Starling by Robert J. Crane

Author:Robert J. Crane [Crane, Robert J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ostiagard Press
Published: 2017-11-15T05:00:00+00:00

*

“Let’s have a talk in here,” Guthrie said as Erin followed her into the depths of the jail, Mary Wrightson’s strident conversation with Reeve echoing along the corridor behind them. Erin didn’t really want a piece of that discussion. She didn’t care for the thought of trailing along after Arch, Duncan and Hendricks either, mostly because of that last one. They said they were heading to Surrey’s, because it was about that time, and while she might have thought it rude a few weeks ago if Arch had gone to lunch without asking her if she wanted something, it was a new world now, and Hendricks had bowled through and fucked shit up too, and that meant she was just as happy to not be asked now.

Well, mostly.

“Why in here?” Erin asked, following him toward the sealed door that led into the confinement area. She didn’t know who was on duty in this part of the jail, but she’d be finding out pretty quick.

“I’ve been pondering about this fella in here,” she said as she stood by the door. “I wanna see him for myself.”

“I’ve seen him,” Erin said as Guthrie waved through the little window to the jailkeeper. “Ain’t nothing going on behind the curtains.”

“Oh, yeah?” Guthrie cast him a smirk. “Do they match the carpet?”

Erin frowned. “What?”

Erin pushed through into the waiting area. They stepped inside, and there was Chauncey Watson, his eyes magnified by those massive glasses he wore. “Hey, Erin,” he warbled in greeting, raising his hand to her. He had a few metal miniature figures on the desk in front of him, and the air smelled of acrylic paint. She wrinkled her nose in response.

“Hey, Chauncey,” Erin said. “You’re looking mighty settled in.”

“It ain’t exactly the most mind-intensive duty,” Chauncey said, grinning weakly. His cheeks were covered in a dark layer of scruff, like he hadn’t shaved in a day or two. “I pretty much just sit here for a few hours, then go home. Maybe push the door to buzz somebody in a couple times.”

“Sounds lonely,” Erin said.

“Huh?” Chauncey blinked. “Awww, no, it’s wonderful. It’s a lot better than my day job.”

Guthrie scratched at her head. “Wait … isn’t it Tuesday? If you’ve got a day job …”

“Oh, I called in sick,” Chauncey said. “Somebody had to watch this critter until Sam gets done with his shift.” He looked down, a set of tiny paint brushes laid out on a paper towel in front of him. “Reckon he’ll be here to spell me after a while.”

“Uh, Chauncey,” Erin said, “Sam died last week.” She stared at the unblinking eyes behind the Coke-bottle glasses. “He got ripped to pieces by those hellcats we ran into in the woods.”

Chauncey just stared for a moment, then thudded back against the seat’s rest, slowly, like he’d been knocked over by a feather. “Well, shit. Last week? I swear I had a conversation with him yesterday!”

“Unless he’s a ghost, no,” Erin said. “You really didn’t notice he’s been gone?”

Chauncey stared, deep in thought.

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