Civilisation! Or what was close to it anyway. I cheered - not because it meant that I now didn�t have to sleep under the stars, with the possibility of ending up being a coyotes next meal, but because I was sure I could see a saloon, which would be serving yes, that�s right, my reason to live: booze. I hadn�t gone this long without a drink since I was twelve.
Down this other side of the ridge the slope was precariously steep but that didn�t bother me as I sped down it faster than a slalom skier. I could either trip, resulting in a broken neck, or go crazy due to drink-deprivation. I knew which one was worse.
The small town with its one road passing between its handful of buildings seemed deserted. There was about as much movement going on in this place as there would be in Dan, Dan, the bum-bum man�s pants if he visited a strip joint (a female one, that is). As the ground levelled out I ran faster and soon a pain appeared in my left side, but I paid it about as much attention as millionaire would pay a one dollar bill, as soon my labours would reap fruit, fruit of the liquid kind, harbouring the ability to floor a person at the merest of sniffs.
Slowing down I allowed myself to catch my breath as I approached what I deduced to be the saloon. It stood at the end of a block of three buildings. Before I arrived to my life-giving oasis I passed a bare barbers, and a quiet library, both of which were on my left. Next stop� I halted, nearly collapsed but somehow remained on my feet; through the murky glass window of the door, the door in the doorway I could have now been passing through to receive my rejuvenation, I spotted a sign reading: WE�RE CLOSED and underneath: HAVE A NICE DAY!
Thanks to one sign my day, in the reading of a matter of words, had just gone from promising to disastrous. I felt like someone was holding a gun on me. My legs felt like the bones inside them had been replaced with chewing gum. My head flopped onto my chest and I swayed back and forth like a scarecrow in the wind. Suddenly, it now felt unlikely that I�d crack this case (even though, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, I never did anyway) and find the broad�s (the extremely broad) father.
In my dejected state I hadn�t realised that I still hadn�t seen, nor heard any sign that there was any living thing in this retched place, where the bars have closed signs in their doors. It took me a further ten minutes of swaying on the spot to finally comprehend that significant detail. Maybe it was a ghost town, I - and it may strike you as strange - hoped.
Ghost town or not, if this place had real liquor I couldn�t care less what came floating through the walls, I now thought with renewed vigour, picking up the largest rock I could find and striding purposefully for the door and its irritating sign.
CRASH!
�In this town we have laws. Vandalism, breaking and entering, trespassing, robbery, being drunk and disorderly and driving whilst under the influence of alcohol - not to mention relieving yourself upon the mayor�s premises - are against our laws,� the sheriff explained to me. I had finally sobered up to the point where I could at least open my eyes without seeing treble. I saw him the first time. He was short, so short in fact I wouldn�t have been surprised if he had mud flaps on his underwear and his face was dominated by a great, fluffy, white moustache. His hair too looked like it had been dabbed in flour.
He shook his head and went to sit at his desk. He had to jump to get onto his chair and I was reminded of the midget back at Pete�s Pot �em Drop �em Pool Hall.
As you can imagine, believing to be the only occupant in a town isn�t the best of things to be believing. How was I to know it was Cankers Creek�s custom to rise around midday?
The sky was now dark outside and had been for sometime. I lay on my bunk which felt as though it was on a revolving platform. Every so often I heard the Sheriff give disapproving tuts in my direction, as if I was the first resident of one of these cells, which also wouldn�t surprise me as they were definitely the cleanest I�d ever spent the night in and trust me, the list was, unfortunately, lengthy.
With not a lot else I could get up to I let myself glide away. As was the case after a good session I slept fitfully and awoke several times.
If you remember I said that I couldn�t care less whether this was a ghost town or not, as I never thought I�d really give a hoot should I see a being from the �other side� but on maybe the fifteenth time of waking that prediction was flushed down the crapper as I was sure my ticker was going to give in when I saw one of those very things, floating through my cell. For those few seconds I thought I was soon going to be joining the club this apparition belonged to. Yet by some miraculous means my heart was given a jump-start and went immediately into maximum revs.
�Sshh!� commanded the ghost, moving eerily closer.
My voice box had been rendered useless so that little instruction from Casper had been pretty pointless, though with each second that passed the use of another of my senses was granted. After a few more I realised that it wasn�t a ghost after all. After a few more I realised that the door to my cell was open. My breaths started to return to normal, so at least I now didn�t sound as if I�d just finished a marathon.
�Get your things!� whispered the (I had now decided) man urgently.
My things were just my shoes so that didn�t take long. I followed him out of the cell, through the police station (if you could call it that with its two desks), astonishingly managing to avoid staggering into one of the many, possible obstacles and out into the chilly night air. The audible snores of the Sheriff could still be heard as the tall, beefy man closed the door behind us. The stars twinkled up above. I was free! And then I saw it, the last thing I�d be seeing for quite a considerable while though I didn�t know it: the black Sedan.
To this day I can still never recall the pain from the wallop of the blunt object hitting the back of my neck. The only recollection was the buckling of my legs and the darkness that followed.