from the long ride. Finally, Tom said the only thing he could think of to say. “Goddamn, it’s hot,” and then, after looking in both directions a minute more, he added: “This place is a dump.” Victor agreed it was.
They went into a small reception area with a high counter and some ratty furniture for waiting around while the local government worked at its usual brisk pace. The room smelled of industrial cleaner and the lighting flickered, ugly and florescent. A young cop stood behind the counter filling out paperwork. He looked up when they came in. “Help you?”
“I hope so,” Victor said with a smile, doing his best to look like a friendly and concerned citizen. “We’re here to see the sheriff, if he’s in. We’re from Southern Petroleum.” Another big smile, teeth and all.
“He’s got somebody in his office now, but I’ll go see if he can see you.”
The kid disappeared through a doorway and they were alone in the waiting area. Tom studied the notices on the bulletin board. They were the usual kinds of things: facts about employment law, a picture of a missing dog, an announcement that the next city counsel meeting would be held on the twenty-sixth. Tom wondered what they would have to discuss at the city counsel meeting. Burning the place down and starting over, perhaps? He was about to make a joke about the city counsel meeting to Victor when the young officer returned.
“You can go on back. Just go straight on through, all the way down the hall.”
Tom followed Victor around the end of the counter and through the doorway. The hall wasn’t very long. They could hear voices at the end, coming from an office. Victor paused at the doorway and poked his head inside. The sheriff sat behind his desk and the other guy stood on the opposite side of the room. The talking stopped for a second and Victor filled the silence by saying, “Sorry to interrupt, Sheriff, your deputy sent us back.”
“Oh, I was just leaving anyway,” the other guy said. Victor smiled at him too, not knowing who he was, although, in Victor’s assessment, he didn’t look like a cop. “I guess I’ll just leave this with you,” the man said, and held out a large backpack with dirt and scuff marks all over it. “I’ve gotten everything I can off of it, so you don’t have to worry about losing any evidence now.”
“Thanks, Paul. I’ll just keep it with all the other stuff in my unsolved mysteries file.” Paul and the sheriff both laughed. Then Paul set the backpack on the desk and made like he was leaving.
On his way to the door, he said, “Wish I could be more help. But there just wasn’t anything on it. I think the dent in the frame is the only thing of any value.”
The sheriff continued sitting. He turned the backpack over once or twice, reflecting on it. Victor could see what Paul was talking about, a deep curve in the metal tubing of the frame. Without thinking, he blurted out, “Looks like someone took a baseball bat to it.”
The two men just stared at him. The sheriff smiled and rubbed his fingers along the indentation. “I suppose it does, but that only narrows it down to about a hundred million bats in the world.” He grinned back at Victor, wondering who the hell he was and what he wanted. Then Mickey stood and leaned across the desk, sticking out his hand. “Okay, Dr. Kramer, thanks for bringing this by. Let me know if you think of anything else on this.”
Paul shook Mickey’s hand and headed for the door. “Will do, Sheriff. See you at the game?”
“I’m sure you will.” Mickey watched Paul squeeze by the two guys in the hallway. The two guys were obviously from out of town. The first guy, the smart one with all the opinions, came right in and stuck his hand over the desk. “Victor Jones, Chief Security Officer for Southwest Petroleum. This is my assistant, Tom Crossly.” He motioned back behind him at the other guy.
Mickey shook the outstretched hand. Victor’s grip struck him as a little too firm, too aggressive, trying too hard to make an impression. Mickey released his hand first, letting Victor feel good about himself, and then remained standing behind his desk with his hands on his hips. “What can I do for you folks?”