Where There is Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth

Chapter 6: Sink Your Teeth Into This!

The picture they'd used was an old one that they'd probably had on file for nearly a year. The seasons could be tracked by the kid's hair style and the growth of his facial hair. This shot looked like it had been taken sometime last Christmas.

Henry dropped the paper back on his desk. Not his usual choice in reading material, the rag held his interest if only because of the picture on the front page. A copy of the same publication rested on the desk facing his. Lassiter, though, had spent more time scowling at the text than the accompanying photograph.

“Foppish troglodyte... you know, I should sue her for libel. Actually, what I really should do is put a unit outside her place. Bet she deals meth out of her garage; how else could she afford her house? It's not like they could honestly be paying her anything for this sh...”

“Oh, would you give it a rest!? Its been over a week!” Henry shot his arms in the tight discomfort of his jacket. The annoyed squint back held no tolerance for the worry driven snappishness.

“Pu-lease! Like you haven't wallpapered your living room with it! Tell me again what she says about you? The... stalwart captain with the sturdy back and bowed head...”

Henry crumpled his copy of the article and pitched it in the trash before shoving from his desk – only to just avoid slamming into Chief Vick. Lassiter stood as well at her appearance, though likely motivated to do so from her expression versus respect.

“Chief?”

No waffling – something Henry had always appreciated about the woman. Especially considering the words she said next.

“We may have a lead.”

~-~-~

“My father has been known to hold up a line of cars in a parking lot in order to chew out some poor guy for not putting his grocery cart away. He has actually stated, more than once, that loose grocery carts have been linked to at least five fatalities in the last ten years.”

No response. Well that was good though, right? At least he hadn't tried slapping a muzzle on his captive. And sitting in silence was just no longer an option. One little almost hallucination of his mother had been enough to restart the jabbertalky in Shawn's brain – a state that far better suited him than the mute mopester he'd been for most of his stay.

“I mean, grocery carts, right? I've been in more danger on a swing set!”

When he was five, his father had bought a swing set for the back yard. It was the year before he met Gus – when he was still an only child in many respects. It was long before words like“work” and “promise” and even his own name would become hateful to him. Back when his mother still came home every night before dinner and both of them tucked him into his bed to sleep.

Dad had taken the evening shift back in those days – one of countless compromises they'd made so that there was always a parent at home. Before dad went to work but after dinner, with Shawn's bedtime only an hour away, the two of them would head out to the yard to play with the new swing set. Clambering on board the flexible seat, he'd grip the chains in his hands and close his eyes – waiting for that first push. And though dad had always had a gentle touch, that brief moment of weightlessness had always made him feel like he was flying. One time, he'd leaned too far back and had slipped off the saddle. A second of open air and wild giddiness, and then the breath had rushed from him when he'd collided against the hard packed dirt. It was the only time his father hadn't caught him when he'd fallen.