wheelsy_sheriff (
wheelsy_sheriff) wrote in
milliways_bar2012-07-05 08:34 am
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Kate went out for a run with deputy Bradley this morning, and so Bill is on his own for breakfast.
She offered to be back in time to get it, but he declined and left early before she was home.
Still out of uniform until he arrives at the station, Bill steps into Milliways expecting the local diner. Deciding to go ahead and stay, he takes a seat at a table and orders from a passing waitrat.
A few minutes later he has a cup of coffee, plate of bacon and eggs and a copy of the Wheelsy Register.
The front page article headline reads "Meth hotline going live". Bill barely gives it a glance before opening the paper and shuffling back to the sports page, checking up on how the Earl Bassett High football team is doing.
She offered to be back in time to get it, but he declined and left early before she was home.
Still out of uniform until he arrives at the station, Bill steps into Milliways expecting the local diner. Deciding to go ahead and stay, he takes a seat at a table and orders from a passing waitrat.
A few minutes later he has a cup of coffee, plate of bacon and eggs and a copy of the Wheelsy Register.
The front page article headline reads "Meth hotline going live". Bill barely gives it a glance before opening the paper and shuffling back to the sports page, checking up on how the Earl Bassett High football team is doing.
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"Demeter, hi. How you been?"
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"It's fall for me, gettin' chilly an' all."
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Poking at his eggs, he answers, "We're good."
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It's more than a bit if you go by the shadows underneath his eyes and the general tiredness about him.
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"Just workin'. Some things have come up in my town, an' I'm tryin' t'handle them."
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"I don't need any help, if that's what you're askin'."
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He blames Lonnie Jenkins, bail jumper extraordinaire, and this slower-than-a-dead-snail of an afternoon stakeout just off Lansdowne Drive. Nothing's moved — even the air — around the apartment Jenkins supposedly shares with an old girlfriend. (Raylan still can't decide if by old, Art meant former or well past middle age; when Raylan had asked for clarification at the office, all he got was a long-suffering sigh and a half-hearted shoo toward the door. And here he wasn't even being facetious this time.)
There's one shining beacon, though: A Dairy Queen is just around the corner, next to the post office and that mom-and-pop Mexican place with the sopapillas that Tim swears could bring about world peace within four bites.
So, with a ball-peen hammer swinging behind his eyeballs, and absolutely no leads on Jenkins's current whereabouts, Raylan decides a dish of creamy vanilla soft-serve would only be an improvement.
Except.
Well.
He hasn't walked into Dairy Queen, exactly.
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Folding up the paper, he drops it on the tabletop and glances around for a rat to get a new cup of coffee from.
The white Stetson is hard to miss, and Bill gives the marshal a tired smile.
"Raylan, how's it goin'?"
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"Highlight of the day, so far," he says with a mild half-smile, tipping his head toward the bowl.
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"Mine's just started, but I guess a meal here beats cold cereal back home."
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He even once took it upon himself to educate a friend whose time was before the sugar for breakfast era.
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Shaking his head, Bill accepts his new cup of coffee from the waitrat who brings it.
"So, how's it goin'? Turn up in any more flower beds?"
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The second is a different matter.
Putting down his spoon, he shakes his head.
"I've been lucky on that front," he says. "But I am sorry for pulling a Houdini on you and Kate. Did you get my note?"
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"I'm just glad you're alright, an' things turned out okay."
Lifting his mug to Raylan, Bill nods.
"Got your note, an' thanks for the bourbon. It helped."
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Twilight Zone shit, indeed.
His attention falls to the newspaper; his expression doesn't change, but his eyes narrow a fraction at the corners.
"How've you been?"
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"Alright. My old high school team is livin' up to tradition with an 0-2 start."
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