are things you can do."

"Well, I am doing something," replied Paul, defending himself. "I was told to sit here and keep a lookout for visitors."

"Then so be it," said Clancy. "You do that. There’s fresh coffee in the break room."

Clancy walked off. Paul shook his head and turned to face the window. Nothing had changed in the few minutes he had been talking to Clancy. The flag was still limp, the sky was still clear, the parking lot of the police station was still empty. Paul shifted in his seat and looked over his shoulder to make sure Clancy was truly gone, but then he remembered the camera. Paul slowly raised his eyes to the ceiling and then followed the edge of the wall to the corner where it stopped on the tiny angled device. Clancy monitored the security cameras. He could see anyone come or go. Paul had forgotten that, and it occurred to him that Clancy had been keeping tabs on him for days, weeks, and months. It was a disturbing thought, but one worth having, and Paul smiled at the camera, just in case.

 

Continue Chapter 2 at http://www.brookskohler.com/ where you can download the free pdf ebook, A Talk With the Rain, without signing up or giving over any personal information.  Just save it.  Thanks for reading.

 

This work [A Talk With the Rain by Brooks Kohler (2013)] is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/

 

Written and created in the United States of America.

 

© 2013 by Brooks Kohler. All rights reserved.

Reviews

[Ironbutt]

Welcome to WC, I enjoyed this and am looking forward to more views. Go on.

[Will Neill]

Brook, a decent opening chapter be it ever so short (but thats how it is here) I can see where you are going with the characters, and there is just enough information to lead on to chapter two. I was just a bit confused-would Paul be patroling the streets before going to the Academy? just a thought.
Not bad.
Will

[Brooks]

Will,

That's a good question. When I started writing it I just fell into this tone of having him do the most mundane job possible, which would be, looking out the window onto an empty parking lot. Growing up in a rural town, life can become very boring and some of the jobs people take are no more than gratitude type jobs, jobs where people ask, “Can I really be getting paid to do this?”

To me, the window is a metaphor. Paul never patrols the streets. He's simply waiting, waiting for something to change, albeit with his job or life. His main duty is watching the parking lot for visitors and performing chores around the police station. As a character he never really cared about the war he was in nor does see himself as a hero. He's just a guy who signed up for a paycheck because there were no other jobs for young man to take. In the story he is being groomed for a position with the drug task force, but even still, he has no real clue what is he wants to do.

Thanks for reviewing,
--Brooks

[Will Neill]

Your welcome.
Will