Grab Life by the Balls

Truth be told, I have absolutely no idea whether Tom would have gone to jail. If I had to put money on it, I'd probably bet against it, actually. I didn't know Lane Danielsen as well as I led on, either. We had only met briefly last year on a meth case that had gone to federal court for trafficking. The evidence would have made the trial a slam dunk so my interaction with Danielsen was minimal as the defendant pled out.

No trace of hacking into Tom's network could actually be traced back to me (Tonya had made sure of that) and I had no idea how much weight any hint of mine would carry in launching an SEC investigation. Tom only made about $3 million dollars by selling off his stock in McKinness Deerfield. That's a lot for a town like Red River Falls but the SEC wants the really big fish, like Bernie Madoff, who rip off people for BILLIONS.

But it was still helpful to keep Tom quiet as he seemed to be the only one serious about challenging me, even though the election was still over three years away. I just didn't need any road blocks for the public safety center referendum. Just as long as Tom thinks I can get him in a heap of trouble, that's just as good as actually doing it.

*****

All government offices were closed through Memorial Day so it was nice not to have to show up to work again until Tuesday morning. While most people got to enjoy a nice long weekend for the unofficial start of summer our patrol watches were conducted strictly by the books.

I was more than a little surprised on two fronts when I got into work. First, I was surprised that our email servers were actually working and I could get caught up on official correspondence, which also meant that my morning was pretty much shot. Secondly, I was actually surprised to see a short email from Clarissa.

Patrick,

I apologize for not telling you about Tom and me. I'm not really sure what to call it at this point but dating or a relationship doesn't quite fit yet. Not really sure I even see it getting to that point, to be honest. But I regret not giving you a heads up. It was a surprise to see you but a pleasant one. I'm surprised to say this but I enjoyed meeting your fiancée. Shannon is lovely and I hope she makes you happy. - C

The email definitely explained why Clarissa seemed uneasy about being in my presence with Tom at the carnival, especially Tom's attempted displays of affection. And I can only guess that Clarissa emailed me to spare me any discomfort at texting me under the possibility of receiving it in Shannon's presence. Perhaps Clarissa really was regressing from the twat she had become at the end of our marriage and morphing back into something resembling a human being. No sense letting my guard down, though.

Clarissa:

Thank you for the note but it isn't necessary. You have no obligation to explain your personal life to me although I appreciate the sentiment. It was nice seeing you, Caroline and Martin as well.

Patrick

I wasn't expecting any kind of a response from her immediately, because of the fact that she had emailed me instead of texting. But almost immediately after I sent the email I heard a beep indicating that I had a new message in my inbox. It was from Clarissa and simply read:

: )

My god. What would we do without smart phones?

My day was actually going pretty well and I had completed my projected upcoming fiscal year's budget all the way through mid-fourth quarter when Karen Landingham poked her head in my office and told me I had a visitor.

"It's Mitch Monahan."

I took a deep breath and said, "Please, send him in."

Mitch entered my office and closed the door behind him and took a seat in one of the two chairs directly in front of my desk. I swiveled around from my computer and faced him from a position of power behind my large flat fake mahogany desk from Staples.

"Mitch. Good to see you," I said trying to be congenial. "What brings you by?"

He let out a long, slow breath and stared at the floor as he spoke. "Well, Pat," he started, clearing his throat, "I had a long weekend to think about everything that happened with Dean last week. And I wanted to come by and say that I think you were right and I wish that we had handled things a little differently."

I nodded thoughtfully. "Thanks, Mitch. I appreciate that."

"You're absolutely right, Pat, that our employees are our most important resource in any organization. And I violated that. I obviously let you down but, most important, I let Dean down."

"I guess, Mitch that it seemed obvious to everyone that something is very wrong with Dean and I thought maybe we needed to see if there was something we could do to help him. His entire job is based on providing professional assistance to every elected official and department head in the county. We need to be there for him when he needs us, too."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Pat. I saw Dean over the weekend, during the festival."

"So did I."

"He really looked like hell, Pat."

"I know. Did he say anything to you?"

"No. He wouldn't. I said hello and he just looked right at me and then went after his kids."

"Did he seem angry?"

"No, not really. He had more of a hurt expression than anything. For a moment, I thought maybe he was going to burst into tears if there hadn't been so many people around."

"Yeah, he kinda looked that way when I saw him, too."

"Did he talk to you, Pat?"

"No. He was focused on his kids, like you said. He just nodded hello to me when I waved at him."

Mitch leaned in closer. "Pat, the supervisors and all the other elected officials are really leaning on me. They want to see changes made. Dean called in sick today and both the County Treasurer and County Recorder are pissed. Dean was supposed to have upgraded their computer operating systems with the latest version of Windows in order to be compatible with new tax software from the state. They were supposed to be online with that no later than today and that was only because we were given an extension."

I closed my eyes and let out a breath of frustration.

"Pat," he continued, "I need you to talk to Dean. He's down to his last chance here. If that upgrade for the Treasurer and Recorder isn't completed by close of business Friday, I'm going to have to fire Dean."

"Now look! Dean is-"

"I don't have any choice, dammit!" Mitch interrupted. "You're his friend, Pat! And I consider you to be a friend, too! Even after what happened last week after the meeting! But dammit, Pat! I need your help! I don't wanna see Dean get fired but I have a responsibility to everyone here."

I took a few moments to collect myself and my thoughts. "I know, Mitch, I know. And, for what it's worth, I apologize for what I said last week. You know I would never do anything like that."

"I know, Pat. We're all pretty wound up. It makes you wonder how we ever conducted business thirty or forty years ago before technology became so necessary."

"Yeah, no kidding. My deputies can't even write anybody up for a seatbelt violation anymore without damned near having to do a complete background check. I'll talk to Dean, kidnap him from his own office if I have to. But I will get to the bottom of this, Mitch. I promise."

"Thanks, Pat," Mitch said as he stood, extending his hand. I shook it firmly and warmly.

"Again, Mitch, I'm sorry I lost my temper last week."

"You were looking out for a friend, Pat. I can only hope someone would do the same for me."

"I would in a heartbeat, Mitch."

*****

Dean called in sick the following day, Wednesday, also. He was in and out of the office on Thursday the entire day and I had a hard time being able to get a hold of him. We ended up having a convenience store robbery in the town of Royal Fork that afternoon and I had every deputy in the county committed to the chase. Even Ben Villanueva and I got in on the act.

The chase ended with a nasty car wreck when the perpetrator flipped his aging Suburban ten times at nearly 98 miles per hour, ejecting the driver and throwing him nearly 80 feet. Needless to say, he was killed instantly. But none of my deputies were injured and no other civilians were, either. To top it off, all of the stolen money was returned to the convenience store. All in all, chalk up a "W" for the good guys.

Lucky for us, we have a contract with the town of Royal Fork to provide law enforcement protection there. A deputy is required to spend a minimum of two hours of an eight hour shift actually patrolling the small town of about 2,500 people. Additionally, the deputy is also required to actually drive through the town at least once an hour. Most of it was window dressing but it gave the people there some peace of mind that there was actually a police presence in their town.

Truth be told, the deputies assigned to that patrol beat probably spend anywhere from three to four hours in that town on any given day, mostly due to speeding violations that occurred from travelers who are a little too quick to get through town. As such, the small town was actually a fairly good source of revenue for the county.

Friday morning, I found Dean Strobe in his office on the lower level of the courthouse around ten o'clock. The poor schlub was almost two hours late for work, which was another strike against him. Somehow, having an office in the basement of the building seemed kind of fitting for Dean, given his recent behavior.

"Hey, Dean," I said, knocking on his door and letting myself in. "Got a minute?"

"Uh, I'm really busy, Pat. Got a lot of catching up to do. Did you need something right away?"

"No, not really," I said as I took a seat. Dean's office was a stockpile of computer wiring, cables, spare parts, software containers, instructional CDs and DVDs and manuals for every piece of software or hardware owned by the county. I called it "Nerd Paradise". Probably not the nicest term in the world but it got a chuckle out of Dean the first time I said it years ago.

"Actually," I continued, "I was wondering if you and I could get together for a bit this afternoon towards the end of the work day."

"Uh, I don't think so, Pat."

"Why not?"

"Uh...Mercedes needs me to get home as soon as I can."

"You two got a hot date tonight or something?" I laughed. Dean looked at me as though I just pulled a gun and shot his puppy in the head. My smile disappeared instantly. "Seriously, Dean, there's a few things I could really use your help with. It won't take long, I promise."

"I can't, Pat. I really can't."

"Dean, I really need some of your time today. I'm sure Mercedes will understand if you're not home right at 5 o'clock."

Dean sighed in resignation. "Okay, Pat. I'll spare you a few minutes, but I can't stay too long."

"Great! I'll be here right at 4:45, then."

Dean stole a quick glance at the clock. "Okay, Pat. See you then."

I lied. I had every intention of showing up early. So I went back to my office and puttered around for a while, changed out of my uniform and into casual clothes, and then made my way back to the lower level of the courthouse to Dean's office and knocked on his door right at 4:15. Dean had his sport coat wrapped over one arm with keys in hand and was just grabbing his laptop case with the other when I knocked on the door.

"Whoa, Dean! Looks like you're going somewhere," I said, somewhat irritated.

"Uh, look Sheriff, something...came up and I really need to get home."

"What, no phone call at least?"

"Uh, I'm sorry, Sheriff. Maybe we can do it on Monday, okay?"

"Not possible," I said, crossly, entering his office. I stepped in, pulled the door shut, and sat down on a chair. "You do whatever you have to do, Dean. Call Mercedes, or do what you have to do. But you are going to give me some of your time. Now!"

Dean was scared shitless. "Look, Sheriff, I..."

"What's with this "sheriff" shit? Jesus, Dean! We've known each other for years. We've had dinner at each other's houses. Our kids have played together. What the hell, man?!!"

"Sheriff...uh... I mean, Pat...it's just that...well...it's complicated."

"Talk to me."

"I can't."

"You need to, Dean."

"Sheriff, please. It's personal."

"Yeah, well it's affecting your work, Dean. And when your work starts to affect MY work and the work of every county employee and elected official, it isn't personal anymore."

Dean had absolutely no answer.

"Put your stuff down, Dean. Grab your coat and follow me. We're going for a ride."

"Pat, really. I can't-"

"I'm not asking you, Dean. I'm telling you. We're going for a ride."

Dean stood there for a few moments, finally set his laptop on his desk and followed me silently out of the office. He locked his office with shaking hands, pocketed the keys and then followed me outside to my personal vehicle, my trusty royal blue F-150 Lariat Crew Cab. Dean got into the front passenger's seat and buckled himself in.

Dean and I rode in almost complete silence until his phone started buzzing. I gave him an evil look as he answered it.

"Hello?" he answered meekly. "Yeah, honey...no, not yet...the sheriff came to see me at the last minute...he needs me to help him out with a small crisis...I'm not sure, honey...please don't yell, sweetheart...I swear I'll be home as soon as I can...please don't..." That was the last he could get out as the caller, who was obviously Mercedes, hung up on him. "I'm dead. I am so dead," Dean whispered to himself.

I don't really have a favorite watering hole. Truth is, I don't drink that much. But I do enjoy a pint of Killian's every now and then, especially when I'm watching a game. The Minnesota Twins were playing an early double header tonight up in Toronto and I wanted to catch the opening pitch. Never one to drink alone, I figured I might as well drag Dean along with me and see if I could get him to open up to me.

So we pulled into The End Zone, which is a local popular sports bar and grill in Red River Falls. I got out first and waited as Dean reluctantly exited from my truck. We went inside and seated ourselves at the end of the bar and facing one of the nearly 40 flat screen TVs in the place. I ordered my usual Killian's Irish Red and told Hal, the bartender, to get Dean whatever he wanted.

"I'll just have a club soda and orange juice," Dean said meekly. Hal rolled his eyes and went to retrieve our drinks.

"This is a great place to watch a game, Dean. Best in town. I love coming here to hang out and watch the Twins, Vikings and Wild play. Next best thing to actually being at the game!"

Dean just sat there avoiding eye contact with me.

"Do you follow any teams or sports?" I asked. Dean just shook his head no. Hal returned soon with our beverages. Dean sipped at his virgin screwdriver while I took a good pull of my delicious nectar.

"Did you know they have over 140 different types of beer here, Dean?" Again, he shook his head no. "True story. In fact, you get a t-shirt once you've tried every single one of them. I have about 120 beers to go before I get a shirt, though," I chuckled.

I did my best to continue making idle chit chat and tried to get Dean comfortable. I tried to make small talk. I told boring stories. I told some really bad jokes. Nothing was working so I finally decided that I would have to just take the direct approach.

"Dean, I need you to tell me what's going on."

"Nothing, Pat. I just haven't been feeling well lately, that's all."

"Bullshit. You've been gone from work eighteen days in the last two months. That's a little more than not just feeling well. Even when you are at work you are pretty much despondent, disengaged and act like a zombie. Your work has suffered tremendously. Your co-workers are getting down to their last nerve trying to work with you. Your work directly affects everyone else in the county."

Dean just sat there, listening to my words, but not responding.

"I need you to say something, Dean. I need you to tell me how you're going to snap out of it. I need to hear you tell me you have a plan for making things right."

Dean looked away and so did I. We had been at the End Zone for over an hour and I was no closer to finding out what was going on with Dean than I had been when we started.

"Dean, please. I'm begging you. Whatever is going on with you we can work it out. Don't you understand? I wanna help you, Dean. I'm your friend. I'm someone you can trust. Whatever the problem is, we'll solve it. Together."

Dean took a half-hearted sip of his beverage. He still said nothing. His body sat on that bar stool but his mind and soul were light years away. I couldn't tell if anything was registering or not. I tried hard to keep my emotions in check but a surge of anger and frustration was starting to well up inside and I didn't know if I'd be able to hold it back before they consumed me and I gave up on Dean in utter frustration.

"Jesus, Dean," I implored. "I can't help you if you don't let me. And I can't help if I don't know what is going on. I'm begging you Dean. Please, for the love of Christ, talk to me!"

Nothing. An invisible wall was building up and I had little time to crack it before it became impenetrable. I had to find something to shatter it with. And that thing was the truth.

"Dean," I said, leaning closer, "please tell me what's going on. What's happening with you?"

"Nothing, Pat," he finally answered. "I'll be fine. You'll see come Monday."

"Dean, there isn't going to be a Monday unless you level with me right now. They're going to fire you, Dean. For all intents and purposes, you've already been fired. I had to beg Mitch Monahan for twenty minutes this morning to let me give it one more shot. I'm begging and pleading with you Dean. Please let me help you, okay?"

A single tear rolled down Dean's cheek and he looked away in shame. He sat there just trying to compose himself and wouldn't look at me and wouldn't say a word. Finally, after about ten minutes or so, I gave up. I had to resign myself to the fact that I couldn't help Dean if he wouldn't let me.

I left a twenty dollar bill on the bar and stood up. "Sorry, Dean. If you won't let me help you, then it's out of my hands." I turned and started walking out to my truck.

"Alright!" Dean shouted, sniffing and trying to compose himself. "Alright, Pat! You win. Just please don't let them fire me. I can't get fired, Pat. Please! I'll tell you anything you wanna know."

I turned and stared at Dean for a few moments. Convinced he was serious, I walked back to my seat. "Alright, Dean. I'm listening."

Dean sat up straight and summoned some inner strength, drying his eyes. "Okay, Pat. If I'm gonna do this, I'm gonna need something stronger than club soda and OJ."

I nodded to the bartender. "Hal?"

"What can I get you guys?" Hal offered.

"Another Killian for me and whatever Dean wants."

"I'll have a rum and coke," Dean orders. "Heavy on the rum and light on the coke." Hal nodded with a smile and went to fetch our quaff.

"Okay, Dean. I'm listening." Dean took a series of deep rapid breaths and was nearly on the verge of hyperventilating. "Easy, Dean, take it easy. Just take your time and tell me what's on your mind. I'm here to help you, not judge you, okay?"

Dean nodded and seemed to calm some. Our drinks arrived and Dean took a long steady pull from the rum and coke and winced as the liquor burned its way down to his stomach. He sat there for a few moments, letting the alcohol get into his system and fuel his courage. Then he turned to me and opened the dam.

"I'm not a man, Pat."

"What do you mean by that, Dean?"