Zero Balance by Ashley Fontainne

Author:Ashley Fontainne [Fontainne, Ashley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thrillers, revenge, suspense, fiction
Publisher: RMSW Press
Published: 2012-10-13T04:00:00+00:00

Sherman Fenter:

Connections

Chapter Twelve

I scribbled my name, Sgt. Sherman Fenter, on the sign-in sheet in my best chicken scrawl (Mom always said I should have been a doctor with this handwriting) which officially relieved the scrawny, pimple-covered boy that was desperately trying to look impressive in his uniform, from his shift. Before I could even set the pen down, ol’ skin and bones was up and out of his chair in his scramble to get home, probably to eat some more pizza and chocolate to create some new additions to his face. I just stood there and stared at him, waiting for the pipsqueak to realize he forgot something before he bolted for the night. Geez, where do they get these recruits, and what in the hell is his name? I reached out and snagged the idiot by the arm as he rounded the desk, his eyes solely focused on the door, and, intentionally making my voice gruff, I barked, “Um, boy, aren’t you forgetting something?”

Boney-Boy stared at me like I just threw scalding water on him or was speaking a foreign language, his pale face instantaneously growing even paler as his free hand, attached to his other wimpy limp noodle, reached up and did one of those “Oh, I could have had a V-8” slaps in the middle of his pasty-white forehead, and he chirped, “Oops…sorry, Sarge. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to remember that!”

I let go before I bruised the little twerp and didn’t say a word as I extended my hand for him to drop the keys into, shaking my head in disgust and dismissing him as I turned and walked over to the desk to begin my long shift. I sat down and immediately began checking the logs that nim-nuts most likely jacked up from earlier. Oh well, at least it would give me something to work on tonight because God knows the graveyard shift in this barren ward of the jail was boring as hell, except for my petty torments.

Sure enough, the logs weren’t properly filled out. Some weren’t even signed, and I felt my irritation grow. How many times did I need to cover for his sorry ass? I made a mental note to contact our superiors before I left in the morning to request that scarecrow be moved to any shift other than the one prior to mine.

I knew fixing all these mistakes would require my full attention, so I decided to head down to the break room and snag a cup of oily coffee to rev up my brain cells. The halls were silent, save for my footfalls and the low hum of the lone television that continuously played in the break room, intermixed with a light snort from one of the numerous upstanding citizens in their new little concrete homes. I paid it no attention as I headed straight for the coffee maker until I heard the words “…trial of Olin Kemper…” and quickly looked up, watching that pretty

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