family in a modest home he and his wife bought when they were first married.”
Grimley interrupts. “So he had kids?”
“Yes—two small boys. Mason was the most honest, upstanding man you could find. He held the respect of his family and those in the community that knew him.
“That night at the bar, Mason was making his rounds and stopped nearby to assist with a flat tire. He was drawn in by the clamor he heard from the street.
“Mason stepped in just as Sinclane was ready to take a swipe at an already bleeding patron. He pulled Sinclane away from the fray, locked his arms, and forced him to his knees.
“Sinclane wiggled free and took a drunken swing without stopping to see that Mason was a police officer.
“Mason took it in stride, smacked Sinclane around a bit to sober him up, and put him in his place. Marching him out to the curb, he sent him off for home.
“The other patrons shared laughs and guffaws at the way the sloppy Sinclane took his scolding and stumbled off with his tail between his legs. Some of them waved from the window or the open door. They always said he was yellow and now they knew it.
“This burned Sinclane to no end. He wouldn’t be showed up by some young badge. He wanted to nail him to the wall. There would be a comeuppance; Sinclane was sure of it.
“He took it upon himself to get to know Mason’s schedule. It wasn’t too difficult because he knew the right people to ask. Soon after, he shadowed Mason on his patrols, trailing off on a side street and picking him up on another.
“After a week or two of tracking him, Sinclane began to follow Mason home. He saw how “perfect” Mason’s life was: the tidy lawn, his pretty wife, the respect of his neighbors. Sinclane hated him for it.
“One night, Sinclane staged a breakdown. He knew Mason’s routes by then and was ready when Mason approached his vehicle on a vacant back road. Peeking out from under the hood, Sinclane played nice to earn Mason’s trust. He acted like he didn’t remember the incident at the bar.
“Then when Mason wasn’t looking, Sinclane pistol whipped him and shoved him to the ground. He pressed the barrel to the back of Mason’s head and asked why he shouldn’t blow it off. He could do it; it would be so easy. ‘I know where you live,’ Sinclane said. ‘What do you think will happen to your little wife?’
“Mason dug his hands into the gravel as his mind flooded with fear of what Sinclane might try to do.”
I’ve Got Ears All Over This Town
February 27 th , 2002 1:04 PM
Johnny Rollins’ apartment
What a high. I could hardly sit still the whole ride home. Nobody saw me. I drove at least a mile before I saw another vehicle. I just wish I could’ve stayed to watch the rest of it burn.
I wanted to make sure I had the car back before Mom got up, though. Don’t need to look suspicious. It turns out she’s still asleep, probably hung over.
Now I’m lying in the crumb-lined recliner trying not to move. My ribs kill. The T.V. mumbles on low, and I can’t find any aspirin, so I’m just staying put.
The bedroom door creaks and I hear a slow shuffle in the hallway. Mom appears over my shoulder, hand on her head, wincing. “How come you’re not in school?”
“Didn’t feel like going today.”
“Well I don’t want to talk to no office if they call.” She leans against the wall, hand still on her head. Her oversized t-shirt makes her look skinnier than she is, hanging over black sweat pants. “We’re out of aspirin. Can you go get some?” She holds out a twenty. “You can get yourself something to eat, too.”
I snatch the bill. The only time mom’s civil is when she’s hung over.
“Just get whatever’s cheapest,” she says before turning to go back down the hall.
She didn’t see the cut on my face from last night. Good. I don’t want to answer any of her questions. I toss the remote on the stack of magazines and collapse the recliner in a squeaky thud.
I grab the keys
Grimley interrupts. “So he had kids?”
“Yes—two small boys. Mason was the most honest, upstanding man you could find. He held the respect of his family and those in the community that knew him.
“That night at the bar, Mason was making his rounds and stopped nearby to assist with a flat tire. He was drawn in by the clamor he heard from the street.
“Mason stepped in just as Sinclane was ready to take a swipe at an already bleeding patron. He pulled Sinclane away from the fray, locked his arms, and forced him to his knees.
“Sinclane wiggled free and took a drunken swing without stopping to see that Mason was a police officer.
“Mason took it in stride, smacked Sinclane around a bit to sober him up, and put him in his place. Marching him out to the curb, he sent him off for home.
“The other patrons shared laughs and guffaws at the way the sloppy Sinclane took his scolding and stumbled off with his tail between his legs. Some of them waved from the window or the open door. They always said he was yellow and now they knew it.
“This burned Sinclane to no end. He wouldn’t be showed up by some young badge. He wanted to nail him to the wall. There would be a comeuppance; Sinclane was sure of it.
“He took it upon himself to get to know Mason’s schedule. It wasn’t too difficult because he knew the right people to ask. Soon after, he shadowed Mason on his patrols, trailing off on a side street and picking him up on another.
“After a week or two of tracking him, Sinclane began to follow Mason home. He saw how “perfect” Mason’s life was: the tidy lawn, his pretty wife, the respect of his neighbors. Sinclane hated him for it.
“One night, Sinclane staged a breakdown. He knew Mason’s routes by then and was ready when Mason approached his vehicle on a vacant back road. Peeking out from under the hood, Sinclane played nice to earn Mason’s trust. He acted like he didn’t remember the incident at the bar.
“Then when Mason wasn’t looking, Sinclane pistol whipped him and shoved him to the ground. He pressed the barrel to the back of Mason’s head and asked why he shouldn’t blow it off. He could do it; it would be so easy. ‘I know where you live,’ Sinclane said. ‘What do you think will happen to your little wife?’
“Mason dug his hands into the gravel as his mind flooded with fear of what Sinclane might try to do.”
I’ve Got Ears All Over This Town
February 27 th , 2002 1:04 PM
Johnny Rollins’ apartment
What a high. I could hardly sit still the whole ride home. Nobody saw me. I drove at least a mile before I saw another vehicle. I just wish I could’ve stayed to watch the rest of it burn.
I wanted to make sure I had the car back before Mom got up, though. Don’t need to look suspicious. It turns out she’s still asleep, probably hung over.
Now I’m lying in the crumb-lined recliner trying not to move. My ribs kill. The T.V. mumbles on low, and I can’t find any aspirin, so I’m just staying put.
The bedroom door creaks and I hear a slow shuffle in the hallway. Mom appears over my shoulder, hand on her head, wincing. “How come you’re not in school?”
“Didn’t feel like going today.”
“Well I don’t want to talk to no office if they call.” She leans against the wall, hand still on her head. Her oversized t-shirt makes her look skinnier than she is, hanging over black sweat pants. “We’re out of aspirin. Can you go get some?” She holds out a twenty. “You can get yourself something to eat, too.”
I snatch the bill. The only time mom’s civil is when she’s hung over.
“Just get whatever’s cheapest,” she says before turning to go back down the hall.
She didn’t see the cut on my face from last night. Good. I don’t want to answer any of her questions. I toss the remote on the stack of magazines and collapse the recliner in a squeaky thud.
I grab the keys
Similar Books
