That evening Chasey again watched the door until closing time. And again there was no Sturrin. “Perhaps he realized that he wasn’t getting the Impaler anymore and gave up,” she silently told herself. She did a lousy job at reassuring herself though, and was determined to find out what happened to the old man.
She dreamed about Sturrin that night. In her dream she found him locked up in jail. She tried to talk to the constable, tried to win his release. All the constable would say was “Water trough. Water trough.”
That made no sense to her in her dream, and even less sense when she woke up in the morning. “Papa, I’m going to be late on my shift. I have an errand to run,” she called to Ritov, her father and owner of the bar.He grunted in response, his usual reaction when she called for time off.
She readied herself and rushed out the door, the warm sun and cool air both vying for the approval of her senses. Once outside she slowed to a brisk walk to the jailhouse.She entered and saw an officer half asleep behind a table. His eyes gave her the only greeting she received.
Chasey looked through the bars of the cells but did not see Sturrin amongst the dangerous looking men inside. She approached the table. “Has the old man, Sturrin, been arrested?” she asked. The deputy shook his head and feigned resuming his bored demeanor. As she left, disappointed, the man called for the constable.
“You were right. She came.”
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