Headless by Robert Thompson Page A

The poor kid took the job expecting it to be easy. They all did. The old man made his way to the coffee pot, and grabbed a Styrofoam cup, pouring himself a straight black shot of that sweet caffeine.
         He sipped noisily from it, but this didn't seem to stir the Deputy. Williams cleared his throat and walked around the desk, examining the paperwork. Nothing new seemed to be added to the stack, since the last time he was in, short of the note from when old man Jenkins had called in from the bridge. Williams cleared his throat, and leaned down, examining the sleeping man.
         “Hadley?” he whispered.
         No movement.
         “Deputy?” Williams said a bit louder, but still in an overall soft tone.
         For his considerate attempt at waking the Deputy, Hadley snored. This irked the old Sheriff, who stood upright, and made his way behind the sleeping man. He raised the cup to his lips, and took another loud sip from the steaming cup of java, before reaching in his shirt pocket and pulling out a cigarette. He lit it, and took a long inhale, followed by another loud drink, and then cleared his throat.
         “MICHAEL!” the Sheriff bellowed.
         An explosion of sensory awareness hit the Deputy all at once, and he nearly fell back in his chair before jumping to his feet, and drawing his gun, looking around. His eyes wide with fear, confusion, and adrenaline. The Sheriff was bent at the waist, laughing hysterically, as the Deputy sorted out what had happened. He grumbled, holstering his gun, before crossing his arms over his chest.
         “Yes, sir?” Michael asked, not amused.
         The Sheriff stood upright mimicking the young Deputy, as he continued to laugh, and took another drag off the cigarette. “Can't take a joke very well, can you?”
         “I was just resting my eyes.”
         “You were snoring.”
         “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
         “Michael, you ain't married are you?”
         “No, sir.”
         “No kids?”
         “No, sir.”
         The Sheriff nodded to himself, staring into his coffee.
         “Why do you ask?” the Deputy inquired, lowering his arms.
         “Oh, I was just curious. Was thinking about my sweet Martha today, that's all. Look, can you do an old man a favor?”
         “Sure.”
         “Old man Jenkins' truck is down by the bridge. But Jenkins ain't there. I'm worried he done wandered into the woods, and you know he got the old-timers issue in his head.”
         “Yes, sir.”
         “I was wondering if you'd be willing to go down to the bridge, and take a look around the other side for me? I ain't one for walking much these days, and you're a bit younger. I need to go let his wife know what the sitch'iation is as well. Can you do that for me?”
         “Of course. I'll let you know when I find him. He couldn't have gotten too far.”
         “Much obliged.”
         The Deputy gathers his things, and heads for the door. When he gets to the entry of the room, he stops and turns around, noting the cigarette in the Sheriff’s hand. “You know it's illegal to smoke indoors, right, sir?”
         The old man chuckled, grinning at the Deputy. He glanced down at the cigarette as he flicked the ash on the floor.
         “You don't tell, and I won’t tell you was sleeping on the job. Savvy?”
         Hadley weighed this a moment, before nodding and exiting the room defeated. The Sheriff took another long drag of his cigarette, followed by a sip from his coffee.
     
         The cop car sat at the turn off for the dirt road that led down to the bridge. Hadley decided to park here, and search for Jenkins on foot. As he made his way towards the bridge, he scanned the tree lines, and tripped over a branch. He growled picking it up, and threw it into the woods.
         “Way to send the newbie out here to wander through the fucking woods! I'm old, I'm