THE WANTED CRIMINAL °°° Eddie Munson

°°°Part One

THE WANTED CRIMINAL
(AND HIS ATTORNEY—WITH STALE CHOC DIPS)

×°×°

"Frankie!" her voice had that exasperated tone when Nancy Wheeler had something in her mind that she had set out to do—not stopping at anything. And that's a tone that Franklin sure found nostalgic, and he immediately knew he was about to get dragged into some shit that he knew he would seriously regret later.

But he didn't pay any mind as he held the phone between his shoulder and chin, struggling to put his morning coffee on the kitchen counter, "Wheeler!" he exclaimed in false joy, putting the cup down and pulling the phone further from its place on the wall with his hand, "And here I thought you guys would forget I was dropping by for break."

"Yeah, that's—that's great and all, but—have you heard about the murders?" he could practically hear the squint of her eyes and the urgency of her face. Franklin sighed, glancing at the news on TV that he was just watching—he knew what was coming next.

"You need my help, don't you?" he rested on the kitchen counter promptly.

"Yep. Meet us at the trailer park ASAP. Thanks, bye."

"Wait—" Franklin started, but the call had already ended before he could even speak. He inhaled through his teeth harshly, making his way to the device in the wall, "Shit." and he slammed the phone on the handle.

×°×°

As if his car hadn't had enough of traveling (it had just driven from Illinois to Indiana the day before—it's sure to be tired if it had a conscience), Franklin drove the old yellow thing through the cursed town much to his dismay and tried his best to remember where the hell this 'trailer park' was because Nancy sure didn't tell him.

But luckily for him, the trailer park was like the slum of Hawkins, so he knew he couldn't have been some kind of god when he saw the 'FOREST HILLS - Trailer Park' sign up the road next to the grungy neighborhood.

He did his best to ignore his jittering nerves and rapidly beating heart when he drove through the rocky roads. It's not like there were hoards of people with uneventful lives and too-curious brains sitting around and waiting for any sort of news from the police about the murder. Franklin was surprised he wasn't pulled over by said investigators. Maybe he could have seen the new sheriff—but surely he wasn't as capable as Hopper since the whole town was in hysteria from what Franklin deduced on his very casual drive through.

But the thought of the big, friendly and totally dead sheriff did not do wonders to the Collymore boy's nerves, which were escaping through his fingertips and tapping the wheel in a haphazard song that he casually hummed to. It was funny—he never had such habits until after his first encounter with the demogorgon. Such wonderful times.

He exhaled loudly and did the tshi-tshi-tshi... thing through his teeth as he further scanned his surroundings for a peculiar group of people that he just so happened to share a few near-death experiences with. Just when he thought that he couldn't find them, a group piled out of a trailer in a rush. Franklin let out an ah. There's no way you could mistake that hair for anyone else's. And no, not Nancy's hair. Though she did march over to his car window and knocked it rapidly.

Franklin parked over (without crashing—a miracle), and rolled down the window. Not even an inch down, he heard Nancy say, "Hi, dipshit. Welcome back to Hawkins." and plaster on a fake smile. She then made her way in front of the car to the passenger's seat. Collymore snorted, popping the locks of his car off and letting the older Wheeler in.