Adam Raised A Cane

Lincoln Cane Detective "There's no getting out alive, but you hope to avoid a deadline."

[siriusxrion]

He’d never really liked Fridays.

It was an unpopular opinion, he knew, since Monday was usually the day people chose to bitch and moan about, but Herold had never really been one for following common trends. Or for doing anything that could be considered popular, really, but that was another matter entirely. There was just something… off about Fridays in this backwater dump (one of his more affectionate names for his hometown). Bad shit always seemed to happen on Fridays.

Consequently, on this particular Friday, Sheriff Duhamel was even more irritable than usual (although whether that was even possible was up for some debate), and even less disposed to dealing with whatever petty, bullshit problems the lovely townsfolk came to him with.

He sensed a presence at the door to his office, then. A sigh, and mahogany eyes rolled skyward. Herold didn’t bother to look up.

“Unless there’s been a mass murder, or a zombie apocalypse, I really don’t give a shit. Take your problems elsewhere.”

[lincolncane]

“Thought you’d wanna hear this before the others did, boss.”

Besides, even if these two had their issues, the eggshells with Duhamel felt much better on his feet than the hellfire from Castillo. With the sheriff’s help, they could squash the problem before it expanded again; before the public really latched onto the formation brewing a few streets over. 

Cane stepped into his boss’ office, making sure to look over his shoulder before closing the door. He worried of someone being within hearing range, particularly those goddamn FBI lurkers. His typically heavy feet were light now, scuffed boots nearly inaudible as he approached Duhamel’s desk. 

“They got a hoard over at the church again--- Pastor Jeremiah’s leadin’ them all in the same bullshit speeches he did a few months back. Some’a them are talkin’ ‘bout comin’ down to protest here an’ at Crowe’s house again.”

[zahrarivera-blog]

“Small town means anythin’ can get hidden, provided someone wants it enough.”

“Big apple, things can slip out of anyone’s grip. But not here.”

If there was anything to uncover, she would - eventually, whether by more earthly methods or not. Humans weren’t the only ones who could answer questions, after all. “I’m not here to sell the information along, detective. Just here to see justice done, ‘s all.”

[lincolncane]

“All I can tell ya’ is...” Cane pauses, idly scratching at the overgrown stubble as                he searches for the proper wording. “What’s happened here, it ain’t nothin’ new.      Er’ryone in town is searchin’ for the monster under the bed, when he’s been here                     the whole time--- don’t matter if there was a twelve year gap.” 

[david-hxpkins-blog]

                                                   { … }

        “What could I do to help with this? ‘M not law enforcement, and I didn’t see anything.”

[lincolncane]

You an’ that uncle’a yours can go back to your turf, an’ spread some’a that holiday cheer.  The townsfolk can’t go ‘round spreadin’ their fears like wildfire if they’re too busy prayin’.

[noraskeaton-deactivated20161103]

“Well I’ve always figured if you give a person something they want, they are more likely to share things with you.”

Or rather she’d learnt that giving people things, meant she could pry open a door she wouldn’t quite let them close again. That or working on their vulnerabilities, perhaps it had been part of growing up as a kid in the foster system with nothing else to loose. And playing on whatever she could meant some kind of leverage over people, even if it was only a small thing.

Perhaps the gossip was the only satisfying thing she got out of her job, at least she could pull at it’s strings with it and try and find truth within it all. It helped that she had a chance to interact with her potential and eventual sheriff colleagues. And work on them for their information. 

“A file or two would work. I need new material to read.   Though I think what I’ve got to offer is worth more and it depends on what you want of course… —- And I told you not to bring that up again.”

[lincolncane]

“How ‘bout this--- I give you er’ry file we got on a murder back from ‘97. Trick is, I leave out the killer’s identity. Whaddaya say?”

He almost appeared charming, lively to say the least. A spark had been ignited in him for a moment, if only to appear normal for a fraction of the day. It was easy with this kid; there was a warmth in her that couldn’t be ignored. Cane did have a goal though, one glaringly more painful than anything else. 

                                             “----- If you answer one question.”

A pause.

“What’re the folks ‘round here sayin’ about                  Cassidy Briggs runnin’ off? Any tips on        where that rambler’s hidin’ out?”

[weathered-tune-deactivated20200]

Visit Original Link

The Steeldrivers - Blue Side Of The Mountain

[david-hxpkins-blog]

     “I’m not tryin’ to harrass anybody, I’m jus’ have…                                                                                                                                                                                    questions.” 

[lincolncane]

“We all got questions, boy. If it don’t start with what         can I do to help, then I ain’t interested.”

[lethalmustache-blog]

Ghosts was right. The last soul Mitch remembered passing was a decrepit old man stationed by an ancient icebox, overlooking what had to be an empty shell of a gas outpost. No cars sharing the road, no signs indicating residents, just marshy green that sunk into the earth. Housing a multitude of creatures Mitch was quickly becoming acquainted with, well, mostly with their taxidermy counterparts scattered across the plaster walls of Bumfuck.

“Johnson’s Cross. Doesn’t even show up on the googlemaps. Can’yuh believe it?”

Eyes focusing in on the road became afflicted when a beam of light bounced off the car’s hood directly into Mitch’s vision, forcing him to pull down the visor. “Anonymous tip, giving a full description of the suspect along with the vehicle we currently got registered under his name. -Well more ‘specifically under the shop’s name.  Licence plate n’ everything.”

[lincolncane]

 Cane’s lips pinched together, rejecting the shock of Mitch’s discovery. “Nah--- ain’t nothin’ worth findin’ out here.” His truck hit a hard dip, the land having sunk in long before these two came tearing it up. His body jerked forward against the intrusion, knuckles whitening against the steering wheel momentarily as they trudged on. 

“How ‘bout we park over yonder, go by boot the rest’a the way?”

[zahrarivera-blog]

“Whatever information you got on the Crowe case from twelve years back. Shit that didn’t reach the court room or the tabloids.. ‘f there’s any.”

It was a gamble, but so far, she’d had no fucking luck when it came to the resources that were locked up in the name of the law. If she was lucky, he’d have something she didn’t already know, and if she was even luckier.. he’d goddamn tell her.

[lincolncane]

People were always looking      for the inside scoop.

                                 Most however, were people in the town that                                  he knew. The foreign face set him on edge,                                  making him weary of spilling his guts. 

                                                                                    “Small town means information                                                                                      gets ‘round a helluva lot quicker                                                                                      than it would in the big apple. If                                                                                      you ain’t found it, then it ain’t                                                                                      there to be found.”

[alondraaleman]

His touch startled her, jerking her torso upright as she looked up to see who it was. Detective Cane. He was kinda skeevy, but he seemed nice enough… he was a cop. Except his words didn’t feel nice and Delilah choked out a gasp, looking at him as if he’d just dropped a dead animal on her lap.

                      “It… um,” she had to clear the shock from her throat                        and made fists to try to keep her hands from trembling,                                                 “— Doesn’t… really… but thanks?”

                            { … }

“Are you sure? Like sure sure? I mean do you guys even know who it is for sure? And how would I be dead already? When’s already? Because unless he knows the exact dates and times of every single death before he does it, I don’t know how that’s possible. And even if he did, how would you know when already is? And what if circumstances change? And then someone else is the next Vera and Sue Ellen…”

                       {{ … }}

                         — — - “Um… sorry.”

Delilah only rambled like that when she was nervous, and every time she finished it off with cheeks flushed from embarrassment. This time was no different.

[lincolncane]

He didn’ comment on the timeline the killer had presented within the last months, and surely kept silent on the fact that the team knew they were working against the clock. If his pattern had shown anything, their next kill would happen shortly after the new year’s beginning--- just when people were dreaming of a fresh start. 

                                    Instead, he smile sympathetically, his thumb running                                     slowly across the tenderness of her shoulder. “It’s alright,                                     sweetheart. You look just ‘bout their age...” He could see                                     why she was concerned; Cane had seen a similar fear in                                     many eyes like hers before this. 

                                                                                 “You just keep those eyes’a                                                                                   yours on the lookout, an’ call                                                                                   someone if you ever feel scared,                                                                                   y’ hear?”

                                                                                                 It’s what we’re here for.

[lincolncane]

“ ‘Bout how much farther y’ think we got? Ain’t nothin’ but ghosts out here.” Perhaps it was the perfect place for Cassidy Briggs to hide; among the weeping willows that shed tears for the lost souls surrounding. It would explain his fascination with their victims. 

                                                       “What exactly did that tip say ‘gain?”

[herold-duhamel-blog]

“ Are we seriously out of coffee? ”

      Duhamel shut the cabinet door in the small break room and looked around at the deputy standing next to him. The other man gave a noncommittal shrug and Duhamel let out an annoyed grunt. He had more important things to worry about but this place would dissolve into chaos in the next few hours if someone didn’t remedy that real quick.

“ Here. ” He pulled a couple twenties out of his pocket and handed it to the deputy– then watched the two Federal Agents who had recently taken up residence in town walk into the Station, and snatched the money back up. “ Never mind, I’ll get it.” Duhamel was not in the mood to deal with Castillo, or her partner (especially not Castillo), and he’d been at the Station basically all night. Getting out would probably be a good idea.

                      Like that had ever mattered to him before.

     He even managed to make it all the way out to the parking lot when he heard someone call his name to get his attention. 

The Sheriff slowed his gate and looked around before speaking, “I hope this is important.”

[lincolncane]

“ ‘Bout as important as that coffee run’a yours is.” 

He flashed a knowing smile, both understanding just how easily Duhamel could have handed off the grunt work to someone more worthy of, well, grunt work. Castillo was beyond the limits of ‘ball-busting’; the FBI agent brought it to an entirely different level. 

He may have seen the good work she was doing if he wasn’t so preoccupied with perfecting his eye roll. 

                                                                                “I’ll drive if you pay?” 

The gesture was empty, it wouldn’t come out of Herold’s pocket; Cane knew that. Still, he was trying--- more significantly even within these past few months. Bridges had been burned years before, but there was something to be seen in the way the man played with the charred fragments. He was trying to piece them back together, albeit fruitlessly.

[alondraaleman]

“That poor girl… I can’t – ”

           “ – I can’t believe this                     happened again.”

        { … }

“And they don’t even know who it is.   – And he’s still out there.   – – - And Vera is dead.”

[lincolncane]

Cane placed his hand sympathetically on the grieving girl’s shoulder, giving it a one-two pat to show some kind of understanding. Women had been crying on his shoulder all week, pleading behind mascara drenched eyes. Two even sucked his cock after he gave a beautiful emotionally provoking speech. 

                         “It’s alright, little darlin’. If it helps                          ya’ sleep at night, just think--- if he                             wanted ya’ dead, y’ would be.”

[frankiedavey-blog]

Frankie rolled her eyes from her comfortable perch on the roof of her trailer. Sometimes she’d go up there when things got overwhelming. From high up, long brown legs kicking in the breeze, it seemed that nothing could hurt her. Not even being rude to Legs favorite customer.

“Well, officer, I’m just pointing out that there’s more you could do down at the station than roaming about here. Not to mention the joke that’s the leading suspect- how old would Briggs have been when the first murder happened? Twelve? Thirteen?”

[lincolncane]

He was so sick of people telling him how to do his job--- especially goddamn civilians. One newspaper article exposes the horrors of this crime, and suddenly the entirety of the population was an expert. 

                                        Cane was done. 

“Okay princess, if you wanna wear a badge go right the fuck ahead. First case on your desk--- explain why on God’s green earth Cassidy Briggs was able to draw an exact replica of the murder nine days ‘fore it happened.”

                                                                          (( Cue in the dramatic pause. ))

“Go on, I got all fuckin’ day t’ see you talk your way ‘round that pickle.”

[noraskeaton-deactivated20161103]

“It ain’t that bad here, inspectors have to inspect everywhere on a regular basis… It’s something to do with licenses or something.”

She hated being stuck behind a counter or pouring coffee when she knew she could be out there doing something, being apart of a big case in a small town. She was applying soon, she didn’t care to wait anymore. Part of her, no matter how awful the deaths were, wanted the murders to go on until she could be apart of solving them.

- The truth was the murders, the whole case it felt like something she needed to be apart of.

Elissa frowned, she wanted or rather needed to know more than some vague line, she wanted details. She wanted to know where she could start looking and what to listen out for, giving him a tested look she sighed;  “Confidentially isn’t exactly such a big deal for me.”

 With a smirk hitting the corner of her mouth she quipped; “Unless you’d rather not know what I heard earlier.”

[lincolncane]

“Look at you, already workin’ ‘round that confidentiality bullshit.”

It was a myth among law enforcement. Confidentiality wasn’t earned--- it was bought. Secrets were worth nothing, unless you had a check with enough zero’s. Cane still believed this was what bought Tommy Crowe a guilty sentence--- someone who could put a monetary amount on silence.

He liked listening to the girl’s theories; concocted from small town gossip and the early makings of a smart girl. They were interesting; if somewhat cinematic sometimes. The man always entertained her gossip though; especially since the rumors heard around here could usually be traced back to some form of truth. 

“Alright, what’s it gonna cost me this time? Cold case     files, a taser---- whatever that other thing was last time?”

[lincolncane]

Cane ignored the signs glaring statement, not believing the store to be as vacant as it appeared. He wouldn’t take its rejection as a no; ready to tear through the road block Cassidy Briggs had put up. The detective jiggled the job roughly in a fruitless attempt, only to press his face against the clouded window. 

Its surface was streaked with the hideous remnants of old rainfall, dirt clinging on the glass as well as the rest of this dump. Jagged breaths escaped as he looked inside; there was no life to be found within these walls. 

                                                                         Lincoln only had one question.

        How did he do it?

The manhunt for Cassidy Briggs had begun---  alleged serial killer, confirmed pain in the ass. With no civilians in sight, Cane snuck around to the back entrance, a swift elbow to shatter the glass allowed him just enough room to reach the doorknob. 

As he crept in, no warrant on him, he eased around the isles of Stuff, looking for something that might explain where the kid had gone. Dust was heavy in the air, the smell of must filling the entirety of the room. No one had been in here for days; not by the smell of it, anyhow. 

                                                               As the particles continued to tickle                                                                his nose, Lincoln let out a hideous                                                                   sneeze; his body lunging forth                                                                      to knock over a vase on the                                                                              shelf beside him.

                             Fuck.

Cane scampered out the way he came, leaving a trail of unanswered questions in his wake. With light steps carrying him back to his truck, a watchful eye out to make sure he hadn’t been seen, Lincoln pulled out his phone to place a call into the front desk down at the station. 

                            As Amy answered, he offered nothing more than, “Yeah--- Briggs                                is gone. Tell Duhamel we’re puttin’ out an APB on the asshole.” 

[lincolncane]

        “I don’t know what else t’ tell ya’--- harrassin’                            the only people that’re tryin’ to help this town                    won’t get the culprit caught any quicker.”

[amosbyrne]

It was not his night. 

          Nope, not one bit.            Oh, he was out of jail.            Yes, he gathered all of his personal belongings. 

But spending the past twenty-four hours in the local lock up for breaking a guy’s jaw outside of the local mom n’ pop gas station? 

                                        Yeah, not something Mo really considered a pleasant experience. 

    He’d had worse, though.  

“Jesus dick.” He swore under his breath, and unlit cigarette hanging limp from his mouth as he flicked the zippo over and over again when it wouldn’t flare up. Just another shit-tastic occurrence to prove that it so wasn’t his night. 

With a huff, he stuffed the lighter back in his pocket and threw the cigarette down in front of his feet. It was unneeded, of course. And definitely stupid considering he was still planted right outside the police department and one could damn well bet that one of those beady eyed boys in blue would just love to come a-runnin’ back out to get him for littering or some pansy bullshit like that. 

                              God, he needed a drink. 

As he set off down the street (on foot, since his bike had been taken back to Snake n’ Jakes by one of his brothers after he’d been in cuffs) he spotted someone walking along up in front of him alone.  

                                        Didn’t they know what kind of riff-raff                                         walk these streets after midnight? 

          “’Ey!” He called out. 

                                        No answer. 

          “It’s rude to ignore people when they’re talkin’ to you, ya know!”

                                        Ah, that got their attention. 

[lincolncane]

Cane hadn’t even gotten farther than the parking lot, his truck still in sight when that familiar twang hit his ears. Fuck it, he was not responding. The detective was tired as hell, the new lead they chased seemed endless, fruitless by all intents and purposes. 

The department wasn’t going to find the killer where they were looking; Cane needed to take control over this investigation once more. Too bad that FBI cunt had put up yet another wall, trying to restrain his efforts. 

                              As if he would listen. 

           In this moment though, the last thing he wanted                              to hear was some other shit-stain telling him                      what to do. “The fuck you want, Mo?”