Rowdy Dead Productions

(((I actually made a change to last weeks post. I felt like I made Monty’s force field really overpowered. I don’t know, sometimes I throw in these vague one-liners, that seem like a good idea at the time, but then I got to think how that’s going to effect everything else, technology wise. Yeah, considering I already had soldiers fighting, without any mention of a ‘personal field generator’ maybe the small town sheriff should not have something so potent. Might not have been noticed, I changed it pretty early in the week… idk just a heads up. TY,DD))

By David C. Daoust

 

Sheriff ‘Monty’ Dunn was not sure how he got into this situation. The man before him looked worried, though. Well, half worried and half relieved, Monty was unclear why. He could see it on the old man’s face that the whole thing was just a mix up.

“I really had better find her to clear this up, it’s been bothering me for a while now,” the man’s oversized mustache bobbed as his mouth moved, more so as he tapped his head dumfounded and added, “I don’t know why I thought that.”

“About the jacket?” Monty asked, still confused by what the man had previously told him.

“Yeah, that jacket, I really loved that jacket…” the old man said wistfully at the thought of his jacket, “See, here’s what happened…

“We all hanging out, outside the club, when a man approaches- I can tell he has something to say to me, so I give him kind of a nod,” the old man paused and mimicked the nod with a sly wink.

“All he said was- ‘that ain’t your jacket’. See, I never saw the guy before, and he said it kind of funny like, so, yeah, I thought, he’s talking about this jacket I’d lost to a mugger some years ago. I loved that jacket. That, that, was my jacket.”

With a short pause to emphasize what jacket was his, he continued.

“Id’d kept my ear to the ground for so long about that old sweet jacket, that when the guy asked me about the one I was wearing, I thought, for some reason, he had information on the old one.”

“The one that was stolen?” the sheriff interjected, while still trying to follow the old man’s story.

“Yeah, yeah, he said ‘that ain’t your jacket’ so I was like ‘no, no its not- You know something about my jacket?’’ the old man continued the dialogue from where he left off.

Monty found it amusing how the man would shift voices as he spoke for the other man.

“See, I was trying to play it smooth, cuz my wife was there. Well, she wasn’t my wife yet, but she was there, and I was aiming to make her my wife– aim’n from the moment I laid I eyes on her, really,” He added that last part in as though it cleared something up. “So, I was all smooth and answered quick- without a lot of thought, maybe make it look like I had something in the cards, kind of already at play.”

“He said he’d make a call– Likity-split, he’s got his phone to his ear and moves off- out of earshot,” the old man said this with feigned excitement at this point, like things might fall his way.

“So me and my wife, we all stand’n around, still kind of wait’n, but pretty soon she wants to head back into the club, hit the dance floor again… I tell her, ‘head back in, I’ll be along’, still thinking this strange guy knew what was going on in my head, but it started to be clear that that guy had something else going on in his head,” the mustached man explained with narrowed eyes and a nod. “I still don’t know… but once she’s gone, it dawns on me, ‘how could the new jacket lead to the old one?’. I mean the mugger wouldn’t even know about this jacket…” he rolled his eyes, and tapped his head again.

“I felt so foolish, and I started to think, man she’s in there gab’n, ‘cause lord knows my wife’ll gab… but she’s not got the right information to gab about. It really starts bothering me, so I really think I should just go in and explain to her… I mean it’s kind of a funny story right?” the old man abruptly stopped, gave the sheriff a chance to agree with him without so much as a beat of an eye at the nonsense he’d just spouted. Spouted in the middle of the ravaged ruins of what was left of Grady, no less. Literally, AU’s from any club that may have four walls still standing and a dance floor not cluttered with debris…

“Sir, I just wanted to know where you were going with that plasma cutter…” Monty clarified with a gesture to the massive industrial droid-tool resting on the old man’s shoulder.