C.O.T.V.H. (Book 1): Creation by Dustin J. Palmer

been curious about you Rangers. Even did some reading about you. Now if I’m not mistaken, you boys are quite a hard little group to get in too. Not just anyone can join.”
    “ Oh it’s not that hard,” Henry waved the remark away with his hand. “There's a couple hundred of us.”
    “ A couple hundred Rangers watching the whole state of Texas?”
    “ It’s not too bad. We mostly handle big cases. Things that demand a little more attention than the local PD or Sheriff departments can muster. You know, serial killers, things of that nature,” he said, giving John a cold stare.
    “ That so?” John chuckled. "I doubt you'd understand but I can relate better than you'd believe."
    You twisted son of a bitch. Don't you dare compare yourself to me! "Really? Why don't you tell me about it?"
    John tapped his fingers on the table nervously then looked up at the clock again. “I have a better idea. How about you tell me what this is all about? I mean, like I said, a Texas Ranger seems a little much for such a small misunderstanding.”
    Misunderstanding? I’ve been hunting you for a long time boy and now I’ve got you! “We'll get to that. But I'd like to get to know you first. So tell me, John, with the big slump in the oilfield you must be having a hard time finding work, so what do you do for a living these days?”
    “ Oh you know, this and that . . . say Ranger, you think you could have these cuffs loosened up a bit? Those boys I bumped into slapped them on a little tight.”
    Henry laughed inwardly. “Bumped into? You mean those two officers you assaulted coming out of your house armed to the teeth with . . .” Henry held up a piece of paper with John's weapons listed for effect. He knew perfectly well, what he had been armed with. “One Winchester Model 1901 ten gauge shotgun, one .357 magnum . . . in your vehicle they found . . . one twelve gauge pump, one machete, three hundred rounds of ammunition. Do I need to go on? No Mr. Bishop, I think I'll keep those cuffs nice and tight for the time being.”
    “ I didn’t assault anyone!” John slammed both handcuffed fists hard enough to shake the table. “I came out of my house with my own legally owned, constitutionally protected, firearms and these two assholes . . .” He motioned to the two-way mirror on the other side of the room. “Got in my way. It was an accident!”
    Henry turned in his seat, staring at the mirror. “Sure, sure, I believe you, John. I really do. And in the state of Texas, it’s perfectly fine to carry your own firearms on your own property. But we both know those guns aren’t registered to you.”
    John snorted, “Yeah well . . . I’m sure I’m not the only Texan with guns passed down to him. That ten gauge belonged to my great grandfather; his name is engraved on the stock. And the .357 was a gift from my father.”
    “ Uh huh . . . your father you say? Well we'll get to that in a minute. Now . . . a 1901 . . . that’s a damn rare gun wouldn’t you say?”
    “ Yeah I guess,” John bent down and scratched at his beard with his left hand. “Look Ranger, this is ridiculous. I’ve already told you that I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the victim in this. Someone broke into my house and completely destroyed the place! Poured some weird thick, black shit all over my kitchen floor.”
    “ Is that the same person that cut up your arm? The ER Doc that patched you up said they looked like animal claw marks, and I don’t see any mountain lions running loose on the streets of Midland.”
    “ I don’t know who they were,” John wiped the sweat from his forehead on the sleeve of his flannel shirt.
    “ Tell me, John, where’s your wife? Where’s your son? What happened to them?"
    John stared daggers through him. “What do you know about my wife?”
    “ Your wife? What about your son?”
    “ My son is fine,” he said, gritting his teeth. "Now answer my question.”
    Henry sat there quietly, listening to the clock tick.