Goodbye, Earl Ch. 01

"Just checking in. Making sure that Stacey and Mercy Reynolds arrived safely. I know you will have it all under control." Was Jack's voice unusually tight and stressed?

Or maybe it was that Reb did not look forward to sharing the news with his friend, "Nope. Neither one of the little ladies has arrived. I was just wondering if I should head over to Sebida, check out the library, or something." Reb frowned at the display on the monitor, "But the library should have closed hours ago."

"Fuck!" It was not that Reb was not accustomed to hearing such words from Jack's mouth. Like most of the guys in their unit, that word was universally used. As a verb, an adjective, a noun, an adverb, hell, even a conjunction sometimes. No, what shocked Reb was how Jack uttered that word. He knew that tone too. And it meant only one thing...the shit had hit the fan — big time.

If that were not bad enough, the police band radio that they kept in the office, just so they could sometimes get a heads up on the 'good' sheriff's surprise visits, crackled to life.

The slightly slurred but all too familiar voice came out of the old speakers, "Officer down, officer down. Sebida County Library."

Another voice, this one feminine, responded, "Is everything okay, Sherriff?"

"Fuck, no, everything is not okay, Dottie. That little cunt shot me. And some Ninja dude on a motorcycle clocked the hell out of me."

This was not looking good, and Reb was about to confer with Jack when the radio blared back to life, "Fuck, I've been out cold for almost two hours. Little fucking cunt."

"I'll send an ambulance now, Sheriff."

"Fuck the ambulance. I want every fucking deputy we have called in. I want every corner of this county searched. I want that little bitch found. NOW!"

"Who, Sherriff? Who shot you?"

"That fucking librarian, Mercy Reynolds. I want a statewide, fuck that, nationwide APB out on that little bitch. And make certain it says that the suspect is armed and considered dangerous."

"Fuck," this time, it was Jack who was cussing again.

"I take it I don't have to ask if you heard that, Jack?" Reb replied.

"No, I heard. Fuck, fuck, fuckety, fuck, fuck, Fuck."

Reb would have laughed if the situation had not been so dire. Then again, Jack only blared curse words when it was.

"So, what you want me to do now?"

"I'm not sure. I'll need to talk to Ryan and Laura. I don't fucking relish that one. But for now, I need you to find them. Find Mercy and Stacey Reynolds before our 'good' Sherriff does, Reb."

So that was it? Laura Reynolds. McBride Industries. Not that that surprised Reb. The moment that Jack called him, he had googled his charges. Of course, the first hit had been the Sebida County Library personnel page. But the second had been Mercy Reynold's connection to her older sister.

Reb was not even surprised about the timing of things. He made it his business to stay current on the news. Local, state, national, and international. He had learned long ago that being aware of such things gave you an advantage, a bigger picture perspective. So, he knew that McBride had been found dead. That meant the feds would be rounding up everyone vaguely connected to the man, trying their damnedest to find any leads, any information they might have missed. Unfortunately, that also meant that sometimes innocent bystanders like family got pulled into the shit. He had figured that was what this was all about.

Reb half-listened as the dispatcher issued an all-point bulletin for Mercedes Reba Reynolds and an unidentified person on a motorcycle. He knew that the woman's next task would be calling in every deputy and auxiliary in Sebida County. That meant a lot of men with very little professional training, and itchy fingers would be after the girl. And the armed and dangerous bit was basically a license to commit murder. All of them would be looking to shoot first and ask questions later.

He ran his hands through his thinning hair as he tried to figure out some plan of action. He could hear voices in the background on Jack's end too.

"Hey, Reb, you should see this."

He turned to the monitors, and his blood froze. Reb gripped the metal desk until his knuckles turned white, and he feared that there would be permanent marks in its cold surface. George's voice and Jack's on the phone became nothing more than a jumble of incomprehensible high-pitched whines and whirls. He could not breathe and the room spun around him.

He knew that face. That panicked and frightened face. It was the same one that he had seen in his dreams every night for the past month. Though there was no blood covering her nor fires licking around them, Reb knew there would be. It was just a matter of time. His dreams were never wrong.

Dreams that he thought he had left behind him. Over there. Dreams that always came true. No matter how hard he fought Fate. What was the fucking point of premonitions if he was powerless to change things?

And this time the stakes were even higher. Because this time, Rebel Zappa Moonchild knew that the petite, curvy red-head looking around the casino like she had seen a ghost was his destiny.

"Who is she?" Reb did not doubt that George would know. The man knew everyone around here. Hell, if he had been listening, the man had probably told him her whole fucking life story by now.

By the look of George's face, the way the wrinkles around his mouth tightened, he would sure the man must have, "Stacey Reynolds."

"Fuck," this time, it was Reb who cussed. And that was unusual. For the man who had grown up with virtually no rules or boundaries, he had never seen the point in that word. It was nothing special. A word like any other. Until that moment.

He pushed himself off the desk where he had been leaning. He picked up the phone, "I'll be in touch when I can, Jack." He did not wait for a response before disconnecting. He did not hear anything else that George was saying as he headed out the office door and down the dimly lit aisles of the casino towards her.

Stacey Reynolds. His Fate.