As previously warned, 90% of what follows is pure first draft. Maybe a little or a lot bloated or awkward.
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Will pulled out of his driveway and turned east, straight into the rising sun. He felt a flash of happiness. He’d at least made one decision that had shown an immediate, practical use. His overpriced shades cut the glare beautifully. He drove well below the speed limit, appraising the open land on either side of the road. On the left were endless rows of stubble, left over stumps of last years crops, short, dead stalks of corn or sunflowers. There were scattered patches of grey, melting snow. With a cloudless sky overhead, Will knew they would be gone by the afternoon. To the right was a different story. A carpet of flattened brown grass, dotted with young, leafless trees, interspersed with lower, spindly branched bushes he presumed to be sumac. It was an odd contrast to the regimented acreage on the other side of the road. It was when he came to the end of this fallow stretch of agricultural neglect, almost a mile past the driveway, that he realized it was his own land he’d been looking at, gone the way the rest of the property had over the last twenty years. The joy his sunglasses had become fleeting. What, he asked himself for what had to be the dozenth time in the last twenty-four hours, am I doing out here.
Halfway to the intersection that could have either taken him to Maastricht or the Twin Cities, Will turned right on the only paved road between that point and his driveway. It led to Venlo, Limburg County’s “second city.” It was the town that his great granduncle had essentially built, putting to use his skills as a mason, and the place where his grandmother grew up. As a child, Will had always delighted in a trip to Venlo, especially with his grandfather. When he passed the stack of grain elevators he could almost feel the tingle of anticipation that had always come with moving by those pillars of concrete. Whatever errand had brought them into town meant he’d be getting an ice cream, and going home with some silly little toy bought at the five and dime next to the drugstore.
Just past the elevators and to the right was a transit feedlot. What little livestock that had been raised for market in the area had been brought there before being trucked off for slaughter. Will used to hate the lot, its maze of pens and livestock chutes, the rows of barbed wire and raw wooden fencing, the reek of shit, bovine, porcine and ovine. He especially hated it at night with its sick glow of amber HPS lights, made fuzzy by the rising vapor of animal body heat, breath, and fresh urine fogging the chill night air. A terminus of imminent slaughter, it exuded an all too palpable Treblinka vibe.
With only a dirt road as a buffer from the feedlot, there was the trailer park. “If I lived in that,” his mother once remarked, “I’d cross the road, hop a fence and just wait my turn.”
The feedlot was gone, Will noticed, now just a big patch of weeds and wireless utility poles. The trailer park, however, appeared to have tripled in size.
A bit farther and on the left was long wooden building with a gravel parking lot. A sign on the steel roof said: “Blom’s—Farm, Fleet and Feed” His grandparents went to Blom’s at least once a week. “If you need it, Blom’s has got it,” his Grandfather would say, “About all Bertie doesn’t have is breakfast, lunch and dinner.” Will needed to stop there as well, but breakfast was the first thing on the agenda.
With a sign declaring the speed limit was now thirty miles and hour, he entered the town “proper”. Another sign confirmed it: “Venlo, pop. 1230.” The trailer park may have burgeoned since his last visit, but the residential numbers had not. If his memory was sound, the last time he’d been here it had been home to over two thousand people.
The town had come into shape after the first wave of settlers had become securely established. With few roads and the land beginning to deliver on its potential, traveling to Maastricht, centered in the Dutch enclave, for market and resupply was not just a hardship, but an expenditure of time and energy best spent in the field. It was costing the farmer at both ends. Venlo became the commercial and social hub for the western third and southern fringe of the county, and the Rijsbergens put a hard stamp on it. Though not one of the original three brothers who’d settled held any political office or elected position, the affluence that set them apart from their immigrant peers put them in a position to call the shots with little resistance or complaint. If allowed have their way, their money would be used to the benefit of all. They shrewdly financed the construction of the first church and the first bank. They became full partners and provided the building and the seed money for the first mercantile. With the subsequent arrival of peripheral business and services and the sense of permanence becoming reality, the youngest brother arrived in time to place the first bricks.
Venlo was the utter cliché´ of quaint. Sidewalks lined both sides of Main, ornate lampposts stood on every corner, bearing flower baskets in Summer and stars, wreaths and bells when the snow was on the ground. Main street traveled the length of the town, which ran all of eight blocks, entirely fronted by businesses. The residential was tucked behind them on either side. The middle four blocks were set back, making room for a central square featuring a three tiered fountain. Will could never leave town without tossing a penny into it, always aiming for the top basin.
Will’s truck was the only vehicle moving on the street. As far as he could tell, nothing had changed, though he hadn’t spared it much scrutiny. As he entered the square from the north, he turned right, moved another half block and parked. His destination, the diner, was at the other end of the square. There were several vehicles parked directly in front of it. Will appraised this with mixed feelings. One was relief that it indicated the place was open, the other was anxiety as he was certain his presence would be anything but inconspicuous. He glanced back at his truck before crossing the street. Good move, he told himself. Pulling up with a truck with less than a thousand miles on it wasn’t a means of remaining inconspicuous in a town like this. Neither was walking in with Rockstar shades. He tipped them above his forehead, thought a moment, then folded them up and tucked them inside his jacket.
The diner held not even a quarter of what appeared to be its capacity, but when Will stepped through the door, every eye in the restaurant was on him. Even the three guys at the counter, who had to twist themselves into corkscrews to face the door. With plenty of places open, Will didn’t wait to be seated and strode directly to the last open booth of half the dozen that lined the front window. He knew every step he’d taken had been watched. He could feel it. He swung himself in the deepest corner of the diner, and squeezed in even deeper.
Will stared through the window, across the square to the opposite corner from the diner, at the three-story brick building that took up half of the block. The bank. A glance at his watch told him he had just over an hour and a half to kill before it opened. He’d cut himself off from view so effectively that, when the waitress showed up, it seemed she’d just materialized out thin air.
“Coffee?”
Will, trying not to appear startled, said, “Please.”
The cup was on the table before he could finish the word and she was pouring before he’d gotten his mouth closed.
“Cream? Sugar?”
“No . . . thanks.”
His cup was full and there was a menu on the table. Before he could tell her he already knew what he wanted, she was gone. Well, then… He picked up the menu. There were a lot of minutes to kill, and perusing a menu should be good for a few.
The cause of the woman’s abruptness became clear as he studied the folder. The bell above the door had been ringing steadily. It appeared he beat the morning rush. He was grateful for that. He’d also apparently hidden himself effectively, because a couple of times a few people had showed up at the booth ready to sit, only to express surprise it had been taken. He only offered a weak smile as means of apology as they scuttled away for find another spot to eat. When the waitress appeared again, he was ready.
“Number three.” He slid the menu to the edge of the table.
“Eggs?”
“Over easy.”
“Hashbrowns or American fries?”
“Hashbrowns.” He saved her a question and added, “Bacon.”
“Toast or a—”
“Have you got rye?”
Her eyes never left the pad. “Pumpernickel”
“Perfect,” he told her.
She snatched up the menu and was gone, but an instant later was back, filling up his coffee cup right when he was looking at his last gulp. Gone again. He sat back in the corner, giving his fresh cup a moment to cool. Maybe he’d get in and out of here as merely a blip …
With his wait for the bank to open down to less than ninety minutes, Will’s breakfast was placed in front of him. He was suddenly ravenous. “Thank you,” he said as he cup was again refilled. He picked up a fork and just as he was tearing open the yolk of one of his three eggs he heard, “You’re new in here.”
He didn’t let it freeze him, but it stopped his reaching for a slice of toast. Without looking at her directly, he said, “I’m from the Cities.”
“You didn’t walk all that way, did you?”
Will was instantly aware of his sodden feet and the clusters of adhesive seed pods plastered to his pants. There was no possible way she could have seen them while he’d been seated in the booth. She’d taken it all in when he came through the door, and hadn’t so much a caught a glimpse of her when he entered. He was compelled to look at her now. Her smile was unreadable, the arch of her brow even more so. She didn’t linger for a response, but the way she’d left caused him to believe that if he’d given one, she know it was nowhere close to the full story.
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Let’s also not forget, ebook on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Lunacy-Death-perspective-developed-investigation-ebook/dp/B079DWFH9T/ref=redir_mobile_desktop?_encoding=UTF8&keywords=lunacy%20and%20death&qid=1526512194&ref_=mp_s_a_1_1&sr=1-1