The Sheriff of Book Town

By Vernon Golden

Things should be looking up for Hankhe has a new job as the security officer at the library in a new town. Still though, his ex-wife left an emotional crater in his life when she ran off. And now, his daughter is trying to force them back together again. Hank is looking at other options, like Liz, but hes not sure about her. What he doesnt know is that theres a librarian who is praying for him. When a violent murder and rape takes place though, the town of Scots Harbor is shaken. And Betty has to make a decision that could destroy her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984547842

Vernon Golden

Vern Golden has spent most of his adult life protecting people. After a stint in the US Air Force, doing nuclear weapon security, he was a police officer in Wyoming. He later moved to California, where he joined the security team at Frank Sinatra's estate near Palm Springs. The Sheriff Of Book Town is based on his adventures as the security officer for the Salem Public Library, in Salem Oregon. He now lives in Salem with his wife, Josie, and their two dogs, Sandy and Luna. Vern is a member of the First Free Will Baptist Church where, among other things, he serves as the church's security officer

Book preview

1

He jumped. The pager spooked him when it went off.

Hank tore it from his belt, an angry square of impatient plastic, screeching for his attention. He immediately dropped it. It hit the floor, buzzing furiously. He muttered under his breath, cursing himself for being so nervous. But it was his first day at Scot’s Harbor Public Library. He wanted to do well. And he’d never had to carry a pager before. He was wary of it for some reason. But now he was at loggerheads with it. He was in conflict with a little chunk of plastic and wires that had no innate intelligence, no mind or will of its own. Worse yet, he knew how to control it. He was the master of this tiny blip on the radar screen of technology. And yet, it was winning. It’s chirping now sounded, to Hank, like it was laughing at him.

He Picked it up. He pressed the button to silence it, and shut if off. He had only been trying to get the stupid thing to shut up. Instead, he somehow killed the power.

He got it turned back on again, but the message was gone. Great! Someone in the library needed him, and he didn’t know who! Suddenly, while he was trying to figure out what to do, it went off again. Again, he jumped, and again, dropped the pager!

Okay, you can do this! Hank told himself, you’ve been trained on this, for corn sake! Just relax and do it! He took a breath, bent down, and recovered the pager.

He hit the right button this time. The message in the little window read just two letters: AV. Security was needed in the Audio-Visual section. Hank took long strides to the stairs, descended them two at a time.

Hi, over here! She was waving to him from in front of the women’s restroom. He knew she was one of the staff. He’d met her last week during his training, but couldn’t remember her name. Quickly he walked over to her.

Hey there. So, what’s up?

Well, there’s a guy, apparently passed out, in the women’s room!

Lovely, said Hank, looking at the woman’s name tag. So, you just walked in and, what? There he was?

Pretty much. So I had you paged.

Pulling a pen and notebook from his left breast pocket, Hank noted the time. Such an incident would surely require a report, and all reports required the time. Remembering that fact returned some of his confidence.

Okay, Teresa, if I can just get the spelling of your last name. For my report.

V-l-a-d-i-m-i-r. And the first name is Tersa."

Oh, I’m sorry.

She smiled. It seemed an odd thing to do at such a time. At least, Hank thought so. But she was prettier when she smiled.

No worries, she answered, It’s a common mistake for an uncommon name.

Okay, well, thanks.

Hank keyed the radio mike clipped to the front of his shirt, paused, then spoke clearly. 239 to dispatch.

He heard the reply through the rubber ear piece he wore, Dispatch, go ahead 239.

I’ll be out with a male subject, reportedly passed out on the floor of the lower level women’s restroom.

Copy that. Do you need cover?

Before he could formulate an answer, Hank heard another voice in his ear. Sergeant Williams. 245, I’m less than a block away. I’ll be responding.

Dispatch copies.

239, I copy also. Thanks.

He took another breath. After swallowing, he reached out to push on the door. He almost jumped again when Tersa spoke. He thought she’d left.

Be careful, okay.

I will.

And welcome to the library.

Thanks, He told her, smiling himself now, but really, you didn’t need to go to all this trouble to welcome me! Then he went in.

The thick stench of vomit slugged his gut like a fist. A puddled heap of it lay near the trash can. Must have missed, thought Hank, inching into the restroom.

Then next thing he saw were two legs sticking out from under the stalls against the far wall. They wore a pair of faded blue jeans, with the knees worn through. The feet at the end of the legs were clad in heavy work boots with a lot of miles on them.

Hello? Hey man, you alright?

No response.

Hey! Buddy, are you okay? Talk to me, man.

Whoever it was on the floor suddenly broke wind, with a loud, wet-sounding blurb. One leg twitched slightly. Somewhere, up near the toilet, somebody moaned.

Hey! I’m Officer Lockhart, Library Security. I need to know if you’re okay.

Huh? One soggy syllable, but that was some sort of a response at least!

Okay, Hank said, I need you to get up from there, so we can talk. Okay? Can you do that for me?

Uh-huh. Two syllables now! Things were improving! No movement, however. Hank paused a moment before trying again. Come on man, let’s get up now, okay? Come on!

There was a thud. Hank felt the vibration through the floor. The poor drunken slob had actually attempted to comply. Only problem was, he was still under the stall. He’d cracked his head on the underside of the partition. A second thud followed closely as the guy’s head hit the floor. More moaning, naturally.

Whoa, careful! You’re going to have to crawl out of there first, okay? Try it again.

And again, primary thud, secondary thud, followed by renewed moaning.

Hey! Be careful, man! You can’t stand up until you crawl out from under there!

"What was that?" Marty Williams’ big shape suddenly filled the doorway.

Oh, this guy’s having a little trouble getting upright. Keeps cracking his skull on the partition. He needs to crawl out of there first, but he doesn’t seem to be getting the message.

Williams chuckled and shook his head, Drunk?

Hank nodded, Yeah. He puked over there. And something in the air tells me he may have soiled himself too.

Kind of smells that way, doesn’t it? Williams knelt down by the legs. I’m Sergeant Williams, City of Scot’s Harbor, Security Supervisor. Can you hear me?

Ahurrmahedd!

You hurt your head? Well I’m not surprised! You need to get out here before you try and stand. Can you crawl out here? Williams asked.

Slowly, the legs began working. They pumped up and down a few times, then found the wall, and pushed. Painfully, tediously, the figure on the floor managed to slide, roll, and crawl out from under the stalls. Hank noted that he was a white male, probably 30 to 35. His hair was thick and curly. It hadn’t been combed in some time, and was now matted and filthy.

Okay, good job there. Marty said. Now, can you sit up and tell me your name?

With some effort, he sat up. Hank observed that he had a bag of wine tucked under his arm like a droneless set of bagpipes. He must have gotten it from one of those boxed wines they sold at the grocery store.

I’m takin’ th’ bus to Eugene. the man slurred.

Williams replied, Okay. Well, you’re not at the bus station. The Subject, as he would be called in Hank’s report, looked at the sergeant through partially open eyes. His expression was one of inebriated incredulity. Nope, you’re in the ladies room at the library.

The subject looked up at Hank then, Huh?

True story, Hank told him, we wouldn’t lie to you. Now, what’s your name?

Warren Smith.

Marty smiled. Oh yeah, Warren! I remember you! Haven’t seen you in a long time! Where you been?

Warren couldn’t answer. The strain of crawling and sitting seemed to have been too much for him. He’d fallen asleep.

So, you know this guy?

I caught Ol’ Warren here out in front of the Beach House Café, about a year ago, using the trash can for a toilet. But he had a beard then. I think he’s lost a lot of weight since then too. Well… Williams pulled a pair of light blue latex gloves from a pouch on his belt, …let’s take care of this mess. He slipped the gloves on, carefully pulling the bag of wine from under Warren’s arm and keying his mike. 245, 118.

118, go ahead.

We have a white male, Warren Smith, at the library, lower level women’s restroom. Arrest and transport on public intox.

118 copy. Be there in about two minutes.

Okay, Marty told the sleeping drunk, you’re going to jail. Then, to Hank, "Well, at least you’ll have something to talk about in briefing!

By the time they got Warren back to reality and on his feet, Officer Jim Dowland arrived from Scot’s Harbor P.D.

Hey Warren. I’m officer Dowland, you remember me? It’s been a while.

Warren obviously remembered. He went ballistic, began to shriek and wave his arms. He tried to run through Hank to get away, but Hank shoved him back into play. Dowland tackled him at the same time that Williams tried to grab him. They both ended up on top of Warren, whose blue jean-clad legs went back to pumping for all they were worth. He also began swearing and cursing the Denver Police Department.

Yeah! You’re right! Freakin’ Denver Cops! cried Dowland as he wrestled Smith’s hands behind his back. He clicked the cuffs into place.

Williams rolled off Warren’s back and stood up. Grinning and shaking his head, he helped Dowland pull The Subject to his feet. People don’t react to you very well, do they? he joked.

What can I say, I’m just so charming.

Warren was glaring at Hank through red, slitted eyes. He appeared to be trying to focus. He was also swaying like he was about to fall. Then he puked all over himself. And all over Officer Dowland.

Hank’s own stomach took a bad roll at both the sight and smell. He put a hand over his nose and turned away. He could hear Dowland gagging and cussing. Sergeant Williams was laughing.

Dowland pushed the sick drunk forward, into the wall. Oh yeah, real funny! Funny like putting a razor blade in a Halloween apple! He leaned into Warren and started to pat him down.

Williams winced suddenly. Dude, you should be wearing gloves. What’s wrong with you?

I’ll wash real good when I get to the jail, mom, I promise!

You’d better! He’s probably packing every cootie known to man!

With Warren Smith staggering between them, Williams and Dowland went out the back door and around to Dowland’s patrol car. Warren, already cuffed, was now stuffed. Once buckled into the back seat, he was driven to county lockup in Tillamook. Hank called the custodian.

And with that, the new sheriff of Book Town went on with the rest of his day.

*     *     *

Tersa Vladimir had walked up to the main level women’s restroom after reporting the drunk. She hadn’t been able to use the one downstairs. Not with a guy in there! Even if he was unconscious!

I wonder if this new security guy is single? He was a nice looking man, she thought, relatively handsome, and seemingly friendly. He had a nice smile too. We’ll see…

A few minutes later, she stood at the sink, washing her hands. And she looked at herself in the mirror. Was she attractive? Wavy, reddish-brown hair flowed over her shoulders. She wore glassed. Truth be told she could probably stand to lose some weight. Five pounds maybe. Probably closer to ten. Plain, she decided, but not ugly. Not really.

Tersa shook her head, then closed her eyes. She whispered a short prayer.

"Lord, I know you love me, whatever I look like. Let that be enough for me. You know I’d like to meet someone, but I leave that in your hands.

Still though, be with Hank as he deals with that poor guy downstairs. Keep him safe. And as for the drunk guy, help him to find his way out of the bottle. In Jesus’ name, amen.

She looked at herself, one more time, in the mirror. No, there was nothing wrong with her. Still though, she thought she might try a little makeup tomorrow.

*     *     *

The wind is the one true constant on the Oregon Coast. It is restless. It is moody. But it always blows. Softly, tentatively, passionately, with sweetness or hostility, it is always moving.

Hank Lockhart closed his eyes, letting the breeze massage his cheeks and forehead with soothing coolness. Peace at last. He opened his eyes to see the last pale strip of sky cuddle with the Pacific before dying.

He sat on a lawn chair on the deck behind the mobile home where his mail came these days, perched high up on Buck Hill. The lights of Scot’s Harbor had begun twinkling down below. Cars moved up and down on 101, or Harbor Drive as they called it here. Head lights and tail lights, going, coming, going again. There was the yellow string of street lights along both shoulders, marking the downtown corridor. Different tinctures of neon marked places like The Beach House Café, The Lucky Scotsman Bowling Alley, Popeye’s Tattoos, or Captain Jack Sparrow’s Alehouse. Buoy lights marked the harbor channel. All these lights grew brighter as the daylight dimmed: dusk, gloaming, darkness.

Hank raised a small bottle of Canada Dry tonic water to his lips. In the other hand was his cell phone. He knew it would ring. She would call. She would just have to know how his first day went. Absolutely, just have to know…

The theme music from Star Wars alerted him, at last, that his daughter was calling.

Hey there, Baby Girl!

"Hey dad! So, I absolutely, just have to know, how was your first day on the new job?"

First day on my own really. I had a drunk guy passed out on the floor in the women’s bathroom. Other than that, not so much.

Are you kidding me?

No lie, Colleen! This guy was completely out of it. You know those boxes of wine you can get? Well, he had the bag out of one of those under his arm when we found him. I mean, he was hammered.

"Oh, wow! So, did you arrest him?

Well, the cops did.

That’s so absolutely weird! I mean, you’d think a library would be, I don’t know, like more dignified. Just absolutely not like that!

Well, it absolutely can be, at times. Okay, your turn now. How’s school?

Colleen sighed. Hard. I mean it absolutely is. But I guess I like it. I’ll absolutely love it after I’ve graduated!

My daughter, The Lawyer. Now I just love the sound of that. Dang! One more year, then I can call you Councilor!

She laughed. It hurt a little when she did that. She sounded exactly like her mother then.

So, you still coming out for Spring Break?

Oh absolutely!

Good. I think you’ll like this place. Nice and quiet. Except for the bathrooms at the library of course!

Her laughter again. He hadn’t intended to ask. He wasn’t at all sure he really wanted to know. Something about her laugh, he guessed, pushed him over the edge before he could think.

So, you hear anything from your mom lately?

A short silence. It screamed, I don’t know how to answer that!or I don’t want to answer that! He was sorry he’d asked.

Um, she’s fine. The reply was nearly whispered. Then a bit louder, She called me a couple weeks ago. She’s in Reno now.

Hank felt himself slump in his chair. Reno. That was almost Las Vegas. Last time he and Jade had spoken, she’d been adamant about rubbing his nose in her dream of becoming a stripper in Vegas.

Oh yeah? Did she say what she’s doing out there?

I don’t know. Modeling or something like that I think. Not sure.

In his mind, Hank translated her answer: I don’t want to talk about it, Okay! But since you absolutely have to know, my mother is doing nude modeling, and probably making porno films as well! Happy now?

Dad, you okay?

He had been silent without realizing. Yup, just fine.

Are you seeing anyone yet?

Me? No.

You absolutely should.

Well, I don’t know. You know, maybe someday.

Seriously, you haven’t met anyone you like?

Hank took a swig from the bottle, Well, there is a gal that works in Audio-Visual who’s nice. I didn’t see a ring. But, I don’t know. Just not sure I’m ready, you know.

Oh daddy, Colleen sighed softly, It’s been three, almost four years now! You’re a good looking man, and the nicest guy I know of. Please, don’t let what mom did steal your joy.

I wouldn’t think of doing such a thing. Hank answered, and thought, So I guess I must be doing it unconsciously. Or subconsciously. But he knew he was doing it.

Okay. See that you don’t. I love you, you know that, right?

Oh I do, he replied, I absolutely just do!

*     *     *

Alright everyone, 10 o’clock. Let’s open the doors. Melba Strickland’s voice came over the sound system. The library was opening.

Hank stepped into the entry way to open the front doors. About a dozen people were standing out in the morning’s chill, waiting to be let in. There were a couple moms with kids of various ages. Mr. and Mrs. Bell were there, as usual. They were a retired couple who came every morning. Nice people. The rest looked mostly like homeless guys. Hank had quickly learned that there were a lot of homeless regulars at the library. When you had nowhere to go, and nothing much to do, the library was free, warm, and offered entertainment.

Hank smiled at them as he unlatched the doors, even as he muttered under his breath, Brace for impact!

He slid the doors open, Morning every one! Welcome to the library, he exclaimed, and have a nice day. He used a small brass key to activate the motion sensor, so the doors would open and close automatically as people came and went.

Hi. a small voice called.

Hank looked down at a little boy, not more than four or five, wearing an Elmo hat. Hello there. Hey, nice hat Buddy.

The boy smiled. What do you say? mom asked.

Tank you.

You are very welcome. Have fun at the library today, okay?

’Kay.

Little kids were so cute. Hank thought of Colleen when she took her first steps; when she said daddy for the first time; how awestricken she’d been the first time she sat on Santa’s lap. And he well remembered asking her, what do we say? just as this mother had done. So sweet at that age. So innocent.

Well, at least when they’re little, Hank thought, as he heard the unmistakable rumble of a skateboard behind him. Neither boards, blades, nor bikes were allowed in the parking structure at the library, nor in the driveway to the book drop. But it was a running battle to stem the tide.

Hank walked out, looking left to the library parkade. Rolling out of the entrance, heading toward him was a kid on a skateboard. His dirty blond hair cascaded down his shoulders from under a red ball cap, worn backwards, of course. His black tee shirt was covered with silver skulls and dollar signs. The jeans he wore were cut generously enough to show his red plaid boxer shorts.

No skateboarding out here, man.

No response. Just a blank look.

Did you hear me? You need to get off the board.

I heard you! Geez!

He was still on the board, but at least he wasn’t hearing impaired. Okay, then please get off the skateboard. Now.

The kid stopped the board by putting one foot on the ground. Dude, this isn’t a skateboard!

It looks like one to me!

The kid rolled his eyes. He snorted, one of those, how-stupid-can-you-possibly-be snorts. It’s a long board, dude! Geez!

Hank could feel his I.R.L. dropping. Irritation Resistance Level. He hated to be called Dude. My most sincere apologies! I assure you I meant no offence. But I hope we can agree that a long board is related to the skateboard. I mean, there are similarities, aren’t there?

Well, DUH!

Then if it’s related to skateboards, it’s close enough to be prohibited. So get off the board! Now!

From behind his plentiful acne, the teen glared at Hank. He slammed his left foot down on the board’s rear end, causing it to leap up. He seized it, tucking it under his arm.

Thank you. Hank said, his I.R.L. stabilizing.

The kid just frowned and entered the library. Now, technically, the board wasn’t allowed inside. But as Sergeant Williams had told him, as long as the thing wasn’t in anyone’s way, or if it wasn’t being used inside, it wasn’t considered a big deal.

Hank turned, walked back in, said good morning to the two ladies at the Circulation desk. Turning right, he passed by The Children’s Corner. He walked. Stroll Patrol, he called it, weaving through the stacks on the main level. He wandered by the Music section, where song books and sheet music were kept. He sauntered past the Periodicals Desk, waving to Edna. A friendly, scrawny woman, she reminded Hank of the bespectacled hen in the old cartoon, who had such eyes for Foghorn Leghorn.

He patrolled the Medical Reference area, the Literacy section, the reference desk.

Morning. he said to John Haverly, as he was hanging up the phone. Anything interesting yet?

John was a tall, thin fellow, with a neatly trimmed red beard. He always seemed very serious, very dignified. Well, he answered, I just had someone call to see if I could look up the winning lottery numbers. Other than that, no.

They wanted last night’s numbers huh?

On no! They wanted next week’s numbers!

Seriously?

John smiled, Some people attribute powers to reference librarians that we don’t actually possess.

"Well, if you do find those numbers, don’t tell him. Tell me, and I’ll split it with you."

Oh, you can be sure I will!

Hank made his way to the main level men’s room. He could hear water running as he pushed the door open; could hear it splashing on the floor.

Dean Gunn was a transient. In his sixties presumably, he was famine-thin. His hair was long, gray and greasy. His beard was a silver cloud, drifting around the bottom of his head… Right now, he stood naked before the sinks, dousing himself with water and rubbing toothpaste on his body. Good day to you sir!

Mister Gunn! Didn’t Sergeant Williams and I talk to you last week about this? Huh? Remember, we told you that you couldn’t bathe in here, just wash your hands.

Gunn looked puzzled, Oh. I thought that was just last week. That still the rule this week too?

That’s always the rule.

I’m sorry! The old fellow started picking up his clothes and putting them on over his damp, Crest-covered form. I’m sorry! I’ll remember from now on!

Hank stood by as Gunn finished dressing, then followed him to the front door. It had started to rain. Hank hoped it would wash the rest of the toothpaste off the poor guy.

Back inside, Hank continued patrolling. He went downstairs to check AV. Here they had two cubicles where patrons could listen to music with head phones. They could check out music CD’s, movies, and educational videos too.

The most popular feature though, was the computer lab. Library card holders could sign up for an hour each day, to use one of eight computers. There was internet access, word processing, and other uses.

He saw Tersa at the desk, and shared with her the Warren Smith experience in its fullest form. We gave him a ten day exclusion, so if he comes back before then, let me know, and we’ll have him arrested for trespassing.

You let Melba know, right? And thought, He really is a cute guy!

She gets copies of all my reports. Melba was the library director. Mention of her name made Hank realize he hadn’t seen her yet. Actually, I should go talk to her. See you later.

He glanced into the computer lab on his way out. Some folks brought their noisy children into the lab. Security discouraged that practice. Also, cell phone use in the lab was a no-no, as was viewing of porn. These prohibitions, however, did not keep these things from happening.

Out in the hall, Hank checked the two meeting rooms the library rented out. Both were locked, since neither was scheduled for use that day.

The elevator smelled like a bad night after a plate of beans. Fresh shoe prints had appeared on the once shiny stainless steel trim. Additionally, a half-empty M&M’s bag lay on the floor, and several pulverized peanut candies were strewn about, like trailers after a tornado.

The top floor held the paperback fiction. There was a little atrium with two small tables and three chairs at each one. Patron’s could sit, read, and look out at the Pacific, a mere two blocks away. The atrium was also home to the two Fake Chairs. These were a pair of orange, molded plastic seats, made to look like plush chairs. The library was trying to get away from using soft chairs. They tended to hold moisture, and their accompanying odors. Soft seats soon became disgusting.

The Staff lounge was also up here, along with the Custodian’s Closet, and the Administration Office, where Hank now headed.

The receptionist, Wendy, looked up as Hank walked in. "What’s up?’

"Not