Chapter 2: Police Action

The walk into town was about as pleasant as could be expected from a grueling several mile hike through the drizzling woods accompanied by a man who had turned being obnoxious into an art form.

No, not me, Thomas.

Once we got into Forks, a sleepy little town of 3,113 people according to the very informative sign we passed on the way in, we set about finding a place to stay. Apparently they didn't get visitors much judging by the stares that were fixed on us the instant we stepped into the town lines, or maybe they just didn't get a lot of giants in black leather coats, personified cologne ads, or dogs who looked like they included Wooly Mammoths as part of a balanced breakfast. Oh well, their loss.

We managed to make it about halfway to the center of town before the local authorities decided to pay us a little welcome visit, which in the circumstances probably said more about the discretion of Fork's police force than it did about our ability to look unsuspicious. The police cruiser was one of those four-wheel drive affairs, big enough to actually go off road while small enough to forestall accusations of compensation. It approached us slowly enough that we had plenty of time to see it coming even if we weren't paying attention, before slowly coming to a stop next to the sidewalk. The officer inside, a rough solemn looking man with messy black hair and a bristly mustache, rolled down the window and leaned out to address Thomas and I.

"You folks alright?"

Thomas immediately took the lead in the talking, which was probably for the best. Authority figures and I didn't really get along for the most part, even when we liked each other. "Aside from being a little damp we couldn't be better officer," he assured the lawman, who only raised an eyebrow in a expression of obvious doubt. Clearly this was a man who was used to letting his eyebrows do the talking.

If my brother was fazed by the officer calling his bluff, he gave no sign as he continued. "My friend's car, on the other hand, is a very different story. I keep telling him that the 1950's are over and he just needs to learn to let go, but he's the sentimental sort. I mean," and here Thomas leaned in as if the next words were to be a private exchange between the two of them, which would have worked better had he lowered his voice even slightly, "just look at him. That coat belongs on the set of El Dorado." Pulling back, and ignoring the death glare I was shooting him for insulting my car and my coat in the same conversation with practiced ease, Thomas shrugged in helplessness. "We broke down several miles back, and had the walk the rest of the way. Is there someone we could possibly call to go collect it before it completely decays? Either a tow truck or a dump truck, it doesn't matter-OW!"

That last ow was probably my fault, seeing as I was the one who smacked him upside the head, but hey, he was talking about junking the Blue Beetle! When a man's car is threatened he has to take a stand.

For his part, the officer let his eyes wander from Thomas to, then back to Thomas, then down to Mouse, and over to the gigantic bag Thomas had remembered to start dragging behind him before we'd entered town.

"Right."

Silence stretched on for another minute as he seemed to mull something over, then finally he continued, "I'll call Fred Wilks to get his truck out there and give you a tow. He'll bring it to the Timberly's Bread and Breakfast right down that way. That's the only real place to stay in town." Done speaking, he leaned back into the cruiser, as if using so many words at once had worn him out, and he turned to the radio, likely to start the process of saving my car from its dreadful fate.

Bouncing back from the grievous wound I had dealt him, Thomas smiled in a way that made his teeth ping in complete defiance of the overcast weather and said, "Ah, well thank you for everything Officer…?"

The policeman didn't even look up. "Sheriff Swan." As one Thomas and I stiffened, all of our self-control going towards making some crass remark that would likely land us both a free stay overnight at the police station. I'm not sure how Murphy would react to having to drive to Washington to bail us out of prison, but I somehow suspect it would not end well. Mouse, for his part, once again proved he was far more mature than my brother and I combined by just sitting there with a dignified doggy smile on his big face.

Fortunately Officer Swan seemed to miss our Herculean efforts of will and just kept flipping through his notepad, looking for something. We both realized that it was probably best for us to move on before we got ourselves into trouble.

"Well, thank you Sheriff, we'll just be on our way." Getting only a parting nod from Swan snerk, the three of us turned in the direction he had indicated, and once again set off down the main street.

So far we'd been in town about a half an hour, and managed to avoid any major disasters. This trip was already turning out a lot better than I though it would have.

And really, that should have been my first clue of how bad things were going to get. Personally, I blame Thomas.