It's Murder at the Buy-Right

34

Ever since Hillerby Tillis threw his hat into the race against Sheriff Albion, It felt like the world had turned upside down.

Nobody had ever had the courage in twenty years to run against Albion.

No one, that is, except Hillerby Tillis.

Tillis was a small man. Most folks said that running against the Sheriff was Hillerby's way of proving his manhood. Many laughed at the thought of anyone besides Albion wearing the sheriff's badge.

Unthinkable.

Ludicrous.

Tillis has lost his mind if he thinks he'll unseat Albion. Albion's butt is welded to that office chair like kernels of corn on a cob. Albion has this county wrapped around his finger like a cheap wedding ring.

Those were the kinds of things he heard as he took a break in the local café, got his hair cut, or attended worship service whenever his schedule permitted.

The election was on everyone's mind.

The rain was beating down on the top of the patrol car. Ribbons of water wormed down the front windshield. He sat with his hands limply on the wheel. His coffee had grown cold.

What if Albion lost the race?

He looked past the droplets that dotted his window.

This was a beautiful part of the country. Beautiful, but blighted since manufacturing left for other unknown parts of the world.

No, it wasn't a perfect place to live, but it was the place he had always called home.

Something fluttered in the pit of his stomach.

Would the world end if Albion wasn't re-elected?

He'd heard rumors.

Bad ones.

And since Hillerby had entered the election, it felt like the jackals were scrambling to pick sides.

Monroe smiled.

When the clashing sides picked their warriors for battle, he'd been left alone.

The last kid to get picked for softball.

Except this time, Monroe was the last kid left standing that neither side seemed to think was worth the trouble of even choosing.