Howdy friends. Pardon my absence. Had a dentist issue come up and it was rather unpleasant. For those of you in the US, have a wonderful Thanksgiving this week. Be safe and enjoy time with friends and family alike. To everyone spending so much time reading my stories, you are appreciated more than words can say. My sincerest thanks go out to you!
Following the shot, Steve reached for his service revolver before crouching down on his knees. Careful to avoid any rogue bullets, he ducked behind one of the large wooden tables, his eyes seeking out Mike's. Next to him, the Lieutenant pulled out his .38 and reached toward Harold Richardson, hoping to protect the man.
"What the heck is the matter with you city cops!" the butcher yelled out loud, his bellowoing voice echoing throughout the large room as he waived off Mike's hand, "Will you drop your damn weapons? You're scaring my customers!"
Confused, Steve looked over at his partner, who carefully rose from his guarded position. The noise had died down and when no further shots were fired, Steve slowly re-holstered his revolver.
"What was that?" Mike asked, his voice quivering slightly. From a few feet away, Steve could hear the underlying tension in each of the Lieutenant's words.
The butcher seemed to grow more agitated by the second and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
"It was a 30 ought 6, for god's sake. What the hell don't you understand about this being a meat processing plant? We gotta drop large animals. And don't think for one minute your little .38's would drop a 600lb boar."
Steve looked over at Mike, who was hiding his unease reassuringly well. With a quiet nod, the Lieutenant put his gun back into the holster and straightened out.
"You will have to excuse us, Mr. Richardson. ", he offered with a feigned smile, "We work in downtown San Francisco. That kind of noise typically means something a lot worse than a pig dying."
The shorter man began to relax again, then cocked his head at them.
"So, how can I help you two gentlemen?"
"Well, I was wondering if you have seen this man around town lately?" pulling Glenn's picture out of the breast pocket of his charcoal dress coat, Mike tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible.
In the meantime, Steve casually glanced around the room, checking out the old photographs and along with it, the other customers.
Things did seem deceivingly quiet around here, perhaps a little too much even.
"Never seen him before.", Richardson replied matter-of-factly, trying his best to look sincere when he made eye contact with both detectives.
"How about this…this detomidine hydrochloride?", Steve tried, more or less to roust the man, "Have you ever used it before?"
"And just what the heck is this, Inspector?", the butcher asked brusquely, seemingly running out of patience.
"It's a large animal sedative.", Mike responded instead, careful not to sound too distrustful. "Have you used it before, say, when the animals you are about to kill are…perhaps…upset? Need some calming down?"
As usual, Steve was amazed at how his partner managed to weave an important question into a seemingly casual conversation, slowly prying the truth out of their witnesses- at least that's how it usually worked.
"Now, you listen up, Lieutenant." Richardson growled, his features an angry grimace by now, "I run a clean operation here and my boys know damn well how to put a killing shot into a cow or a pig. Beside the fact that it's illegal as hell, we don't have no need for sedatives around here. I'd appreciate it if you would refrain from making such accusations."
Steve watched his partner back down instantly, before nodding.
"It was not my intention at all, Mister Richardson. We are only here to ask questions.", he said calmly, hoping to diffuse the situation as he reached into his wallet, "Here is my card in case you can think of anything else. Switchboards are open day and night. Thank you so much for your time."
Not giving the man a chance to rebut, Mike turned around, subtly reaching for Steve's elbow, ushering him out the door under the prying eyes of the curious locals.
The Lieutenant waited until they sat back down inside the Galaxy before clearing his throat.
"He was lying alright."
"Question is, why. And why would Glenn come here anyways? He wanted to go to the ranch."
Reaching for the ignition, Steve started up the car and slowly turned the large sedan around.
"Perhaps he wanted to meet somebody here." Mike guessed and glanced back down at Glenn's picture as if it would help him ponder.
"How is it that the more we find out, the more questions come up?", Steve sighed in obvious frustration.
Turning onto the dirt road, he headed back to town, driving considerably slower as though he loathed the trip.
"Welcome to Detective Work 101, Buddyboy.", Mike replied, a genial smile spreading on his lips.
Returning the smile, Steve felt his partner's optimism rejuvenate his own senses.
"Ok, what is it? You know something."
"Just a hunch.", the cadence in Mike's voice had changed to a tone of utter innocence. Grinning at his partner, he gently nudged his shoulder, "Your point about the lack of traffic made me think of it."
"Well, you lost me now."
"I think that Glenn Malcolm didn't know exactly where this ranch was. I am pretty sure his directions were similar to ours. So he comes here, decides to spend the night, and runs into trouble with the intolerant locals."
"Yeah but if we're dealing with some sort of hate crime here, why kill him with a sedative? Psychologically speaking, hate crimes spark some of the worst levels of sadistic human behavior on record."
"Now, I didn't say they killed him.", Mike reiterated and rested his hands in his lap. "As a matter of fact, I think he did make it to that ranch. But I lay money on it that whatever happened on that ranch has a lot to do with what happened in this town."
Growing increasingly intrigued with Mike's train of though, Steve nodded and made a left turn to head up north.
"Sounds like it's time to check out Paradise Ranch"