Bounty hunting...

Short Story:

Prolog:

Stakeouts are the worst, especially if you’re sitting in the pouring rain. Usually in the movies, you’d be sitting in a nice van with about three other guys equipped with surveillance gear, coffee, donuts and maybe a TV to pass the time. In my case, I didn’t have the three guys, the gear or donuts. Not even a decent cup of coffee. I picked my coffee up from the Quickie Mart down the street; I think it was a mix of playground mud and ditch water. And, to top it all off, I was sitting in an open top Jeep.

-Chapter One: Come one come all-

So the list consisted of: crappy cup of coffee, soaking wet and no gear. All of this equals bad mood. In the end I guess it all falls back on my decision to pursue this line of work. When I finished my tour with the Rangers, an old army buddy told me that an easy way to make cash was bounty hunting. He said that it would help keep me active and I’d put all that Special Ops training to good use. So far I’ve worked two jobs, both of which could have been completed by a nine year old armed with a slingshot and a baby monitor. I haven’t always been a fan of Alaska, but it was starting to grow on me, like a fungus.
But hey, who’s complaining? Well, I guess I am, never mind, back to the task at hand. It was driving me nuts, water was pooling in my lap and getting into my binocular lenses and I was sneezing like crazy. The ‘98 Jeep was the only thing that the dealer had. At the time, while looking it over, it was a sunny yet cool afternoon. The forecaster said that it was supposed to stay in the mid sixties. He did not, however, mention anything about rain, thunder and lightening. It’s that freak Juneau weather. One moment it’s nice and clear, the next you’re needing an umbrella, or in my case, a swimsuit.
Kyle Riggs: three arrests for driving under the influence, one charge of assault, two charges of indecent exposure, possession of cannabis and breaking and entering. This guy has a rap sheet as big as a Blue Whale. Unfortunately for him, he jumped bail, and unfortunately for me, he’s the one I need to grab. The good news, though, would have to be that this little punk isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. When he jumped bail, he went to his grandma’s house to “hide out.” Now, all I need to do is wait for the old granny to leave and I can go snatch her sonny boy.
As I was watching, a hot pink Cadillac pulled out of the garage and proceeded to clunk and clatter its way up the street. Perfect chance! I jumped from the Jeep, spilling coffee all over as I did. I slipped and splashed my way across the street to the small brown bungalow. I was beginning to regret not wearing boots, the front lawn, if you can call it that, was a literal bog of grass, weeds and mud. I zigzagged my way between plastic flamingos towards the door. As I stumbled onto the porch a voice behind me said,
“And what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” I turned around, knowing the source of the voice.


“Shelby McGee. I should’ve known you’d try for Riggs. What do you want?”

“Josh Bales, you twit! I’m here to take Riggs in you little berk! I’m doing a job!”

“Well, we’re both here, why don’t we just split this one?”

“You realize, us Scots don’t like you pushy Americans butting in on our stuff.”

“McGee, you’re in America, you big idiot. You’re pushing in on my stuff.”

“Shut your gob yank. Step aside and let a Scotsman show you how it’s done!”

With a mighty kick of his muddy boot he bashed the door in. Bursting off its hinges the door swung in on a tilt, like an injured bird’s wing. The two of us entered the house and began searching high and low for our man. I stopped to examine the contents of the fridge and was relieving it of a blueberry yogurt when Shelby’s voice drifted into the kitchen.

“Uh, Josh, I found Riggs. You should come here.”

I made my way down the hall, yogurt and spoon in hand. Shelby was standing in the bathroom, and Kyle Riggs was laying in the tub.

“You suppose there’s a reward if he’s dead? Looks like he drowned.”

I examined the body from a distance. “I’d say he was strangled.”

From behind us a scratchy voice assaulted our ears. 


“That’s exactly what happened!”

The sound of a shotgun being cocked echoed around the small space. Blueberry yogurt splattered across the pink linoleum floor as my eyes locked with McGee’s.

-Chapter Two:

“Well, you boys done stuck your noses where they don’t belong now didn’t cha’?”

The rasping voice belonged to an old lady dressed in what appeared to be a baby blue and yellow moo-moo. She had a bandoleer of shotgun shells draped around her stocky frame. Her nicotine stained teeth clicked together as she sized the men up. The Mossberg shotgun looked incredibly huge in her tiny wrinkled hands. I glanced at McGee and then back to the neon moo-moo. I knew we were thinking the same thing, and apparently so was she, the safety on the rifle clicked. She leveled it at us and grinned.

“Ma’am, you can put the piece down.”

“Like hell I am! You boys come on out here and sit in the living room while I call the sheriff!”

To Be Continued…

Update...

I was originally thinking that this blog would be primarily about Tropical Trouble, I've changed that up a bit. This is now just about new stories in general. Starting today!